The Undead Situation (17 page)

As the minutes passed by, at least ten people would come back from the dead. The thought of ten runners was horrifying, even to me.

After opening the Mustang door, I shoved an armful of guns into the backseat. Probably not the safest way, just dropping them, but I was bending time as it was. Frank and Blaze did the same, then Blaze slid into the backseat.

“There’s still more stuff,” I scolded, but was reprimanded by Frank.

“Boy, I don’t think you’re aware, but there’s a hell of a lot of zombies coming our way.”

My focus went from him to said stiffs shambling toward us. They were only yards away and closing in fast. Some of the bodies on the ground were twitching. A sure sign they would be rising soon.

“Right, right.” I settled myself into the driver’s seat.

Once we were all secure, I hit the gas and we left the backyard. My heart thumped wildly and I felt extremely disgruntled. All my clothes, my backpack, and Pickle…

Pickle!

I slammed on the brakes and shimmied out of my pack, then almost stuck the zipper as I yanked it open. A wet, pissed off ferret flew out and headed into the backseat. Water leaked through the zippers, but the rest of the fabric prevented her from drowning.

Blaze and Frank were staring at me. I returned the look indifferently.

“She means a lot to me.”

We were off.

* * *

Don’t get me wrong, I liked planning, and certainly wouldn’t bitch about doing it. However, when my plan was compromised…well, that’s a different story.

Compromise was not having everything you brought from home. Compromise was driving a little car. Compromise was being soaking wet and slimy.

My mind went to how Gabe just up and left. Maybe I was just wallowing in the loss of the Hummer and wanted to pile the bad things up, just to make the wallowing a little more pitiful. But Gabe was on her own now, and didn’t need the help of one Cyrus V. Sinclair anymore. Rumor had it that no one needed his help anymore.

“We might want to find a store and get food. Maybe loot a gun shop,” Blaze said, breaking me from my destructive thoughts. “Since we’re raped of all our supplies.”

I shook my head. “We’ll find food, maybe, but there’s no way a store with any firepower isn’t already looted or decimated in some way. Gas stations are one thing, but a gun shop is another. It’s pointless. I can’t believe you even suggested that.”

Blaze’s face darkened. “Don’t test me, Cyrus. We’re all angry right now, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to be bitches in heat over it.”

“Sorry,” I grumbled, mentally blocking her out.

I checked the rearview mirror. A small group of Zs stumbled along after us. Ahead, a house to my right had a sheet hanging from two second story windows. In ragged, blue letters it stated alive inside.

I doubted that.

“We could go after them. Get the Hummer back,” I said, but discarded the idea. We didn’t leave soon enough to catch which direction they went. It was a 50/50 chance (right or left) but if we chose incorrectly, it would be a futile chase for nothing.

“Yeah, great idea, captain. We certainly showed them who was boss,” Blaze said.

Frank rubbed his hand along his grey, stubbly beard and laughed. “Ya’ll are overreactin’.”

Blaze huffed loudly from the back. She didn’t think we were overreactin’. Neither did I.

“No,” he continued, “really. You didn’t always have that Hummer. What happened was ya’ll got cocky and dependent on it. Ya’ll were actin’ like it was your momma and you couldn’t do a damn thing without ‘er.”

There was truth in Frank’s words. Maybe I was being a tad melodramatic about the whole thing. Blaze too. Losing everything just made the adventure more challenging. And what was life without a challenge? We’d lost sight of that with all of our excessiveness.

Blaze admitted, “He’s right.”

The corner of my mouth twitched into a smirk. If she could admit she was being foolish, so could I.

“I suppose we should continue on with our plan. Go to the bridge. Keep heading to Frank’s cabin.”

Francis and Blaze voiced agreement. Getting to the Lewis Street bridge would be easy enough, and I had committed the rest of the route to memory from the maps. If the roads weren’t too clogged, it would only take ten minutes to arrive at Sultan. We had to cross another bridge leading into Sultan, at 311th Ave, but after that we only needed to follow Highway 2 to the end of the next town, where the Kellogg Lake Road entrance was located. The drive and hike required to reach the cabin was lengthy, but wasn’t populated.

Older houses with overgrown lawns sat lost and forgotten, looking eerie in the bright sunlight. Some had shattered windows and broken doors, while others simply looked as though the owners left. Or were they still inside? I didn’t doubt some of them were, dead or maybe even alive.

I turned the car left and passed a white minivan. A group of kids turned their heads and followed the Mustang as we passed, clawing at us through closed windows. Up in the front seat, a set of parents struggled against their seatbelts. Kind of funny, really. A genuine zombie family with a mommy, daddy, and two kids.

Seeing the people in the van made me wonder about all the Zs who were stuck in a situation like that. They were too stupid to open doors normally, or unbuckle seatbelts. Hypothetically, if someone tried to get the world back together, how long would it take? How much effort would it take to clear out every house, car, tent, cabin, RV—every location people went to hide. Probably forever.

Even if we thought the job was complete and we were living in zombie-free peace for years, all it would take was one bite and a dose of stupidity to start the cycle again. A part of me hoped that new world would learn from our mistakes, but I doubted it.

“Take a left,” Frank said.

I turned left, glad that he mentioned it. I’d almost forgotten. Houses on this street were burned up into charred, black skeletons. Tuning out the destruction, and any other thoughts, I just drove.

When we approached the bridge, I stopped. There were bodies hanging from the support beams.

That
’
s rather disturbing, I thought, as we approached the bridge entrance.

What wasn’t disturbing, in any way, were the sandbags blocking our path. Good luck was temporary luck, so I wasn’t too displeased. Beyond the sandbags was a fairly clear stretch of road, void of zombies or other hindrances.

Corpses dangled above, jiggling and stretching their grey arms down toward us. I wondered why they were up there, and if they’d gone willingly or were strung up by force or after they died. Either way, a good twenty of them writhed foolishly, thinking they had a shot at getting us. Some were high up, others almost touched the ground.

Stifling a groan, I stopped the car, my knuckles going white as I clenched the steering wheel. Since the dead started coming back, I had seen a lot of things. Destroyed corpses walking around outside my apartment, people eating and destroying one another for no reason. Yet each time something alarming occurred, I had to stop and ask myself why? Who in the world thought it would be a good idea to do that?

“If it ain’t one thing, it’s another,” Frank grumbled as he glanced out the window. Deeming the coast clear, he exited the car and approached the barrier.

Blaze and I followed, snatching up our guns before we left. Frank already picked up bags and tossed them off to the side. I could tell he strained to pick up each one.

“Let’s get this done quick before he throws his back out,” I whispered to Blaze before we were in earshot of Frank.

“That’s the least of our worries,” she said and nodded toward the hanging zombies.

Now I was out of the car, I could hear their rabid yells along with the rushing of the river. Any undead in range would hear them and come and check things out.

Nonchalance cast aside, I jogged up to Frank and started hauling bags. Blaze took the ones I picked up then handed them to Frank, expediting the process greatly. There were still a lot of bags. The unsettling environment got on my nerves.

A couple yards away, a woman in a ruined set of scrubs gathered momentum, swaying back and forth. She was nowhere near touching me, but every time she got a bit closer I got more nervous.

Gunshots echoed from somewhere. We all paused and listened, but no more ensued.

“You’re upset she’s gone,” Blaze said.

“How did you find the time to deduce that between us finding out Gabe left and us nearly getting killed?”

I shoved the bag at her and she stumbled back a step from my aggression. Blaze smirked, the scar on her right cheek crinkling up. She turned and gave the bag to Frank. I guess my actions spoke louder than words, because she took that as confirmation.

“You’re not as perceptive as you think, Wright.”

“You’re so wrapped up in your image. Seems to me you’re pushing yourself to be like this. If you’re upset about the kid, don’t get defensive about it.”

Snorting in outrage, I said, “Yeah? I’m sure you would if you were me. Being attacked.”

“I’m not attacking you. And I wouldn’t be upset.” She stopped in front of me, leaning in close. “The difference between you and I is I don’t have to try and be cynical or impassive.”

She turned away, passing a bag to Frank, who wore a grin. Apparently he liked it when someone told me off.

“If Frank wasn’t here, I’d beat the hell out of you,” I said, too low for said man to hear.

Blaze stared at me, her eyebrows raised and her dark eyes wide. “Would you, now?”

“I don’t handle psychological probing well.”

“Is that what I was doing? Psychologically probing?”

“It’s as good a term as any.” I thrust a sandbag in her arms.

This time she held her ground, not budging an inch. She was tall and strong, which I had forgotten about. Recollection of her schooling Gabe flooded back to me. Blaze had taken care of that efficiently.

“I’m going to let you cool off, but if you try to fuck around with me, I will reciprocate,” she said.

Saying another word would not be wise. Ceasing my childish behavior, I stopped the shoving and bickering and got down to what was important: clearing a path so we could get the hell out of Monroe.

* * *

The opening we created was just big enough for the Mustang to shimmy through. I tried maneuvering around the woman in scrubs, but her hands slid along the side of the car, squelching as skin sloughed off onto the windows.

No one spoke. Troubled by my confrontation with Blaze, I didn’t want to make matters worse by talking. Blaze didn’t speak unless necessary. And Frank? He’d seen our tiff earlier and probably didn’t want to get involved.

Up the bridge a bit, a jumble of unidentifiable wreckage was in the way, but I steered around it without any difficulty.

The bridge was short. We made it across in a few seconds, my thoughts of it ceasing once it was out of sight. I took a left onto Ben Howard Road and saw a blissfully empty stretch of pavement. Not a thing marred it: no zombies, no cars, death, or wreckage. It felt like the three of us were just going on a nice drive through the country.

Blaze rifled through the guns in the backseat, the heavy metal of them clunking loudly. I threw a quick glance back to see what she was doing.

As though she read my mind, she said, “Checking our inventory.”

Pickle scurried up my leg and settled into my lap. I stroked her fur, admiring how resilient the ferret was through all of this. Being kidnapped by bigots, almost drowning—she had a lot of close calls recently, but was putting her best paw forward, every time.

The clicking and sliding of Blaze’s inspection stopped. “You lost your carbine, correct?”

“Yeah, back at the pool. I have my .40 and my 9mm.”

“Lucky for you, I picked one up. If you have ammo in your pack, I suggest taking this. I’ve consolidated another four clips for you. Frank, you still have your rifle and ammo. I’ve got some rounds for you, too.”

Feelings about the Hummer tried to wiggle their way back into my brain, but I forced it all away. We wouldn’t even need that much ammunition to get to the cabin. The excess was fortunate, but not necessary. Hell, I even had a replacement carbine.

I really needed to be grateful for the little things.

The Mustang handled the curvy back road easily. The entire time we only saw a few zombies, who didn’t even look dead. Just a bite here or there must’ve turned them. Except for their pallid skin and cloudy eyes, they could’ve passed for the living.

My stomach rumbled, breaking the white noise of the engine and my mundane thoughts. I hadn’t eaten since last night, and before that I’d only eaten some junk in the convenience store. Too bad most of the MREs were gone. There was at least one left in my pack, but I wasn’t sure if the others had food.

Thinking about food made me even hungrier. A painful craving for sweetened condensed milk, Pop Rocks, and Snickers bars swept over me. Despite my constant wishful thinking, sweets were priority two, compared to actual sustenance that contained protein, fiber, and carbohydrates.