DISEASE: A Zombie Novel (9 page)

Danny could only think of the watch as Lot preached to the congregation. She used to be more “fire-and-brimstone” then, and less “rebuild in our vision”. The eulogy was mostly about the wicked world and had little to do with Danny’s father. How could it? She had barely known the man. The end would come soon, she said—soon was relative, but she was right.

There were less people following her in the beginning. Just a handful, about fifteen, including himself, if a seven-year-old counted. Now she has over one hundred followers.

Back then people came to her because they thought she was a prophet, some still do, but these days most come for protection.

Since The Plague, and the sudden influx of a secular populace, Lot has toned down much of the sacerdotal side of things, but that doesn’t stop people from fervently asking “how-high” before she can even say “jump”. Besides, she falls back on the religious mumbo jumbo when it suits her.

Technically, Danny isn’t even allowed to have this watch. It’s the one thing he’s been able to keep from Lot over the years. When his father joined her, he was supposed to give all his worldly possessions to the “cause”. He sold the house, the car, even the furniture. Every stock, every bond, every disability check, were absorbed by Lot’s influence. Every little boy left orphaned by a desperate father; but for some reason the watch was saved.

With a huge breath Danny sits up and rubs his face with his hands. They are stained with dried, flaking blood, his clothes, dirty and wrinkled. He pushes himself to the side of the bed and reaches under his mattress to pull out a creased and worn picture.

The picture is of Danny; he is about six years old in it. Next to him is a tall, fit looking man with a cane. Father and son smile and wave at the camera, standing in front of the entrance to Disneyland, carefree and not a worry in the world.

Danny closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to steady himself. He stands, needing to get out of the room, needing to move, needing to escape the torrent of emotions that threaten to carry him away.

***

An overhead lamp brightly lights the bathroom where Alex sits on a closed toilet, wrapped in a white hotel towel. The boy has been scrubbed thoroughly; there is no more dirt on his face and no trace of old tears. For once he looks like any other little boy, save for being on the extremely skinny side.

Lot brushes his freshly trimmed hair. The child, completely uninterested in grooming, is endlessly fascinated with turning the handle of the sink faucet, although nothing comes out of the tap. He lets his fingers touch the dirty water held in the sink basin then goes back to turning.

Since Lot brought the boy to her room he has shown a total lack of interest in anything remotely human. He wolfed down his supper without a hint of appreciation and was then content to explore her bookshelves without acknowledging another person was present. He had spent a good amount of time looking at a picture book upside down and when Lot corrected the way he held it, he tossed the book on the floor as though it had become uninteresting.

Alex is easily distracted and unconcerned with anyone else. It made it difficult to get him cleaned up. He continuously finds inconsequential things appealing, like the tap he now turns on and off. He demonstrates little to no recognition in Lot’s direction, making her feel like a ghost. Was this how it was for Casey? Being an automaton caring for a child operating in his own world? No, Lot saw Alex listen to her, pay attention to her. In his own way, he had a connection with her. Maybe this is how it was at first, but Casey found a way to break through to him. Lot’s sure this child would have followed her into the fire.

She watches him play with the faucet. After what he’s been through he’ll need his world to be reset, to be stabilized. It will only take a few right moves to slide into Casey’s void. “Alex, now that dinner has settled what do you think about having some dessert?”

Alex continues to play with the faucet, ignoring Lot. She places her hand gently on his, stopping the incessant squeak. For the first time in over an hour the child looks at her, his bright blue eyes firing up. They take her breath away. He’s annoyed, but it’s something. She smiles. He stares.

Lot guides the towel-clad child from the bathroom into the bedroom. The bleached white of the fabric stands out against his fresh pink skin. So clean, so pure. She reaches out to touch his golden hair, it’s soft and beautiful. Her heart swells.

Alex fiddles with a small ring of keys that sits on a side table, as Lot crouches down to reach under her bed. “As luck would have it I have something special for desert, just for us.” Lot feels around under her bed. Her fingers graze a polished wooden box pushed far in back. She fishes it out.

Kneeling on the floor she wipes off a thin layer of dust. It’s been months since she’s been able to bring it out. Suddenly Alex’s attention is caught and he leaves the keys to races to Lot’s side.

With the politeness of a rhino, he tries to rip the box from her hands. She gently blocks him, motions for him to sit. He kneels on the floor beside her, riveted by the box, his towel forming a huge terrycloth pool around him.

“I need you to promise me that if I share this with you, you’ll never tell anyone about it. Can you promise me that?”

Alex’s eyes flick briefly toward Lot’s face, he doesn’t quite make eye contact, and then they are on box again. Lot lifts the lid slightly, teasingly, just enough to show off a gleaming, maple-leaf shaped glass bottle, full of pure maple syrup. Alex reaches for it, but Lot snaps the box firmly shut. “Alex – Alex, look at me.”

Alex continues to be fixated on the box. Lot carefully lowers it to the floor and takes Alex’s face in both hands. A small fire kindles under her skin. She gazes into icy blue eyes, but they remain glued to the box. “Before I can open this I need to know you understand me, otherwise I can’t share this with you.”

With great effort the boy rips his eyes away from the box. Instantly his attention is diverted, the box seemingly forgotten. He reaches up his hand and touches the blue spiral triangle that hangs at Lot’s throat. He traces a finger along the lines. Lot draws his face up to look at hers, her grey eyes shinning. “Do you know what this is? It is the
very last
bottle of maple syrup. It’s far too dangerous outside to collect the sap to make it, so there will be no more after this. You can’t tell anyone about this. You saw what happened to Casey when she was only trying to help…”

Alex flinches. He pulls his face from her hands and tears well in his eyes. It’s as though Lot threatened to hit him. She takes his hand. “Imagine what would happen to me, and to you, if anyone else found out I had this, or that I shared it with you. You don’t want to be responsible for that, do you? You don’t want me to be hurt like Casey. Killed like Casey?”

Each time Lot mentions Casey’s name Alex jolts. A fat tear rolls from one of his eyes. Lot wipes it away from his soft cheek and he crawls onto her lap, his towel falling away. Her pulse quickens as he curls there, a newborn babe. She strokes his hair comfortingly.

“It’s okay to be scared. Casey protected you—” Alex jolts in her lap. “—looked after you, kept you safe. I can do the same for you, if you stay here with me.”

Lot wipes more tears away from the child’s face then lifts the box and opens it for him to see inside once more. He timidly reaches out and touches the bottle.

“Remember, this has to be our secret, Alex. Casey would want it that way.”

With Alex still cradled in her lap Lot removes the maple syrup and unscrews the cap. She dramatically smells the syrup inside as though it were a fine wine.

“Oh no! Oh darn!” Her words are sharp and dramatic. Alex looks up, concerned.

“I don’t have any spoons in here. Now what are we going to do?”

It’s surprising how quickly the boy responds. For a child that, for the most part, seems as thick as two short planks, he sure smartens up when it comes to getting something he wants.

Alex grabs the maple syrup and tips it upside down over his open mouth.

“No!” Lot snags the bottle back just before the thick liquid blobs out the neck. “That will make such a mess!” She pauses to think hard, her actions overstated and theatrical for the benefit of the boy. Suddenly, a great new idea dawns on her. “I’ve got it!”

Lot holds out her hand and tips a small amount of syrup out into it then neatly licks the syrup from her cupped palm. Alex immediately holds out his hand. Lot tips the bottle over his tiny palm, but just before the contents can escape, she rights it. The boy is crestfallen.

“I just got you all cleaned up and this is very, very sticky. I have a better idea.”

Lot pours a small amount into her palm then holds her hand up to Alex. Alex hesitates, unsure of what to do. Lot smiles kindly. “Go ahead. You’ll like it.”

Reassured, Alex grabs Lot’s hand. Still sitting on her lap, in the nude, he licks the syrup from her palm. A delicate shiver traces Lot’s body. “That’s a good boy. Remember, this has to be our secret.” She smiles to herself, her malevolent grin lost on the child before her.

Opie can feel calm taking ahold of him as he steps into The Library. Although just a boardroom called “The Library” because this is where books are stored, it’s still a place of rest. Before everything changed he often enjoyed afternoons in the museum. It was one of few things he took true pleasure in. The quiet hum of people coming and going and the company of ancient art helped him to think.

The Library is the closest thing Opie has now to a museum. And why not? The books, quantum physics 101, money market investment strategies, celebrity memoirs, government conspiracy theories, are now but artifacts. Their aging pages will eventually turn to dust and take with them the memories of starlets and Wall Street.

Opie lowers himself onto the cushions of a well-worn chair. It may look a little battered, but it’s comfortable and he’s been looking forward to this moment. He can already feel tonight’s events sliding away from him and he closes his eyes trying to imagine Odette’s supple rump. He always liked a woman with a little meat on her bones.

The hinges of the door creak and he begrudgingly opens his eyes. Odette’s blissful rear end is replaced with Danny’s blood specked face. It’s been hours since the commotion in the lobby, and he still hasn’t cleaned himself up. Opie ticks his tongue in irritation. Here is the source of half of his daily stress staring him in the face.

“Why haven’t you cleaned yourself up, Danny?”

Danny shrugs his shoulders. Opie pushes his chair back and stands, he hates it when Danny hovers over him like a giant gorilla. Danny steps back as he unfolds. Opie’s just shy of Danny’s height, but wiry. He rubs his face absently with one hand, scratching the light dusting of stubble that has sprung to his cheeks, and braces for the hurricane.

Danny paces. “Did you see what happened tonight?”

“Not with my own eyes, but I know what happened.”

“And?”

“And what, Danny, what are you looking for?”

“I’m not looking for anything. I just—”

Opie holds up his hand. “Listen to me. It’s best to just forget about everything. Clean yourself up, get some rest, and forget about it.”

“Yes—I—but—”

“But nothing. You have no one else to blame for tonight but yourself.”

“But, Lot—”

Opie curtly holds up his hand again. “Stop. It wasn’t Lot. It was you. You brought that woman here. You let her get herself bitten. You’re responsible. It’s that simple.”

Danny’s face crumples. Lines of guilt stretch around his eyes, aging him instantly. It’s easy to do, old habit, Opie has been reeling in Danny for Lot for many years. A spark smolders in the pit of his stomach and he shifts his weight uncomfortably.

Danny runs a blood-caked hand through his hair, leaving strands standing on end. Opie shakes his head in disapproval. He wishes he didn’t have to deal with this… situation.

He takes Danny by the arm and guides him from the room.

“You’re a mess, a terrible example for others in the community. Go take care of yourself and get yourself under control. This is unacceptable.”

Finally, Danny slinks away into the darkness and Opie breathes a sigh of relief when he’s gone.

***

It’s been years since Lot and Danny shared a room; shared a bed; shared a life—but the memories are still painfully vibrant. To say he’s scarred would be to imply the wounds have healed. Instead, they lay open and festering, necrosis eating more deeply into his heart and soul every day.

Early on Danny somehow managed to build a thick wall around himself. The wall protected his mind from the nightly demands his body knew and hindered the view of his dark reality, twisting it into something more palatable. It protected him as many a blind eye looked his direction and it protected him as power hungry monsters facilitated the obscene. The wall was the only thing that allowed him to survive.

Now it is crumbling.

Danny’s lantern illuminates Hannah’s face.

After his talk with Opie, he wandered the hallways until he found himself here. They stand in a boardroom turned infirmary-morgue. Faux-wood panel tables are pushed against the wall. Once they sat business people for meetings and held rows of sparkling champagne glasses for weddings. Now they are burdened by two shrouded bodies. Basins of water, strips of cloth, and homemade rope lay to the side, they are the meager supplies of the defense lawyer turned undertaker.

Hannah always liked Danny. They’ve known each other since she and her son, Jamal, took refuge under Lot’s merciful wing. They were in bad shape, when Lot saved their lives, both ill from drinking contaminated water. Hannah had sat on the side of the road, sweating and green. They were out of gas, food, everything, and they were as sick as dogs.

The open flaps of the winter coat Hannah wore swayed with the chilly breeze. She had pulled it from a child’s body a few weeks previous. It was too small, her shoulders stressed the seams, but it was protection against the harsh winter soon to come.

Jamal crouched on the ground next to her, shaking. Vomit speckled his layered sweaters. Hannah knew they should have boiled the water before they drank it, but everything was soaking wet from the pissing autumn downpours and they had needed water desperately, hadn’t had a drop to drink in almost two days. Now it looked like they would still die of dehydration. Her bowels cramped and she clutched her stomach.

Hannah heard the vehicles before she saw them. This road was a busy one and they’d seen five cars in the past day, this would make six. She desperately tried to wave all of them down, but not one so much as slowed.

Three old-as-dirt pick-ups, easy to fix and easy to keep running, rounded the bend, not a computerized part in sight. She expected them to blast on by just like everyone else had, but she waved her arm at them anyway.

When the convoy of trucks pulled over, Hannah finally dared to hope. A petite woman swung open the driver’s side of the lead truck. She wore jeans and a red flannel shirt and her grey hair fell in loose curls around her thin face. She seemed comically tiny, much too small to command a pickup, yet her flat-soled, black leather boots hit the ground agilely as she jumped down from the cab.

It was hard to stand. Hannah had thought she might need to pop a squat any second. She sure as hell wasn’t going into the woods where those—things—were. Forget about modesty, it was bad enough trying to stay safe on the open road, let alone when you had your pants around your ankles.

The pixie-like woman floated toward her, guns cocking from the convoy behind her serenaded each step. Hannah nervously awaited her approach as she helped Jamal to his feet. “Thank you for stopping,” she said.

The woman halted about ten feet away, wisely cautious of people she didn’t know. “Are you in need of assistance?”

It was one of the happiest days of Hannah’s life. She would be forever grateful for the amazing kindness Lot performed that day and she soon came to realize it was par for the course for her hero. It seemed that every single person Hannah knew had a wonderful story about how Lot saved them, body or soul. The small woman that stood before her that day was a true savior.

That had been at the very start of the community, there were only about fifteen people then, in the huge empty hotel, but Lot had a vision: to create a paradise where everyone would work for the common good and live in safety and security.

They grew quickly in those first months. Every mission out of the hotel for supplies brought back more survivors, but the winter had been cruel. Hannah remembers the talk of revolt as food rations became meager. Soon discontent began to swirl about the woman who controlled their flow. There was fighting, and plotting, and turmoil. Snow fell and the supplies dwindled as the cold and uncertainty ate away at everyone.

Lot caught the first person that tried to steal red handed. He tried to deny it, but Hannah knew he was guilty. He had been one of Lot’s biggest naysayers for quite some time. They voted. Exile. He was put out, snow up to his thighs, wind tugging his beard. He begged, but no one wanted a thief, a food thief, in their midst. It was hard, but it had to be done.

Over the course of the winter quite a few people jumped ship. They would disappear during the dead of night, when no one would hear them pilfering supplies. It was sad to know how many selfish people this world had created, but there was always a little relief when there was one less mouth to feed. It meant a few more spoonfuls of rice and beans for everyone else.

Jamal had been a District Manager at a nationwide coffee shop prior to The End. Worrying about sales projections for his stores didn’t exactly prepare him for the apocalypse. On the other hand, it felt like Danny was meant for catastrophe, he seemed to thrive in it.

Over the course of that winter Hannah insisted Danny train Jamal. He was still only a teen then, seven years younger than her own son, but to her, Danny always seemed older. He trained Jamal to defend himself, to survive and although her son complained often about Danny, Hannah never once worried. His gruff nature and short temper didn’t bother her. It was because he was hard on Jamal, and countless others like him, that he could now fend for himself.

Of course, in a cloistered community like this, rumors spread like wildfire, especially when people are rubbed the wrong way. The erratic look in Danny’s eyes makes Hannah wonder if the whispers about him are true. Not until this moment had she ever considered giving them credence.

She has to admit Danny’s relationship with Lot is a strange one. He may be her adopted son, but he has an odd intimacy with her that raises eyebrows. It’s even stranger that she simultaneously has him on a pedestal and treads on him like a doormat. Hannah always chalked it up to normal, dysfunctional family dynamics, but rumors still persist.

Hannah had heard that, before everything changed, when Danny was about fifteen years old he tried to rape Lot. The story goes that one night he just went crazy and snapped. Lot, being the kind person she is, just couldn’t bring herself to get the police involved, but things were never the same.

Hannah always felt the story was unlikely, that it was just one of those insidious rumors bored people spread, but now she wonders if she’s being naive.

“Like a dangerous dog…” he mumbles under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He responds, barely noticing her. “There was a woman brought in here, not one of our people.”

Hannah extends a finger to point at one of the bodies. Danny puts his hand on the woman’s shrouded head. Misery leaks from his face, encompassing his entire frame and he closes his eyes, grips the table to steady himself.

Hannah watches, feeling sorry for him, and counts herself as one stupid old bat. How could she doubt this young man for even a second? He saved Jamal’s life numerous times over the course of their countless missions together, and it’s obvious he’s now in pain. She scolds herself for allowing gossip to color her worldview.

She steps closer to Danny and places a comforting hand on his arm. He tenses, flicking open his eyes and she nearly jumps out of her skin. She may, or may not believe the rumors she’s heard, but she can certainly tell a wild tiger when she sees one.

“Did you know her?” A soothing voice to calm the beast.

“Yes. No… not really.”

“Sometimes we find that instant connection in life and, no matter how brief it was, we are lucky. Just because it was only for a moment doesn’t mean it can’t last a lifetime, and we should be grateful for what we had.”

Danny’s face remains dark and solemn. He nods acknowledgment. “Have you heard anything about the boy that came in with this woman?”

“I heard Lot found him, he’s safe now.”

Danny’s brow furrows and Hannah wonders if she senses jealousy.

***

Danny is so far outside his comfort zone he thinks his skin may slough off and drop to the floor like one of the creepers outside. He feels like he’s drunk about ten cups of strong coffee with a straw and he can’t hold still. He paces in the hallway, trying both to work up his nerve and calm himself down.

He raises a hand to knock on the door,
her
door. His entire arm trembles. Maybe it would be better to leave, this is none of his business; there are worse things that can happen in life, especially this life. His stomach is in knots, and then suddenly he is rapping his knuckles on the wood. His heart jumps into his throat, twisting around and turning inside out. Time seems to span a century and then finally, the door opens revealing a surprised Lot.

She frowns and crosses her arms. Danny is nearly buried by her displeasure and he fidgets like a schoolboy, can’t look her in the eye. So much for grand confrontations. “I need to talk to you.” The words blurt from his mouth as he looks at the ground. Lot has a way of making him feel like a helpless child in a matter of seconds. She doesn’t even need to speak.

“I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow.” Lot pushes on the door, but Danny blocks it with his foot. She clicks her tongue and sighs, vexed. He cringes guiltily, as the breath escapes her lips and mumbles something at the floor while rubbing his arm nervously.

“Speak up, Daniel. I haven’t got all night.”

“Why did you have Casey shot?”

“That woman who followed you home?”

A tide of anger rises, emboldening Danny. He looks up, his eyes burning with rage. “She wasn’t a stray cat! Why did you have her shot?”

“She was bitten.”

Danny puts his hand on the door and shoves his way into Lot’s bedroom. He stares angrily into her light grey eyes as she rolls them. Even through his anger the gesture hurts. Poking her head into the hall, she peers down the corridor both ways and then shuts the door. Danny glances over at the sleeping child under the covers of Lot’s bed. Lot whispers crossly at him. “I had to make a decision. It was the right one, whether you like it or not.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“You’ve made the same decision many times yourself. In fact, if I recall correctly, you shot Lawrence without a second thought. Did anyone question you? Did
I
question you?”

“She wasn’t bitten, Lot!”