All Together Now: A Zombie Story (20 page)

"You run straight for the Ford. Shoot any dead that get close and put Chuck in the trunk if you can. Then drive straight to your Dad's plant."

"Where will you be?" Michelle asked, but I could see in her expression she already knew.

I couldn't look her in the eye, so I turned away. "I'm going to jump down the back before you jump down the front and I'm going to run as far as I can."

"You'll never make it!"

"I'll get as far as I can. While they're distracted, you get my brother to safety."

Michelle stared at me.

"There's no other way. We're out of food. Either we both die up here, or one of us gets to Kirkman's and cures Chuck."

"You're serious?" Michelle said.

I nodded, and she saw I was.

Michelle put her hands on my shoulders and kissed me.

I broke away. Then I kissed her back.

It was more than a kiss, more than wet lips bumping against each other. Something passed from me to her and from her to me.

My arms wrapped around her and hers wrapped around me and we didn't need words.

Figures. The greatest night of my life will be my last.

Michelle's asleep as I write this and it will be morning soon. Last night Michelle told me we'd find another way, but there is no other way.

In a moment, I'm going to put this journal in Michelle's pack so she can carry it to safety. Then I'm going to walk to the rear of the roof and start shooting before I lose my nerve.

There's nothing left to write, no story left to tell.

I've got nothing left to say except this: I love you Michelle Elizabeth Kirkman.

Despite everything that's happened, I'm so glad we had this chance to find each other. I hope you get to Kirkman's and there's a cure for Chuck. I hope the two of you live there together in safety and you have long, happy lives and you think of me every once in a while.

I love you.

That's the best ending this journal could have. It's the best ending I could have.

Goodbye.

80

I'M NOT WRITING THIS FROM the roof. Ernie's is miles away from where we are now.

I would've sacrificed myself for Michelle. For Chuck. For Dad. For Ben. I would die in place of any of them if I ever got the chance.

This is what happened:

I lay beside Michelle, watching her sleep. I brushed my fingertips across her cheek, not to wake her, but because I felt a physical need to touch her.

I guess it's sort of weird that my most romantic memory took place on the roof of a gas station surrounded by the craven moans and putrid stench of the dead, but we don't always get to pick where romance happens.

Michelle sleeping in the moonlight was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I'd give anything to still be lying there beside her, my hand around her waist, her body warming me and allowing me to forget my hunger and exhaustion, to feel whole and connected to all that was still right in the world.

All I had to do was lean forward and kiss her. She'd wake and I could thrust my fingers in her kinky hair and pull her close and our lips would lock and there would be no her or me, only us.

But I didn't want to wake her.

I'd never do what I had to do if she was awake. My plan was to let my first few gunshots wake her and when enough dead had gathered at the rear of Ernie's, I'd leap off the roof before Michelle could stop me.

I would've done it. Believe me.

I sat up, bowed my head, and closed my eyes.

Grandma Lacey always said prayer was the last refuge of the damned.

She also said there were no atheists in foxholes.

"Dear God," I prayed, keeping my voice to a whisper so as not to wake Michelle.

"You suck. If You're real, I hate You and after what happened to Chuck, I'd say You hate me back. But I'm not dead. Everyone else is, but not me. I'm still here, Lord, and if You're up there, I'm guessing You had something to do with it.

"Or maybe You've been meaning to kill me and You've just been so busy killing everyone else You haven't found time yet. If we wait a few minutes, we can have the rest of this conversation in person.

"Don't kill me, God. Don't let me die. We've fought so hard and been through so much. If You're up there, if You were ever up there, give me a sign. Show me You care at all.

"You killed Chuck. And Dad. And Ben. And now me. You—"

A series of crashing noises of metal impacting cement clanged from the left.

I stood up and at first saw nothing. Then I spotted two circles of light reflected off the cement divider beside the highway's exit as though a stage technician were aiming spotlights.

Not spotlights.
Headlights.

A blue minivan rolled the wrong way up the exit at only a little over 35 mph and crashed into the divider, smashing the minivan's hood. Its horn sounded in a continuous wail as though something were smashing it down—the driver's head, most likely.

Michelle sat up. "What's going on?"

I pointed and below my outstretched hand I saw an amazing thing: the zombies below us were turning in unison toward the van.

As I watched, the zombies stumbled toward the highway, snarling. In front of Ernie's, Chuck reached toward the minivan, but the catchpole held him.

The minivan's back door opened and a woman tumbled out, a small child on top of her, her teeth buried in the woman's chest. I didn't need to hear the girl to know she was dead.

Two small boys, both still alive, climbed out behind the woman and zombie girl, and that's when the dead below Ernie's really got moving, clearing the lot below us.

"Thank You, Lord," I prayed.

81

I CREPT TO THE EDGE of the roof.

Michelle said, "What are you—"

I pressed my finger to my lips and poked my head over the side of Ernie's.

There were less than 20 zombies left directly below and they were all shambling toward the highway. Chuck strained against his catchpole to follow, but the horde left him behind.

The woman had stopped screaming. She lay motionless in the street, the little girl feasting on her.

The minivan's horn continued to sound, drowning out the screams of the two boys no older than nine. They stood staring at the woman's body and though I couldn't hear them, I knew from their grief-stricken facial contortions she must've been their mother.

Though the army of the undead streamed toward them, the boys didn't run. They stood and shook and cried and waited for someone to save them.

I couldn't help them.

I checked Ernie's gun to make sure I had a full magazine and motioned for Michelle to do the same.

When she gave me a thumbs up, I poked my head over the roof again. The last of the horde was crossing the edge of Ernie's lot, their backs to Chuck, who was also watching the fresh meat in the highway instead of us.

It was only 15 feet, maybe less to the ground. I dropped my bat over the side and it clattered across the cement, but the sound couldn't be heard over the minivan's horn.

I lay flat on my stomach and swung my legs off the roof. Then I wiggled backward until I hung off the ledge.

Beside me Michelle did the same.

"Dear God, please let this work," I prayed and let go.

I landed on my feet, but immediately fell on my butt. My teeth snapped together hard enough to make my ears ring.

I looked to the horde.

Their backs were toward me as they followed the dead girl, who'd abandoned her mother's corpse and rounded on her brothers.

Only Chuck turned and snarled at me.

I looked to the roof.

Michelle was still hanging from the edge. I got to my feet and motioned for her to jump.

Michelle closed her eyes and opened her fingers.

I caught her as well as I could. It wasn't a pretty catch, but I broke her fall and kept her on her feet.

"You okay?"

Michelle nodded.

"Let's go."

Chuck reached for me as I approached, but I picked up my bat and was able to poke him back with it while I got hold of his catchpole.

It took me only seconds to do what Chuck would've never been able to do: I lifted the snagged loop of cable off the cement pole, freeing his catchpole.

Chuck lunged for me, of course, which is why I kept the catchpole between us. But even so, I used it more to drag him than to fend him off as Michelle and I crept across the street toward the silver Ford.

Everything went smoothly until the minivan's horn stopped.

The horde had crowded in at the minivan and the two little boys were no longer visible. But there wasn't enough little boy to feed the entire army of dead.

In the absence of the horn, every snarl could be heard, including Chuck's.

That was when some of the zombies at the back of the group turned and saw Michelle and I were off the roof and out in the open.

82

"LET HIM GO!" MICHELLE CRIED. "There's no time!"

I shook my head. I hadn't come this far just to abandon Chuck.

More zombies were turning around. The ones at the rear of the horde were already shambling toward us.

"Go get the keys so I can put him in the trunk."

Michelle stood staring at me and I could see she was debating. She must've seen in my face it would be faster to do it my way than to waste time arguing.

She took off running for the silver Ford.

"Come on, Chuck," I said. "Come on, man."

More zombies turned, the family from the minivan forgotten, Michelle and I becoming their entire world. The footsteps of so many dead sounded like the pattering of rain.

Each zombie snarled and raised its arms, signaling the zombie behind to do the same, and like a flock of birds changing direction, the entire horde marched toward us.

"Ricky!"

I turned and Michelle held up something small and white: the keys. She threw them to me and I missed. They skittered along the pavement.

Keeping hold of the catchpole with one hand, I knelt to scoop them up. Then I dragged Chuck the rest of the way to the church's parking lot.

The first gunshot sounded as we reached the rear of the silver Ford.

Michelle was at the front of the car, firing into the horde as they closed in on us. I willed myself to ignore her and focused on unlocking the trunk.

There was no time to negotiate Chuck into the trunk gently. I swung the catchpole to the right hard and fast. Chuck flopped head first into the trunk and I shoved his legs in behind him.

He snarled fiercely, but I slammed the trunk closed as soon as his feet were clear.

Michelle fired shot after shot, but still they came. The first of the dead crossed the church parking lot, tripping over the bodies of their fallen.

I ran around to the driver's side door and got in. I didn't have my license yet, but I did have my learners permit.

A dead hand slapped the windshield as I slammed the door closed. I looked ahead and saw only dead.

But I could hear gunshots, so I knew Michelle must be close.

I turned the key, but the engine barely sputtered.

More dead hands slapped the windshield.

I turned the key again.

The passenger side window exploded. Dead hands reached through.

I turned the key again.

"Please God!"

The driver's side window shattered and dead fingers clawed my cheek.

I turned the key and the Ford's dash lit up, radio static blaring above the snarls.

I put it in drive and hit the gas, knocking several dead aside.

The rotting fingers jerked away from my face. The zombie on the passenger side kept his grip on the window a few feet, dragging his legs, then he struck another zombie and was knocked off.

Gunshots sounded to the right. That's the direction I drove.

In no time I saw Michelle. There were dead on all sides of her, but at her feet was a pile of fallen zombies. She spun, shooting the dead closest to her.

I honked the horn and she looked up.

She shot another zombie.

She locked eyes with me.

Michelle put the barrel of her gun under her chin and pulled the trigger.

83

MICHELLE PULLED THE TRIGGER AGAIN. Nothing happened.

She was out of ammunition.

I leaned across the seat and flung the passenger side door open. Behind me, I was dimly aware of the rear windshield shattering. Dead hands beat against the back of the Ford (and the inside of its trunk).

My sole focus was Michelle.

She shrugged away from a zombie's grasp and dove into the car. As soon as her top half was inside, I drove forward, letting her yank her legs in as we pulled away.

The Ford's front bumper knocked zombies aside and its tires bounced over them as though they were speed bumps.

I turned from the highway, knowing the minivan blocked the exit, and as soon as Michelle's feet were inside I hit the gas.

The tires squealed as we peeled out of the church parking lot and down Harrington Street, the army of the dead shambling behind us.

"Give me your gun!" Michelle screamed.

"Hang on," I said, steering around a truck that had been left parked across the street, all its doors open. I flipped on the Ford's headlights.

"Give me your gun, Ricky! Please!"

"Why?"

But I knew why.

Michelle turned in her seat so I could see her back. Her shirt was stained red all the way down to her butt and there were at least three holes in it.

Holes torn by dead teeth.

Michelle turned back and spoke slowly, "Give me your gun."

Tears flooded my eyes. I wiped them away so I could drive. "No."

"Ricky, please."

"No."

She reached between my back and the seat for Ernie's gun, which was tucked in the band of my jeans.

I slammed the brakes.

Michelle was thrown against the dash, smacking her head loud enough for me to hear it. In the trunk, a small body bounced off the back seat and moaned.