Determined To Live (6 page)

I come up behind
him and wait. From the noises he's now making, I'm sure it won't be
much longer.

I bet you're
wondering why I just don't shoot him, huh?

Well, I could.

But I'm not.

Things are
different now.

I'm
different now.

He finishes, then
unsteadily gets to his feet and pulls his pants back up.

"Hey fellas!
Y’all need ta git ya some of this shit," he yells
drunkenly over his shoulder to his buddies, still unaware his buddies
won't be enjoying things like that, ever again.

He fumbles with his
belt, and when no one responds to his call, his voice takes on a
slightly worried, but annoyed tone, "Dammit, guys! Where'd y’all
go? You better notta left my ass. Damn belt!"

He finally stops
fumbling with his belt and just leaves it unbuckled. He turns...and
comes face to barrel with my gun.

He pinwheels his
arms a few times, and takes a few staggering steps back.

"Far enough,
you sick bastard," I tell him, my voice as cold as the night
air.

He raises his hands
out in front of himself and waves them back and forth. "Hey now,
come on." He chuckles, nervously. "Don't shoot. I'm on you
all's side. I'm a livin'. Not one of dem freaks!"

I look pointedly
down at the woman, whose body he had just violated in the sickest
ways possible.

"What!
Her
?
She were done dead. I prolly shouldn't have done that, but I'm justta
man, ya know? And we men gots ta do things like that ta release the
fus-ter-ation, ya know?"

"Will?
Jake? Would either of you
ever
have sex with someone who's already dead?" I ask.

In
disgust, they both very strongly say, "
Hell
no!"

I
watch as the other man looks from both of my men back to me. He gives
another nervous laugh and says, "Come on, now. Just let ol' Grit
go and let's forget about this. Whaddaya say? Remember, I'm on
your
side."

"I'm pretty
sure you're on the zombies side, Grit," I tell him.

"Huh? No.
Really! I'm alive, ya know?" he insists. "Look at me! I can
talk. I have a heartbeat, ya know? I'm alive!"

"For
now...
ya know
?"
I tell him just before I slightly move the gun and shoot his left
leg.

His massive bulk
falls to the ground as his leg gives out. He grabs his leg and
screams in pain as I stand above him, smiling down. His eyes bulge
when he sees the wicked smile on my face and the coldness in my eyes.

"Please!
Please, help me. The zombies will get me!
Please
!"
He stretches his hand out to me, and I stare at it for a few seconds
before I shoot through the center of his palm.

Turning
away from the blubbering fat freak, I look in Will and Jake's
direction, but I avoid their eyes.
I
don't want to know what they think of me now.

"Grab
him and bring him over to his truck...
please
."
I add the please even though I make it clear that it's not a request.

Relieved that they
actually do it without argument, I wait for them by the truck. As
they hold him up in front of me, I take hold of his belt and rip it
out of the loops in his jeans. This is a big man - fat, not muscle -
so I have a lot of belt to work with. I climb in the passenger side
and buckle the belt around the driver's side of the steering wheel,
then I open the driver's door and tell them to back him up against
the outside of the door.

When he's close
enough, I drop the belt over his head, then slowly close the door
with him firmly against the opposite side, tightening the belt until
the door is shut and he's being held up by the belt around his neck,
and his one good leg. There isn't enough slack for him to get out of
the belt no matter how much he tries to. I lock the door from inside
and crawl back out of the truck that reeks of stale sweat, body odor,
cigarettes, and beer.

Grabbing my
crutches where I left them propped against the side of the truck, I
make my way back to the Hummer, not even checking to see if Will and
Jake are following. The screams and pleas of the man echo throughout
the night, but I do my best to ignore him.

I climb into the
truck, and immediately after I slam my door shut, I hear two other
doors open and close in the back. I take a quick glance in the
rearview mirror to make sure both men are safely inside, but it
wasn't quick enough. I stare straight into the eyes of my husband.

Those beautiful
brown eyes stare back at me, the fear and accusations in them send
laser beams of pain straight to my heart.

Then he does
something he's never done before. He turns his head away. Avoiding
me. Disgusted with me. Guilt starts to wash over me, not because of
what I did to that man, but because I pointed my gun at the man I
love most.

I shouldn't have
done that. But I can't take it back now, no matter how much I wish I
could.

I tear my eyes away
from the mirror as movement in front of the Hummer catches my
attention. The dead men are moving. The man strapped to the truck
screams even louder, more frantically as he begs for help.

But I don't
care.

The undead move
closer and I watch him desperately try to free himself. He's bawling,
screaming, begging.

But I don't
care.

And then to my
surprise, I see the woman he had done the unspeakable acts to appear
in the beams of the Hummer's headlights. As I really look at her, I
notice the shotgun blast hadn't hit her in the head - as I had
assumed - but in the chest. She's the closest to the man and when she
reaches him, he fights her off with both hands, screaming in pain
each time his hand with the bullet-hole connects.

But she can't feel
any pain from his blows; she doesn't even notice. When the others
join her, the man's arms are soon torn and bleeding from the many
teeth digging in.

"Grits"
are now on the menu. Eat up!

The woman moves
closer to him and wraps her arms around his neck. She brings her
mouth to his as if she's about to kiss him, but right before her lips
connect with his, she opens her mouth wide and rips his lower lip
completely off.

But I don't
care
.

Why?

Justice.

I finally put the
truck in gear and drive closer. Satisfied that ol' Grit is dead, I
turn the truck so that my window faces the undead who are making
sucking, chewing, and gulping sounds as they feast on the
all-you-can-eat mound of still-warm flesh. I roll my window down and
start picking them off, one by one. Will rolls his window down and
finishes them when my gun runs out of bullets.

"Thanks,"
I tell him in almost a whisper, very much aware that his feelings for
me
have
changed.

"Uh huh,"
he responds in monotone. That's it. He says nothing else.

Not that I
expected him to.

My chest aches in
the same spot my heart hides. I fight back the tears and allow myself
to become cold, hard, and numb again.

In silence, we make
it around the truck, over the bridge, and into Hill City. I pull out
my cell, but I don't dial. I'm too scared of talking to anyone else.

Jake notices the
phone in my hand and quickly offers to call. Grateful, I hand it to
him. When he starts talking, the tone of his voice and the words he
responds with, tell me all I need to know.

Jake says goodbye
and hands my phone back. "Canada, they don't want you meeting up
with them, but they're sending Dustin to check you out. They have to
protect the kids, you know?"

"Screw you,
Jake! How can you say that so
casually
?
Some of those "kids" are mine.
Mine!
They can't keep them from me!" I scream at him.

"Canada,
there's something wrong with you. You do need to be checked out and I
know how much you love your kids. I know when you're able to think
clearly again - and I believe you
will,
if
you let Dustin help you - that you'll agree it's the right thing to
do; the safest thing to do," Jake says.

I let Jake's words
sink in, then nod my head. "So where are we supposed to meet
Dustin?"

"They said to
find somewhere safe on the east side of town on the main street and
he will find us. Which -
hopefully
- is a store or something, 'cause I really need to use the restroom
and get something to eat and drink."

My stomach growls
and my own bladder reminds me it's getting pretty full too, so I nod
my head in agreement and turn in the direction we need to go. Pulling
up beside the door of a gas station, movement inside makes me groan
with weariness. But when a small face appears in the glass of the
door, and its mouth opens to call out to the others, I jerk in
surprise.

These people are
alive!

More headlights
shine from the road in the direction we had just come and I brace
myself, expecting another group like the ones we had just dealt with.
But it's a Buick with an older couple who pull in next to us on our
passenger side. They look hard inside the Hummer, but I know how dark
these windows are - especially at night - so I roll the passenger
window down and Jake does the same with his. Then I scoot over so
that they can see me.

The old man calls
out, "Are you friend or foe?"

I give a startled
glance at Jake.

What the hell?

Who the hell
actually says that?

Jake flashes a huge
grin at me, and I can't help but grin back. I cough to cover up the
laughter wanting to spill out and say, "Uh, friend, I guess. We
won't hurt you, if that's what you mean."

I turn my head to
Jake, prepared to roll my eyes and give him another grin from the
absurdity of it all, but his look of doubt in my direction stops me.

Oh.

Yeah.

I'm considered
armed, dangerous, and incredibly screwed up in the head. Well, more
so than usual now.

My
grin falls and I look away from Jake to Will. He's just staring at me
- I guess waiting for me to start shooting
this
couple. I tear my eyes away from Will
and
tell Jake to talk to the older couple, as I scoot back over behind
the wheel. I stare straight ahead at the dumpster sitting in the back
of the lot. Tears burning to be let out.

I want to cry,
scream, and lash out from the incredible pain I feel inside, but I
fight it. I don't want sympathy. Worse, what if no one even offers
any? That would screw me up even more.

But they're
right. I
have
lost it. What I did back there, and what I did to Sara, that's not
what
normal
people do. What if Dustin can't help me? What if they think he
has
helped me, but I lose it again? What if I hurt or kill someone I
love?

No!

I am
not
going to let that happen.

"Jake, why
don't you and Will take these people inside and talk to the ones
already in there. I'm sure they can go to Rose's when it's safe; the
more people, the better. I'll stay here and keep watch, then one of
you can trade places with me so I can use the restroom. Sound good?"

"No, you go
ahead. Jake and I will take turns keeping wa―"

"
No
,
damn it! I would rather do it the way I said. Please, just go. I need
a few minutes," I interrupt Will and beg him silently to do as I
ask.

Relieved,
I watch as the two men get out - not
happily
in Will's case, I might add - and escort the elderly couple to the
door of the gas station. After a few minutes of convincing the people
inside to let them in, they finally do. One of the men that was
already inside locks the door immediately behind them.

When I see Will and
Jake's heads disappear as they make their way to the restrooms in the
rear of the store, I turn the truck on and leave the parking lot.
Turning back west, I drive straight past the turn for the highway,
speed down the main street, leaving the small town behind on the
other side. Now it's just country roads all the way.