A Single Girl's Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse (23 page)

Sweat poured from Q's face. She closed her eyes and shielded them with her hands. They felt like they were dribbling from their sockets. She'd have to stumble around like Z, leading Rabbit by the hand.

Smoke. She couldn't breathe. She coughed, and that was worse, because after each hack she gasped in more. Her lungs filled with dust. She was drowning on land.

The fire ran uphill and away.

“Down!” Q said.

They clambered to the ground and stood there swaying, like they were the dead, the ones who couldn't walk, only stumble, couldn't talk, only yearn.

“We gotta go.”

Every shadow hid a shape. Every bush held thorns.

They tried to hurry, but speed was difficult across the rough ground. The fire was long gone and Q could barely see through the layered darkness. She had no idea where they were or where they should go. She had no idea what their end might be. Her only idea was to keep moving.

She cursed, colliding with branches that might be hands, and thick roots that grasped at her feet. There were no clear spaces, only hard things that hurt. She was as clumsy as Z. The attic and lack of food and the fear had made her just like her enemies, with one key difference: not life or breath, but drive. Her enemies knew what they wanted and where to get it. But she was stumbling in the dark.

Rabbit and Pious Kate followed without complaint. Q hated them for it. Is this what her games had been about? Leading others into danger, so distracted by her own fear that she didn't see what was ahead?

She missed Dave. She'd rather follow the devil than make her own way.

What would
Apocalypse Z
say? Start with what you know.

Q remembered something. Dave had told her where they were going. He had said it quietly, as if he didn't want the others to find their way unless Q led them there. There had been zombies at the window and shots and whimpers, but the directions must have entered her brain somehow, because they emerged now.

But what good were directions? She had no idea where they were and no means of following a course.

Then she remembered a second thing. Q knew how to navigate. Well, Qaranteen did.

Qaranteen had spent hundreds of hours playing survival games based on SAS training exercises. She'd played games that revived dead explorers and games of map reading, star gazing and pace counting. All of it was a prelude to tonight.

Q began to jog. The others quickened their pace behind her.

She knew where they were, the same way she always knew in which direction the ocean lay. She'd been tracking the orientation of the range and the way they had come without realizing it. She felt the distance in the rhythm of her body. She knew how long they'd been on this path.

Q found she had already been following Dave's route and only had to adjust their course in minor ways. It was like discovering the foreign movie she'd been watching was actually in heavily accented English and she'd understood all along.

She began reciting the
Apocalypse Z
chapter on terrain types and cross-country flight in the dark. It was one of her favorites. It felt like sweat and the roar of spent adrenaline. It wasn't powerful like Z-Fu, but it was real, and it rose in her mind like a pale figure in the night.

Q unsheathed her bush knife and slashed a zombie stepping out to greet her. It fell. They continued.

She walked with certainty, Qaranteen and
Apocalypse Z
guiding her feet. She thought about how far away they could be seen and heard and smelled by the monsters and how close a zombie needed to be to grab her or bite her. She made two moving circles in her head. The inside circle was the distance Z could reach and the outside circle was the distance she could make an accurate shot in the dark. She concentrated on keeping both circles clear of ghouls and keeping herself at the center.

Was this how the grown-ups did it? Were they followers after all, treading along behind a book or a childhood lesson or someone else's steps, even the ones at the front? It wasn't so hard. She wished someone had told her.

Rabbit paused, leaning on a tree and breathing hard. Four weeks in the attic had made him slow. “Where are we going?” he said.

“There's a place,” Q said. “It's safe.”

It was enough. They moved.

Q began to sense the zombies before she saw them. She wasn't finding them by sound; her crew made more noise than the ghouls did. She wasn't using smell either. Out here, everything smelled of earth and sweet rot with the stink of fire cutting through to remind them of what they had released. But she knew a moment before a ghoul entered her circle, and she shot it or slashed it. She always hit the sweet spot.

She remembered a game she played with Hannah. If there was one thing you could do in the whole world better than anyone else, what would it be? Hannah usually settled on riding a horse, because she was a six-year-old girl and that was the greatest power she could imagine. Q changed hers every time they played, sometimes mid-sentence. She wanted to fly, or run faster than light. She wanted to strike with such force that the air in front of her fist gave her opponent a concussion. She'd never thought to choose “shoot spleens in the dark.” Who would?

Q discovered it was a marvelous power. She wondered if Hannah still thought about ponies.

They had covered around three miles and they were slowing. Where Q's legs burned with coiled energy, Pious Kate's and Rabbit's dragged. Each step they took covered less ground than the last.

Q told them they'd reach the place by sunrise. It might be true. It couldn't be more than ten miles in total, and they wouldn't stop to rest in zombieland. It made them walk faster for a while. Sunrise on the valley and no more monsters in the dark. What else could anyone want?

It was around five o'clock, an hour before sunrise. Q was cold. Rabbit shivered.

She dragged him along like a heavy suit of clothes. Pious Kate trailed behind them, half seen. They had walked all night.

In the last two miles, Q had seen fewer than a dozen of the dead. She was grateful. Her iron legs still worked, but her reactions had ebbed with the hours. It didn't matter. They'd arrived.

Dave had told her about the tunnel. When they were trapped in the attic with ghouls at the door, he had told her. She thought she'd heard wrong or that he was being poetic, desperate to give her a route to another world, but he had given her directions and she had followed them. And here they were.

They stood at its mouth, listening to the night sounds give way to the day. It had a concrete throat. The roof was twice as tall as Q. She couldn't see far inside; the dim pre-dawn light gave way a few steps in. She didn't know where it led. She didn't know what was in there.

She didn't know how this could be better than the attic.

Q called Dave's name into the tunnel. Her voice bounced back. She didn't call again.

Rabbit put his hands on her shoulders, but she couldn't tell whether it was to comfort her or support himself. “Do we have to go through there?” he said.

“Yeah,” said Q.

“C'mon, Katie-G. Nearly there.” He stepped inside.

*

Q and Rabbit held hands because they couldn't see.

She thought she'd been here before. Maybe Qaranteen had. She didn't want to come back ever again.

The base of the tunnel was uneven. Sometimes she trod on concrete, sometimes she slipped in rubble. Sometimes the ground sank away completely and she fell into a hole and had to scramble out before the cold made her lie down and give up.

It was flooded, too. In the first few steps, her boots got wet. After a while, she was wading knee deep. Twice the water reached her belly, so cold it made her breath catch in her throat.

What if the ground dropped away completely? Would they have to swim to the other side?

She thought of the things that lived without air and reached for whatever they could. She didn't think she could swim through water she couldn't see. There might be anything down there.

She tried listening for the ghouls, because it was too dark to spot an enemy. It was a fool's game – all she heard was herself. It was impossible to move silently through the water. Her feet splashed and the curved rock walls magnified the wet sounds. Her ears filled with them. There was no room for anything else.

Q couldn't keep them safe in here. She couldn't keep their circles clear. Couldn't even see them. She didn't think she should shoot, either. She wouldn't know what to shoot at until it was too late, and what if a bullet ricocheted off a wall and hit them or the noise burst their eardrums? She imagined being deaf as well as blind, with nothing left to rely on but touch and nothing to touch but the slimy walls and the cool undead. It was only Rabbit's gentle urging that got her moving again.

The tunnel had no end. At the beginning, Q could turn around and monitor their progress by the smudge of light at the entrance, but that grew fainter and fainter and was eventually gone. They could have been walking on the spot but for the fact that the ground kept shifting beneath them, tripping them, dunking them, swallowing them. Had the tunnel curved around to obscure the entrance, or was it too long to see to the other side?

Maybe they couldn't see the other end because it was dark there, too. Maybe they were walking to the center of the earth, where the dead lived.

She reached for Rabbit's hand in a panic. They stumbled on.

Q was colder than she had ever been before. Rabbit's hand shook. She could hear his teeth rattle over the echoes of moving water; she hoped it was his teeth she could hear.

She jerked her left leg forward, shrieked and ran a few steps.

“What's wrong?” Rabbit caught up, then checked behind for Pious Kate, who followed, leaden.

Q rubbed her calf. She had felt something brush against it in the icy water. She started to tell him, then stopped. There was no need to share her monsters. Talking about them wouldn't make them go away.

*

There was a ghost in the tunnel.

It was in front of her, dancing and making signs in the air. Q froze. She caught her breath and it was gone.

“You okay?” Rabbit asked.

Q couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe. They couldn't turn around and go back. It was too far and too cold and there was nothing behind them except ghouls and hunger and the endless night. But she couldn't go forward, either. There was a ghost there. She'd seen it.

“Qwinston?” Pious Kate called. The walls tossed around the name until it died. Q couldn't answer. She couldn't make a sound.

This was stupid. She was stupid. The ghost was in her head. Rabbit couldn't see it. Ignore it and it would go away. She exhaled, hard.

The ghost returned.

Q whimpered. Spirits in the daytime. Was she dying?

“Quentin.” Pious Kate called her name and for once, she said it right. The woman staggered forward through the water.

Rabbit released Q's hand and spun around. “Katie-G?” He went to help her.

“I need to tell you something,” Pious Kate said, her voice thick. Her footsteps were irregular but light, as if her feet weren't touching the ground.

Q was paralyzed. There were spirits all around, shimmering in the air where before there had been a darkness she now missed.

“I'm sorry,” Pious Kate said. There was a gurgle and a wet noise.

Q turned. Rabbit and Pious Kate stood next to each other, very close. They were kissing.

Rage broke through terror.

There was just enough light to see clouds of breath misting the cold air. That's what the ghosts were – her breath. They must be near daylight and the other side of the tunnel. There were no ghosts. There was only Q.

She watched Rabbit and Pious Kate kiss. There was that damp noise again. It was Rabbit, gurgling like wet moss.

No. They weren't kissing. Pious Kate was biting his face off. She'd finally turned. Q took two steps forward and kicked.

Pious Kate flew back into the black tunnel, snarling. Q heard a splash, then nothing. Where had the monster gone?

Rabbit moaned. Q hushed him and reached for her bush knife. Something splashed, clumsy and unseen.

Pious Kate stumbled into the dull light, mouth open, eyes empty. Q stabbed. Her knife slid into the dull body. The creature didn't react. It was as if Q had cut a piece of clothing rather than flesh.

She drew out her knife and dodged the reaching arms. She kicked sideways and felt a knee crack. It dropped. Q stomped twice, hard, feeling ribs snap, then leaped back.

Rabbit lay on the ground on his side, his face under water. She grabbed his armpit and hauled him upright, then pulled his arm across her shoulders.

“Walk!” she said.

He groaned and twitched. The weight on her back lessened.

“Walk!” she said again.

His left foot moved. He reached up to touch his face and his legs buckled.

Q dragged him forward. Their steps made an ocean. She couldn't tell if there was anything behind them except echoes. Rabbit collapsed into the water twice and she feared she might not get him standing again. She screamed and dug her fingers into his skin, using pain where reason failed.

She saw the other end of the tunnel.

She tried to run into the circle of light but managed only a ragged three-legged stumble with the dying man. The circle refused to swell. It was a trick! The tunnel was endless, it was teasing her with tomorrow's promise, but it would never let her go. She swore at it. The tunnel swore back in her voice.

Her fingers bit into Rabbit's ribcage and he gasped.

Q threw her feet down, mindless of the shifting ground, the holes and hills and invisible landscape below. She was terrified that the exit was too small. It was the size of her fist. They'd never fit through.

Rabbit fell.

One moment he was there, the next he was a weight pulling her underwater. They'd run into a chasm. Her head went below and her boots and sodden clothing wrenched her down. She kicked. Her hand slipped so that she held only Rabbit's jumper, as though he'd shed his skin and left for somewhere else. Her nose and mouth were full of water. She choked and kicked harder. Her head broke the surface. She gasped twice. She had lost Rabbit. She submerged again.

Q felt around in the darkness, eyes squeezed shut. Her chest ached. She popped up, drank air, and ducked below again. How long had he been under? A minute? Two? Were his lungs empty already? Had he taken a breath before he fell?

Her fingers touched a cold, motionless arm.

Q grabbed it with both hands and kicked as hard as she could. She broke free of the freezing water and was almost sucked back by his weight. Her limbs were fire. She twisted the fingers of her left hand into his jumper and struck out for concrete with her right. She pressed down into it and managed to haul her torso into a puddle of grime. She swung up her right leg and rolled, pulling him out of the water with her.

Q couldn't move with the mass on top of her, then the sharp rocks beneath began to hurt more than the idea of moving. She wriggled out from under Rabbit and sucked air like a shipwreck survivor, then reached out to his face.

She felt hot breath. He was alive.

Q rolled onto her knees. “Get up,” she said. He obeyed. They panted, listening to splashes in the darkness behind them. “Come on. Move!”

They ran until the mouth of the tunnel widened and spat them out the other side.