Roads Less Traveled (6 page)

“What do you want to do about this?” Ben whispered. Jake just shook his head, unable to speak. Ben hesitated, and then continued. “I think she’s in shock. I can’t get her to answer me, or leave the bed.” He laid a hand on his friend’s back, trying to comfort him and knowing it would only piss Jake off. He was surprised when a sob escaped and Jake slid to the floor. Ben kneeled down behind him, his hand pressed against Jake’s back, and let him cry.

* * *

“Maybe I should try talking to her,” Kyra said. Mike and Zack had helped her check all the windows and brace the two doors as best they could. For the time being the downstairs was secure. At least until daylight came and they could get out to the storage shed to check for anything they could use to board the windows up. They sat in the living room, the two guys remaining still as Kyra fidgeted. Ben and Jake were still upstairs trying to get through to Mrs. McKinley. Ben had come down once to fill them in on the situation, and Kyra had been a basket case ever since. She didn’t let it show, except for the furious way her fingers kept twisting a lock of her hair. But she thought she could help, even though she was a stranger in this house.

Mike stood as they heard footsteps coming down the stairs. “How is she?” he asked. Jake looked pale and beaten as he walked past Mike without answering and sat in the chair across from Kyra. Ben simply shrugged and sighed.

“I don’t know. She just sits there, not saying a word,” he said. He ran his hand through his hair and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Mike turned around and faced the others with his hands on his hips.

“Well we have to do something. Do we even know how long she’s been sitting up there? She has to be hungry. And Bill, we need to bury him. Can’t just leave a body lying around,” he said, his voice becoming louder as he went on.

“Shut your mouth,” Jake growled as he dug his fingers into the arms of the chair. Zack tensed and moved to the edge of his seat, his hand grabbing Kyra and pulling her back to the couch when she started to stand. He glanced at her quickly and shook his head, hoping she got the hint. Ben returned with a bottle of water and froze in place behind them.

“What Jake? I’m just saying what everyone else is already thinking. I get it, this is your house and those are your grandparents. But damn man, the world is going to hell and I’m scared! We need to be getting our shit together instead of sitting here on our-” He didn’t have a chance to finish his lecture. Jake bolted out of the chair and was on top of Mike before the others could stop him.

A right-handed upper-cut slammed Mike onto the floor by the staircase, knocking over a ficus plant and spilling soil onto the hardwood floor. Jake had his hands around the antagonist’s throat and was intent on shutting the mouthy asshole up, even if he had to choke him to death to do it. His face was twisted in fury as he screamed through clenched teeth.

“You sonofabitch!” he cried as he released the stranglehold and started wailing on Mike with his fists. Zack and Ben both tried to pull him off, both getting elbowed in the chin and nose by Jake’s frantic jabs and punches. Kyra jumped to her feet, helpless to stop the attack. Over and over Jake’s fists pounded as his agony and grief poured through them. Again the other men tried restraining him and again Jake turned on them, shoving them away before returning to Mike’s bloodied face.

“Stop that right this instant,” a calm and commanding voice said. Zack, Ben and Kyra looked up instantly and saw Mrs. McKinley on the stairs, her hands on the banister, and her eyes on her grandson. Jake stopped mid-swing and stared at her. Mike was gasping; Jake had gripped his left hand around Mike’s throat again. Blood poured from his mouth and nose, and his cheek and eye were also bruised and swelling.

“Jacob McKinley, I said stop this instant,” she repeated as she started down the steps. Ben went around and met her at the bottom, taking her hand to help steady her. Zack reached down, grabbed Jake by the collar, and yanked him off Mike.

“Grandma,” Jake stuttered. His face was flushed red and his fists were bleeding. He stood there as Zack held him by the scruff of his neck looking like a kid who had just been caught eating a cookie before dinner. Mike coughed and gagged as he rubbed his throat and rolled to one side to spit out a mouthful of blood. And a couple of teeth. Mrs. McKinley slowly approached Jake, Ben still at her elbow, until she was standing face to face with him.

“Is this how we treat guests, Jacob?” she asked, glancing down at Mike and shaking her head in that sad way only a mother (or a grandmother in this case), can. “You weren’t raised in a barn, young man.”

Kyra had edged closer to the others and, after a long moment of silence, finally spoke. “Mrs. McKinley, you should sit and rest. Let me bring you a cup of tea, or water if you like?” Kyra asked. The older woman turned and smiled.

“You may call me Nancy, and tea would be lovely, dear.”

Chapter Five

October 1
^st
: the first night

I sat at the kitchen table for hours after hearing Ben’s account of what had happened at the farm. The coffee pot had long since been drained and Gus was fast asleep at my feet. The moon was bright outside, but inside it was total darkness. Lost in my brooding thoughts, I had neglected to turn on any of the lights. I had also neglected my stomach, which was telling me it was way past suppertime. I went to the cupboard and grabbed a granola bar, then stood and looked out the only first floor window I hadn’t boarded up. I figured being small and over the kitchen sink, it was unlikely a deadhead would barge in anytime soon.

My mind kept going back and circling the same thought, the one which had anchored me to the kitchen table until my legs were numb. Just how many ways were there to die now in this new reality? Of course the obvious was death by zombie. The second obvious, at least to me, was suicide. But I hadn’t thought about the other, more devious and underhanded ways, to die. Perhaps it was my scientific nature. Add to that my thick cynicism and thick head, and I realized I was thinking inside the box.

If Jake hadn’t snapped his grandmother out of her self-pitying trance by beating the crap out of the village idiot, I’m sure she would have died. Just sat there and starved to death. Actually she would have died of dehydration first, but I digress. Can someone actually decide to die, and then just kick over? Literally lose the will to live? This was the thought that kept me awake until past midnight, on the first day of the zombie uprising, when I should have been in bed getting some much needed sleep. This was also the same thought that woke me, screaming and soaked with sweat, all through the night.

I kept seeing my co-workers all around me. Some looked almost normal, only a small bite wound on their neck or hand to give them away. Others… well others looked like they had been mauled by bears. I was trapped, had nowhere to run, but they never advanced. They just stood around me, their teeth gnashing together. And the moaning, that guttural moaning. No human (no living human), could possibly make that sound. I screamed at them, ‘Why are you just standing there?! C’mon!’ But they didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge my screams.

Then suddenly I was home again, in bed sleeping, wondering why the bed was shaking and bouncing. I opened my eyes and saw a zombie sitting on my legs, slowly pulling my small intestine out of the gaping, bloody hole that used to be my abdomen. I didn’t scream, didn’t even want to scream. What I felt was relief. Disturbing and all-consuming relief. I lay there, a deadhead chewing on my guts, blood spattering the sheets and my face, tissue popping between its teeth, and simply waited to die.

Then all of a sudden I was awake again, screaming, my hands thrust out and fighting off an attacker that wasn’t there. Gus was beside me in bed alert and whining. Slowly I became more lucid. “
Those were dreams, you’re really awake now, this is real, those were dreams,
” I said to myself over and over. I reached out and blindly grabbed for Gus; anything to bring me back into this reality. My bedroom was fairly bright, the moon still high in the sky. As my breathing slowed, my gaze shifted around the room, and that sense of Thinness faded. I remembered reading something once, written by my favorite author, which said “reality was thin.” At times like this, I understood how truly thin it was.

* * *

I spent much of the next morning in a depressed stupor, stumbling about the house with Gus hot on my heels. He would whine every now and then but I didn’t really focus on him. My mind was immersed in those dreams and what I was now sure had been a panic attack the previous evening. I questioned everything now; my every action, my every thought. I was slipping into the same hopeless despair Mrs. McKinley seemed to be suffering from. I had always known I wasn’t the most mentally stable person around, but I never saw myself as weak. Kassidy Stratford didn’t quit, she never gave up. But that’s exactly what was happening. My mind kept telling me,
‘What’s the point? It’s the end of the world, and you’re worried about fortifying the house? It’s meaningless, it’s all meaningless. You are going to die
.’

Just as this unrelenting darkness threatened to consume me, Gus erupted in a series of bays and barks. My head felt foggy and I had to blink several times to get my bearings. I was standing in the dining room and the beagle was raising hell above my head. Being driven by strength I thought had abandoned me, never mind the instinctual drive to stay alive, I turned and made for the stairs, scanning the windows with eyes now clear and sharp as I ran. His bays led me to the guest room just across the hall from my own. I patted his head as I knelt next to him.

“Good boy, quiet now,” I whispered as I threw open the window. Gus obeyed, his ears perked and nose crinkling as the smell of death drifted in around us. There were four of them, limping and dragging themselves straight for the house. Having Gus with me was a tremendous help, he could smell and sense them much sooner than I could. But his natural reaction was a sure fire way to draw them in. I reached for the .22 rifle I had positioned in this room and rested the barrel on the windowsill. They looked to be about forty yards away, close enough for the small caliber to do its job.

I aimed for the nearest target and my heart sank when I saw who it was. My eyes shifted from one to next as I realized I knew them all. It was Mr. Crousley’s family, or what was left of them. His wife, daughter, and two sons. I started to shake, tears clouding my vision. I squeezed them shut and buried my face against my arm. Gus whined again and snuck closer to me, then nudged me with his nose. I looked at him, he tilted his head in that special way they do, and I suddenly felt anger instead of fear and sadness.

“Alright Gus, let’s do this and stop screwing around.” I gripped the forearm and pulled the butt stock tightly against my shoulder. They were moving slow and had only closed in to roughly thirty-five yards. I felt myself fall back into the old zone, the years of training and shooting taking over. My breathing slowed and hands steadied as I exhaled and squeezed the trigger. In one fluid motion I worked the lever, ejecting the spent cartridge and loading the next, then lined my sights on the next target.

Over and over I did this until nothing was left standing. I didn’t rush, I didn’t hesitate. My head was finally clear and I was feeling like myself again. I sat at that window for a long time, watching the perimeter and listening for any more intruders. When I was sure there were none, I stood, reloaded the gun, and propped it against the wall. I was hungry and in desperate need of coffee.

* * *

After the moment of clarity I had while putting my neighbors out of their misery, the past evening’s events started replaying in my mind. It dawned on me that I had Ben’s story all wrong. Yes, Mr. McKinley had killed himself. Yes, he had swallowed a bottle of Percocet. But Mrs. McKinley hadn’t condemned herself to self-destructive wallowing and eventual death. The more I thought about it, the more details I remembered. I only chose to ignore them the night before because of the panic that had loomed all around me. She had chosen to live. She was supposed to commit suicide with him. Eat the rest of the pills, close her eyes, and die with her husband. But she hadn’t. She couldn’t. He was afraid and couldn’t face what was happening. She loved him so much she couldn’t torture him by demanding he stay. So she agreed.

And as he lie there, finally falling asleep and his breathing becoming fainter, she set the pill bottle down and instead held his hand. She had found it within herself to carry on, had found something worth living for. I walked around the house, sipping coffee, as I thought about these things and the lessons I could learn from them. I decided I did want to live, hell I wanted to fight. But first I would have to get back on track and make my home as strong as I could. If I had more nightmares, I would dismiss them as such. Keep my mind on the here and now, that’s what I would do.

My goal for the remainder of the day was to reinforce the lower level windows with plywood on the outside. I would bring some of the canned goods and other dried foods I had tucked away in the basement upstairs and stack them with what I had brought in from the garage if I had time, and get this place prepared for company. Things were happening too fast, and this was no time to screw around. People who did, didn’t live long nowadays. This was the new reality and those who accepted it would survive. There was a lot of work to be done and I finally felt… no, I
knew
, I could do it.