Until the End (21 page)

“I know that.”

“Can you travel?”

I bristle at the question pinpointing my obvious weakness. “Can you?”

“Yes.” he says simply, catching my eye. “Be honest with me, how-“

“I haven’t had a pill in days.” I interrupt him, knowing where this is headed. “I’ve seen and heard things, things that can’t be real. Things that I don’t want to be real.”

“That didn’t take long.” he says, sounding worried.

I snort. “Stressful situations…”

“Yeah, no joke. It’s been a hard few days.”

“It’s been a hard few years.” I agree, looking away.

“Where do we find you more pills?”

“Don’t worry about it. Uncle Syd took care of it. I took one already, while you were in the boat making new friends.”

“Thanks for that, by the way.”

I fidget and avoid his eyes. “I was worried I freaked you out.”

“Why?”

“Cause I freaked me out.”

He’s silent for a moment before replying softly, “It was dark, angry. It wasn’t like you. But it didn’t scare me, Ali.
You
don’t scare me.”

I nod my head, but I don’t look up. I can feel tears stinging my eyes and this emotional roller coaster I’m on has got to stop. I can’t take the ride.

“Do you scare yourself?” he asks quietly.

I merely nod in response, not trusting my voice.

“How long before the pill takes effect?”

“It was built up in my system before. It took a day for it to filter out. Should take about a day for it work its way back in.”

“So we’ve got a long night ahead of us?”

I smile at his use of the plural, of his inclusion of himself in my struggle, and I don’t find it insulting or intrusive. This is Jordan and I know he truly will stand by me as I go through this. I want to let him, but I wonder if I will.
I also wonder if I’ll have a choice.

I glance up at the surrounding countryside, the people camped out in the fields thinning the closer we get to home. I imagine Uncle
Syd has been adamant about maintaining a barrier and keeping his space. There will be no one near the house when we get there and I breathe a little easier knowing it, but the clusters of people and the runner I killed still bother me. As we round the bend and come up on the house I spent a fair portion of my life in, I don’t feel as safe as I thought I would.

“Yes, Jordan,” I say heavily. “I think we have a very long night ahead of us.”

The first sign that things are going wrong is the screaming. It’s always the screaming. The sun has fallen behind the hills and trees, casting long shadows across the fields surrounding us. The fires burning in the distance are a terrible idea. They’ll draw the infected, not that they aren’t already coming. Not that they aren’t already here. Jordan was attacked by a runner, a changed infected that had to have been bitten within twenty minutes of our encounter, so others cannot be far behind. So it comes as no big surprise when suddenly screams and shouts cut through the quiet night, silencing the crickets and making my heart slam in my chest.

Jordan is bandaged up and doing as well as can be expected for someone who has recently been shot. Uncle Syd hasn’t lost his talents or his liquor cabinet, which Jordan partook in slightly in lieu of pain killers. He’s flying a little high right now, or a little wobbly on his feet as it were, and it’s a shame because we might need him and all his faculties here in a moment.

One of the distant fires bursts higher into the sky, reaching for the stars and an escape that it will never find. Something nearby has ignited beside it to build it so suddenly, and when the boom sounds and the ground shakes
, I know it must have been an RV. For a moment the screams are drowned out by the sounds of the explosion and the hungry noises of fire at feast. Then they’re back, louder and fuller than before. More people, more voices, more terror.

“They’re coming.” Uncle
Syd says beside me, his rifle in his hands. It’s a good choice and I wonder if Jordan didn’t suggest it. Not only is it a melee weapon for up close contact, which I do not doubt is coming, it’s also powerful enough to take the head off. But only if you get that elusive head shot.

I reach for my bow, running my hand along the sturdy curve of it, reminding myself I can do this. Night shots, though, that’s a problem. The shadows and the failing light are going to make this tricky and I have a feeling I won’t have a lot of time for hesitation. I also know I need to guard Jordan as best I can. He’s weak and weird right now, not himself, not by a long shot.
Then again, neither am I. There’s a fence surrounding the property which will keep most of the shamblers out, but the runners; they’re going to be a problem. They still understand the concept of climbing a fence or simply jumping it. Those we can’t ignore. Those we have to kill.

Jordan is coming outside with his bat, swinging it with that athletic grace I’ve come to
know, and I wonder if he’ll really need my help after all. He might have a better tolerance than I’m giving him credit for. He is a college boy, after all.

“Should we stick close to the house or go out to meet them?” Uncle
Syd asks him.

The question is surprising and it makes me wonder what they talked about while he was bandaging Jordan up. There’s a deference to his opinion that I did not expect at all and I have a feeling that the runner who almost made Jordan lunch is the reason. Uncle
Syd wasn’t prepared for this.

“We don’t want to get surrounded, definitely not by these guys. They’re too fast. For once,” he looks at me and winks. “Let’s put our backs to the wall.”

I grin at him because now I know he is indeed a little drunk. Winking at me? Really?

“Are all of the windows and doors locked?” I ask my uncle.

“Yeah, this door here is the only one open.”

“Good. We’ll stic
k close to it and if we have to we can use the attic access and get on the roof. Hopefully it won’t come to that, though.”

“I think I see one.” Jordan says, squinting into the gathering dusk.

He’s right. There’s someone, alive or dead or undead, running toward us. They come up to the fence and ponder it a moment, looking up and down the length of it, probably looking for a gate. Suddenly they grab onto the barbed wire and jump it. Either they are very scared or they are very dead.

“Are they alive?” Uncle
Syd asks, shouldering his rifle.

“I don’t think so.” I reply, pulling an arrow. “Hey! You! Stop!”

They don’t stop and I don’t know what that proves. If I was running from an infected, I probably wouldn’t stop either. But I would call out for help or say something, anything to keep from being shot, but this person just keeps on running. It’s a tough call and one I don’t relish making. It reminds me of the girl by the river who vomited on Jordan’s shoes. I knew she was infected because I could see her bite marks, but aside from that, right up until she started sniffing him, I didn’t know for sure. I remember the animal feeling she had about her, the predator building inside, and I watch the oncoming runner to see if I get that vibe off them as well.

I don’t. I’m not getting anything but doubt and it’s turning to fear and I’m no longer sure I can do this. I’m the last person who should be making this call but Jordan is intoxicated and Unc
le Syd is still a zombie virgin, so it looks like it’s up to me. I have to make a choice.

I grab the handgun that’s sticking out of Jordan’s belt loop, probably something I should have done earlier all things considered, and I take aim. I shoot the person in the thigh, blood spraying dark and wet in the last bits of light, and they tumble. A normal person, a non-infected who was running for dear life, would stay down and clutch their wound, afraid of what’s behind them but equally afraid of the bullets in front of them. An infected, however, will not be deterred.

The woman, I can see her slight frame and long hair now, growls and stands.

“Not alive!” I shout
, raising the handgun again and preparing for another shot.

Uncle
Syd beats me to it and the shotgun blast removes any semblance of a face from the body. It falls with a wet thud and stays down.

“Nice shot.” Jordan tells him, staring at the fallen corpse.

“Not my first rodeo.” Uncle Syd mutters, and both Jordan and I have the common sense not to delve further into what that means.

We stand and wait in silence, listening to the distant sounds of chaos and watching as more fires ignite or go out entirely. As night falls completely, we see headlights through the fields and trees. People are fleeing the camps and heading for the road, but it’s a road to nowhere and we all know it. Going south will get you nothing but a taste of the
barricade and a bite in the back. From what I understand, the west and the coastline are the same fate. There’s no way in hell I’m going north again, not after seeing what happened to Salem and Portland, so the only other option is to go east. Toward the mountains. I don’t enjoy the idea of meeting an infected in the woods, but if that’s what it takes to get away from crowds of people and shit like this, then that’s what we’ll have to do.

I’m turning to mention this to Uncle
Syd when more shadows move in the trees. There are more infected and they’re coming for us quickly.

“Should we worry about them surrounding the house on the other side too?” I ask, knowing it’s not a helpful thought because how would we defend it if we had to?

“Probably.” Jordan says, taking his gun back from my hand.

“Are you a good shot?”

He shrugs. “In video games, yes. Definitely. In real life? We’re about to find out.”

Three more rush the fence and three more decide it’s worth it to slice their hands up and vault over. They aren’t as close to human as the last one was, their growling and groaning
are dead give aways. Uncle Syd doesn’t hesitate and by the time I’ve got an arrow notched there are only two left to deal with. I take one down easily, pacing my shot and waiting for the head to be in clear view. Jordan is still holding the gun at the ready but he hasn’t taken his shot yet. Uncle Syd eventually takes it for him, living the impatience I was feeling.

“Sorry,” Jordan mutters. “I’m a little off.”

“It’s alright.” I tell him amiably. “Shooting isn’t your strong suit anyway.”

“What is?” Uncle
Syd asks warily, eyeing Jordan’s gun and probably wondering if the boy’s hand is the best place for it.

“Beating the hell out of them.” I reply. “Incoming.”

There’s more than three now and I know this is when it gets real. This is our stand, where we decide if we cut and run, head for the hills and hide, or stay and fight for what is ours. I have to admit, I am damn tired of running. I notch another arrow and sight the first one trying to climb the fence. Not more waiting, no more hesitation. I neatly put an arrow between his eyes and deftly notch another before either of the guys has raised their weapon. I’ll use every last arrow and run into the fray with my knife in my hand and rage on my lips like a friggin’ gladiator if that’s what it takes, but I’m not retreating anymore tonight. I’ve given up enough ground to too many things.

I hear Uncle
Syd’s rifle fire and another goes down just as it’s clearing the fence. Jordan fires and misses entirely, causing him to curse and lower the gun. I worry about him for a moment, but then I get busy sighting another infected and putting my point into its skull. I’m focused and honed in, too much so because I don’t notice until it’s too late that Jordan has walked away. He’s walking toward them, his bat raised in his hands.

“Uncle
Syd, stop!” I cry, reaching for him and pushing his rifle down before he accidentally shoots Jordan. “Jordan, no! What are you doing?!”

“Whatever I can!” he shouts back, and takes his bat to the first infected he reaches.

It’s a good, solid hit and he drops the thing to its knees, but it’s not dead, not entirely. It grabs at his shins, tugging at Jordan’s pants and I’m worried it’s going to topple him. All of the other infected are focusing in on Jordan now, running toward him instead of us, and Uncle Syd and I both swear at the same time and break into a run heading straight for him. I watch as Jordan tries to raise his bat to swing down on the infected but his injury slows him down and I hear him cry out in pain.

“The gun!” I cry.

He looks in my direction which strikes me as infinitely foolish given the circumstances, then pulls the gun casually from his belt. The bullet goes in and the zombie goes down, but he has bigger problems coming his way. I pause for a moment, take a deep breath and shoot an arrow in the skull of the closest infected to him. As I take off running again, Uncle Syd stops and does the same, knocking out the next one. We take turns shooting while the other is recovering and eventually we’ve got him cleared. At least we thought we did.

Jordan checks his surroundings and then comes ambling toward us, his bat hanging limply by his side. None of us
sees it coming from the trees, none of us even hears it, not even Jordan who is closest, but the infected comes nonetheless. It launches itself at Jordan, leaping onto his back and barring its teeth. I want to scream, but instead I take my footing, notch an arrow and zero in on its head. Jordan has sunk to his knees and taken them both briefly out of my eye line, and just before I lower my sight to track with them, I see her.

Long white dress. Long blond hair.

It’s the same as before; I can’t see her eyes but I can feel them. They bore into me and fill me with a cold dread that sends my hands to shaking. I stop breathing for that moment. I think I stop living altogether. As she watches me, I watch her and I feel her hate and I agree with it, meeting it with my own. I failed her. I let her die. And now Jordan is dying as well.

The thought snaps me back into brief focus, my vision flaring to white around the edges and then going dark.
A shot rings out and I worry I’m too late already, that I’ve cost him his life. I move the sight, drag it to where I believe Jordan fell, but I can’t find him. Frustrated, I drop the bow and pull out my knife, running for him blindly.

“Al, no!” Uncle
Syd cries, and I worry too late that I stepped in front of his shot.

“Jordan!” I scream, lunging at the
mound of bodies that I believe to be his and his attacker. My vision is still flared and wrong and I can’t feel movement beneath me. I wonder if I’m tackling an already dead infected and Jordan is ten paces away being eaten alive, but then I hear a moan.

“Jordan?” I whisper, desperate for him to answer me.

A hand grips mine and I gasp in relief that it feels like his; warm and calloused from days of rowing. I pull on it, trying to help him up from under the heap of the dead lying on top of him. When he sits up and begins to stand, I want to cry I’m so happy.

Instead, I cry out.

His face is mauled and eaten, the skin and flesh around his neck chewed off. He’s dripping blood and tissue from his cheek bones and his lips, his warm soft lips, are shredded and all but gone.

“No.” I whimper in defeat, slouching down beside him. “Oh, Jordan, no.”

His eyes meet mine and he stares at me blankly. I’m grateful he’s not too hungry yet. I’m grateful for this moment that I can sit and stare at him one last time and see his eyes so brilliantly blue. Hot tears pour down my face and I want to swat them away, but I also want whatever that’s left in him that’s human to see them and know they’re all for him. I want him to know that I will miss him. That I loved him.

“Ali.” he
says, and his voice is still so perfectly his that it makes me sob even harder. “Don’t cry. I’m alright.”