The Undead World (Book 2): The Apocalypse Survivors (22 page)

The bearded man gestured toward the door where two seconds later another man appeared. He was tall, though not as tall as Ram, and she could tell he was skinny despite the layers of mismatched clothing he wore. He was black, like his friend, and had the most unique hairstyle Jillybean had ever seen. His afro was tight and thick, four inches tall and flat on top. Yet what made his hair so truly distinctive was that he was bald down the center of his head. He quite literally had a “U” on his head.

Peering through the leaves of the fake bamboo, it was all she could see. It was as if nothing else mattered; she couldn’t stop staring. The man had his head down, searching the floor for a quiet path through the glass and that soft looking U went this way and that in a beguiling fashion. Eventually he stepped into the work area of the drycleaners and the spell was broken, at least for the moment.

The man with the U had carried a big gun that required two hands. The person who came next into the dry cleaners had only a pistol; it was flat grey and seemed to weigh a lot. The woman who carried it also held it in both hands and still the weapon shook. Much like the other man, the woman captivated Jillybean.

She had thick strands of brown yarn for hair and soft mocha skin. Though she wore clothes that were just as mismatched as the first man, somehow she made it look fashionable. She also wore glasses with pink frames and
Jilly wanted pink glasses too.

The woman followed the man inside, and finally came the bearded man she had first seen. Though he was smaller than the other two he was clearly the most dangerous of them. His black eyes were sharp, dancing here and there, while his feet crept through the glass like a panther might. Jillybean shrunk back.

Drawn by the smoke, the three went towards the sewing room where the lady called out in a soft, nervous voice, “Anyone dere? We doan wanna hurt no one. We jes wanna talk.” Her accent was thick and strange. To Jillybean it sounded part southern and part foreign.

After a second of waiting, the man with the U head peeked into the
sewing room and then blew out a sigh of relief. “Whoever was here, dey are gone now. Mebe a walh.”

“I don’t think so,” the bearded man said in a voice
untainted by an accent. “The fire is new. No one makes a fire and then just wanders off. But I think you can relax, Donna. They aren’t a bunch of bandits. My guess is, it’s only a man and a boy. There are only two tracks in the dust; one big, one little. And look at these clothes.”

He held up Jillybean’s borrowed Eagles sweatshirt and pegged jeans. The woman, Donna let her gun drop to her side. Jillybean took heart that there was someone in the world more afraid of her than she was of them.

“So what do we do?” the man with the U on his head asked. “Do we jes wait cheer, an sees if’n dey come back?”

As Jillybean was trying to decipher the words, the bearded man answered, “No. I don’t
want to spook them. Remember those hillbillies from last week? Too many people are altogether too trigger happy these days. We’ll write them a note. We’ll see if they want to meet up on highway.”

The more Jillybean heard these people speak the less she was afraid. In her mind there wasn’t a need for a note or a meeting out where the monsters could see them. Boldly, she stood and went to the doorway that led into the work space of the drycleaners.

“Das a soun’ plan,” Donna said. “I doan wanna…” Movement out of the corner of her eye had her turning. For a split second, the little girl in white and the woman with yarn for hair stared at each other, then in a blink, the girl was snatched out of sight and Donna screamed.

Chapter 22

Ram

South of Philadelphia

By chance, a sparrow whisked, low across his field of vision and as he tracked it, he turned just in time to see three strangers enter the drycleaners. That they were human did nothing to calm the sudden spike of fear in his chest. In fact it only made it worse. Zombies were horrible creatures, but, sadly, humans could be worse in their cruelty.

Unarmed and uncaring of that fact, Ram sprinted down the street, racing until he felt that his heart would burst. Though whether it was from the exertion or out of fear for the little girl he didn’t know. Like Julia before her, his heart had latched onto Jillybean, leaving Ram without recourse—he would die for her.

Julia had said he had a hero complex, but that wasn’t entirely correct. He had come to the conclusion that the world was beautiful
only
because beings as lovely and brave and sweet as Julia and Jillybean existed in it. Without them, the world wasn’t worth living in.

Ram wasn’t a hero; he was selfish. When Julia had died, a part of him had died as well. It was the part of him that had seen a real future in this new world. A future where he could be happy. Where he could have a family and love and security; things he would have been embarrassed to admit back when he was a D.E.A. agent.

Now these intangibles felt to be the most important things in the world.

Without them there was only revenge and death left. He had sought both but found Jillybean inst
ead. Just as with his dead love, he had instantly found her to be precious and something worth living for, and dying for.

It was why he raced past the carpet store and the Chinese restaurant and stopped in the entrance of the drycleaner. He could not see the three humans; they were around the corner slightly and out of sight. But Jillybean was right there, steps away, standing in the doorway
that headed back to where all the washing machines sat slowly losing their shine.

Ram took one big step and grabbed the girl around the waist and yanked her back as though she was as light and insubstantial as a kite.

A woman's scream ripped the air and now Ram was sure the hunt would begin. He turned on his heel and charged back the way he had come.

“You do not need to be afraid,” Jillybean said with such assurance that Ram gawked at her instead of watching where he was going with the result of nearly tripping over a lip in the sidewalk. He stumbled and only just caught himself on the doorjamb of the carpet place. Going with his momentum, he ducked into the dark store and stood panting against the wall.

“They don’t want to hurt us,” Jillybean said, calmly. He had her around the chest, in the exact same position that she held her zebra. “Listen,” she commanded. The world had grown so quiet that he could hear their conversation from two doors down.

“
Dair was an angel,” Donna cried. “Right dair. I saw her wit my own two eyes!”

Jillybean giggled and whispered, “She thinks I’m an angel.”

“Quiet, please,” Ram said, listening. Someone was crunching glass, slowly moving toward the entrance to the drycleaner. It was the sly sound of a man on a hunt. “We’ll go out the back door,” Ram whispered, starting toward the rear of the building.

“Mister Ram, I overheard them,” Jillybean said. “They only want to talk. They were going to leave a note asking to meet us. We don’t have to be afraid.”

“They’ve got guns and we don’t,” Ram said in a growl.

“Does that mean we’re going to be afraid of everyone?” she asked skeptically.

Ram paused at this. “Maybe once we leave the city, we can take some more chances.” The words rung false even as he said them. The truth was, that unarmed as he was, he was afraid—afraid for himself, but more afraid for Jillybean. He knew the evil in people better than anyone.

“I don’t think they’re from around here,” Jillybean said. “They talk really funny. And they were more afraid of me than I was of them. We should at least see what they have to say.”

They were at the back door, he glanced up and down the alley; it was free of zombies. “Fine, I'll talk to them. You stay out here. Do not come in.”

“But…” was all she had time to say before he shut the door on her.

He would talk…or that was the vague plan. Instead he loped back to the front just as a black man came up to the front door with a pump action shotgun at chest height. Ram stepped behind one of the carpets that were propped up against the wall. As he was bigger, faster, and had the element of surprise, it was nothing for him to take the gun from the unsuspecting man.

“What do you want?” Ram asked two seconds later with the gaping bore of the shotgun pressed to the man’s neck. The inquiry was ill-conceived and so without waiting for a response he immediately changed his question to, “Where are you from?” He thought it a more informative question, though the possible answer scared him. What would he do with the fellow if he was from Philadelphia and thus part of the race war? To execute him in a summary manner, Ram deemed was outright sinful. However to disarm the lot of them could leave them in state worse than death.

Thankfully the man grunted, “Cincinnati, Ohio.”

Ram began to relax, but then he remembered how Jillybean had mentioned them speaking in a strange manner. This man didn’t have any sort of accent. “Do you have any I.D. on you?” Ram asked.

“Are you serious?”

It did seem like a preposterous question and yet he felt it would go a long way to
his trusting the man. “I am serious. Things around here are messed…”

“Steve?” a man called, nervously from the street. “You cool?”

“Tell him you’re good,” Ram ordered Steve, inadvertently pressing the gun harder into the man’s neck. “Then tell him to go away…”

“Why should I?” Steve asked, turning to face Ram. “I didn’t do anything t
o you. There’s no need for this.”

“Maybe there is fr
om my point of view,” Ram said. The words had just slipped from his mouth when the other black man peeked into the store. Upon seeing Ram he immediately began to jabber in some strange language—it seemed French-like, but with a twang. He was answered by a woman and very quickly Ram had two guns pointing his way.

Things devolved quickly. There was a great deal of yelling and cursing and threatening by all involved. Into the midst of this Jillybean walked.
Against her instructions, she had run around the building and now stood there with her hands held out in a calming manner, ending the confusion with her very presence, and quieting the room.

“It is
dey angel,” Donna said, clutching her pistol to her breast.

Being called an angel caused the little girl to giggle again. She had come into the main part of the showroom and now turned to look at Donna. “I like the way you talk. Where are you from?”

“Nah-lins,” Donna answered. “What about you, Cherie? Ain’t a one of us dat seen childrins in all some time.”

Jillybean blinked, trying to understand the heavily accented words. “My name is Jillybean, not Sherry. And I’m from here, in Philadelphia. And I’ve never heard of Nah-
lins. Is that in another country? I used to know all the states but I think I forgot some. Probably I must have missed a day of school.” She didn’t pause for Donna to reply to the questions, instead she went on, “And I’m the only kid I know of, unless you count kids who got turned into monsters. And they’re not real kids, right, Mister Ram?”

Now she paused for him to answer. “Not anymore, Jillybean.”

Ram knew she had expected the answer and had to wonder why she asked it. And her odd queries didn’t stop there. “Do you have kids, Mister Steve?” she asked the man at Ram’s feet.

“No,” he said easily, but there was a warning look in his eyes. It wasn’t a dangerous thing, just a suggestion not to continue this line of questions. As an added measure he also flicked his eyes to the man with the odd U shaped afro.

Jillybean didn’t need to ask. The man volunteered in a slow, sonorous voice: “I had me a son, but never knew how he ended up.”

“That is sad,” the little girl said, and just like that the spell of violence which had gripped the room dissipated.

Ram let out a long breath. Without people screaming and pointing guns his way it was easier for him to think. It was clear these people weren’t from Philadelphia. There wasn’t that instant hate like he had seen in Trey’s and Jermy’s eyes. These people were just fellow travelers.

“Here,” Ram said, putting out a hand to help Steve up. “Sorry about getting so rough, but things aren’t good in this city. If I were you I’d detour far around it.”

Over mandarin orange tea in the sewing room, he went on to explain about the sad race war and how he and Jillybean had come to be there.

“Oh, Cherie,
dat is some fright,” Donna said and took Jillybean into her arms. That the little girl was completely relaxed there made Ram suddenly anxious. What if she wanted to go with them? Logically, it made sense for her to travel with them. There were three to his one. They were armed with guns while he had only his fists. Finally, they had a woman, a maternal figure who seemed enthralled with the girl. For some reason the idea losing her made his throat go tight.

“Where are you heading by the way?” Ram asked. Though he spoke to Steve, he was looking at Jillybean, hoping to catch her eye. He wanted her to come sit with him in the comforter, but she was playing with
Donna’s yarn-like hair and didn’t notice.

“New York,” Steve answered. “There is a man who has a cure for the virus there. That’s what we heard at least.”

Ram nodded. “I heard the same thing. The only problem is that he charges a thousand bullets or an equivalent in canned goods or fuel. Do you have that?”

Steve dropped his eyes to the fire and shook his head. “There are other ways, though.
That's what we heard. There are some people who are looking to take on indentured servants. They’ll pay for your virus shot, but you’ll owe them some time as their servant. It’s humbling even thinking about it.”

“How much time?” Ram asked. After his close call the day before the idea of being vaccinated against a scratch or a bite really appealed to him.

The black man’s eyes flicked from the fire briefly. “Ten years.”

It was a lie. Both of Steve’s friends had stiffened slightly at his answer. As a D.E.A. agent Ram had been lied to on a daily basis and now he was adept at not just spotting lies, but also hearing the nuance of partial truths. Steve had lied; the length of servitude was shorter than he was letting on. Of course this brought up the obvious question of why would he lie?

Was this his way of making sure that Ram wouldn’t try to tag along? Even after his scare, Ram considered giving up ten years of his life ridiculous. But if it wasn’t ten years, how long was it? Four years? Five? Five years seemed like a long time to be basically someone’s slave. But then again it took only one scratch to doom a person…unless they got lucky. Ram couldn’t count on luck a second time.

Could he do five years?

“Are there rules about this sort of thing?” Ram asked. “Like a contract? I wouldn’t want to spend so many years playing step-and-fetch for someone and get screwed in the end.”

After a sip of his tea Steve remarked, “Even if there is a contract, it may not be worth all that much. It’s not like you can take a guy to court these days. This all may be moot, right now it’s only a rumor, so I can’t say.”

Again he was being misleading. The concept of indentured servitude had to be more than a rumor. The vaccine itself certainly wasn’t. So, why the lies? Why try to steer him away from going? There had to be a logical explanation to keep an obviously capable man from joining their three person group. Anyone would think that in this time of zombies and race wars, the more friends you had around the better, however none of them was keen on him going.

He didn’t think it wasn’t about skin color; they weren’t a hateful group at all. And it wasn’t about personalities clashing, Ram had been genuine in his apologies and they had been accepted in the same manner. So why were they threatened by him? Then it clicked in Ram’s mind. How many of these servants spots could there realistically be? Just like in the old world, there were likely only to be so many “rich” people.

He was competition, which meant that if Ram wanted to travel to New York, he would have to travel alone. It wasn’t something he wanted to contemplate. “Without a binding contract, it’s probably not for me,” Ram said after a sigh. “I wish you luck in New York.”

Steve relaxed immediately. “So what are you going to do?” he asked, nodding slightly to Jillybean who was in an animated one way discussion with Donna.

Ram hadn’t thought at all what he was going to do with her. He couldn’t bring her back to her empty home and let her starve, and he didn’t like the idea of handing her over to the
Whites
of Philadelphia. Though they hadn’t seemed like bad people it didn’t mean they would stay that way, or that they would even survive. Cassie was breeding hate in the city. It was a cancer that would likely spread and destroy everyone around her.

And that left him with few choices. He had come north with revenge in his heart, but now with a little girl in tow he couldn’t exactly start killing people. Killing was exactly what it would take to get at Cassie now that she had turned her people against the world. He would have to hunt and torture and slay.