Survival Paranoia (Survival series) (3 page)

Lorna crept through the home that had once been as familiar to her as her own. The porch was where Jeff had kissed her for the first time, sweetly, gently, before blushing and running inside, shutting the door behind him. And there was the couch where they’d curled up and watched countless zombie movies together, laughing and scarfing popcorn. Only now, instead of Jeff sitting there, there were only the remains of his mother. One thing was for sure…
she
wasn’t coming back. Her head was missing, leaving behind nothing but the bloody stump of her neck. Lorna had no idea where his mother’s head might be, but she damn well didn’t intend to hunt for it.
That
was a sight she could do without.

She was even more desperate now.
She
needed
to know if Jeff’s body was nearby. If she didn’t find him here she’d have to go to all those spots they’d once chosen and she was afraid to be on her own that long. She had no doubt that she could make it. After all, it was a cakewalk compared to killing her baby brother, but her sanity might not survive. How
did
you come back from this? That’s something the movies and books never addressed, and to her mind it was the most important detail, the one they left out. How the Hell did you come back from murder and the never-ending fight for survival?

She walked slowly through the house, crowbar held high and trembling in her hand as she waited for something to attack her. The place that had once felt so safe and secure was ominous in the dark, and she cringed whenever the boards creaked beneath her heels.
It was almost anti-climactic when she reached Jeff’s room and found it as empty as her own had been. Empty of human life, that was… no one had boxed up
his
stuff like donations for the Salvation Army. The worst he dealt with was his parents hocking his stuff for booze. Lorna had pitied him once. Now she was envious. His favorite posters still hung on the wall. It looked like a hodgepodge advertisement for sports cars and video games. It was a typical teenage boy's room… so why did it make her so freaking sad? 

There
were only two shambling corpses visible in the backyard. They looked even more grotesque and unreal under the bright noon sky, like a nightmare in utopia. She grabbed Jeff’s hoodie and put it on, sniffing in the comforting scent of his favored body wash, before heading towards the back door and the yard beyond. He’d kept several BOBs padlocked in the shed behind the trailer. If they were there, she’d avail herself of them and pray she found him along the way. If they weren’t, at least she’d know he made it out safely. Either way, she knew she’d make time to search out all their scheduled meeting places. His body wasn’t inside, so she wouldn’t give up hope just yet.

A few whacks of the crowbar dispatched the undead that once were Jeff’s neighbors. She didn’t know
the one woman, but she recognized Mr. Donaway, and putting him down was a pleasure. The man hated cats. Many had been known to die since he moved in, as he left out dishes full of cat food soaked in antifreeze. She’d have gladly killed him long ago if not for fear of jail time. She had a feeling that jail and the law were as much a part of the past as life, school and homework.

She gave herself a moment’s rest, sitting on the concrete steps on the backside of the trailer. She was bone weary and heartsick. When she’d half-jokingly planned for the zombie apocalypse, it had seemed like fun. She’d never stopped t
o consider what it really meant… death. Death for everyone and everything. Now it was all she could think about. She’d seen herself safely dodging endless perils with Jeff at her side, but had never wondered what that meant for her family. How foolish she’d been. How childish.

W
hy
had
they boxed up all her belongings? That thought ate at her more than the others, even deeper than the loss of her parents and Kyle. She kept coming back to it, the question echoing in her mind. It was almost as though she was dead… ironic, considering present circumstances. She stifled a sob with one blood-covered fist. What the Hell was wrong with her? Was this what shock felt like? She shook it off. It didn’t matter if her parents had thought she was insane. It didn’t matter if the doctors agreed as they passed out their tiny paper cups of mind-numbing medication. No, it didn’t even matter that her arms felt like overcooked noodles from the endless violence. What
mattered
was finishing her business here and moving on. She would die just as easily staying still as she would if she continued running without a plan.

With that thought, she stood and brushed off the back of her jeans, wincing a bit as they stuck to the blood
coating her hands. What she wouldn’t give for a hot bath and twelve hours to soak herself in it. Maybe someday she could have that… but she wouldn’t get it by staying here.

Lorna approached the shed with caution. Something struck her wrong about it, but she couldn’t quite figure out what was out of place. She stood, crowbar limp at her side, head cocked as she pondered the simple turning mechanism. All at once she knew what the
problem was… there was no padlock. The shed was unsecured, and that feeling of impending danger fell upon her once more.

She switched the crowbar to her right hand, her dominant hand, and hesitantly placed her left on the handle. She wanted to
leave it alone. God knew what she’d find inside. But if she was lucky, and she damned well deserved some luck, she’d find Jeff’s bug-out bags undisturbed. He had better weapons than she did, including a Desert Eagle he’d inherited from his grandfather. She knew that was kept in a hidden compartment beneath the shed itself, but the rest of the supplies were supposed to be packed in backpacks not unlike her own. She should know, as she’d used her allowance to stock up
his
bags as well as her own.

Taking a deep breath and praying almost without realizing it, Lorna gripped the mechanism and turned it. The handle was kept well-oiled, and it
rotated smoothly, almost silently. She wished desperately that she didn’t have to do this, but she knew she couldn’t avoid it. Sweat ran unchecked down the back of her neck, freezing her spine and making her shiver with both cold and fear. When it was turned to its furthest point, she let out the breath she’d been holding and flung the door open. And screamed.

The huddled thing inside the shed looked and smelled so atrocious that Lorna first mistook it for a zombie. It wasn’t until the green eyes, alive and bright with terror, met her own that she realized it was Jeff. He looked at her, so lost and disoriented as he raised a chef’s knife in her direction and shook it feebly. Her heart broke. She’d nearly given up on finding him at all, but she’d never expected him to be so beaten if they met again.

“Jeff, oh Jeff, you’re alive,” Lorna breathed, nearly fearing he was only a mirage brought on by overwhelming loneliness.
She wanted to hug him, if only to confirm that he was real. But he seemed so fragile that she merely pulled the door shut behind her in case her screams drew anything their way and then stood staring, silent. She couldn’t believe the changes the two months since she’d last seen him had wrought. Or maybe the changes were recent, a sign of the apocalypse he’d been enduring.

Jeff was nearly a year older than she, but
at that moment he looked young and devastated. His straight blond hair was nearly as long as hers and it was so filthy and matted that he was hardly recognizable. His clothes were torn and coated with grime and blood, and she was sure he’d been bitten. But his face, although pale, was not greyish. His eyes gave her another bad moment. At first she’d feared the fever, the only sign she was able to recognize as a common thread between those who had been bitten and then turned, but as the first tear fell she understood why they’d been so bright.

She took a step towards Jeff, and then a second. He said nothing, merely watching her as tears rolled silently down his face. When she reached his side and he didn’t object, she sat beside him on the floor of the shed. Lorna opened her arms and he fell into them with a sob. She stroked his back and held him, but she didn’t tell him that everything would be all right. She didn’t want to lie.

When he’d exhausted himself, he sat back up and wiped his face with one dirty sleeve. He shuddered as he looked down at the blood coating it and she wished once more for hot water. She wanted to offer him a shower, a bath, anything to clean him up and take that haunted look from those gorgeous eyes. But the best she could do was offer him a wet wipe she’d found in the glove compartment of the station wagon she’d commandeered the night before. He said nothing, merely took it and tore it open with shaking hands before cleaning his face so enthusiastically that the thin material ripped. He didn’t stop until she placed one hand gently over his own… then all movement stilled as though he were terrified of what she’d do next.

Lorna broke the silence.
She’d been alone a few days now and she craved conversation. “I thought you were dead,” she began. “I thought everyone was dead now.” She waited but he offered nothing as he fingered the sleeve of the sweatshirt that had been his, so she continued, anxious to fill the silence. “I was going to see if your supplies were still here. If they weren’t, I’d have known you were safe. If they were, well, I was going to gather them up and go looking for you. And I wanted the gun,” she admitted, almost embarrassed.

Jeff let out a bark of laughter, and she smothered an annoyed sigh. It was too good to hear him laugh
to bitch about it, even if it was at her expense. “You couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn from two feet away with both eyes open,” he said, grinning at her. It was so close to the smile he’d always reserved for her that she couldn’t be pissed.

Jeff had taken her out target-shootin
g one day, and he was right… she couldn’t shoot worth a damn. First he set up some hay bales for her to practice on, and they discovered she had to be at point-blank range to hit them. Then he’d strung them up in the woods and set them swinging, trying to get her to practice firing on a moving target. She hadn’t hit any of them, the bullets disappearing into the woods and scaring the local wildlife. He’d tried to prepare her for the apocalypse, but they’d both learned a gun was useless in her hands. However, she was proficient with blunt objects and blades of all varieties, so she stuck to honing her strengths. It wasn’t worth the practice when there were other things she was better at.

When they sobered, Jeff looked at her curiously. “So how did you get out
of there?” he asked. “I thought you were dead.” His eyes had that haunted look again. She didn’t want to tell him what the past couple of days had been like, but she knew there was no choice.

“I nearly died,”
Lorna admitted, filling him in on the last two days while rummaging through the nearby bag. She pulled out a bottle of water for each of them as well as a couple protein bars. Each bag was well stocked. She should know, as they’d shopping together for the supplies to fill them.

She came from money, and Jeff came from drunks. It was harsh but it was also true. She had an allowance as well as a trust fund, and her parents hadn’t set an age requirement
to limit her access to the account. She and Jeff had studied up on what supplies would be best for them when the time came, and she added to them constantly.

Each
bag had some standard supplies. There were axes in each, a couple long-handled knives with sheathes that could be slid onto belts and then strapped down to the thigh, water purification tablets and water skins, and a box of high-protein bars for meals. They also had an emergency blanket in each bag, a first aid kit, a couple solar-powered flashlights, and magnesium fire starters, although they were doubtful that fire would be a good idea if zombies really ended up roaming the world. Still, being prepared certainly didn’t hurt. Each of Lorna’s bags was stocked with sanitary supplies, as well. Just because the world ended, that wouldn’t mean her menstruation would. They added to the bags when new ideas occurred to them, and they also left room for anything they might pick up while scavenging.

Lorna got to her feet and held her hand out to him. “It’s time to go,” she said softly, and he nodded. She listened at the door for a moment, and when she was sure it was clear she opened it and stepped outside to ch
eck the perimeter. No one was wandering the yard, so they grabbed two bags apiece and headed to the back door. Each side of the trailer was thick with trees and shrubs, and there was too much risk involved in trying to squeeze though. Besides, Jeff needed a couple changes of clothes, too.

They were only two feet into his
home when they heard the noise. Lorna had swept the house carefully and was certain it had been clear. That was no longer the case.

Lorna really hated this new world. She found herself dreaming about the way life used to be, back when she and Jeff were two kids pretending the world would end. She didn’t wish for it, not really, but sometimes, when the popular crowd at school got to be too much for her, she nearly prayed the day would come. Had she known it actually would, would she have behaved better? Would she have brushed off the insults, ignored it, smiled more?
Who the fuck knew
, she scolded herself as she and Jeff braced themselves for the maneuver through the house,
and really, who the fuck cared?
But these thoughts were easier than hoping they escaped unscathed. By unspoken agreement, the two of them moved forward, heading for the front door. The front door she
knew
she had closed. They would avoid confrontation if they could, and stand together and fight it they truly had to.

It wasn’t until they reached the kitchen that they fully understood the horror of this new world. They weren’t alone in the house, but somehow what waited for them was much worse than they’d anticipated. It wasn
’t exactly a zombie, after all… it was only a head. Unfortunately, it was the head of Jeff’s mother. Mrs. Masters looked worse than usual. She’d never looked particularly pretty to Lorna. Too many years of drinking had left a roadmap of broken capillaries on her red and swollen nose. Yet sometimes, when the light was kind, the woman she’d once been had shone through, a haunting silhouette moving beneath her skin, an echo of the past. Now her face was bloody and ravaged. Whoever had turned her, likely Mr. Masters, had feasted on her face first, and one cheek was missing entirely.

Lorna tried to
nudge Jeff through into the living room. There was no need for him to see her like this. She knew that he loved his mother, and so she’d always kept quiet about her own misgivings for his sake. But this woman wasn’t his mother any longer. The woman he’d loved was gone, and this shouldn’t be how he remembered her.

Jeff struggled. “No damm
it, let me go,” he said, shoving Lorna back. She hit the wall and slumped there a moment, stunned. She couldn’t believe he’d pushed her. He was one of the least violent people she’d ever come across. She reminded herself as she struggled to keep her temper in check that he’d been through Hell, the same as she. He deserved a break, so she’d give him some slack for now.

He walked over to the head. It rocked back and forth, moving by millimeters, edging closer as the teeth sn
apped futilely at the empty air seeking something to bite and ravage. When a chicken was beheaded, Lorna thought dazedly, it ran around as though unaware of its fate, but eventually it fell. The head didn’t keep going without the heart supplying blood to the brain. What was going on here went against all the laws of nature. The brain alone could not keep the head functioning. And yet… and yet it did just that, living against all odds.

Jeff stared down, his face a mix of disgust and determination.
Suddenly he lifted his boot-clad foot and stomped viciously on the skull. A sound like a dozen eggs cracking simultaneously filled the air, and Lorna’s stomach rolled in protest.
Don’t think about food,
she thought hastily,
don’t think a single fucking thought about food.
As she watched and fought not to intercede, Jeff raised his foot a second time and stomped down, then again and again. The bloody lump was unrecognizable when he finished, and he collapsed on the floor beside the mess he’d made and sobbed like a baby, arms wrapped around his body as though to hold himself together.

Oh God,
Lorna thought as she stared down at the remnants of Mrs. Masters’ head,
all that’s left is jelly.
That was all it took. Her body protested, and she scrambled to her feet and into the bathroom beside her. On all fours now, she heaved repeatedly until the water and protein bar came up in a hot, bitter wash. Her throat was full of the taste of peanut butter, and she gagged again. When she was finished, she raised one weak hand and depressed the lever, washing her sickness away. She needed to help Jeff, and they needed to get out of here. She was useless in this state, and he was beyond even that. Someone had to be strong… apparently the job fell on her shoulders. She rolled them uneasily as the yoke of responsibility sat heavily there, but she knew what had to be done.

Lorna got to her feet,
pulling a towel off the shower rod to wipe her mouth with as she did so. She wished again, bitterly, that the two of them could have hot showers or baths before leaving. She needed to be clean. They both needed to wash away as much of the horror and sickness as possible before moving forward. But if wishes were horses… She shook her head and moved into the hallway. The rest of the expression didn’t matter. They may not have horses, but they had an old, ugly station wagon, and that would have to be good enough.

Jeff wasn’t where she’d left him. Terror shook her to the
core as she jumped over the gory remains without looking at them again, but she relaxed when she saw him curled up in the armchair in the corner, a pile of clothes at his feet. It was his go-to comfort place, the spot where he sat and did his homework, where he ate his meals. It was a place he’d sat countless times in her memories, and she wished they could take a piece of that comfort and security with them.

“Come on, Jeff,” she said softly, not wanting to start
le him. He looked up at her with dull, red-rimmed eyes. She steeled herself, knowing she couldn’t indulge in pity at the moment. Right now they needed to get moving before something else nasty wandered in to keep them company. Later they could grieve, but now it was a luxury and time was of the essence. “We have to get out of here,” she said, gently but without doubt.

Jeff
said nothing, merely stood stiffly and nodded. He picked up his clothing and put on his gear before walking to the front door, his movements robotic and slow. She knew he was hurting, but it would all be for nothing if they died here in his childhood Hell. He opened the door and stepped outside, shutting it behind him automatically. Lorna shook her head before following him. She stood with one hand on the knob, and then a thought occurred to her. Sighing heavily, she turned back to his favorite chair and drew her knife. Working quickly, she kneeled and slit a hole in the fabric, wincing at the loud sound of shredding material. She tore free a long strip and shoved it into her pocket before standing. Then she picked up the midnight blue decorative pillow from the chair and tucked it under one arm. It wouldn’t weigh them down for him to have a pillow from home… not while they had a vehicle, at least.

This time Lorna opened the door and stepped into the bright light. She squinted an
d walked to the end of the porch, wincing at the glare, coming to a jarring halt when she bumped into something. Fighting to open her eyes and see through the brightness, she took in the sight of Jeff’s back. She thought he was waiting for her before going to the station wagon, but then she followed his gaze and sighed. The beat-up station wagon was surrounded by Jeff’s neighbors… and the dead all appeared to be hungry.