Preservation (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“We have to go back,” Charlene said.

She was right, of course. Time was limited. It sounded melodramatic, but time was now a luxury I did not have. I wanted Charlene and Dave as far away from this danger as possible. I wanted to see them safely to Mexico, with or without me. “You have more clips, Dave?”

“No.”

“Still have my machete?” I said.

He shook his head. “On the bus.”

“Take mine,” Charlene said. She opened the car door and got out of the vehicle. She pulled the machete out of its sheath.

Dave got out, too, and took the machete.

I had my knives.

“You can’t even walk. Your ankle is twisted,” she said. “You’re staying in the car. Get behind the wheel.”

“Charlene--”

“Stay!” She turned to face the bus. “Dave, let’s go!”

“Shit,” I mumbled. They were gone.
Headed into a battle that I couldn’t protect them in. I scrambled up and over and plopped into the driver’s seat. I grabbed my pants and pulled my leg up. I looked at my ankle.

It wasn’t twisted, like Charlene thought. I’d been bitten.

How long did I have? When would I turn? When would the virus consume the inside of my body and kill me? It would hurt, I imagined. Death would be painful. Knowing what came next, while dying, unbearable.

I didn’t want Charlene to see me that way.

Couldn’t let her.

Turning the car around, I aimed the
car’s grille at the bus and at my family.

My daughter wasted no time. She engaged the zombies from behind. They’d been pounding on the bus walls when Charlene sliced her blade through necks and severed heads from shoulders.

Her element of surprise worked, but was short lived.

The creatures now knew she was
there, and she must have looked more tantalizing standing before them, than the thought of a people inside a locked up and modified school bus.

Dave hacked zombies like he was pushing his way through a jungle trail in the Amazon. Slashing to the left and the right, he cut away
limbs, leaving dangerous zombies alive, but considerably more harmless.

The two now fought back to back.

I drove the car at the mob of creatures. I felt like I was in a jousting match. This little car was nothing like the bus, it lacked the cow scoop, and didn’t have the brawn and power and stamina to destroy the things. It was still a car, and when I drove into a mass of monsters, I found my new weapon to be highly effective.

Dropping it into reverse, I hit the gas, backed up and switched it back into drive. A second
run knocked out five zombies, but my tires were hung up on the guts and entrails inside a cadaver's belly. I punched the gas pedal, and practically felt those innards spray from the spinning tires before I caught traction and lurched forward. The front of the car hit the side of the bus.

The bus door opened.

Andy, Kia and Melissa came out armed with guns.

Their shooting was awesome. The three of them dropped zombies.

Dave used his foot, planted on the chest of a fallen zombie, to yank his machete out of its skull.

It took too long. “Dave!”

A creature grabbed him from behind, tackling him.

I opened the car door.

Charlene was defending herself against two zombies, and the others were shooting and reloading weapons. Dave needed my help.

I hobbled forward and raised my knife high. I slammed the blade into the back of the zombie’s neck, felt the vibration of the saw skip across the spine. I pulled on its shirt and lifted him off Dave.

Blood spewed from Dave’s throat. He gurgled and spat blood from his mouth. His hand went to the wound. His fingers were quickly lost in a sea of oozing red blood.

“Ah, shit, shit, shit,” I said.

Dave’s eyes were wide open. He looked scared. The fear was evident in his stare.

“You’re going to be okay,” I said. There was little else to say.

“Dad!”

I looked over my shoulder. Another zombie was about to latch onto my back.

A gunshot sounded. I heard a bullet whiz over my head. The new hole in the center of the zombie’s forehead was perfectly placed. It fell backward, dead.

I looked to the right. Kia smiled, and nodded at me.
Her gun in her hands.

I heard someone scream.

Andy was down. I saw his legs. They protruded out from under a pile of zombies packed on top of him.

Kia and Charlene worked at getting the monsters off of him.

I saw a zombie climb onto the bus.

I knew Michelle was on there.
Injured. Dying. She was defenseless.

Dave’s hands reached for me, demanding my attention.

There was no way to save him. There was nothing I could do. I held his hand.

He squeezed it. His hand went limp. Eyes closed.

I raised my knife, and closed my eyes too, I didn’t want to do this. I opened my eyes and drove the blade into an eye socket. It was the easiest way to hit the brain.

Charlene swung her sword like an axe chopping wood on a stump. The sharp blade cut away heads, arms and chopped into bone with ease.

Kia fumbled with her weapon. She dropped a full clip. She slapped at her pockets as if checking for more ammo.

Someone screamed behind me. I spun around. I placed my forearm on my leg and pushed myself up into a standing position.

Melissa had her back to the bus. Four creatures had her raised up off of her feet. They tore into her stomach with their hands and teeth, and spilled her bowels.

“Charlene!
Kia!” We needed to get out of here. I couldn’t see around the bus. If I had to guess, more zombies were coming. They’d be coming from every direction. Our cries of pain and anguish had to be like more of a dinner bell than the sounds of gunfire.

Michelle stepped off the bus. She limped toward Kia, falling in line behind the other zombies already after the woman.

“Kia!”

Something grabbed my arm. I shrugged my way free. I took a step and then brought my arm around. The guy was bald.
Decaying. Ugly as sin. My hand held the knife tightly. The blade slit the thing’s throat. The head bobbled and fell backward. It hung onto the shoulders by a thin thread of flesh before pulling free and dropping onto the pavement. I don’t know why it looked like a bowling ball; like you would place your thumb in his mouth and fingers in his eye sockets.

Charlene aided Kia. She cut the zombies off at the shins. They dropped one after the other. It didn’t stop them from dragging themselves forward, but their threat was less serious.

With relentless stamina, my daughter fought the creatures and only hesitated when she reached Michelle. Only hesitated, but then cut her legs away and when Michelle fell, she swung as if the head were a ball on a tee.

Kia managed to load her weapon. She fired again, impressing me with her accuracy.

“Get to the car!” I said. “The car!”

I hobbled toward the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s side. I closed the door, and backed away from the bus, backed over lumbering zombies. The car bounced and
shook, and utilized the shocks more than they’d been tested before, I was sure.

Charlene climbed in beside me.

Kia reached for the back door and was gone.

Charlene opened her door. She got out of the car.

I couldn’t see anything. I heard the struggle. Something had Kia. Charlene used her sword, driving it down into something, over and over. She got back into the car. Closed her door a second time.

“Drive,” she said.

I didn’t ask. Didn’t need to.

I drove.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

1111 Hours

We drove in silence for miles. The miles turned into hours.

We needed gas. I got off the Interstate and found a gas station. “Stay in the car,” I said.

Charlene did not say a word.

I unfastened my seatbelt and got out of the car. I looked around. The neighborhood resembled a ghost town. I hoped the sputtering of the engine hadn’t attracted attention.

It hurt to stand. My leg felt numb. The wound itched. I wanted to scratch at it like crazy. Instead, I removed the gas cap and inserted the pump arm into the hole.

The tank needed to be activated from inside the store.

I shuffled around the back of the car.

The passenger door opened. “I got it.”

“Stay in the car,” I said.

Charlene stared at me. I’d swear all I could see was anger in her eyes. She didn’t respond, nor did she obey. She held her sword in one hand and crossed the lot, entering the store.

The pump switched on. The numbers went to zero. I began filling the tank.

Charlene came out with a bag full of supplies. “They had some bottled water.”

“I’m thirsty,” I said.

She put the bag in the car, left the door open and leaned across the hood. “Your ankle’s not twisted, is it, Dad?”

I swallowed. Making eye contact was difficult, but I forced myself. “No, honey. It’s not.”

She nodded. Her fingers were laced together. She lowered her head into her hands. When she stood up straight, I braced myself. I didn’t know if she would yell at me, come at me, or as I wished, just hug me.

Charlene did none of the above. She got back into the car and closed her door.

I replaced the cap.

I gave the area one last look around and got into the car, too.

We pulled out of the station, and I found a way back onto the Interstate. I closed my eyes against the sunlight. It hurt my head. The brilliance made me think my brain had come loose from the inside walls of the skull and was bouncing around free inside my head.

“Were you going to tell me?” she said. She sat with her arms folded. It was the Charlene I knew very well. The young teenager. Not the warrior she’d become.

“Of course,” I said.

“Yeah? When?”

I had no answer. There would never have been a right time.

I saw signs for Mexico. We were close to the Rio Grande. We were almost to the border.

My eyes closed.

I heard Charlene scream. The car swerved. I opened my eyes. She had the steering wheel.

“Pull over, Dad!” She said this over and over.

I applied the brakes. The car came to a stop. We were in the center lane.

“Dad,” she said.

The virus was coursing inside me like a fire. Both legs throbbed. My gut and chest ached. My arms felt numb. I pushed opened the car door and fell out.

I threw up, and tried to roll away from my vomit.

I managed to get onto my back.

The sun was so bright. I squinted against the light.

I squinted against the light until all I saw was darkness.

#  #  #

My head was on her lap. She ran her fingers through my hair like a comb, keeping strands from getting into my eyes. Sweat kept the hair off my face.

“You can’t do this, Dad. I don’t want to be here without you,” she said.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s okay.”

“Stop it, alright? Just stop it. You can’t fix this. It’s not going to be okay. And I can’t do this. I can’t leave you.”

“You have to,” I said. My throat was dry. The fire was inside my lungs and mouth, inside my entire face and head. I opened my eyes. The sun was behind Charlene’s head. She was a simple silhouette. “I love you, you know.”

She cried. “You’re not leaving.”

“Get to Mexico, okay. Get across that border.”

I hoped there was something there.
Something for her.

“I’m not leaving you. We’re going to turn this around somehow. I’m going to save you. I’m going to keep you with me,” she said.

The fire in my throat wasn’t the virus. It was the cry I held back. The lump in my throat was the pain I kept inside. “I love you,” I said again.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

I closed my eyes.

#  #  #

When I opened them, I felt shocked. It was day time. The sun did not hurt my head. I was able to see the sun stream through stained glass windows. I was in the back of the church. The rows of pews were filled with people in suits and elegant dresses.

There was a buzz to the day. It swelled my chest. I stood by the back doors peeking in. Candle flames danced all around on stands set around the church. I watched the priest by the altar prepare for the upcoming ceremony.

Julie, my ex-wife walked in from outside. The summer sun was brilliant in a blue and cloudless sky. She was with her newest husband, Donald, or Douglas, or whatever his name was. They were dressed to the T’s. Julie in a long and off-white dress that complemented her aging figure.

“How are you, Chase?” She said.

I nodded. Maybe I said something. I couldn’t tell if my mouth was working. It still seemed dry, very dry.

“Where is Cash?” She said.

She didn’t know. I’d not had the chance to tell her. How could I not have told her that our son had been shot and that he died after surgery? It was going to crush her. It still crushed me, mashed my heart to a pulp inside my chest.

The door that Julie and Donald just came through opened again, and in a dark suit with a crisp pressed white shirt and necktie was Cash.

“Hey, Mom, Dad,” Cash said.

Cash.

He was dead. I buried him. I’d held him, and placed him in a hole I’d dug in the ground.

I dropped to my knees. I spread my arms wide and he ran into them. “You look so handsome,” I said.

“Thank you,” he said, pulled out of the hug and fixed the knot on his tie.

I still wanted to hug him. I didn’t want the embrace to be over. Not yet, not while he was here.
With me.

“Have you seen, Charlene? She looks beautiful.” My ex-wife was smiling. How could she look so happy?

Something was wrong.

“We’re ready,” the priest said, suddenly standing behind me. “Mr. McKinney, when the music
starts, you may proceed down the aisle with your daughter.”

I nodded.

The music?

“Good luck,” Julie said. She and her husband disappeared into the church. I watched them walk to the front of the church and sit in the second row of pews.

What was this?

“I’m ready, Daddy.”

I turned around. Charlene stood behind me. She was in a beautiful white wedding gown. The train rolled out for several feet behind her. “You look beautiful.”

She blushed, dropped her eyes, as if embarrassed. “I’m so nervous. I can’t believe this is really happening. This is a day I’ve dreamed about since I was a little girl.”

She was a little girl. How was she getting married? She was fourteen. Did I approve this? Did her Mom?

“Honey, you’re going to be a wonderful wife, and live a happy life.
A happy-ever-after life.”

“Do your really think so?”

“Baby, I know so,” I said. I mentally squeezed my mind, searching for memories of the man she was about to marry. I could not even conjure up an image of what he looked like. Not his name, what he did for a living. Nothing. Not a thing.

I wasn’t ready for this. This was my baby. She might be a wonderful wife, but was I ready to let her go? She was fourteen.
Only a kid, a teenager. She had so much, so many other things to do yet, to look forward to…

“It’s time,” she said. “Will you lower the veil?”

I gave her a gentle kiss on her lips, and then just looked into her eyes. “I love you. You know that, honey, don’t you?”

“I love you, too.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “You’re going to make me mess up my makeup.”

“No crying,” I said. I lowered the veil over her face. It hid her beauty.

An organ played.

The wedding march began. We took slow practiced steps down the aisle. I felt people staring at us, but I did not look around. I stared at the priest and the man with his back to me at the head of the church; the man she was to marry. The man who’d taken my little girl away from me.

The procession took forever. Each step we took did not bring us any closer to the front of the church.

But then, like a snap of a finger, we were there. In front of the priest.

I raised the veil. I again gave her a gentle kiss and stepped back.

I stepped back and screamed.

The man she was to marry stared at me. He was missing an eyeball. Green-grey flesh peeled from his forehead and cheeks. A gaping mouth with less than a handful of teeth set into receded gingivitis-ridden gums.

I spun around.

The church was filled with zombies who were dressed amazingly, seated in the rows and rows of pews.

Now they stood and shuffled out of the pews, and slowly made their way toward me, toward my daughter.

“Run, Charlene! Run!” I said.

Charlene grabbed my hand.

Her skin was green and decaying. She opened her mouth and groaned.

I closed my eyes and screamed.

# # #

Charlene was beside me, smiling. Her hair was done in braids. She leaned over and kissed my cheek.

“We made it,” she said. “You made it.”

What had I missed? How was this possible? How?

I looked around. This was still not Mexico.

This was Rochester. We were in my apartment. We were in my living room.

There was my TV.
My couches.

“Charlene, I don’t understand?”

“You’re okay. Everything is going to be okay. I love you, Daddy. I love you.”

I opened my
mouth, trying to speak. I wanted to say, “I love you, too.”

What I said, and what I heard were two different things.

I did not hear: I Love You.

Instead, I heard a growl.
A groan. A moan. A cry.

I tried again, harder this time.

A grow. A groan. A moan. A cry.

“I love you, Daddy. I love you!”

Why was she crying? Why?

I reached for
her, fingers beckoning her closer, and closer . . .