Love in the Time of the Dead (4 page)

“I’ll cover the front door in case they get in before Guist makes it back,” Laney said. She braced herself in front of the banging entry.

Jarren and Mitchell took the stairs behind them two at a time. Furniture scraped across wooden floors as it was stacked and dragged around the room above her. Window glass broke and tinkled across the floor.
Bang, bang, bang.
The noise grew louder as the Deads became more frantic outside the door and the outer walls of the house. She wiped sweat off her brow to keep it from her eyes.

“Guist? Guist!” she yelled as the frame of the door splintered loudly. Deads were coming in sooner rather than later, and the team was low on ammo. All hell was about to come barreling through that door and she only had half a clip left before she got to her last mag of tracer bullets. Those she would desperately need after dark.

“Guist, we got company!” Where the hell was he?

The door gave way, halting only momentarily as the small chain creaked and tensed before it snapped, illuminating the entryway with waning daylight and a mob of walking Deads. Guist appeared and sprinted for the stairway behind Laney. He held an ax in a white knuckled grip, and slid into the stairwell just as the first wave of monsters poured through the front door.

She checked out. She always did in battle. It was necessary for survival. No fear, no thought, just her instincts guiding her body.

Shot to the head.

Next Dead.

Aim.

Shot to the head.

Next Dead.

Guist’s strong grip dug into her shoulder, dragging her up the stairs while she kept the Deads at bay. It was all he could do. Guist had been out of ammo before they even made it to the house. Other than blades, he was weaponless. He yelled something behind her, but she couldn’t understand him over the sheer volume of the gunfire and the roaring Deads who stumbled and crawled over the bodies she felled. At the top of the stairs, Guist pulled her into a bedroom just as the zombies clawed at her clothing and gnashed their rotting teeth inches away from her skin. The door slammed behind her, and Mitchell pushed a dresser in front of it so fast it almost hit her in the hip.

She slid her rifle to her back and reached around to help steady the pile of furniture under Guist. He was already hacking away at the drywall in the ceiling with the heavy blade.

The dresser in front of the door was rocking steadily by the time the hole in the ceiling was wide enough for a man, and between shouted orders, Jarren and Guist were through to the attic to try to tear through roofing wood and layers of shingle.

“Up you go, sweetheart,” Mitchell yelled over the noise of the banging door.

She hesitated. They hadn’t had time to balance the furniture properly, and Mitchell would never make it up without falling. She didn’t have the upper body strength to lift him through the hole behind her.

“You first, then lift me up!” she yelled.

“No way, Laney. I—”

“Don’t argue, Mitchell. I’m going to need you to lift me up. Now go!”

Mitchell cursed under his breath and grabbed the back of her head, sliding his fingers into her hair. The pressure from his grip brought their lips together. His kiss was as unexpected as it was violent, and it left her wide-eyed and panicked.

Mitchell held her gaze a moment longer. “Don’t be long.”

He scrambled up the makeshift ladder and Laney lunged to hold it steady. The dresser that held back the Deads fell over as Mitchell made it to the attic, and with one fear-filled glance at the splintering door behind her, Laney scrambled clumsily up the unbalanced load. It rocked and swayed dangerously, starting to topple. She wouldn’t make it. She screamed, a frantic and terrified sound, arms flailing and reaching desperately for the hole in the ceiling that meant salvation.

A strong hand caught her at the wrist and pulled. Mitchell grunted with the effort, and the attic beams strained and creaked under the new weight. A Dead caught her leg. It clawed and pulled and she kicked her feet frantically. Another pair of hands grabbed her arm and lifted her away from the rotting fingernails that scrabbled at her ankles. The furniture fell in a pile below her as Deads crawled on top of the pieces and jumped clumsily for the hole in the ceiling.

Mitchell pulled her onto his chest and held her so tightly she couldn’t drag air into her lungs. Jarren covered the hole with a large piece of particle board. Guist hacked tirelessly through the final layer between them and sunset as a sheen of sweat trickled down the side of his neck.

“It’s okay. You’re all right. You’re safe,” Mitchell cooed as Jarren screamed at them both for her being the last one up. She had scared him badly, but it couldn’t be helped. Mitchell would have been taken if they’d reversed the order.

“Let me go!” Laney yelled, feeling weak.

Hurt flashed in Mitchell’s eyes, but the look was quickly replaced by a sneer. “Sorry, Landry. I’ve just never heard you scream like a girl before. Made me think you were one for a second.”

She punched him in the face. Hard. She didn’t know why. He always said stuff like that, but a combination of confusion over his kiss, fear, embarrassment, and a very near death experience had her desperate for an outlet for all of the roiling emotion consuming her. Mitchell’s sneering face made a fantastic outlet for it all.

“What the hell, Landry?” Mitchell yelled as he rubbed his jaw.

She turned before he could see her eyes water. Light seeped into the attic as a Dead got his fingers through the hole under the board and the weight ripped a piece of drywall off. Mitchell stomped at the decaying fingers that found purchase, and Laney balanced on attic beams to help with the hole for the roof access. Guist had the hole big enough for her small frame to fit, and he and Jarren hoisted her through. The ax was shoved through the escape hole so she could widen it for them at a more efficient angle. She checked her surroundings and then went to work. The ax swung its violent arc as she threw her entire body into every blow, chopping through the roof as fast as her injured hand would allow. She ignored the nagging pain completely until the boys were through the hole minutes later. As Jarren jumped through, she dropped the ax and held her bleeding hand tightly to her abdomen. It didn’t help the pain, but she didn’t want anyone to see how badly she had damaged it—herself included.

Guist retrieved the ax and the team ran in a low and careful lope, easily making the small leap from roof to attached roof in an attempt to avoid the attention of the impressive numbers of Deads trying to get into the house they had escaped. When they reached the end of the row, they hunched down quietly so Jarren could check the map. He pointed to their left toward a thick pine forest, and they silently climbed down a fire escape on the last house. Darkness was falling fast, but they could still see small groups of Deads coming in, attracted to the noise. The team jogged carefully to a playground behind the houses, and when the coast was clear enough, they ran for the safety of the woods.

Six miles of dark and piney forest stood between the small band of fighters and the borders of the colony. Even if it would be the longest distance they had ever traveled by dark, it would be too risky to bed down in a tree with their scent so fresh and so close to such a large number of frenzied man eaters. Getting treed with no ammo would mean a slow death. They would have to try to make it to the colony that night.

A couple of fast paced miles later, Laney’s body threatened to give out. They had been going all day on truly meager rations, and the last adrenaline crash left her shaking and weak. That and she couldn’t see a damned thing. The eyelash moon was less than helpful and she had to stop to dig her night glasses out of her pack. Her terrible night vision was also an excellent excuse to catch her breath. She hated lagging behind.

“What’s the hold up?” Mitchell demanded, panting. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t see where I’m going and I need to get my mag of tracer ammo, too.”

“I’ve seen you load on the run a hundred times.”

Yep. He was still mad.

Jarren doubled back for them. “Let her be, Mitchell. We’re all winded.”

Mitchell growled in frustration. “We’re four miles from the colony and losing precious Dead-free moments.”

She pulled her glasses on and tossed her pack over her shoulder. “Okay, I’m ready.” Her stomach rumbled loudly, despite the terrible timing.

“No time for that, Landry,” Mitchell snapped and jogged off.

“Didn’t say there was,” she grumbled.

Jarren ran beside her, relying on his impeccable night vision instead of his night glasses. “You smell any?” he asked.

Breathlessly, she replied, “The smell hasn’t gone away. They’re around us—we’ve just been lucky to miss them so far. I bet they’ll be gathered around the colony for sure, though. We won’t be able to avoid them there.”

Two Deads came crashing through the trees in front of them, and Guist and Mitchell offed them with blades. They had to save the remainder of the ammo to give them a chance at getting through the gates of the colony.

The hours that followed were long, treacherous, and exhausting. The stream of Deads that came for them was endless. What should have been four miles turned into many more as they got turned around in skirmishes time and time again, like a cruel pinball game in the forest. It wasn’t as if they had time to check a compass, either. They finally had a chance to check their position near dawn when they were out of ammo and hopelessly and utterly treed. Their blades would never be enough against the number of Deads that gathered around the bases of the three trees they had managed to scurry up.

Now what? No one knew where they were, and in a cruel twist of fate, the map said they were no more than a quarter mile from the colony border. Such a short distance from safety, but the team would starve months before the Deads would give up on them and leave in search of another meal.

A Dead came much too close to grabbing her ankle, and Jarren nodded for her to go up to the next branch. It groaned its discontent under her weight. The branches were already thinning that far up. The tree wasn’t big enough for one of them, much less both her and Jarren, who had refused to leave her side. The Deads were clumsily clawing their way up the tree and there was no more room for Jarren to move up. Dead after Dead fell as they lost purchase on the bark. If they had any sense, they would use their numbers to push on one side and knock down the tree. As it was, they were so frenzied for a meal that they ended up pushing evenly against the trunk from all sides, keeping it upright. Thank goodness for a Dead’s bad sense.

The tree rocked dangerously, and she held on for dear life. A quick look at Mitchell’s and Guist’s bigger trees proved they were having trouble as well.

“If we have to go down—” Jarren started.

“No! Don’t even start talking like that. We’ll figure something out.”

The tree rocked to the side again, and Jarren’s eyes held a sadness so deep, it seemed to pool in their green depths. Straining his voice over the flesh-hungry moans of the Deads, Jarren started again. “If we go down, I’m going to jump to my left. I’ll fight as long as I can and draw the bulk of them to me.”

“Jarren, please,” she begged through a tightening throat.

“I don’t see another way. It’s still important you make it to that colony. Don’t give up. Don’t let thoughts of me cloud your judgment.” Jarren kicked one of the better-climbing Deads in the head and sent him sprawling back down to earth. “Get your knives ready. Here, take my machete.”

“No, you’ll have nothing to fight them off with!”

“That isn’t the point, Laney. The point is to distract. You jump as far right as possible and run for the colony. It’s right through there.” He pointed with his machete and then tossed it up in the air and caught it dexterously. He handed it to her, hilt first. “I love you, little sister. And I’m proud of you. You wouldn’t even believe how proud I am of you.”

She nodded tightly. If she opened her mouth to say anything, a sob would come out. She understood her importance, but at the moment it was hard to care. Her brother was the single most important thing in her life. He was her connection to everything that was good, the light that made her small existence livable.

“I can’t do it,” she whispered raggedly.

“You can and you will, Landry. I’d never forgive you if you didn’t survive, do you hear me? You have to try.”

The tree rocked dangerously to the side again, and Jarren sidled farther down the branch.

Her heart hammered so fast she felt faint. She’d lose him. She’d lose him. She’d lose him. Sure, she’d die soon after, but at the moment, that wasn’t so important.

Mitchell and Guist seemed to be taking Jarren’s lead. They readied themselves to jump.

Laney stifled a scream as she watched Jarren scoot to the edge of where the branch would hold his weight. He took a quick, deep breath and glanced at her one last time to make sure she was ready.

And then he jumped.

Chapter Three

A
T
F
IRST
, T
HE
E
NGINES
couldn’t be heard over the groaning of the Deads. Some unexpected movement made Jarren yell and reach around to catch the branch before he fell. Two brown Hummers barreled through the masses of Deads and skidded to a stop under Laney’s tree, just as a Dead grabbed onto Jarren’s dangling legs. The Hummer hit the Dead squarely, but the force of it pulled Jarren’s arms free of the branch and flipped him onto the hood. All upright Deads lurched toward him as he struggled to right himself and grab his blades. The doors to the Hummer opened and three men jump out with assault rifles. They cleared out an area, and one of them pulled Jarren into the open door by the scruff of his shirt. The other Hummer was attempting to rescue Mitchell and Guist. It was then or never.