Kick at the Darkness (8 page)

“Where do we go?” Adam asked quietly.

Parker gave the only answer he had. “I don’t know.”

After a long moment, Adam spoke again—barely a whisper. “I should have heard them. Those men. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“They brought the infected to us. The girls…”

Parker realized his arms were still wrapped around Adam’s waist even though the bike wasn’t moving. He squeezed. “We did our best. We’ll do better next time.”

After a moment, Adam nodded and turned the key.

They stuck to the woods, making their way as the sky to the east began to brighten. The sound of the engine was welcome, and Parker let himself close his eyes as the steady hum filled his mind, muffling the lingering echoes of the girls’ dying screams, and Carey crying for her mother.

Pink and orange splashed across the sky as they made their way through the winding suburban streets of Palo Alto. The roads were as clogged here as they had been near campus, abandoned vehicles and remains of bodies jammed every which way. Adam steered them along the sidewalk and across lawns. The infected surged toward them from time to time, but for the moment it was relatively easy to evade them.

Parker rested his head against Adam’s back, the leather smooth against his cheek. He had never felt so tired. The word felt wholly lacking to describe the weariness that had settled into him. The backpack hung heavily on his shoulders, the machete pressing into his spine. He coughed weakly, totally congested now and his throat burning with each swallow
. It’s the flu. If it was what they have, I’d be…turned by now
.

He was filthy with dirt and blood, but at least that was something he could fix. “God, I need a shower,” he mumbled. “And something to drink.”

Adam heard him, of course. “Let’s find a house.” He took a turn, driving down a few suburban streets until they came to one that looked normal aside from one car stopped in the middle of the road, what was left of the driver visible through broken glass. Adam glanced around and killed the engine. For a long moment, he just sat there, listening.

Parker let Adam do his thing. If Adam thought he could hear all the way into
houses
, then he could have at it. For the moment, the street was empty, and the only sounds Parker could hear were birds chirping. No chattering, thank God. He closed his eyes and leaned against Adam. “Any contenders?”

“With the red shutters.” Adam jerked his chin toward a house three down and climbed off the bike.

Parker followed on foot as Adam pushed the bike across the lawn and behind the house. The neighborhood felt oddly peaceful. He could almost believe that coffee makers would be turning on, and the families of Ramblewood Lane would soon be preparing for another day at school, or the office, or maybe the mommy and me yoga studio.

Adam parked the bike by the rear door and paused. He turned the handle, but it was locked.

“You sure no one’s inside?”

“I’m sure.”

Parker eyed the glass window on the upper part of the door. “I guess we can break—”

With a rattle, the door swung inward. The handle hung precariously from its socket.

Adam shrugged. “Shitty workmanship.”

Inside, the two-story house was still. The back door opened to the white kitchen, where bananas and oranges sat in a bowl on the island, and pale green tiles gleamed behind the sink. On the white marble counter, fresh coffee did indeed fill a pot, the bitter aroma permeating the air. Parker’s nose was clogged, but he sniffed loudly. It was possibly the greatest thing he’d ever smelled.

A finger-painted tree adorned the fridge, along with number and letter magnets. One grouping spelled out:

Ashley is 4 now

“I’ll double check the rest of the house.” Armed with the shotgun, Adam disappeared through the dining room.

After a minute of staring at Ashley’s tree, Parker made himself useful. He brought the motorcycle in and parked it by the round dining table, resting his pack and machete holster on the polished wood. The house still had power, and he gratefully gulped down a cold bottle of water from the fridge and then blew his nose on a paper towel. He coughed, and his lungs rattled. Maybe there was some medicine in the house. The cold water stung his throat, but he guzzled more, and then splashed coffee into a mug. He sipped it black, closing his eyes at the soothing familiarity of the flavor.

There were several containers of leftovers in the fridge, and Parker peeled off the lids to find roast pork, mashed potatoes, and some kind of squash dish. It felt weird to eat someone else’s food, and he still wasn’t really hungry, but he opened each cupboard until he found the dinner plates. What he wanted more than anything was his mom’s chicken soup. He shoved away a pang of longing and worry. They would be fine on the Cape. They would be. Parker pulled out his phone, but it was out of juice.

Floorboards creaked overhead as Adam moved through the house. A pile of local flyers sat on the island, one folded over with a circle drawn around a sale on extra-lean ground beef for three-ninety-nine a pound. Parker peered out the bay window along the back of the kitchen over a cozy breakfast nook. Crumbs dotted the square table. The sun rose over the backyard swing set and nothing stirred.

It could be just another morning.

At the kitchen sink, he washed his hands with peppermint-lavender soap. A pot scrubber rested in a ceramic frog’s open mouth, and Parker took it and dug in under his nails. Blood—
Carey’s
blood, Jesus Christ—flecked off, sticking to the rim of a mug sitting in the sink. When his hands were raw, he picked up the mug and washed it, reading the words printed on the side:

You’re not the boss of me. That’s my wife’s job!

“Okay?”

Blinking, Parker dropped the mug with a clatter. “Yeah. I was going to…there’s food.” He grabbed a serving spoon from a jug of utensils and began dishing the leftovers onto the two plates.

“There’s a bathroom with a shower down here. Why don’t we stay on the main floor? In case we have to leave in a hurry. I brought down towels. You go first—I’ll nuke the food.” He reached out and gently took the spoon from Parker’s hand. “You should rest. You sound really stuffed up.”

Parker realized he was shaking. “Yeah. Okay. A shower would be good.” He caught sight of a coiled white cord on the counter behind a metal mail holder with bills addressed to a
W. Henderson
. His heart leapt. “Please be a five. Please be a five.” He pulled out the cord and saw the tiny plug. “Yes!” The USB end was plugged into a wall adapter in a socket. Parker yanked out his phone and attached the charger. After a long moment, the apple appeared in the middle of the screen.

Minutes passed like hours as Parker watched the red battery indicator creep up. He paced on the pale tiles, drumming his fingers on the marble counter every so often. Adam didn’t comment, and went about opening and closing cupboards. He pulled out some items, but Parker didn’t look to see what. The red bar grew longer.

Finally there was enough charge to check his messages. Parker swiped his finger and tapped in his code. There were no red numbers next to his texts or his phone icon. He tapped his recents and tried to dial his mother, but it wouldn’t connect. No internet either. He went to settings. “They must have wireless here,” he muttered. A secure network appeared, but there were no waves indicated, and he didn’t know the password anyway. “Shit.”

“Parker.”

He felt wired with energy, like he might burst out of his skin. He glanced around the kitchen and realized there was a cordless phone sitting in its cradle on the counter. How had he not noticed that? He pressed the ON button with shaky fingers and thought he might cry when he heard the sweet sound of the dial tone. Parker realized he didn’t know anyone’s numbers off by heart, and tapped hurriedly at his contacts.

One by one, he tried his family and friends. One by one, the phone rang and either went to voicemail, or didn’t connect at all. “Fuck!” He barely resisted the urge to smash the cordless phone on the tiles.

“Parker…”

“Shit, did you check the TV? We need to check the TV.” He hurried past a rustic pine dining table and chairs to the living room at the front of the house, where a flat screen was mounted over a glass fireplace. Three remotes sat on the coffee table. Parker picked the closest and jabbed the power button. Nothing. He tried the second. Nothing. His pulse raced as he grabbed the third and aimed it at the TV. With a welcoming tri-tone, the screen flared to life.

Snow.

Parker pressed the channel arrow with his thumb, scrolling up past static on station after station.

“Parker, it’s no use.”

He didn’t look at Adam, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. “There has to be something. There has to be.” He pressed his thumb rhythmically, up, up, up through the numbers. Finally a picture appeared. “There!” His breath was shallow as he read the scrolling message.

This is the Emergency Broadcast System. This is not a test. Stay in your home with doors and windows locked…

“It’s the same.” Parker shook his head. “No, there has to be something else.”

Adam was beside him, his touch gentle as he took hold of the remote in Parker’s hand. “It’s okay.”

“No!” Parker jerked away and stabbed the channel arrow. More useless snow and static appeared, or black screens. “They have to tell us
something
!” He pulled his arm back and launched the remote across the room, where it clattered against the fireplace.

“We’ll figure it out.”

Parker wheeled around to face Adam, who remained infuriatingly calm. “How? What are we supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then what good are you? You don’t know anything. We’re going to fucking die, and you’re just standing there like it doesn’t matter. Like you don’t even care!”

“Of course I care. Freaking out isn’t going to help.” He didn’t even raise his voice.

It just made the rage rushing through Parker burn hotter. “Well, excuse the fuck out of me for not being as perfect as you. There are motherfucking
zombies
roaming America and England, and the whole world for all we know.
I’m freaking out
! I don’t know where my family is. I don’t know anything. I can’t just be all Zen! What’s the matter with you? At least I’m trying to find out what’s happening! What are you doing? I might as well be by myself. You’re not helping.” It wasn’t true, and as soon as the words left his mouth, Parker wanted to haul them back.

Adam watched him for a long moment. Then he turned on his heel, his voice still steady. “I’m taking a shower.”

The bathroom door closed down the hall, and Parker was left in the living room, chest heaving and sweat gathering on his brow. His hands were squeezed into fists, and he clenched his jaw so tightly it felt like it might snap. He picked up a tasseled cushion and held it to his face.

He screamed.

AS THE MINUTES ticked by, he listened to the water run faintly, the pillow still pressed against his face. The anger began to ebb and drain away, and he hurt all over. He wanted to curl up and sleep for days, but fear rattled through him with every ragged breath. What if he woke up and Adam was gone? Parker wouldn’t blame him, but the thought made him want to vomit.

His legs weren’t steady as he made his way to the bathroom. He leaned his forehead against the door and was about to sink to the carpet to wait.

“Parker?”

He must have made more noise than he’d thought. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.

The shower was still running, but a moment later the door opened. Water dripped from Adam’s hair, and his skin glistened. He held a towel in front of his waist. “It’s okay.”

Parker swallowed hard. His throat felt like it had swelled to twice its size. “Please don’t leave me.”

Wordlessly, Adam took his hand and drew him into the small bathroom. He secured the towel around his hips and lifted up Parker’s shirt. “Get in the shower. You’ll feel better. The steam will help.”

Nodding, Parker unlaced his sneakers and stripped off his clothes. Adam nudged him toward the steamy shower stall and nodded to a folded towel on the toilet seat. “Here you go. I’ll heat up that food and make sure it’s still clear outside.”

“No!” Parker grabbed Adam’s wet arm. The panic swirled in his gut, and he wavered on his feet. “Stay. Please? Besides, there’s still conditioner in your hair.”

Parker stepped into the shower, and after a few moments, Adam dropped his towel and followed. There wasn’t much room to maneuver, but after Adam finished cleaning his hair, he leaned back and let Parker lather and rinse. The hot water and steam really did help, and Parker breathed more easily. His cough still rattled though, and God, he was so tired. He wanted to sit at the bottom of the shower stall and let the water pour over him for hours.

As his knees gave out, Adam held him up with strong hands on his upper arms. He shook his head. “You really are getting sick.”