She woke up in the backseat of a car. The sun shone directly through the windshield, but she was wracked with shivers.
Lauren and Duncan lay in the front seats. His seat reclined, Duncan's head lolled to the side and his eyes settled on Jenna. "You okay?"
"Fine." She didn't remember screaming herself awake. Maybe it was just the look on her face. Sitting up, she eyed herself in the rearview mirror. She was a perfect picture of misery.
They were in the Liberty Auto lot, in one of the few stripped vehicles still sitting out. This one had windows intact and locking doors, that was all that mattered. Lauren idly turned the stereo knobs. "Maybe the keys are still in the office?" She wondered aloud.
"Isn't going to run without wheels, hon." Duncan said. Lauren narrowed her eyes. "I mean for the radio."
"Does it matter?" Duncan stretched his arms, yawned and studied the streets. They hadn't been followed by the rotter with the dog's-skull, he was pretty sure of that. He'd sat erect through the night, waiting to see it, until finally passing out.
"There could be food inside." Jenna said.
"Doubt it."
"It's still worth a look, isn't it? God, Duncan, if you want we'll go look and you can stay here and play-drive."
He scoffed and threw open his door. "Way to lead, O'Connell."
"Who said I was the leader?"
"You haven't listened to a damn thing I've said. I did the math."
Lauren and Jenna walked together behind Duncan on their way to the sales office. "I know what it means when you talk to a guy like that." Lauren said softly. Jenna elbowed her in the breast. "Don't start."
Duncan checked for zombies and gave the all-clear. The first thing Jenna saw upon entering was a toppled vending machine, its contents gone. Duncan yanked open a few desk drawers. "Nope, no food here. Anyone need a pen?"
Jenna stared at a banner sagging from the ceiling across the room. WELCOME TO THE LIBERTY FAMILY. She imagined that the Liberty Family wasn't looking too good these days!
"I found it!" Lauren cried. "A radio!" She held up a small boombox, then placed it on the nearest desk and pulled on the antenna. The radio signal was faint, like the batteries were on their last legs, but there was a signal. A voice.
"The withdrawal is proceeding on-schedule, even as thousands of civilians join the troops in their move inland. Measures are already in place to provide medical aid and nourishment to everyone that's answered the Senate's call. Seven states with powered and fortified cities are ready to house the American population."
The voice was Senator Gillies of New England. Most of his territory had been wiped out. "Most important of all," Gillies went on, "to answer a question that I'm sure is on every American's lips — the dead are NOT following us inland. Rather, they are descending upon each coastal city as the living vacate. So it is more prudent than ever that we come together as a people. Your Senate and military have spent months planning this operation, and we assure you that, together, we will succeed."
"Bullshit." Duncan said. He punched the radio's Off button. "The zombies aren't following them? What a load of buuuuull-sheet."
"So? The zombies are after everyone. Might as well hedge our bets with a military convoy." Lauren snapped.
"They're LYING. Get it? If they're lying about that, they might be lying about everything else." Duncan shook his head at the girl. Her face reddened. "Lauren, ever read about when New York fell? After evacuations failed, they told everyone to gather in hospitals, stadiums, they said everyone would be protected. It's all bullshit. All it takes is for one barricade to slip, for one survivor to get bit and hide it beneath his sleeve. People forget it's a fucking virus that's spreading this. You concentrate the population, all you do is speed infection. Get it?"
"Yeah, I get it. Fuck the establishment, every man for himself. I get it. You're too scared and stupid to put your trust in other people." Lauren turned and stalked into a manager's office.
Jenna said nothing. Sighing, Duncan turned the radio back on.
"Hi." Zaharchuk murmured behind Jenna's ear. She felt the barrel of a gun nudge her neck.
The dealer's face was gaunt and translucent, his hair missing in spots where it had been pulled out. An unlit cigarette dangled between his lips; baggies filled with white rocks were tied around the belt loops of his jeans.
Duncan sat up. Zaharchuk put the gun on him, staying behind Jenna. "So," he said in his lilting voice, "I was just at Fetish. Went to see my friend Syl, ya know?" He sniffed, laughed. "You cut his fucking head off? Why'd you have to do that?"
"No," Duncan said, "It was a rotter- "
Lauren exited the manager's office. Zaharchuk turned the gun on her with a scream. "STAY THERE!! EVERYONE STOP MOVING!!"
"Okay. No one's moving." Duncan stammered. "Turn that fucking radio off!" Zaharchuk ordered. Duncan got a good look at the gun; it was a.50 Desert Eagle. Seven in the magazine at best, maybe one in the chamber. Overkill for a dealer in a ghost town, even with the occasional zombie. He was itching to use it, too. "Z," Duncan said slowly, "Listen. A rotter killed Syl. He was trying to climb outside. Why would we murder him?"
"Why would you leave?" Zaharchuk spat. "I came back and…and…"
"We didn't know you'd come back." Jenna said. She could see the pistol shaking in the corner of her eye. "We're here now, all right?"
"I don't want to stay with you people." Zaharchuk whispered. He backed toward the door, alternating his aim between Duncan and Lauren. "You killed him, you fed Syl to the zombies. You'll do it to me. No. NO!!!" He bolted out of the building.
No one moved. They waited, waited for him to reappear and start shooting, for it all to end. He didn't come back.
"We should get going." Jenna said. Duncan nodded in agreement. Lauren pointed to the manager's office and said, "There's a hall that goes to the rear exit."
"Good idea." Duncan looked at Jenna. "You okay?"
"It wasn't pointed at me." She replied, and went into the manager's office.
14
Surf and Turf
"Was that the garbage man I shot?" Patrol Officer Douglas asked, propping his rifle on the bucket seat beside him. P.O. Hamman shrugged and kicked an empty cooler across the floor. Every beer he'd drank had made him more seasick as they patrolled the Harbor coast, but it was better than being sick and sober. Steadying himself on the boat's railing, Hamman stepped into the pilot cabin and slapped the radio. "Damn thing. I know I heard something about a storm earlier."
"So let's go to shore." Douglas rummaged through their dwindling supply of ammunition. "We can camp on the beach for a few nights."
"I'd rather drop anchor and stay out here." Hamman replied. Every rotter they'd picked off was probably on its feet and walking through the city. In better days, they'd been able to radio the positions of downed zombies to burn teams on the shore; now they were alone. "What if we're the only cops left in town?" Hamman mused.
"Then we can run ashore and steal some more beer." Douglas quipped. He stared down the barrel of his sniper rifle, finger brushing the trigger. Another ounce of pressure and he could send his brains out across the water like chum for fish, the living ones anyway. Hamman eased his partner's head out of harm's way. "I need to eat something, man."
"We could cast a couple of lines and see if anything's still biting."
"Fuck fish. Dammit…" Hamman really didn't want to go ashore, even for an hour. He'd fired two dozen rounds into the city in recent weeks. There were rotters waiting for him, his bullets swimming in their soft guts. When he managed to catch a few hours' sleep he always saw their gray faces crowding around him. And he was always helpless to defend himself, or even to run away.
Douglas scanned the city through his rifle scope. "You know, us being stuck out here, with only these guns, we can't kill the rotters."