Controlling the Dead (4 page)

Time slows down, becoming nothing. My chest pounds as I try to see through tears. Violent sobs wrack my body as the gun shakes in my unsteady hands. I watch in heart crushing despair as he rights himself enough to come after me. It takes forever because he has such a large body and he fumbles around as his boots slide on the gritty concrete. His matted hair sticks to his face. Blood and mud stains his T-shirt. Holes and several blood spots have ruined his favorite pair of jeans.

He hisses at me. My soul screams in agony at what I have to do. I heave, feeling the burning fluid come up my throat. I put my hand to my mouth as I try to hold it down. Liquid spews out from between my fingers as I lean over to release the contents of my stomach. I can’t do it. I can’t kill him. Not again. I wouldn’t be able to live. I’d rather be eaten.

Time speeds up then. Gravel crunches under his booted feet. He’s on me in no time. My gun is pointed at him. My finger tightens on the trigger, but trembles. Indecision clouds my mind as his spittle spurts to join the tears on my face.

I bolt awake, drenched in sweat.
My clothes are so wet it’s like I went swimming. My chest heaves as I wipe my hand down my face, feeling my puffy eyes and the tears still flowing. I fall against the pillow, willing the waterworks to stop.

The sunlight streams in, warming, and me my nightmare fades, but I can see him clearly, as if I had just seen him yesterday. I hope he’s doing okay. I hope he’s doing better than I am. My bottle of pain pills I brought with me ran out and all my problems rush to the surface without them. A very good reason the rest of the pain medication and antibiotics from the base in Clarksville went to Nashville for safekeeping. If not, I’d still be popping them like Reece eats stale Cheetos.

I’ve only replaced them with drinking. Even worse, my wallowing keeps Reece from being with Glinda. He hasn’t said as much, but he is eager to get back. I’m not because it will take days since we have to meet the team in a rendezvous spot.

“Kan?” Reece’s muffled voice floats through the white door. He hits his fist on it around waist level—obviously not bothered to lift his arm.

“Hang on. I’m…not decent.” I sit up, putting on my hoodie and sunglasses despite my sweat covered clothing. My body throbs in pain as it does first thing every morning. The pain has been fading with time. I’m on my way to healing, outwardly at least. I grab the PGA off the little cherry wood nightstand and take a gulp.

Wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I open the door only to see him standing there. I squint. Even with the sunglasses, it’s brighter out here than it is in the bedroom. Reece’s tattoos curl up his arms, under the vest, up his neck and stubby head. The head he keeps shaved shiny bald. The tattoos tell a story, his story, which I know absolutely nothing about. Except for his little spiel yesterday, he keeps quiet, even when he is drunk. I suspect whatever the ending to his story is, it’s bad. It probably has a lot to do with killing teenage boy zombies he knew personally. Maybe even had affection for those boys. I finally look into his piercing gray eyes.

He scoffs. “Getting decent requires a hood, sunglasses, and the bottle that never gets empty. I’ll make a note.”

“What? My body hurts and there aren’t any more pills.”

“That’s what happens when you eat them like candy.” He smirks, “Can’t really say anything. I need a joint.” We laugh and he goes on, “We should pack a van to drive to the meeting spot with loot.”

I roll my eyes, but he can’t see it. What he means by loot is Pure Grain Alcohol. I try a different plan. “Do we really think we should take a van full of liquor to meet the team? Maybe you could head on straight to Nashville? I can go meet the team. You can wait on Mago.”

He thinks this over studying me. “You think the team got any help?”

“I don’t know. This is the best way, though.”

“I don’t think so, Kan. We should stick together.” He doesn’t want to leave me alone, and I’m relieved because I really don’t want to be alone.

I feign a sigh, “All right. Let’s go get the guys.”

*

After I sew a looted Fleur de Lis patch on Reece’s vest, we promptly load up the van we found with our looted goods. It takes most of the morning. We don’t talk about the vaccine, Mago, Pappers, my hair, the old couple, or anything else. I think Reece is just as tired of talking about it as I am, and we both know we’ll have to bring everyone else up to speed.

With Reece riding the bike and me driving the van, we leave around noon and start the journey to meet the team, traveling along rural highways before hitting a major interstate. The closer we get the more the cars pile up. We eventually have to drive in the grassy middle median area, which slows us down. We drive all night, and I’m dead tired. I’ll sleep when we get there.

I’m in a daze sometime around noon the next day when shots fire through the air. I look into my rearview mirror, but Reece is glancing around while trying to duck from gunfire. I squint my eyes against the sunlight, spotting a goofy looking black dude jumping up and down, waving his arms. The sight of the giant man next to him tells me our team is flagging us down.

Ty and Bunyan catch on we’ve spotted them. Pulling to a stop, I roll down my window. “I don’t pick up hitchhikers,” I lift my lips in a half smile.

Upon getting at better look at me, Ty hisses a breath in between his teeth. “Damn, Kan. You look like shit.”

“Took you guys long enough. We’ve been waiting for days,” Bunyan’s deep voice says impatiently, ignoring Ty. The guy is as tall as he is muscular—an axe man in the old life. Ty is just as baggy and slouchy as ever. He bounces, and I assume he can’t sit still. His little dreads bob on the top of his head. He flashes me a gold smile.

I hop out of the van and ask, “Days?” They nod simultaneously as Reece strides up.

“What happened?” Reece inquires.

Bunyan looks behind him. I follow his gaze to see Felix, Sam, and Thomas lounging on the ground. Tents are set up in a semicircle to shape their makeshift campground in the middle median of an interstate overcrowded with cars. Tools, first-aid kits, jugs of water, and other items cover the ground. They must have looted from vehicles while they waited.

My brows draw together. They probably can’t see it from the sunglasses. I don’t wait for anyone to answer Reece. “Where’s Dalton?”

Bunyan explains, “The Coalition sent him back to wherever he’s stationed. You wouldn’t believe the questioning we had to go through. Like an interrogation. They basically took the bags of vaccine and sent us on our way.”

Glancing at Reece, he nods his head in reassurance. The little we discussed of Mago last night, we decided to tell the team. “We found Mago.”

Thomas jumps up from his lounging position, “Did you kill him?” Thomas is average and soft. I believe he held some corporate job in the old life. At first, he had major problems with me, being an asshole whenever possible. My trauma has softened his attitude toward me. His brown hair needs a cut. The wind wisps it away from his forehead.

“No. Actually, he might help us.” Reece and I relay the information Mago told us and about his daughter, Mya, while they listen with rapt attention. The team takes the news of the vaccine much the same way we did. Reece explains my mishap with Pappers. We also discuss our theory on what is in those vials. There’s a long moment of terse silence as it soaks in.

“Damn,” Bunyan voices the understatement of the year. The team peers at me as if I’m the unluckiest person on the planet right now. I have to agree.

“So we aren’t getting any help from the military?” Reece states more than asks, just to be clear on the subject.

Bunyan shifts on his huge feet, looking impatient. “We didn’t say that. They are already working on it, but we shouldn’t get involved,” he mocks, which sounds comical with his ultra deep voice. “Also, they sent Mac back to the community.”

My head snaps up, hurting my neck. They all observe my reaction. “You saw him?” I ask Bunyan. Blood rushes through my body as my heart pounds, and not because Mac is back at the community. I’m not ready to deal with any of it.

Bunyan shakes his head. “No, he left before we got there.” He’s been back at the community for over a week. Rather than putting a hindrance on my plans, this development confirms them.

I pull Reece to the side and lower my voice, “Let me borrow the bike.”

He nods instantly, probably thinking I want to get back to the community faster. He’ll want details, but I attempt to explain, “It’s not what you think. I need to do something. Alone.”

He lifts his sunglasses to the top of his head to look at me. “Where are you going? And don’t think about lying to me.”

“My hometown and that’s all you need to know for right now. Give me two days, three tops.”

By his intense speculating, I can tell he doesn’t like this. “Why don’t we go back to the community first? Glinda will come with us.”

“I said alone.”

“Yeah, well, I won’t be alone. In fact, there’s this really big guy that’s not going to leave me alone until I tell him everything I know.”

“Tell him what you know, then. He can wait.” I look away from him. “He’ll understand.”

I peer at Reece. He sees my face and visibly slumps. “I despise four wheels,” he gripes and hands me the keys to the motorcycle. I pick them up by a key, but he doesn’t let go, drawing my attention to him. “Two days. After that, I’ll be extremely pissed off and will never speak to you again.”

I take a deep breath. “Thanks, Peanut Butter.”

He waves me away. I grab my pack with my various weapons and get the hell out of dodge.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

The sun is making its last appearance for the day when I make it to my destination. Standing outside the first-floor door, I expected to feel nervous or fidgety, but I don’t. The door is ajar, and I use my foot to nudge it open. Gripping the crossbow and listening for any movement, the silence in the apartment meets me. My gaze lands on the easel propped up by the window on the far side of the apartment.

I don’t have time to stare at anything yet. I need to check for zombies even though I’m not worried about finding any. The famished tend to migrate where people are, and I’m sure there’s no one around for miles.

Making quick work of the simple layout, I check the bedroom, bathroom, and closet—the only closed in spaces. The living room and kitchen is one big space. All the kitchen cabinet doors sit chaotically opened from some survivor looting through here.

The wall opposite from the kitchen is bare. Dismay runs through me. Of course someone looted them, too. Hockey sticks make a nice weapon when needed, and all of Malachi’s prized sticks are gone. Every one of them adorned by autographs of various NHL players. Swallowing a lump, I remember it’s not like they are the reason I came here.

Boxes line the walls of the living room. We never got around to unpacking despite living here together for a month. Both of us had been busy—Malachi with school, hockey and work, while I spent most of my time in Nashville, selling my art a piece at a time.

Stacks of finished canvas pieces lean against the wall next to the easel. Touching the easel, the dried paint is thick under a layer of dust. I tried my hand at college, but it never held my attention. So I painted and sometimes did other forms of art. Not that those skills are what has kept me alive. I can always add stabbing a zombie in the eye with a paintbrush to my mental to-do list.

I can see you doing that, you must miss it. Wish I could have seen them.
I bite my lip and contemplate if he told me the truth or was just being nice when I told him what I did for a living
.
I decide on the former, bending down and going through the finished work before I can think about it too much.

After reminiscing for far too long, I make my way into the bedroom. Everything is almost exactly the way we left it. The only difference is the dust and lifelessness. A sense of dormancy tinges every surface, and it gets harder to see through my watery eyes. I take a deep breath, knowing this is good. I’ve always known I needed to come back here. It just so happens there’s an ulterior motive.

Sitting where I left it, on top of the desk next to Malachi’s desktop computer, is an ancient IBM laptop. One my dad built from the ground up to replace the one I got into trouble with and had confiscated as evidence.

“What is this?” I had asked as my dad sat behind his desk. The hunk of junk I held in my hands was heavy.

Tossing his reading glasses down, he gave me a look. “What does it look like? Your replacement.”

“I thought you said it was new.”

“It amazes me you think you deserve a brand new one.”

Only my dad had made me feel shame and guilt for what I done. “I don’t deserve a new one. I was only stating what you said.”

“It is new. To you. I built it myself.” My dad smiled, proud of his accomplishment. “Still has everything you need on it. I put the extras on there, but if you get into more trouble with it… You’re an adult now, so you’ll deal with the consequences. You were lucky this time. Even luckier to be graduating on time.”

Shaking myself from the memory, I think I had been lucky. Not because I graduated on time or got off with community service from the school, but because I got away with what I did it for. Malachi still graduated with a 4.0, keeping his scholarship.

A bunch of cables cords sit in the bottom drawer of the desk, and I remove them all, stuffing them in my pack. I’ll have to wait until I get to the community to have power.

Movement outside the window in the twilight catches my eye. A woman putrid roams around, reminding me of Lucy from the community. Once bitten, she decided to turn. I shot her during her own celebration. If Mago can control them, how would anyone be in danger of turning into a zombie in the first place? Why does he go to the community? There’s so much I need to know about him and I know who to ask.

It’s time to become my father’s daughter.