In the Lone and Level Sands (10 page)

“My name’s Alan. We aren’t safe here. We
need to leave.”

“I could have told you
that
,” Billy
said.

Alan walked up to Beverly and looked down at
her. “I am very sorry for your loss, ma’am, but we really must go.
Look around. We’ve gotten their attention.” He pointed with his
gun. Several of the zombies were moving in. They were slow, but
they were getting there.

Angela looked at Martha, and a wave of
sadness rushed over her. She decided to close the casket, but
Martha still held Charlie’s hand.

“Please,” she said, “let him go.”

“No,” Martha replied.

“I know it’s hard. But think about the rest
of us. You know we can’t take him with us.”

Martha didn’t speak any further about it,
but removed her hand from Charlie’s, and Angela closed the
casket.

“What are these things?” Billy asked. Alan
had begun walking after beckoning to the group. Slowly, everyone
banded together. Martha walked between her two daughters, their
respective families on either side, and Beverly walked behind them,
looking back as she went. She took one last eyeful of the horrible
sight that was her dead husband.

“I have no idea what they are,” Alan said.
“But I’ve seen what they
do
. If one of them bites you, it
isn’t long before you’re one of them.”

“Why didn’t my husband turn into one of
them, then?” Beverly asked from the back of the crowd. She began
walking faster, shedding her blood-soaked jacket. Underneath was a
white blouse, mostly untainted by Tylor’s blood. She discarded the
jacket and caught up with Alan.

“Because he died before he could, I
suppose,” Alan said. “I guess that’s just how it works.”

Some of the zombies came closer, and Alan
didn’t want to slow down. He shot a couple of them, hitting them
right in the head. Blood splattered, and they crumpled to the grass
below. Finally, they reached Alan’s car.

“You parked nearby?” Alan asked. Billy
nodded. Alan turned on his car and flipped radio stations, quickly
finding one that was broadcasting news. Everyone drew close to
listen.

“—timely and orderly fashion. I repeat: All
nearby citizens, please report calmly to Lynnwood Stadium. The
stadium is being fortified and shelter is being provided to those
affected by the recent events. Please, make your way to Lynnwood
Stadium in a timely and orderly fashion. I repeat: All nearby
citizens—”

“Yeah, that place was gonna be great,” Billy
said. “Think they’ll ever finish it?”

“It’ll be great for a whole new purpose,
now,” Alan replied.

“I say we go for it,” Martha said. “I just
want to make a stop by my home, first.”

“We have time for that,” Alan said, smiling
at Martha. She and the others began to move toward the cars they
came in. Alan called to them.

“All right. You lead the way, and then we’ll
head to Lynnwood. The traffic’ll probably be Hell, so we’ll need to
hurry.”

Martha, Francine, Emily, Billy, and Beverly
all climbed into Billy’s SUV. Phil, Angela, and Jesse climbed into
their car. When everyone was ready, the three vehicles pulled out
of the cemetery parking lot.

****

It took about twenty minutes to get to
Martha’s house on Amblan Drive. There were at least a half dozen
zombies wandering the streets, sidewalks, and front lawns. For the
most part they weren’t wise to the three cars, but one of them
happened to turn its head toward them and notice the people moving
inside. The zombie staggered toward the SUV. A few of the others
caught on and followed.

Emily was about to exit the car when she
realized the zombie was heading for it. She slammed the door of the
SUV shut, uttered a short scream, and grabbed Billy’s arm.

“What’s going on?” Billy said. He noticed
the zombies. “Oh, shit!”

Alan stopped his car, rolled down his
passenger window, leaned out, and opened fire on the slowly but
surely approaching zombies. Alan easily picked them off. Red
cascaded through the air and spilled over the rough pavement.

“Behind you!” Emily shouted to Alan, who was
reloading. Alan turned around, and there were two zombies
dangerously close to the door of his car. He rolled the window down
with the tip of his boot so he could finish reloading, then aimed
out the open window.

After the final zombie fell, Alan set the
gun down and sighed with relief. He got out of the car and went to
Billy’s window, then made a spinning motion with his hand.

Billy rolled the window down and peered up
at Alan.

“All right, ma’am—”

“It’s Martha. Just call me Martha.”

Alan nodded. “Martha, let’s get what you
came for, and then we can be on our way.” Emily exited the car
looking around nervously, and so did Martha.

“Hey, you,” Alan said.

“The name’s Billy.”

“Billy, take this.” He handed Billy his
Glock. “I have another one.”

“Thanks,” Billy said. “I hope I don’t need
it.”

“I hope not as well. Just hurry, and be
careful.”

Martha, Emily, and Billy hurried toward the
house. Emily and Billy went around checking rooms for danger, but
Martha paid little attention to them as she headed straight for
what she had come to retrieve.

Inside Martha’s room, by the bed, rested the
nightstand. On the small table was a lamp and an empty water glass,
and behind that was the picture of her and Charlie. Martha sat down
on the bed and looked at it. She closed her eyes, pushing a couple
of tears down her face. She picked up the picture, opened her
watery eyes, and looked deep into it. She caressed the glass.
Another tear ran down her cheek, and then Emily entered the
room.

“Mother?” she said. It startled Martha. She
turned around, clutching the picture close to her.

“Yes, is everything okay, dear?”

“I’m fine,” Emily said. “Are you?”

“As fine as I will ever be. I’m ready to
go.”

“You’re not going to bring any clothes?”

“The authorities should have this situation
wrapped up soon, and then we can get along with our lives,
right?”

“I hope so. Well, let’s go, then.”

Martha, Emily, and Billy headed back to the
SUV, and then led the way down the street. Soon they would be in
Lynnwood, and they were hoping they wouldn’t have to stay there
long, but only time would tell.

15

On a Swiftly Falling Plane

Layne had no idea how high the plane had
been when the engines shut off, but it didn’t matter; he was pretty
sure everyone on board was going to die. He wondered where the
plane would land. Empty ground? A body of water? Or would it land
on some unlucky residents in a small town? Layne could only begin
to imagine what would happen if the plane hit a building; he’d be a
part of the nation’s next great terror scare, and all anyone would
ever see of him would be a big burst of flame.

He was gripping the right arm of his seat
with his death clutch, and his left hand was clutching just as
tightly, but it still had Alex’s hand in it. People were screaming.
Layne watched an attendant carefully make his way to the cabin and
try the door, but it was locked. He pounded on it, probably wanting
more to have some respite from the unsafe aisle than to see what
was going wrong. Layne turned to Alex, and she was looking at
him.

“Are we going to die?” she said. Layne
barely heard her. The oxygen masks dropped before everyone, and it
startled Layne.

“I think we might,” he said.

“Why did you fly?” Alex asked. He looked at
her, confused. “What makes someone who’s never flown before
fly?”

Layne remembered their previous
conversation. “I was going to—”

There was an enormous shockwave and the
sound of metal being crushed. The lights went out, the world was
dark, but Layne’s eyes had been shut anyway. When he eventually
opened them, he could see the ground flying by. Just a few rows
ahead of him, the plane had snapped, and the front part was nowhere
in sight. Layne realized that the ground whizzing by was getting
closer. The plane must have snapped on the first impact and
bounced, and it was about to make its second impact.

It happened so quickly, yet seemed to drag
on. Layne didn’t close his eyes this time.

The plane hit again, and the part closest to
the ground crumpled like tin foil. Two rows of people crumpled with
it, and Layne immediately wished he had closed his eyes. He saw
blood splatter, limbs sever, lives blinked out of existence, though
he supposed a blink was much better than a stare.

The tail end raised into the air as the
plane dragged along the ground. Layne could see the dirt and grass
through the open hull, and it was growing steeper. He prayed that
the plane wouldn’t tip, that it would just fall back down and slide
to a stop.

The plane tipped. Layne went from leaning
unimaginably forward and praying to hanging upside-down and
screaming. The top of the plane hit the ground with a large thud,
followed quickly by the sound of more metal crumpling. Luggage was
tossed about, and Layne saw a flight attendant thrown from the
plane. His view was upside-down and quickly fleeting, but through
the hole in the hull he saw the attendant bounce along the ground
behind the plane.

The plane started to turn, and Layne was
beginning to think that nothing could impede this madness. It slid
sideways, and then rolled. There were two distinct popping noises
that Layne presumed were the wings snapping off of the plane and
hurtling to an unknown fate. Any attempt at vision yielded nothing
but a circling blur. Layne closed his eyes and tried not to throw
up. He couldn’t tell if Alex’s hand was still in his anymore; it
felt almost like they had become one, smooshed into each other, now
inseparable.

Layne was jerked from side to side with each
roll of the plane, as was everyone and everything else on board. He
thought his neck would snap just like the wings had.

The plane finally began to slow, and with
one final jerk, it made a half-roll, stopped, and settled back
down. Thanking God for small favors, Layne realized that the plane
had come to rest belly-down. He turned and saw Alex. She looked at
him.

“We didn’t die,” she said.

There was a horrible noise, and all Layne
saw was metal. One of the wings had been thrown upward, and on its
return voyage had crashed into the body of the plane. It sliced
through the hull like a knife through butter, right beside Layne.
He screamed, squeezed, shut his eyes. When he opened them, he was
still holding Alex’s hand, but it was no longer attached to her. It
angled up and into a bloody stump that rested against the wing of
the plane. Horrified, and as terrible as the thought seemed, Layne
hoped it had killed her. He couldn’t imagine what shape she would
be in if it hadn’t.

He couldn’t let go. They hadn’t been melded
together, but the emotion was starting to well up as the adrenaline
drained. Layne started crying. He threw up. Then he looked again,
not wanting to believe it. Yet there it was, her severed arm
pressed so tightly against the wing that could just as easily have
taken him, taken him
too
, or taken no one at all.

Layne let go of the hand, and it slumped
down onto the arm of the seat. He tried to unbuckle his seatbelt,
failed because of his shaking hands, and then ripped it from its
buckle and freed himself. People were still screaming. Layne stood
up, felt weak, and sat back down.

Even though he hadn’t known Alex well, or
long, he reached for her hand, took her bracelet, and put it on his
own wrist, resting at the edge of his sleeve. Leaving it on the
plane seemed wrong. He hoped he’d at least be able to get it to
Alex’s mother, perhaps find her once the crash was taken care of
and the authorities began notifying next-of-kin. He would deliver
the bracelet himself.

Layne hadn’t paid much attention to the rest
of the plane until then. He stood up and kept himself up. The
people who lived were finally starting to calm down, though several
were crying loudly. Layne could hardly believe how random it was.
There were rows of untouched people, and there were rows of dead
people with a single living, terrified person among them.

Where the wings had snapped off, there were
huge holes in the sides of the plane. The seats that had been right
next to them had likely followed, as they were no longer there. A
few people had broken free during the tumble; their bodies were
strewn across seats, and one rested across the laps of a row of
horrified people.

It dawned on him as he looked around that he
was the only one standing. He looked for the nearest survivor and
found a young man from the next row over, who was comforting his
girlfriend. The rest of the people in the row had been killed.

“Sir, are you all right?” Layne asked. The
man looked at him.

“Do I fucking look all right to you?” he
said. Layne hadn’t expected this response, but realized that he
should have. The man’s girlfriend nudged him, and he looked at
her.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” she said. “He’s
just trying to help! Didn’t you see the wing?” Layne had taken some
comfort from the woman defending him, but his stomach sank when she
mentioned the wing of the plane. “He just experienced something
horrible, but he’s actually trying to help someone else!”

The man looked ashamed.

“We’re fine, sir,” the woman said. “Dazed,
but alive. Thank you.”

“Can you get up?” Layne said. “I don’t want
to burden you, but can you maybe help me get to people, see if
anyone needs help?”

“Uh,” the woman’s boyfriend said. He looked
down, then buried his face in his hands.

“Yeah, sure,” his girlfriend said. She
unbuckled herself, stood up, and looked at her boyfriend. “Just
stay here, okay? I’ll be back. Just wait right here.”