The Undead Situation (20 page)

“We need to get the bullets out. We need to see how big the wound is,” Blaze said. “Can you tell if it’s buckshot?”

Dazed, I looked at the back of her head and tried to imagine myself out of the situation. Words were coming from her general direction, but it meant nothing. My guilt was what mattered now. If I had been smarter about this whole adventure, Frank wouldn’t have shotgun wounds in his leg to begin with. Old Man Meat wouldn’t be resting in my large intestine.

The Mustang came to an abrupt halt, hurling my body between the two front seats. My head almost connected with the radio panel, but I managed to throw my hands up in front. All the buttons on the console dug into my hands, sending a dull pain through them despite my gloves. I heard Frank yelp in pain from the stop and Blaze gasped.

Raising my head, I looked over the dashboard down the road. There was a blockade and soldiers arming it. A Humvee, complete with mounted gun, was centered behind barbed wire and metal structures, obstructing the road. More than a few men raised rifles, pointing them at us with a mission.

They weren’t the rotters we were used to. They were the righteous and holy U.S. Army.

“What is this?” I grumbled as I returned to the backseat, next to Frank.

“Maybe they’ve managed to hold out,” Blaze offered.

“Why did you stop?”

She turned and glared at me. “What, did you think I was going to run them over? I turned a corner and there they were.”

Frank moaned, sounding too much like a Z for my tastes.

Some of the soldiers jogged toward us. They appeared to be giving us the benefit of the doubt, but I wasn’t returning the favor. Not after what happened with that madcap Judy-Beth.

Blaze broke my thoughts. “Let me handle this.”

Before I could stop her, she was out of the car and jogging toward them, weaponless. I figured she had some kind of military-related advantage on her hands. They lowered their rifles as she neared and took turns shaking hands.

The army guys and Blaze talked for at least five minutes before she came trotting back, a pleased look on her face.

“They have the whole town under control,” she explained, then looked at Frank. “They also say they have a doctor who can help.”

“Good,” I said. “Let’s get to it.”

Our new friends dragged the blockades out of the way and Blaze drove straight through, crossing a substantial bridge as we went. The same river we’d been following rushed below us, carrying strange rubble in its currents.

“This could be a trap,” I said as we bumped over train tracks. A nonfunctional stoplight loomed overhead as we passed under, crossing the empty intersection. Past the intersection, to the right, was a Mexican restaurant. My stomach tensed and I swallowed down a burp of vomit.

Blaze didn’t respond, but instead took a left and pulled to a stop in front of a public library. The windows were high up, beyond reaching distance, so they weren’t boarded. A couple soldiers and people in civilian clothing milled about with guns. Blaze got out, slamming the door behind her before I had the chance to exit.

Irritated, I opened my door and went to the other side to get Frank. Resurrecting my caring voice, used with Gabe long ago, I told him, “It’ll be okay, buddy.”

Frank forced his eyes open and looked at me skeptically before shutting them.

“Come on, Bordeaux. Let’s get you out of here.”

I maneuvered him out of the backseat. His bad leg collapsed under him, forcing me to wrap both arms around him for support. Blaze jogged back to us and put one of Frank’s arms over her shoulders, alleviating me. I got into a better position with his other arm around me, and we were on our way, dragging him to where Blaze directed.

“Their resident doctor is in the library. They told me he’ll do whatever he can to help Frank. No cost.”

“Well, thank the heavens for that. I don’t have my wallet on me,” I said, anxiety growing as Frank’s weight grew heavier. He had no ability to support himself. I looked down and saw a trail of blood behind us. How could Frank still be alive? He was losing a gallon a minute.

There was a woman behind the checkout counter, looking all the part of a librarian. The library, overall, appeared to be in great condition. Even the aged, distinct scent of books was intact. When we approached, she rose and ushered us into a closed off study room.

The room had been converted into a doctor’s office, complete with a raised gurney. Mobile shelves lined the walls, filled with shiny, promising medical supplies. A man waited for us, a walkie-talkie hanging from a cord on his neck, just below his huge auburn beard.

“My name is Dr. Kalman.” He waved toward the gurney. “Place him down and leave. I’ll take a look.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m not!”

Blaze grabbed me by the arm and shook her head. “Let him do what he can, Sinclair. You’ll only get in the way.”

I opened my mouth then closed it. She was right. There was no room for me to be in there. No matter how badly I wanted to, I couldn’t help, so I let Blaze guide me from the room.

Once outside, Kalman dropped a sheet over the window, pointedly preventing me from watching what was going to transpire. Grinding my teeth, I was a half second away from going berserk when Blaze grabbed my wounded shoulder and squeezed.

My hiss of pain was cut off when she said, “Get it the fuck together. Being a little bitch isn’t going to help anything.”

“You kids look hungry,” the plump librarian said, appearing soon after. “Follow me.”

Hungry? I had human meat in my belly, Frank was dying, and I wasn’t sure of anything beyond that. My stomach bubbled and I fought back the urge to vomit again.

Blaze let go of my shoulder as though she hadn’t caused me excruciating pain. She smiled at the lady.

“We’d appreciate it. Thank you.”

We trailed behind her through the musty library, going through the rows of books. On the way to wherever we were going, the woman told us how Sultan managed to survive.

“A military convoy was passing through early on, and just decided to stay. They destroyed the bridge leading into Sultan, the Highway 2 one, so no traffic could get through. The monsters tried going through the river, but it was spring and flood season. They all got swept away.”

The lady, who introduced herself as Pamela, continued, “No one was going west into the big cities, so there was no traffic coming from the east. We were going to blow that other bridge—the one you came over on—today. You’re lucky you made it in time. One of the boys couldn’t find the C4 detonator.”

She laughed a big, jolly laugh then sighed. “We have strict rules here. It helps keeps everyone in place, so no rioting or anything like that happens. The curfew is at dusk, and that’s when everyone goes back to the safe houses for the night.”

“Safe houses? How many survivors are there?” I asked.

“Oh, there are exactly 159 of us. The safe houses are the ones we put the most effort into fortifying. The library is one of them, and then the elementary school down the street. It houses most of us. There are a few outposts, too, near the entrances to Sultan.”

As we spoke, I worked off my Hellstorm gloves and stretched my fingers. Having the digits exposed to the air felt strange, but I savored it. I hadn’t taken them off once since last night, when we crashed at the house in Monroe.

She took us up a flight of stairs and into another study room. Inside were piles and shelves of non-perishable food items. A small box of brightly colored packages caught my eye, and my spirits lifted.

“I see you have some candy.” I casually made my way over to the goods. “Mind if I…”

Pam eyed me in disbelief then nodded. “I suppose you can take some. No one eats it. It’s so unhealthy.”

I shrugged. “I have a sweet tooth.”

There were some of my favorites: Sour Patch Kids, Dots, Pixie Stix, and Red Vines. I shoved the delights in my vest and pants pockets. My hand hit the can of sweetened condensed milk as I rammed these into a pocket, reminding me of earlier, but I shoved the memory away.

Blaze took a bottle of water and a few protein bars. Even though I didn’t want to, I did the same. I’d wash away the gross flavor of bar later with sugar.

“You know,” Pam said, “you three are welcome to stay here with us. A lot of people passing through decide to stay. We welcome anyone.”

Expecting this, I put a saccharine smile on and declined. “That’s very kind of you, but we already have somewhere we’re headed. I’ve got my heart set on it.”

Blaze put on her people-voice. “It’s true. We just want to head into the mountains. You understand, right?”

The woman’s chins quadrupled then returned to double as she nodded. She even went so far as to pat us both on the shoulder as we gnawed on our stale lunch.

“You can stay as long as you want. Why don’t you meet some of the folks around here? They’ll be glad to see someone new.”

Grin still plastered on my face, I said, “I’d be delighted.”

* * *

Four hours later, we’d received a full tour of the town, walking while meeting all the significant tenants.

Most of the buildings were condemned by the Sultan leaders. Entry was expressly forbidden. Pam explained that some of the houses were vandalized, boarded from the inside, or contained gruesome scenes no one was willing to clean up or fix. Xs were spray painted on the doors of these places, while blue circles signified a safe location.

The streets were clean and pleasant, completely void of the gore and destruction back in Monroe and Seattle. Sultan looked more the part of a ghost town than one in the midst of the living dead. Pamela explained that people felt safer when things looked normal.

Normal is over, I thought. People need to realize that. But to dear Pam, I said nothing.

We met the unofficial but proud leader of the survivors. His name was Jack DeFrank, who fit the stereotype of impromptu-apocalyptic-leader to the letter. Even his handshake was what I expected—firm, but not violent. What with his five o’clock shadow, square jaw, and a propensity for wanting to save everyone, he seemed to have stepped straight from the silver screen.

During our bland tour, Frank was on my mind, but Pam kept telling me to be patient. She told us they’d radio her when the doctor had news. Every time the walkie-talkie around her neck crackled to life, I assumed the worse, but hoped for the best.

Pam took us to a quaint, white house far from the library. It was set far back from an unkempt lawn, already crispy brown from the summer heat. Each window was neatly boarded, but the front door was blue-circled and unlocked. Behind it was a thick forest and the sound of a river nearby. Pam went in as though she owned the place. It turned out she did.

“This is my house. I don’t stay here anymore.”

Blaze asked, “Why not?”

Pam blushed and waved her hand in the air. “I’m afraid of the forest. It’s very small, just a patch, and then the river is there. But I don’t like it. I brought you here so you could take a shower. Maybe take a nap.”

“A shower?” I said eagerly. “How?”

“Oh, well, I’m not on city water. It isn’t hot because I don’t have power or anything, but it’s still a shower. Usually everyone comes here for a shower once every few days.”

“Thank you, Pamela. You’re so kind,” Blaze flattered.

Responding well to the compliment, she gave us a toothy grin before walking to the door. “It’s nothing, really. I’ll come get you as soon as I find something out about your friend.”

When she left, I took a look about the place. It was one story and looked like it belonged to Pamela. White lace on everything. The little sitting room had a love seat and two recliners situated around a glass coffee table adorned with fake, bright daffodils. Huge skylights illuminated the room, as well as the joined dining room and kitchen. Despite the situation we were all in, the house was extremely clean.

“She is nice,” I murmured.

Blaze already set off down the short hallway with two doors. Both were open to reveal a bathroom and a bedroom. “I’m taking a shower. Try to relax. Everything will be fine.”

Not bothering with a reply, I slouched onto the sofa and unlaced my boots. Feeling too burdened, I continued stripping, and took off my holsters and vest, too. It felt good and I relished in it. From the bathroom a gurgling sound started up, then the continuous drone of a shower.

Just to keep my mind on something mundane so I could relax, I counted the seconds Blaze was in the shower.

One hundred sixty…

I realized she was definitely naked in the shower.

Two hundred twenty…

She probably had a fantastic body. It was hard to tell through her tactical gear, but I’d bet money that body was as lean and mean as she was.

Three hundred forty…

Did she think I was thinking about her? Didn’t women know about that kind of thing? What if she wanted me to come in there?

Three-hundred-something…

I chuckled. I’d completely lost it. Here I was, in a stranger’s house, while my father-figure was dying, contemplating whether Blaze Wright wanted me to come ravish her.