Beyond the Barriers by Timothy W. Long Page A

air of self-confidence that I found suited her.
    “My wife, Ella. Although we aren’t really married, since there is no one to marry us.”
    “We just live in sin,” she said and then grinned at him. I found their affection for each other infectious, and wished I had someone. I had lived in a tiny cabin all alone for four months, and I craved attention. There were times up on the mountain when I would talk to myself, going so far as to hold entire conversations about what to make for dinner, like I was some deserted island loon.
    They fed me a mix of something that was warm and, I was pretty sure, made at least partially from the animal food I had seen. Not that it mattered. I was starving, and I would have eaten a raw rabbit if someone handed it to me. They seemed tense around me. A few asked questions about the early days, and whether I had seen others when I escaped. They probably held out hope that some of their loved ones escaped as I had and were also hiding out. I pleaded exhaustion and went to find a place to sleep.
    They gave me a cot that first night. I lay in the dark, listening to all the other people around me, and I could not sleep. I was so used to the silence and solitude of the cabin that I found any noise pulled me back from the brink of slumber. Of course, there was more to it than that. I kept going over my arrival, over and over. Standing on my car, adrenaline jacking my system to the max as I unloaded a shotgun at a guy who was trying to sink his teeth into me. His body blown backwards as the shot took him in the chest and turned his heart to mush. I saw the terror in his eyes even before I leveled the gun at him, like he was driven to attack, like someone was pushing him on. I saw the pain and fear in his gaze, and I responded by killing him.
    I was also hurt. Bruises ached all over my body. I felt like I’d gone twelve rounds with a champ. Only I was a punching bag instead of an opponent.
    The ghouls—they were something that should not exist. Zombies were unnatural enough to begin with. But men who ate the dead and became the monsters I had seen simply should not be.
    How did the zombie virus start? The next morning, I planned to ask questions. I rose and put my jeans on, having opted to sleep in boxers and a t-shirt. The building seemed well insulated, but it was cold nonetheless, after coming out of the sleeping bag that had been like a warm cocoon.
     
    * * *
     
    I slipped on my boots, laced them up halfway, and then wrapped the laces around and tied them in front. Then I left the sleeping area and wandered. It was dark, but some of the flashlights had been left hanging down near the ground to illuminate a path. There were port-a-potties set up along the far right wall, which made it a long walk, but it kept the stench far away from the sleeping area. I passed countless bodies huddled in tents and on cots. Some moved, as people did what they had done for years when the lights went down. When was the last time I had been with a woman? There was Cheryl, a friend who took pity on me and took me to bed about six months after Allison left. Sex felt out of place with her, and, in the end, we agreed it was a bad idea.
    We drifted apart until, after a few months, we barely greeted each other at the gym.
    A sentry looked me up and down, and decided I wasn’t a zombie sneaking in to terrorize the store. I moved along an aisle, finding metal walls built up to hold in other supplies. A whole locker that was fifteen or so feet square contained an armory of weapons. They all looked army issue, and with the amount of fighting and chaos that had gone on at the outset of the ‘war,’ it was easy to guess that the stuff was probably left lying around on bodies or in abandoned vehicles. I saw a few M-16s and planned to ask about getting one, if the need arose. It was probably a good idea to slip that suggestion in Thomas’s ear in a few days, once he got used to seeing my face.
    I walked to an enclosed area