After Life | Book 1 | After Life Page 14

  “So we should follow the guys who just tried to kill us?” the young man from the SUV asked, his eyes still wide. “Drive toward the guys with the big guns?”

  “You’ll find,” Andy said, shaking his head and trying his best not to chuckle. Nothing about this was funny, per se, but he couldn’t help himself, “That there aren’t a lot of what you’ll think of as positive options in the world of the zombies. No, it’s a lot more of picking the option that is the least likely to lead to your death. If one option is 95% death and the other is 90%, then you have to pick the 90%. Even if the 90% scares you senseless. So I’d say young Simon is right—we don’t have a better option than to follow ‘the guys with the big guns.’”

  Roger nodded his head, and even Barry seemed to agree with Andy.

  Andy surveyed their situation. The SUV was clearly a lost cause. The young man was already seated inside Andy’s own vehicle. He still had his arm supporting the woman but, after a quick exchange of eye contact with Roger, passed her off to him. Once the woman was clear of Andy, he opened the trunk of his car and fished out a long-sleeved button-down shirt, fashioning it into a makeshift sling that the woman could use.

  “What’s your name?” Andy asked, as he tied the shirt around the woman’s shoulder. Despite the fact that she had clearly been alive through 2010, Andy got the strong feeling that this was her first real experience with the horrors of a zombie world. And, given her general shape and lack of any obvious athleticism, he didn’t think it likely she had been practicing for the zombies’ return. She was still staring at the SUV that housed the bodies of her husband and daughter, and so it took Andy repeating the query twice before she blinked and answered him.

  “Carla,” she said. “My name is Carla.”

  As Andy finished tying the homemade sling around the shoulder of the stranger who had just lost family, he couldn’t help but smile to himself—a smile he wiped from his face as soon as he realized it was there. History, he mused, was repeating itself, and he couldn’t help but think of his old zombie-fighting mate with the dead arm, Carl.

  Once the woman’s arm was secured, Roger ushered her into his own car as Andy and Barry returned to the Camry.

  “Turning around?” Celia asked, her first words since young Porter’s death.

  “Turning around,” Andy confirmed, as he negotiated the same tight turnaround Roger had done a few minutes earlier. “You pick the lesser of the evils. You stay alive. You turn around.”

  Chapter Eleven: Sometimes It’s Nice To Have A Car

  The zombies hadn’t yet noticed Donnie and Michelle’s car, which Michelle counted as a blessing. She cut left, into the abandoned parking lot of an old Dunkin’ Donuts, and headed back in the direction they had come.

  “What now?” Donnie asked, his voice raising in pitch.

  “We knew we’d run into them,” Michelle said. “Eventually. We just have to find a new route.” They had passed a side road not a minute earlier that Michelle thought was a viable path east, and that was the road she steered toward now.

  Donnie turned in his seat to look behind them, and Michelle gave a quick glance behind her as well. A few of the zombies had by now noticed the retreating car, and Michelle saw some give up on the bodies at their feet and turn to chase them.

  “Sometimes it’s nice to have a car,” Michelle said, turning her attention forward.

  She swung right, onto the side road, and hit the gas. The zombies chasing them weren’t likely to catch the car even at low speeds, but Michelle wasn’t taking chances.

  She watched as the speedometer climbed past 30, 40, 50, 60 miles an hour. She hadn’t even topped 70 since she was a teenager, in 2010, before everything. Yet as she tore along the road, Michelle found herself topping 90.

  “Michelle,” Donnie said, sounding nervous. “These aren’t the best roads in the world. You might want to… slow down?”

  As if on cue, Michelle slammed on the brakes. Ahead of them, they saw an almost identical scenario to the one that had caused their initial turnaround—an abandoned vehicle, its now-deceased former occupants, and a horde of zombies kneeling over them.

  “What now?” Donnie asked again, his tone turning dejected. “We’re a good three miles from any other decent side road, aren’t we? Won’t we come across the Z’s from that van if we turn back?”

  Michelle squinted at the mass of humanity and ex-humanity ahead of her and suddenly got an idea. On their initial path, the road had been blocked by a big conversion van on a two-lane road, meaning she’d have had a hard time pulling past even without the mass of bodies on either side.

  This time, though, the vehicle before them was an ancient VW Bug, at least 65 years old, that was more rust than its original purple color. It took up barely one lane of the road, and the opposite lane had only bodies in it.

  “Michelle?” Donnie said. “What do we do?”

  Michelle glanced over at her passenger. Donnie sat low in the seat, looking younger than he was. She looked back in front of them one more time and put both hands on the steering wheel. “Buckle up,” she said.

  Donnie’s eyes bulged as what Michelle was about to do dawned on him. As he fumbled with the belt as quickly as he could, Michelle gunned the accelerator again and aimed directly for the zombies in the left-hand lane.

  As the car sped toward them, some of the zombies seemed to realize the situation. Michelle saw two of them stand up and start to run toward them. Before they could get more than a step or two, she and Donnie were upon them.

  The first zombie, a teenage boy with a blood-saturated face, flipped over the hood of the car. His head collided with the windshield just in front of Michelle’s face, making a sickening crack, but the windshield appeared to hold. Michelle hit the second, a slightly younger teen with no visible injuries, on the dead center of the hood, knocking him over backward. The car bumped as the zombie went underneath it, but Michelle didn’t let off the gas.

  Finally, the old sedan got to the rest of the zombies, and the dead bodies that had captured the attention of the other Z’s. Donnie reached out his left hand and placed it on the dashboard before him, while the right clenched the emergency handle just above his head. Michelle’s own knuckles had turned completely white on the steering wheel.

  She collided with the pile, sending some of the zombies, the ones who had been bent over instead of on their knees, flying away. Others fell to the ground, and the car bounced over the mass of bodies below it.

  Seconds later, it was over. The car was beyond the zombies and the VW, and it hadn’t stopped. A rattled Donnie turned in his seat to look at the carnage, then turned to face Michelle, his eyes wide.

  Michelle glanced over to Donnie for a second, then hit him with a jab to the shoulder.

  “What was that?” Donnie asked.

  “Punch buggy purple,” Michelle said, trying to smile. “No punch back.”

  For several seconds, Donnie continued to stare at her. Suddenly, he realized she was making a joke, and he cracked the smallest of smiles.

  The brief moment of relaxation didn’t last, though; within a mile or two, Michelle noticed steam pouring out from under the hood.

  “What is that?” she asked Donnie nervously. She was far from a car expert, but knew that seeing anything coming out of your hood was a bad sign.

  “If I had to guess,” Donnie said, leaning forward and squinting at the zombie-shaped damage, “one of the collisions knocked the serpentine belt out of whack. That goes, the radiator goes.”

  “And if the radiator goes….”

  “The car goes. We’ll be able to keep driving this thing until we can’t anymore. And that’ll be soon.”

  Michelle nodded wordlessly. He confirmed exactly what she was worried about. She checked her rearview, curious if any of the zombies from the road were still on their tail. She saw none, but knew that they could show up at any moment.

  “Is that something we can fix? The belt, at least, if not the radiator?”

&nb
sp; “Not without more tools and time than we have right now,” Donnie said, his voice as low as Michelle thought her own sounded.

  Michelle shook her head. She kept driving for another few hundred yards, then pulled off into the small parking lot of a church. By this point, steam was pouring out from the hood, to the point that Michelle knew she was stopping soon regardless of whether she wanted to or not. She parked the car in a row of spaces near the exit, about fifteen feet from another car, popped the hood and jumped from the car.

  Donnie climbed out as well, and together they lifted the hood and were greeted by even more steam, forcing the two to step back. When it had dissipated, Donnie crept forward and peered at the belt and the radiator. It revealed exactly what he had been scared of—the belt had snapped clean through, and Michelle’s car wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

  “It’s toast,” he said.

  “Damn it,” Michelle said. “That was stupid.”

  “What was?”

  “Driving over the zombies. I shouldn’t have been so reckless.”

  “I don’t think you had any better option, Michelle,” he said, trying to console her.

  “What do we do, Donnie?” Michelle asked. “I’ve got to keep moving.”

  “We could walk,” Donnie offered with a shrug. “We figured we’d have to eventually. It’s why we got all the supplies.”

  “Yeah,” Michelle said. She had hoped they’d be able to make it to the Cape before resorting to the slowest and least safe possible mode of transportation. She fished her pack from the backseat, and watched as Donnie did the same. She looked back out to the road, still searching for any zombies that may have been following, but still saw none.

  Donnie started to lead out to the road when Michelle was struck with an idea.

  “Donnie,” she said. He stopped and looked back at her, then followed her gaze to the parking lot’s other vehicle.

  He started to nod, but stopped. “But… what if someone needs it?”

  Michelle turned to the church. It looked like it was still in use, with regular upkeep, but other than the car, she saw no signs that there might have been anyone present at that moment. “Anyone inside the church is going to stay there,” Michelle said.

  Donnie nodded again. Michelle approached the vehicle, hoping its owner was as cavalier about leaving it unlocked as she was with her own car. She crossed her fingers and pulled the driver door open.

  For a split-second, Michelle was disappointed, but then the ding-ding-ding noise that indicated keys in the ignition started up. Michelle never thought she’d be so happy to hear that noise.

  She opened the back door and slung her pack onto the seat. Donnie turned and walked back to the car as well. Before he put his own pack inside, though, he stopped and looked toward the church.

  “What are you doing?” Michelle asked.

  Donnie put his right hand on his gun and started walking toward the church front. “I have to check,” he said. “If they don’t have any food, any way to stay here, and we take their car, I couldn’t live with that. Maybe we take them with us.”

  Michelle watched him go. She wasn’t at all a fan of adding any more people to their small group, but wasn’t about to tell Donnie to leave whomever it was to die. She hadn’t enjoyed leaving Nick behind, even when Nick was being a jerk.

  Nonetheless, Michelle thought she wasn’t about to help Donnie. She was going to stay right next to the car, ready to go as soon as he returned.

  Donnie climbed the short flight of steps in front of the church. He knocked twice at the church door and stood at the door, waiting.

  “Donnie…?” Michelle called from the car. When he turned, she almost smiled. She couldn’t help the feeling that Donnie reminded her of a 12-year-old boy. “It’s a church. You can go in.”

  Donnie looked thoughtful for a moment, like the idea hadn’t occurred to him. Then he nodded to Michelle and started to turn back to the door.

  Just as Donnie reached for the handle, though, the door burst outward, knocking him backward off the step. He hit the ground hard on his backside, his legs caught up in a small bush that grew alongside the step. His head hit the sidewalk as he fell.

  Michelle’s attention, though, was still on the door, on the thing that had forced the door open. Standing on the step, scanning the outside world, was the body of a woman in her mid-50s. It wore a long skirt and thin sweater over a bony frame and, though Michelle could see no signs of visible injury, the eyes gave away that it, like the ones from the Volkswagen that were doubtless heading that way, was a zombie.

  The woman’s head swiveled around, searching for whatever had knocked at the door. It didn’t notice Michelle standing beside the car, but finally settled on Donnie, rubbing his head and still seeing stars on the ground.

  The zombie, spying its prey, leapt from the stoop with agility that belied the age of its body, landing on a small plot of dirt between the first and second bushes. From this vantage point, with the zombie’s back to her, Michelle could see blood stains on its back, though she still couldn’t determine the wound that had caused it.

  The zombie knelt over Donnie just as he regained awareness of his surroundings. The first thing he saw, after the stars, was the zombie bending over him, mouth open.

  Donnie pushed his legs hard against the bush he was tangled in, gaining just enough traction to force himself a few inches backward. He wrenched his legs free and rolled to the left, away from the zombie, but it, being largely uninjured, sprang after him. Donnie continued his roll until he was on his back again and grabbed at the weapon at his side.

  It was taking him too long, though, and the zombie was above him again before he had even found the gun. Donnie flinched back, closed his eyes and held his breath, wondering whether the zombie would go for his neck or his shoulder. Maybe it’d be more random, he thought, and go for his pec. Or his ear.

  But the bite never came. Instead, Donnie heard a shot ring out and felt his face get wet. The body collapsed on top of Donnie, and he froze, not sure what to do next.

  “Don’t move!” he heard Michelle call. “Don’t open your eyes! Don’t even breathe!”

  Donnie obeyed, and the next sound he heard was the door of the car opening. Seconds later, it slammed back shut, and Donnie felt a moment of panic that she was leaving him. Another moment later, though, Donnie heard footsteps hurrying over. He heard a grunt from Michelle at the same time that the body was forced off of him.

  His hands free, Donnie reached up to wipe his face.

  “Hold on,” Michelle said. The next thing Donnie felt was something else wet, slightly cooler this time, falling across his face. Some kind of cloth was next, wiping Donnie’s face clean.

  “Okay,” Michelle said, with a tone of nervousness in her voice. “You can get up.”

  Donnie opened his eyes, squinting. Michelle stood over him, a half-empty bottle of water and a rag in one hand, her gun in the other. She was looking down at Donnie and appeared to be concentrating hard.

  “Thanks,” Donnie said, pushing himself upright. His head was killing him, and his butt was stinging, but those pains paled in comparison to what he assumed a bite would have felt like.

  Instead of joining Donnie in his relief, though, Michelle backed up a few steps as he rose. Her finger, Donnie noticed, was still on the trigger. “What’s up?” he asked.

  Michelle squinted at him, examining his face. “Did any of the blood go in your mouth?” she asked. “Your eyes? Anything?”

  Donnie flinched, realizing her concern. If any of the blood had gotten in through one of those entry points, Donnie knew, he was as good as dead. And while he didn’t think any had—he was pretty sure his eyes had stayed closed continuously after the gunshot, and he thought he’d taste any blood that might have gotten in his mouth—he couldn’t say for certain either way.

  “I… I don’t think so,” he said, worried that one wrong word would cause Michelle, rightly or wrongly, to shoot him in the head, a result
he wasn’t exactly eager for. “I really don’t think so,” he repeated.

  “How do you feel?” Michelle asked.

  “Fine,” Donnie said. That was the truth. Other than the external injuries from his fall, and the fact that his heart was beating so hard he thought it might burst at any moment, Donnie felt none the worse for his encounter. “I feel fine right now.”

  Michelle nodded. “That’s good,” she said, “but infection can take a few minutes, especially if it doesn’t directly enter the bloodstream. If it got in through your eyes or your mouth, you’ll feel it eventually.”

  Donnie knew all this was true. “So what do we do?” he asked.

  Michelle shrugged. “Wait.” She put the water bottle and rag on the church stoop and climbed the stairs, where she entered the church and looked around inside briefly. There was one body she found, only a few feet inside the door. It had once belonged to a small child, no older than eight, and, judging by the blood streaking down each side of the child’s mouth, it had been a zombie by the time the bullet hole that Michelle saw in its forehead found its target. A few feet away, Michelle found a gun. When the rest of the area proved empty, Michelle assumed this child had infected the woman that had attacked Donnie, and the woman had destroyed it but, for whatever reason, hadn’t killed herself. Heaven, Michelle thought ruefully. There’s that old worry that suicide is the one way not to get there. Even in infection, some clung to that.

  When Michelle came back out of the church, deciding that no one else was inside, she made sure to shut the door behind her.

  Donnie stayed several feet away from Michelle while she secured the area. If he had been infected, he wasn’t about to stand so close to her that she wouldn’t have the chance to react when he changed. “What I don’t understand,” he said, “is how it happened that she came out the door right then. It’s been hours since this started. Why was it right when I was standing by the door that she wanted to leave?”

  “You ever read Salvisa’s stuff?” Michelle asked immediately.

  “On the website? Sure, a lot of it,” Donnie said.