“Hey, Thompson, did they find anything?”
“Hey. It’s Sam, Samuel Thompson.” He held out his hand and I shook it tentatively. “They found a few cans of green beans and some spinach.”
“Great.” I put on a happy face and sat across from him. Spinach gave me bad gas and tied my stomach in knots. The zombie invasion had succeeded in slimming us all down, not too many fat people were alive today. That’s not a dig at them. It’s just that fat people can’t run fast, so they were an instant buffet. “Did they find anything else?”
“Not in the kitchen, Jones already has two can openers. When I left they were looking for matches and then they are going to look for blankets. Dushell wanted to check for clothes, too.”
Just like a woman, a war is on, the world is ending, but a woman has to shop and look good. Inwardly, I laughed. Dushell was my friend and I didn’t think it was nice to say mean things in front of a stranger. If nothing else, life has taught me to hang on to those close, it might not be for too much longer.
“So, Sam, where are you from?”
“Originally, the Windy City, I grew up there. I went to college out in California to get away from home. I hated Chicago and was looking for independence. I studied to become a doctor and then went into microbiology.”
I cringed. He said the magic words that got many scientists killed. By rights, we shot them without trial.
“You are into germ warfare,” the words rolled out of my mouth before I could stop them. Immediately, I regretted them and it showed on both our faces.
“Yes.” He studied my face to see how I would react to his honesty.
“People say that it is your fault. Most people would leave you to the zombies.”
“I know.” His grin irritated me.
Thompson sat on the couch with his gun at his side. The gun held no ammo, but still, I saw it as a threat. If he went for it, that would give me a reason to shoot him. I didn’t believe scientists created the zombies, but I had lost a lot. Someone had to pay.
“I know? That’s all you have to say! I know?”
“There is nothing more to say.”
He was somber, but I didn’t care. My first impulse was to kill him where he sat. I might have, if not for the return of my comrades. Dushell came bouncing into the room carrying a handful of blankets. She sat one in my lap and moved to Thompson. He gladly accepted his. Our eyes stayed fixed on each other. He wasn’t sure what I would do and neither was I.
“What’s up with you two?” Dushell saw us.
“Nothing,” said Thompson. “We were chatting about where we came from and how we got here.”
Dushell pushed a chair back; I had managed to uncover most of the living-room furniture. All of which consisted of a couch, a chair, and two large reclining chairs. She sat back in her chair; she liked space between her and others. She once told me that because of her looks people often invaded her space making her feel trapped. It wasn’t an admission of beauty or being too good for others, it was that people’s leers made her uncomfortable, and with distance, she could see where their eyes were and by extension, their thoughts. “Oh really.”
“Yeah,” said Thompson. “How about you, what’s your story?” He grinned at her.
“Well, let’s see here, my story. Well, I’m from St. Louis and rarely go outside my state. I grew up here and now I’m United States property.” She smiled.
“There is more to it than that. Fill in the blanks.” Thompson pressed. “Was this your goal?”
“To be a soldier?” Dushell asked.
“Yeah.”
Dushell’s face saddened and she looked at me, then Jones. “Actually, yeah. I’m a runaway beauty queen.”
My stomach churned. I knew the look she was giving him and it wasn’t good. “Dushell!”
She ignored me. “I was always pretty. I was born that way so I had no control over it. My mother was a beautician and she entered me in pageants. It was good for a while, but then these creeps started pawing me and I resisted. I told my mother and at first she was on my side, but after she lost her job, things changed.”
I tried again, “Dushell.”
She continued. She was on a roll. “We needed money the first time. This pageant paid the winner $5,000. It was supposed to be savings bonds for college, that’s how they advertise it to the unsuspecting masses. That made it sound good and all. It’s a lie. I won and my mother had it converted. She got $2,500 out of it and spent it as fast as she could.”
Dushell stopped and pulled her blanket up tight around her. “Dushell.” I shook my head trying to let her know that now wasn’t the time. If I could save her from reliving bad memories, I would. And this man had no right to hear her personal business. She only smiled back, I was afraid of that.
“I was on the block for several years. My mother lived for these events and I no longer had a choice. I started at age five, quit for a while, and then was full-time by seven. Any contest within two hundred miles, we went. And then shit started.” She took a deep breath then continued. “At first, she let guys take pictures of me twirling in my dress and tiara. I always won— what a surprise.
“Did I mention she was an alcoholic and drug user?”
“Dushell, Bri—”
“She would pass out, well not really pass out, it was more incapacitated. She would be in the room, but the guys got bolder the drunker she got. One guy had me in my underwear taking pictures before she came to. I still wore my tiara and sash though, I guess that was something at least.”
“Dushell?” I pleaded.
“Well, it wasn’t all bad, Zee. Mostly harmless touching and picture snapping. My whore of a mother would get up and we would leave. If I didn’t know better, I would say she passed out on purpose. It didn’t hit me till later, but her purse was always filled with money afterward and the men were either judges or connected with the pageants.”
Jones had reclined in the other chair. He got up and handed me a beer. He had a six pack. He tore off one and handed it to Thompson and then gave one to Dushell. He popped open his and sat back down. “Well, me myself, I am from Florida, born and raised. Hurricanes forever!”
He took a gulp of beer. I was grateful for him cutting her off. I knew most of the story, but never pushed for it all. I don’t know if Jones knew any of it. They talked around camp and were friendly enough, but is it the kind of thing you tell to guys?
Jones continued. “I’m twenty years old and wanted to fight in the wars. I wasn’t old enough when they ended, I hated that shit. I grew up a sportsman and hunter. I go deer hunting every year since I was fifteen. I got my driver’s license and hunting license the same year. This one teacher in high school was a real bitch and the guy wasn’t going to pass me no matter what. I hope to god the zombies are still munching on that motherfucker right now. Well, anyway, I pissed off high school and enlisted when I turned eighteen.
“Halfway through boot camp we heard about the zombies. We were sent to Fort Leonard Wood after they got infected. From what we were told, the outbreak started here in Missouri at some secret installation.”
I flashed a look to Thompson. He met my eyes squarely, but never said a word. He didn’t even have the balls to look away. He looked through me as if I wasn’t there. I got that urge again.
Jones began again, “it was bad. We were fighting underground in caves and zombies jumped out everywhere. The zombies were wearing our uniforms, can you believe that shit? Fucking army zombies. They were from all over, too. The cave system was huge and I saw army zombies from Kentucky, Illinois, Arkansas, and as far away as California. Like us, they had been flown in for containment.
“Empty bullet casings and discarded M16’s were everywhere. They had resorted to hand-to-hand combat and they lost. That was our first indication that they weren’t mindless like we had been led to believe.”
I flashed another look at Thompson.
“They told us it would be like shooting fish in a barrel, well, we were the fish. They tore through us, only knocking us out and biting us. They then moved on to the next poor souls. Sergeant Welch got the order for us to kill every unconscious bitten soldier we came across and we did. One bullet to the head for each. We must have gone through a hundred or more of our own people before we made it to an opening and saw daylight.
“It was hopeless; the zombies had escaped and were out infecting and killing everyone they came across. All through the tunnels people lay bitten and unconscious. Outside, we came across gruesomeness you wouldn’t believe. I saw bodies ripped open with no insides at all. I saw cracked skulls with no brains left in them. It was madness.”
“Yeah,” added Dushell. “The same thing was going on all over the country.”
It had never occurred to me to ask before. “If this is the center, how could that be?”
Thompson finally chimed in. “Planes, trains, and automobiles.” It was almost a smirk.
“What?”
“Some of those with scratches got out of town trying to flee,” said Thompson. “They carried the virus with them and it spread like wildfire. It is now in every corner of the world.”
“What about islands?” I offered.
“They got hit the hardest,” said Thompson.
“How is that?” I asked.
“They had no defenses,” Thompson said. “A lot of folks got that idea, including the government. They took over cruise ships and other vessels and put people on them trying to save as many as they could. It would have worked, except some had been scratched or bitten and said nothing. Denial is the first response of the infected.
“Every place they went to was easily overrun. After all, if you’re on an island, there is nowhere to run. You are trapped.”
“Oh my god!” Dushell was coming back from her trip down Memory Lane.
“Yeah.” Thompson went on. “Not even the best swimmer had a chance.” He laughed. This time I was right, it was something more than a smirk. The others saw what I saw. He was proud.
“What are you grinning for?” Jones asked.
“I’m not grinning,” said the liar.
Jones looked at me for verification. He picked up his gun next to him and pointed at Thompson. “You fucker! They were right, it was you!”
Thompson put his hands up and slowly rose. “Hey, hey, kid, watch where you are pointing that thing. I’m human just like you and you have got your facts wrong. I had nothing to do with this.”
“I doubt it,” I chimed in. I was with Jones and wanted to blast him, but couldn’t. “You can’t shoot him. It’s dark outside and the noise would attract zombies to us.”
Jones agreed and lowered his gun. Everyone sat back down. In an effort to ease tension, I tried to get Jones to talk. I didn’t want to talk myself and I figured Dushell had only one topic. Thompson was not even in my thoughts.
“What happened next, Jones?” I said.
Jones finished his beer. “We lost the battle and were sent here as reinforcements. Unlike ours, the camp we are headed to is supposed to be impenetrable. All major scientists are coordinating with each other from similar outposts. The one we are going to is for the Midwest survivors. It’s in Northern Arkansas. There is flat land and we can see them coming from miles away. They have artillery to pick them off so none of them will be able to get close to us there-”
Jones stopped talking and before I knew it, he was on his feet with a drawn knife, looking at Thompson. I looked over and Thompson was staring up at him, unafraid.
“What?” I asked.
“He did it again, he smirked. It was almost a laugh, like pride in his children. This time, I got you and there won’t be a sound for them to hear.”
Jones started toward him and both Dushell and I interceded. “Stop, Jones.”
“You didn’t see what I saw,” he yelled.
“It doesn’t matter,” I countered. “We are it, we need him.”
I don’t know if I would have won the argument, I didn’t get the chance to talk further.
Chapter 4
There was a knock at the door. We had let our guard down and had been talking so much we forgot the reality of our situation.
Instantly, Dushell and I armed, we looked at the door. Jones held a knife.
“Who is that?” I whispered to them.
“You got me,” whispered Dushell.
“They knocked,” scoffed Thompson. Without discussing it with us, he went to the door and before the rest of us could imagine him doing it or taking action to stop him, he opened it. “Hello?”
“Hello there.” It was a short man and woman.
“Come on in,” said Thompson.
They hurried in and Thompson closed the door behind them. Jones had his rifle now and none of us budged. We held our rifles high as they walked over to greet us. Dushell had no ammo, but pretended she did. I have no doubt she would quickly swing it at the first sign of trouble. From where I was standing, I could clearly see the bend in the shaft. That gun would never fire again.
“Put those down, can’t you see these are people?” Thompson’s hands were on his hips, scolding us as if we were his children.
“Stand down,” said Jones. We did.
Thompson hosted. “I’m Sam Thompson. My traveling companions are all soldiers. This is Private Jones, Private Baker, and Private Dushell.”
One by one, we nodded.
The man responded. “I’m Tom Billingsly and this is my wife, Sara. We live over the ridge back about three miles. We saw you heading this way and it took us this long to make it to you. Are you soldiers meeting with the army?”
“Yeah,” said Thompson. “We are heading toward Camp Brandt in northern Arkansas. You’re more than welcome to come along.”
“Thank you,” said the man.
“Thank you,” responded his wife.
The rest of us gave small smiles and glowered at Thompson. We didn’t know these people and he wasn’t in charge of anything. I was happy to know I wasn’t alone in disapproving.
“We have food,” Tom said. Each of them carried a cloth sack over their shoulder. I assumed the sacks belonged to children. I saw the high school logo as they unpacked on the living-room table.
Their meager belongings didn’t interest me, I reclaimed my seat. Thompson gave Jones a scolding look that made him ease up a bit on the suspicious look Jones gave them. They proudly presented us with what they carried; six cans of pork-n-beans, four cans of SPAM, matches, spoons, two tea cups, and three bottles of water.
“Sorry about the silverware, Sara didn’t do the dishes, so we grabbed the clean stuff and ran.”
“Why did you leave?” asked Dushell.
Tom looked upset by the question.
“I mean the zombies,” said Dushell. “We haven’t heard a peep since we came into the area. Were you overrun?”
“Well,” said Tom. “You can say that. They were getting close and as far as we could tell, they were a few houses down and headed our way. Out here in the country, houses are far apart, so we got a jump on our escape and grabbed what we could.”
“Do you have any weapons, any ammo?” asked Jones.
“Sorry.”
“You didn’t have to fight them?” Dushell asked, suspiciously.
“Sara fell once, a good whack from my shovel saved the day.”
I looked at his agitated wife. Her behavior was nothing, we had seen things we would like to forget.
“We could really use the matches,” said Jones.
“You are welcome to them,” Tom said.
“Wh-what are your names?” asked Sara.
“Brittany Dushell. I’m from St Louis.”
“Michael Matthew Jones. Miami Beach.”
“I’m Zora Baker and I’m from Columbia, Missouri.”
“Zora?” Thompson said my name slowly, looking at me rather creepily. I flashed a look and he returned his attention to
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