Among the Living (3 page)

“I don’t know, Les. I’m scared is all.”

“Don’t be, babe. We got food, we got booze, we got weed and we got fucking guns … and the guys with guns always win.”

He watches her as she sighs and looks toward the end of the street that curves down the hill. The hill that leads downtown, the hill lined with trees and cars, other houses and the only exit out of the cul-de-sac.

“Do you think we can go to town tomorrow? I really need some new polish. I hate this shade, I just hate it,” she points at her feet while wiggling her toes.

“We’re going to need food soon enough, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea yet, babe. I’d rather those soldiers not see us.”

She sighs heavily and looks toward the end of the road again. “If they see us now, they might kick us out.”

“They can’t! Jerry said they can’t make us leave, they can just advise us that there is an emergency.”

“Don’t we have, like, a radio or something?”

“Got rid of it when we got the satellite.” He stands up for a stretch.

“When this is all over, we should get a radio that runs on batteries or something. You know, for emergencies.”

“What the fuck is this? If it ain’t an emergency, I don’t know what is.”

“I know, but we are safe, I mean it doesn’t feel like a real emergency. Hey, maybe we could get one of those windup radios; they charge when you crank them.”

“Good call, babe. It’ll be the first thing I buy when we get to a store. Meanwhile, I have something you can crank on.” He reaches down and shifts his junk in his shorts.

“So,” she lets the syllable hang in the air as if considering it. “Are you saying that if I crank your cock, news will come out of you? Where will it come out of exactly?” She shoots him a full pearly white grin.

Lester takes his seat and reaches into the cooler. The ice melted off yesterday, but the water in it is still reasonably cold. He extracts a beer, a microbrew with a red label. They are running out of the cheap stuff, but he has been saving this one.

“It’s not even noon. Isn’t it too early to start?” Angela whines.

Bubbles hit the back of his throat, rough and bitter. After the first swallow, the rest goes down clean, so he drains a quarter of the beer and lets out a long belch.

“Hand me a Diet Pepsi.”

“Won’t taste good warm,” he says.

He pushes cans and bottles around until he locates one on the bottom. He pulls it out and pops the tab in one smooth motion before handing it to her. She smiles over the top and takes a few swallows, then belches with the back of her hand over her mouth.

“‘Scuse me.”

Lester reaches over and pats her bare knee. He lets his hand linger, sliding up her smooth leg.

“Oh look, here comes another one!” She jumps up excitedly like a little girl at an ice cream parlor. Lester glances to the side and watches the cloth fall down her legs, covering her tanned skin.

A figure comes around the corner and stumbles over a body. It’s another girl, but this time dressed in a business suit with a button-down shirt. She wouldn’t attract attention if it weren’t for the blood staining the white and black clothing. She seems to be missing part of her forehead, and she is limping.

“Oh my God, is that Marlene?”

“Marlene with the big fake boobs?”

“Is that how you remember our friends, by the size of their tits?”

“In her case, it’s the only thing she has going for her. She is kind of a bitch. At least to me.”

“I think she is into women … well, sometimes. She usually has a guy with her, though.”

“She’s into women? Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Sicko.”

“What’s sick about it? Have you ever been with a woman?”

Angela puts her hands on her hips and swivels to meet his eye. He can’t tell if she is mad at the question. The shade of her hat droops over her eyes so they look half lidded.

“No, and I don’t want to.”

They are quiet for a moment, and then she says, “Why, do you want to see me with a woman?”

“Of course I do, but only if she isn’t a deader.” Lester laughs aloud, sits back in his chair and clutches his stomach.

“Men. Jesus,” she sighs and then turns her attention back to the new deader. “I think it is Marlene. Hey Marlene!” Angela yells.

The woman continues to stagger toward the fence. She stumbles over the body of the dog they had to shoot yesterday because it was chewing on the ankle of the guy left to rot. It was worrying at the flesh like a bone left in its kennel. Big sucker too. Rottweiler, or so Lester thinks.

Marlene recovers and does her mindless waltz toward their house. Moo cow girl turns to look at her but continues stumbling around in a full circle until she is staring at Angela again.

Lester raises the rifle and studies the other girl’s chest.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Poor Marlene. Remember when we had that picnic last summer with her and that guy, what was his name?”

“I called him assclown, but I think his name was Chuck. All he did was talk about his stupid Mustang, like I can’t afford one of the new ones. Is she still with him?”

“Babe, she isn’t with anyone. She isn’t even with herself right now. Oh my God! Poor Marlene.”

“Should I take her out?”

“No! She used to be our friend.”

Your friend, maybe.

Their friend—make that Angela’s friend—reaches the fence but keeps trying to walk forward like a retarded kid. The chain link fence forces her to stop, but she swings her arms in their direction as if trying to reach the twenty or so feet. She bares her mouth in a horrid visage of broken teeth, tongue held on by a hunk of muscle, and a splatter of dried blood on her lips and chin. Her shirt hangs open, but not enough for Lester to get a glimpse of those big boobs. Not that he wants to; her skin is the same putrid gray shade as her swollen tongue.

A bag dangles from one shoulder as if she were on the way to the store.

“Is that her Coach purse?” Angela moves down the stairs.

“What?”

“That purse, it was her pride and joy. She told me once it cost a grand.”

“You’re fucking kidding me. For a bag?”

“Get it for me, babe,” she pleads, studying him up and down, her eyes promising him great things if he does. Great things that happen in bed.

Another figure marches the drunken waltz around the entrance to the cul-de-sac, this one a large black guy wearing only a pair of pants. With each step, he leaves a bloody footprint. He pauses midstride, takes in the scene and approaches Marlene.

“Hurry, get it for me!” She turns and leans over so he has a flawless view down the front of her dress. She isn’t wearing a bra, and he marvels at the sight even though he has seen her large breasts countless times. There is something about a peek, that taste of voyeurism of which he never tires.

“Okay, but you need to cover me.”

“What do I do?” She does a little dance in place, clutching her hands together in front of her stomach like a child getting an allowance.

“Take the pistol and follow behind and to my side. If she gets too grabby, I want you to shoot her.”

He has his guns laid out on a little table with bullets and cleaning gear. He just went over the 9mm, figuring he may need to use it in the near future. He got the thing in a deal when one of his regulars didn’t have the scratch to pay for some coke.

Angela picks up the pistol and studies it for a moment.

“Where’s the safety thingy?”

He takes it from her hand and slips the magazine free, then peers at it. It’s packed with copper heads. He slams it back home and jerks the barrel back so there is one in the chamber. Trigger cocked, he slides the safety off and hands it back to Angela.

“Careful, that thing is ready to fire. All you have to do is aim and pull the trigger. Make sure you have a clear line of sight; don’t shoot me in the back.”

“Okay.” She raises the pistol in both hands and sights along the barrel, one eye squinted, head cocked to the side, looking sexy as hell as far as Lester is concerned.

“After this, we should go inside. I want to show you my other pistol.”

“Get me that bag and I’ll do anything you want, babe.” She grins.

Lester steps off the porch and into the muggy July sun. Even Seattle has brutally hot days when it decides not to rain. This is one of them, and he is not looking forward to this evening, when the sun will heat the house to a hundred degrees. With no power, there is no need to haul the air conditioning units upstairs like he has been promising to do for the past week.

Angela steps behind him and to the left, gun raised and pointed at her friend.

“Sorry, Marlene,” she whispers.

Lester steps up to the fence and bats Marlene’s hand aside. He grabs at the purse, but she flails her arms around, trying to get a grip on him. Her mouth opens and closes mechanically, chewing on the chunk of tongue that hangs loose. He tries not to look at the bloody gums, the broken teeth, but her terrible breath draws his eyes. It smells like rotten meat. Garbage left in the sun too long. Death.

He turns his head to the side, trying to avoid her breath, then he smacks her grasping claw away and grabs at the purse again. There is a little blood on the shoulder strap, but the rest seems to have avoided being splattered. He tugs the strap down her arm, but her other hand comes around and nearly cracks him across the face.

“Fuck, Marlene, just gimme the goddamn thing. You don’t need it anymore.” He slaps her hand as he gets ahold of the strap again. He yanks back and then falls down as she leans forward to take a bite out of his cheek. She snaps forward quicker than he thought possible, nearly gets a taste too.

Lester’s teeth click together painfully as he lands, but he has the leather Coach purse his girlfriend wants. The other deader has approached the fence, but only one arm seems to work. He collides with Marlene, and the two stagger. He groans loudly, eyes fixed on Lester. Marlene stumbles into the large woman in the moo cow robe, and they both go down in a heap.

Then Marlene is back on her feet and reaching over the fence for him. Lester scoots back on his butt, hands doing a crab walk as he tries to scurry away. The big guy is leaning over the fence when Lester gets a look at the guy’s eyes. They are rimmed with gray, filled with blood. It’s like something out of a horror movie.

“If you shoot him, I don’t think it will improve his looks,” he calls to Angela. “Fucker’s got the worst case of red eye I ever saw.”

The shirtless man sets his gaze on Angela and starts grunting while pushing against the fence like he is humping it. Lester is disturbed. The guy has a medium build but is completely bald. The way the guy is going at the fence reminds him of a child molester or something.

“I think he likes you, babe.” Lester frowns as he comes to his feet. He carefully extracts the pistol from her hand and points it at the ground.

Angela studies the man, then steps closer. Lester grabs at her arm, but she slides away with a little shooing motion.

“I just want to get a closer look. I won’t let him touch me.”

“Just be careful.”

She ignores him and approaches the fence but keeps a cautious foot or two from the man’s grasping hands. Marlene joins the guy at the fence, and they wave their arms like a pair of drunks reaching for last call at a bar.

“Hey Marlene, you in there?” his girlfriend asks.

The deader shuffles back and forth, putting more pressure on the fence. The black guy reaches forward so far that he has to raise one leg to make the stretch. It comes up and close to the top of the fence. Then it makes the connection between the tiny barriers holding him back from the couple, and he practically staggers over the chain link.

“Get back, Angela, I’m gonna take him out!”

Angela stares at Marlene for another second as if transfixed by her eyes. She stares and stares and doesn’t see the other deader fall forward, hand outstretched toward her. He lands face first but not before grabbing the top of her dress and ripping it down her chest. Angela takes a hasty step back and covers her now-bare breasts as if there were any need to be modest in front of the mindless things.

Lester doesn’t really care for a peek now; all he can think about is the fact that one almost got his girl! He pulls her back roughly and then shoots the guy a few times. The deader thumps and bashes into the ground as the bullets strike. Puffs of blood rise from his back, neck, and head as they punch through his body. Then, with a groan, the guy goes still.

“Son of a bitch!” Lester howls. “Don’t you get it? You stay on that side of the fence and you get to live.” Fucker fell in his yard. How many more will figure that out?

Fever dreams rip dread horror through her skull.

She bolts upright to light shining through the curtains over the bedroom window. Home after a long night, home and safe in bed in her tiny studio. Time to get up and make breakfast. Some frozen waffles would be good with blueberry syrup pooling around the edges. Maybe some bacon in the microwave. Did she buy bacon last week? She must have, because she can smell it. She must have left it out when she got up earlier. Then the dream pops into her mind, and she shudders. Why now, why can’t she just sleep in peace?