Waiting to Die ~ A Zombie Novel (19 page)

“April.”                                              

“Like the month?”

“Yes, like the month.” April curves her lip.

“Emma,
get the gate,” the old man rests the cot against his back and waits for the
child.

“Okay,
Grandpa.”

April hears a click and a long scrape that sounds
like a lever being pulled. With a resounding creak, she can hear a gate open and
the cot begins to move again.

“Make sure you lock it,” the old man says.

“I will, Grandpa.”

The old man’s weathered face appears above April,
smiling through his thick, white beard. His eyes are kind, gentle and wise.
“The ride is going to get a little bumpy, I have to try and pull you through
the doorway.”

With a twist and a jerk, the old man pulls April
through the steel framed door at the back of the house. He grunts, lets a deep
breath escape through his nose, and tugs again. The edges of the makeshift cot
scrape along the door frame before April is finally inside.

As she is pulled through the door, April can smell
food; a light aroma of spices and vegetables wafting through the air, dancing
ever so slightly against her nose. Images of her youth play at her mind. She
remembers being in her own grandparent’s home, absorbing the same smells and
instantly feels at ease.

“I hope you’re hungry,” the old man laughs. “I’ve
made too much soup today and I can’t imagine Emma and I being able to finish it
off by ourselves.”

A tear rises at the corner of April’s eye. It has
been so long since she has anything real to eat, so long since she has even
smelled something cooking that her emotions overwhelm her. Her mouth waters
from anticipation and her stomach grumbles in cue.

“Oh, that’s all right, now. I could make you
something else.” The old man pats her shoulder as he sits the cot down on the
floor.

“No, no. I’m sorry. Soup would be great. It’s been
so long since I’ve eaten.” April smiles and wipes away the tear from her cheek.

“Well then, soup it is!” the old man chuckles,
leans down to April, and extends his hand. “April, is it?”

“Yes,” she replies.

“I’m Jacob, very nice to make your acquaintance,” he
says, patting her hand. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Grandpa, is she going to stay with us?” Emma asks.

“Well now, that’s entirely up to her, but I imagine
she will need some rest before going back out there with the bad people, don’t
you think?”

“So she will stay until she’s better?”

“Most likely,” he answers. “Longer if she wishes,” he
adds and pats the child on the head.

“She can stay in my room with me,” the girl
exclaims.

Jacob smiles and shakes his head. “A woman needs
her privacy. She’ll stay in the guest room, upstairs once her leg is better.” He
rests his attention on April’s leg. “For now, she will have to stay down here
where we can make sure she gets better.” He looks April in the eyes. “If that’s
all right with you,” he adds.

“Yes, that would be fine.”

“Wonderful,” he beams. “Now let’s see about that
soup.”

The sun shines brightly through the kitchen window,
sending rays of light down along the cobblestone floor. Tiny flecks of dust
glimmer and twinkle as they dance through the light. A butcher’s block
partition stands in the center of the kitchen with a few vegetables laid out on
top. At the far side of the room, a large pot boils and steams atop a wood
stove that looks to be a relic of the last century. There is an air of
antiquity as April scopes out her surroundings, basking in the flavor of what looks
to be a mountain cottage rather than an expensive beach house.

Jacob holds April beneath her arms and asks, “Are
you ready?”

“I think so,” she replies as she braces herself.

“On the count of three,” he says. “One... Two...
Three…” He lifts April off of the cot with ease and gently sits her down on a
kitchen chair. “Now let’s take a look at that bump on your head.” Jacob brushes
her hair to the side, revealing a small protrusion on her scalp. “Well, it
doesn’t look pretty, but you’ll be okay,” he says and diverts his attention to
Emma. “Sweetie, go get the first aid kit from the bathroom.”

The child scurries out of the room with a spring in
her step and quietly hums a tune.

Jacob lifts April’s pant leg. “Ouch! Does it hurt?”
he asks.

“It’s kind of numb,” she replies.

“You’ve got a nasty scrape, and your knee seems to
be swelling.” He looks around the kitchen. “I’m fresh out of ice,” he says with
a wink, “but I can wrap it for you.”

Emma runs through the doorway and places a small
box with a red cross stenciled across the front on the kitchen table. She plays
at the edges of the box for a time and scoots it along the counter.

“Get me a spool of gauze and the can of antiseptic
spray,” he tells the child.

Emma searches through the contents of the kit and
retrieves the supplies, handing her Grandfather the can of antiseptic spray
first. She lets the lid rest on the counter and eyes the contents with
curiosity.

“Now this is going to sting a bit. Are you ready?”

April squints and waits for the pain. “Yes,” she
says and nods her head.

With a few taps of the nozzle, a light mist covers
April’s bruising knee. She recoils from the sting and grips the arms of the
kitchen chair, pushing herself up slightly in the seat until the burning
subsides. She lets out a small hiss and lets her body relax back into the
chair.

“There, that’s it. Now I’ll wrap it up and you’ll
be as good as new,” he says and unrolls a few inches of gauze before looking
over at Emma. “Get some bowls out of the cupboard while I take care of April’s
knee.”

“Okay,” the child answers.

“Let me know if it’s too tight,” he tells April.

“No, that should be fine,” she says, easing back
down into her seat. “Thank you for saving me.”

“No
problem at all, child. I’m sure you would have done the same for me,” he
replies, tying the end of the gauze into a neat little knot when he has
finished wrapping it. “There, that should do just fine, just fine.” As an
afterthought, Jacob turns toward Emma and says, “Be a dear and fetch my cane.
My leg is aching.”

“Sure,
grandpa,” she replies and goes into the front room.

“I
didn’t intend to be such a pain,” April confides in the old man once the child
has left the room.

Jacob takes a seat at the far end of the table. “This
old thing?” he rubs his knee, “not at all.” He shakes his head at the
suggestion. “It gives me trouble from time to time, but it’s nothing a little
rest can’t take care of.”

“But
it wouldn’t be hurting you if I hadn’t come along.”

“It
would hurt me, regardless,” he says with a deep, throaty laugh and shakes his
head, dismissing the thought. “I’m not as young as I used to be. If anyone is
to blame, it would be Time for not slowing down for an old man.”

April
flashes a smile. “Either way, I’m sure I didn’t make things better.”

“We’re
glad to have you. It’s been such a long time since we’ve seen another person
with a pulse that...” He pauses in thought. “It’s a blessing to have you here,”
he says and clears his throat. “Now let’s have some soup. Hope you don’t mind
vegetables, meat is hard to come by now days.”

April
laughs, “Sounds perfect.”

“Here,
Grandpa.” Emma hands him a rustic cane, carved and polished with age.

“Thank
you, dear,” he replies and begins to stand, “much better.” With a large, wooden
ladle, Jacob scoops the soup into deep bowls, adorning the top of each serving
with a few sprigs of chives. He hands a bowl to Emma. “Take this to April,
please.”

The
child holds the bowl carefully, watching it as she walks toward the table
before placing it in front of April.

“I’ll
get you a spoon,” Emma says.

“Thank
you, Emma.”

Clanking spoons fill the room, tousled back and
forth against enameled bowls. Emma slurps at the soup, looking up at her
Grandfather every few moments to make sure she’s not disturbing him, and
continues to rustle out a few vegetables from the broth, greedily devouring
them.

“The soup is wonderful,” April proclaims.

“Thank you. I grow everything in my garden. The
water is a little harder to come by. I have to distill sea water to get the
salt out, it’s a constant battle between keeping the boiler full and storing
what we don’t use.” He takes a deep breath. “Life has become so much more
complicated since
they
showed up. Emma and I are lucky to have made it
through.” He looks back at April after glancing out through the bars that block
the windows. “But I’m sure you’ve seen your share too.”

“Yes I have.” April pauses, stares at her soup, and
watches the vapors of steam rise up and disappear. She places her forearms on
the table in thought. “It’s been difficult for everyone.”

“Emma,” he places his spoon in the bowl and asks,
“why don’t you go up to your room and play for a while? I’ll clear the table.”

The child’s face brightens. “Thank you, Grandpa.” In
a flash, she scurries out of the room and disappears up the stairs.

Jacob begins to clear the table and places the
dishes in the sink. “So what’s your story?”

“I... I don’t know where to begin,” she admits.

“People just don’t pop up on the beach. So what
happened?”

April
cradles her head, bows into her hands and rests her arms on the table. “My
boyfriend died this morning. We were trying to escape a building downtown and
he didn’t make it.”

“And
you feel guilty for surviving.”

“He
told me to run,” her voice quivers. “He died so I could live.”

 Jacob
scrubs the plates and rinses them with a small bucket of water. “Is there
anything you could have done?”

“I
could have fought. I could have tried to help him,” she weeps, “but instead, I
ran.”

“If
you had tried to save him, would you be sitting here right now?”

“Probably
not,” she says and shakes her head.

“Well
then, it seems to me that you made the only decision you could.” He peers over
his shoulder. “At least your boyfriend died for a cause. There are so many
others that have died for nothing. His sacrifice seems honorable to me.”

April wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her blouse.
“I suppose there isn’t anyone who hasn’t dealt with tragedy.” She turns her
chair to face Jacob. “But you still don’t want to surrender. I think that’s why
we fight so hard to stay alive, we refuse to fail. To die at the hands of
those…
things
out there; that seems like the ultimate failure. I just
don’t want to think of Johnny as having failed. Maybe that’s why it hurts so
much.”

“It hurts because you’ve lost someone you loved.” Jacob
leans against the counter. “No matter what the circumstance, there is pain when
someone passes. Now you have to learn how to deal with it. Either you remember
them as the person who lost their life at the hands of the dead, or you
remember them as the person who died trying to ensure that
you
survived,” he says, raising his eyebrows and gives her a smile. “But you have
to keep fighting, no matter what. You have to fight to ensure that humanity
isn’t forgotten. You have to fight to ensure that your boyfriend didn’t die in
vain.”

“I wish I could have done something.”

“You always will,” he says as he dries the dishes
with a bar rag. “But the trick is learning to live through it.”

“Jacob?”
April peers out the window again. “I know I’m changing the subject, but how do you
keep the dead away? I didn’t see much when you brought me here?”

“I’ve
lived in this house for nearly fifty years now. Once the tourists came, I had a
wall built around the property, mainly for privacy, but it blurred out the
scenery,” he laughs. “Why do you ask?”

“Because
there seems to be one of them in the back yard right now,” April motions over
his shoulder.

Jacob’s
face turns from a smile to a look of fear as he follows April’s stare. A corpse
shambles slowly pass the window, head bowed as if it were watching its step. A
deafening thud slams against the back door, followed by another and another
until the sound fills the house, reverberating against the walls and the barred
windows.

“Christ!” Jacob exclaims, his face a smear of shock
as he glares out through the glass. “She didn’t lock the gate!”

“What do we do?!” April panics.

“Damn me! I always check to make sure she latches
it properly.” He hobbles to the living room and April follows closely behind.
“Emma! Get down here!” he yells after he pokes his head through the blinds.
“We’ve got to go.”

“What is it, Grandpa?” Emma asks from the stairs.

“You
didn’t lock the gate. We have to go. Now!”