Controlling the Dead (17 page)

I file them in as the other famished in the warehouse make room as they walk, or more like shuffle, inside. “Okay guys, you know the drill. I’ll be back.” I shut the door and tie it secure. I slide my machete in place.

 “Can you tell me how you did that?”

I jump because I’m so focused on the zombies I wasn’t alert to anything else. A short woman takes cautious steps toward me in an appraising way. She isn’t old by any means, but has to be around Bunyan’s age. She’s hard, rugged, but feminine at the same time, wearing blue jeans, a big winter coat, and hiking boots. Her hair is turning white, cut into a wavy bob with bangs. I don’t know her, but feel like I’ve seen her somewhere before.

“Friend or foe?” I ask dubiously.

She laughs and laugh lines deepen around her sparkling blue eyes. “Friend I should say. I’ve never seen someone keep the forsaken, let alone tell them what to do.” She gets back to the topic at hand and stops when she’s five feet away.

I tell her the truth. “I don’t really know. But I might need them someday.”

“Smart.” She checks out my arsenal, my hair, and finally my paint and blood splattered boots. “I’m searching for a place, a community. It’s supposedly in one of these old industrial parks. Can you guide me?”

I’m surprised she knows about it. “Uh, yeah. I stay there. It’s about a ten block walk.”

“Oh good.” She pauses, “I thought I’d see more zombies to follow. I guess what I just saw explains why I haven’t seen any of them.”

“The people at the community are wondering where they all went, too.” We laugh. “No one knows,” I say and shoot her a serious look.

She studies me with pursed lips, clucking her tongue. “Not my story to tell.”

We start walking. I keep a sharp eye on her in my peripheral vision.

“You know,” she says, “when someone is described to you, you never really know how accurate the description is. But he got you down to a T.” I glance at her confused. “You’re Kan. Kansas?”

I stop. Maybe I do know her from somewhere. I don’t know what to say. “How did you—”

“You’re a beautiful young lady. I’m very happy to meet you.” She holds out her hand, I take it still bewildered. “I’m Gwen. Mac’s mother.”

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It makes sense. Of course she’d come here to see Mac. She just found out he’s alive and doesn’t want to let him go. I fiddle with the bracelet she made me. She notices and smirks. Her blue eyes twinkle. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. That’s why I felt like I’ve seen her. Besides Mac’s masculine facial structure, he resembles her.

“I see where he gets his good looks,” I finally say, smiling.

“I know,” she jokes and puts on a smug facade. I also see where he gets his easy confidence and demeanor. “I think I like you already. Mac usually doesn’t know how to pick them.” My eyebrows rise. This might get complicated. “We’ll keep that between us.”

We walk the rest of the way, and she tells me about her journey here. How happy she was when Mac showed up out of the blue. How proud she is that he keeps with his sense of duty to help people who need it. She couldn’t stay away, wanting to be near him. She loves her son so much she left safety and normalcy to be here with him. What makes me like her right away is she made the journey by herself. She’s tough.

We get to the community. Since I’m going there anyway to work on the mural, I take her to Mac’s room.

I peek in the door. He is kneeling on the floor, inspecting the inside of an electric heater, the guts of it tossed about, scratching his head.

“Hey,” I say, strolling through the door.

He turns, and a smile forms when he sees me. “Hey Sunshine, been waiting on you.”

“I went for a run, and you’ll never guess who I found.”

The smile slips. “The famished?” he asks.

Biting my lips together, I shake my head and open the door wider. When he spots her, he jumps up. “What the hell are you doing here?” he questions in mock outrage, but a brilliant smile breaks out—a rare smile. My eyes burn, watching them hug as he chides her for making the trip by herself. What must this feel like? I’d give anything for it.

She ruffles his curls, wiping tears from her eyes. “I couldn’t stay there, knowing you were here.”

“I’m going to let you two catch up,” I tell them.

“Wait. You don’t have to go. Paint.” He points to the mural. Gwen swivels to give me new scrutiny, smiling. She glances down at my paint splattered boots. Just like Mac, she misses nothing.

“I’ll be back. I need some food.” He dips his head in acknowledgement, and they are both looking at the mural when I shut the door. My mood plummets as I stand there, listening to them laugh and carry on.

*

I fill a pot with water and put it on a little camping stove I acquired at the marketplace. I cut up fresh veggies. Potatoes, tomatoes, zucchini, onions, corn, and some beans for some vegetable soup, I use a few spices, too. I make corn cakes on a skillet. Perfect for a late lunch and celebration of Gwen’s unexpected arrival.

Mac and Gwen come in just in time, both laughing. Their eyes are bright with renewed excitement. The soup is ready, and plenty for five or six people.

“It smells good in here,” Gwen says.

“I’m sick of noodles and rice. If you can believe it, I’m tired of raw fruits and vegetables, too.”

“I would be too, if that was all I ate.” Mac stirs the pot and scrunches his nose. “I should have known, no meat.”

“You’ll still eat it.”

“Fuck yes, I will.”

Dipping the soup in cups, I hand them out with some corn cakes. Gwen admires my mural as Mac slurps soup. “With all the painting, and soup, and forsaken, you’re something else, Kan.”

I tense up, thinking she told Mac about my famished stash. “Oh?”

“Yes, Mac says you’re quite the bow shooter.”

I sigh, relieved. She smirks, knowing she did that on purpose. “Yeah, I started with a pistol crossbow. Mac pushed me to upgrade, and I’ve painted for years.”

Gwen chatters, while we finish eating, about some of her hobbies in furniture and jewelry making.

Mac swallows the rest of his soup down. He looks to Gwen before leaning toward me. “I have a question.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. Usually, when people say that it’s not good, or they don’t know how you’ll take it.

“Mom needs a place to stay. And—”

I hold up my hand. “Mac,” I glance at Gwen. “You can stay in here. I have the whole other side of the loft. We can get you a bed.”

“Oh, thank you, Kan. Of course, I can do whatever to help. I have a car full of things, parked. I didn’t want to waste gas finding the community. I suppose we can go get it now.”

“I’m going try to finish the mural later. So, I can help.” I stand to clean and put the rest of the soup in cups.

Mac stands and stretches. “No need, Kan. Work on the mural and feed everyone.”

Gwen follows suit. “Thank you for the lovely meal, Kan.” She smiles warmly. “I’ll see you in a few, Mac.” She leaves.

“Thanks for helping my mom get here.”

I nod, “I’m happy you have her.”

“Me, too.”

*

I drop off soup and corn cakes to Reece and Glinda. They thank me and I continue on my way to finish the mural, looking forward to it. I knock on Rudy’s door. There’s no sound coming from inside. I step to Mac’s door when Rudy’s opens.

He peeks out, pushing the door wider when he sees it’s me. His hair sticks up in places from sleeping. Bruises cover his eyes and nose like a mask. A pair of jeans, with the button and zipper undone as if he has just thrown them on, hangs low. My eyes have a mind of their own and roam the lines of his abdominal muscles and the scattering of hair that leads to lower, fun things.

Something catches my eye on the right side on his skin. My heart skips. Without thinking I reach out and jerk his pants and boxers out to see it better. I blink. On the top of his outer thigh, right below his hip, is the tattoo Reece showed me, except it’s filled and shaded with warm colors. A sunshine with an arrow poking through it. The exact same arrow I have on my hip. I let out of gush of air.

Not taking my eyes from it, I choke out, “Why did you get it right there?” When he doesn’t answer, I peel my eyes away from it to the surprise on his face. He covers it up, lifting a brow. I avert my gaze and let go of his clothing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, but I thought I’d bring you hot food this time.” I lift the cup.

A soft smile forms and he takes it, “I got it right there because it’s private, and I only want one person to ever see it.”

“I take that back, I’m not really that sorry.”

“I know,” he says, taking a big spoonful of soup. Showing me mercy, he changes the subject, “You working on the mural?”

“I’m hoping to finish it.”

“Good. I’ll keep you company.”

*

I decide to add Gwen before I finish the details of the rest of the mural. Mac will appreciate it.

“Wow. It’s great, Kan.” I turn. Rudy walks through the door and sits down in a chair with his food. “Where are you?”

“Uh, well, I didn’t want to paint me. If this were a photograph, I would say I’m taking the picture.” I stand back to check out Gwen’s outline. Mac and her almost stand the same way. “Gwen, Mac’s mom,” I tell Rudy.

“She’s here?”

“Just showed up. Crazy, huh?”

A sadness gathers over him, like clouds rolling in. “Yeah.” Turning to the mural, I try to focus on it like a salvation.

“Mac will like it.” He resumes eating and studying the mural. “I’m standing alone.” He’s right. In the mural he stands to the side, but to me, he dominates the whole thing.

“It’s how I first saw you. Watching me, with your sleeveless shirt and badass bow.” Plus, I want to paint his arms and shoulders. He’s wearing the green bandana. I kind of turned him to the side, so I could paint the curve of his ass in jeans. I really hope it isn’t obvious. There’s a zombie with an arrow through its head at his booted feet. His eyes are hooded and mysterious. I think I might draw him, with his teeth and dimple smile. I will do that later. In private. The smile that’s all for me.

Julie’s in the mural, too. She is pregnant. Sam and Ty are fierce with their new bows. Glinda stands by her man with a thigh sheath. Reece holds the sawed-off shotgun. Bunyan has his arms crossed and an assault rifle over his shoulder. Thomas looks pissed, his automatic resting face. Felix Fuller is stiff like he always is, gripping a rifle.

“Still isn’t right without you in it.” I shrug at his statement and go about adding some details on Guido. I opt for his sparkly top hat, because it’s fun to paint.

Mac stands in all his devil-may-care glory with a smirk on his face. His curls tumble on his forehead with sandy highlights from the sun. His blue eyes are bright with intensity, and the all-knowing dignity he always has. I put Gwen in beside him with the same expression on her face as when I first saw her.

Rudy ends up playing his guitar for a while and at one point, stops only to drum on the hollowness before more strumming bursts through the room in a rock tune. He sings a drawn out word, and I lose my grip of the paintbrush, making a streak of paint across a zombie face.

Whipping around, I watch him sing with his eyes closed about thinking and drinking. About being a holy roller, owning a spaceship, and going for a ride. A seemingly strange chorus until he gets to a part about getting naked. He peeks open an eye and grins, knowing he surprised me. His voice paired with the sexually charged lyrics makes my heart unevenly beat.

When he finishes, he strums straight into another song as if he didn’t just do something completely shocking. He doesn’t sing again, but keeps playing until I finish the project.

“It’s perfect,” I grin, surprised how good it feels to finish this pointless project in the grand scheme of things. Rudy remains silent and returns my smile. I step toward him, remembering a lyric from the song he sang. “Panty dropper.”

At this he laughs, shrugging as a little color creeps up his neck. “Whatever works.”

“Kan!” Mac says, coming into the room and looking at the mural with wonder on his face. Gwen follows right behind him.

Gwen gasps. “See there.” She stands a little straighter and points. “I look fantastic, as always.” We all laugh, including Rudy.

“Rudy, meet my new roommate, Gwen, Mac’s mommy,” I introduce. Mac shoots me an undignified face at the word
mommy
. “What? She changed your diapers, you’re forever in her debt.”

“What diapers they were, Kan.” Gwen laughs, shaking her head. “The boy could fill a diaper.” We all break out into laughter. “Nice to meet you, Rudy. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Rudy nods, sending her a tight smile. “Same here.” Everyone notices his shift, and the room grows somber. He clears his throat, “I’m glad he found you. Family is hard to come by.” Even though he’s right, his statement breaks my heart.

*

They found Gwen a twin bed at an old store, but she has most everything else she needs. Things I never thought of using again. Like a pepper cracker, but hey, to each their own. They fix her up in the loft and her things make it homey.

She ends up cooking for everyone, making pork tacos with homemade corn tortillas. She already has some, but says she’ll show me how to make them. We make a big to-do out of it, and invite Reece, Glinda, and the rest of the team. Julie comes, too, and is pleasant company. Even though she asks a lot of questions about Arizona. A subject Rudy and I are skirting around.

I eat my tacos with beans and it tastes like heaven. Everyone enjoys them. Light moods fill the air and smiles go with it. I catch Rudy watching me. I grin around my food and place my hand on his arm.

“This is our family.”

Rudy smiles, but his eyes flash with melancholy. I can’t help but think about the other shoe dropping, and soon.

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