Redemption of the Dead (7 page)

Joe just wasn’t sure if he was substituting Tracy for
April, and the feelings he had for his beloved were being projected
onto someone who
might
be able to take her place.

“You can’t
treat her like that, though,” he told himself. “She can’t be a
surrogate. She deserves better than that. Deserves someone who
cares for her just for her, no strings attached.” He sighed. “Can’t
believe I’m even thinking about this stuff when there’re more
important things to worry about.”

The thing
was, he knew he’d remain restless until he knew for certain April
was deceased in this reality.

It’d be the only way I might be able to move on,
he thought, but knew it was very
unlikely.
As if you’re going
to find her, though.

The real
problem at the moment was Tracy, and he wasn’t sure if he should
come clean with her and tell her what was going on inside
himself.

* * * *

After
searching the kitchen herself for something to eat and coming up
empty, Tracy paced the living room floor, the can of chickpeas in
one hand, a clenched fist in the other.

You’re stupid if you think you can stay mad at him. You
need each other because you both know what it’s like to go it alone
in this Hell-on-Earth.
“But
it’s
his
fault!” She clamped a hand to her mouth; she
hadn’t meant to speak so loudly. There was no stirring upstairs so
Joe probably hadn’t heard her.

She’d just
been so relieved he was okay after the fact. He’d been in worse,
she knew, but somehow at that moment, it was like his life was in
serious jeopardy and the thought of him not making it out alive . .
.

“You can’t do this,” she whispered quietly. “It’s stupid
and dumb. It’s one thing to let him in as a partner against the
undead, another to even consider going beyond that.” The thing of
it was, she knew a part of her was hoping he’d fill the hole in her
heart left by Josh. In a world like this, one where loneliness
presided, emotional walls were built, death was carried out as
easily as breathing—it began to wear on a person. It began to wear
on
her.

I’m not going to get all mushy-gushy with him. If anything,
I’m lonely, there’s needs, I’m sick of nothing but rot and decay.
Don’t use him as your glimmer of sunshine. It’s not fair to you and
it’s not fair to him.
“Besides,” she said, “he’s got issues of his own and is too
busy having a pity party over another girl.”
You’re doing the same thing to yourself so don’t
even go there.
“Oh, but to go
there . . .”

She looked
at the can of chickpeas. Man, how she hated those things. Mushy and
gritty, like damp dirt, but they were healthy and if this was all
there was for her and Joe, then that was the way it was.

“Got to get it to him, though, which means I got to get up
there.” She grunted. “Why couldn’t
he
have been the one
holding the can?”

* * * *

Joe sat with
his back to the door, legs drawn up, forearms resting on his knees.
His thumbs were getting sore from all the twiddling. He ran a hand
over his head. It’d been so long since he last shaved it, the hair
was coming in pretty good, thick and bristly. He didn’t want it to
grow back. To let it come in like he used to, he’d look like the
old Joe—Joseph—the person he’d been before the Rain. To see that in
the mirror every day—no, no way.

He
got up from the door.
Maybe
there’s a razor or scissors or something in one of the medicine
cabinets. I need a shave anyway.
He yawned and opened the door. Tracy stood a few feet from
it, staring at the can of chickpeas. She seemed startled by his
sudden emergence.

The two looked at each
other.

Guess this one might be up to you,
he thought.
Don’t string her along. Get back to surviving. No time for
this other nonsense.
“Um . .
.” he said and ran his hand over his head, once again hating the
hair growing on top.

Tracy faced
him, arms at her sides. She raised her eyebrows, obviously
signaling he was the one that had to speak first.

But if that’s true, what was she doing up here to begin
with?
He slowly exhaled.
“Okay, fine. Look, I’m sorry.”
There. That wasn’t so bad.

“And?”

And? Okay, maybe it
is
that bad?
“I shouldn’t have left you out of it.
It’s hard to explain why. Can you just trust me that I had my
reasons, but now realize it was a dumb choice and just move
on?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Are you
going to do it again?”

“Are
you
?”

“What?”

“Sorry. What I meant was, yeah, I
won’t do it again if it can be helped.”

Her eyes bore into him. “What do you
mean?”

“What?”

“If it can be helped?”

“I mean that if it’s okay for you and
I to take on the undead together, then we will.”

A puzzled
look came over her face.

“Okay, start over. If there’s a
situation where we’re separated and we have to fight alone, we’ll
fight alone, otherwise we’ll fight together. Cool?”

She seemed to consider his words and
began rolling the can of chickpeas back and forth between her
palms. “Okay, deal, but for a guy who’s supposed to be a writer,
you suck at words.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Tracy smiled. That sweet
smile.

No, not sweet. Stupid!
He reached forward and grabbed the can of chickpeas from
her hand. “Come on, let’s get this over with. I hate these just as
much as you do.”

“How did
you—”

Joe didn’t
bother to answer and hated himself for having hinted at how similar
they were.

* * * *

6

You Can
’
t Die in
Hell

H
ead barely
above
the water, Billie tried
to swim using her one good arm and leg. The right side of her body
had gone numb from the fall and she wouldn’t be surprised if the
trauma from the impact had not only broken the bones on that side,
but damaged the nerves so badly that, right now, she couldn’t feel
a thing. She hoped the cool water would help some, but more so, she
hoped the gray water wouldn’t affect her. It hadn’t a year ago when
the gray rain fell, so most likely she was safe, but still, she
couldn’t help but worry. Plus she’d lost her glasses when she
jumped in.

They were broken anyway,
she thought.

Billie was a decent ways from the rock
she jumped off. Many of the zombies followed her in, but vanished
beneath the water’s gray surface and never came up
again.

Thank goodness they can’t swim,
she thought. The swimming was slow-going. She went
under every time she tried to speed up. She also ended up starting
to go in a circle since all the effort was done with one side of
her body.

Every time
her leg moved beneath the surface, she felt the trepidation an
undead person would grab her foot from below and drag her down to
the lake’s floor. Every time she moved her hand, she could almost
feel cold, decaying fingers wrap around her own and tug her beneath
the surface. The only thought that kept her going was the idea the
water was very deep and even if some of the undead were standing at
the bottom and reaching for her, there’d be no way they could touch
her.

She had to get someplace safe, that
was priority one. Forcing her head above the water, Billie scanned
the shoreline. Dead trees and bushes lined it like a stained-glass
painting but without the color. The rocks along the edge were huge,
their tops so high above water level there was no way she’d be able
to climb out.

There’s a break in the rock line somewhere, though. The
undead had crawled out and there’s no way the entire lake is
bordered by a wall of rock. There’s got to be another one.
Her head went under the water; she
furiously kicked her leg and moved her arm, bringing herself up to
the surface. The water stank, a mix of turpentine and strong male
body odor.

“So tired,” she said. Even being in
the water as she was, lying back only added to her sleepiness; she
had to focus on staying awake

“I need
help,” she breathed, and went under again. This time her body went
vertical beneath the surface; gravity took over and pulled her
down. Thankfully, there was still air in her lungs so she wasn’t
completely dead weight. She wiggled her body, kicked her leg and
flailed her arm, trying to get the water beneath her and her head
above the surface. She was even able to get her other arm and leg
moving, though just barely.

Don’t want to drown. Not like this.
She could only imagine how painful it was to choke on
lake water, deal with being unable to breathe until she passed out
then finally died. And in this water, she thought she had a pretty
good chance of coming back from the dead as well.

God, help me,
she
thought.

Billie
kicked and fought against the water, slowly gaining ascent inch by
desperate inch. Lungs beginning to hurt, she told herself to clamp
down and just keep swimming. Finally, she broke the surface, took a
big gulp of air, then quickly went down again. She kicked and
squirmed and came up once more. Laying prone immediately, she
briefly dipped below the surface before her face was enough above
the water she could breathe comfortably.

Glancing
around, she saw she was further out from shore than she originally
thought. Desperate to get to dry land, she angled herself so her
head was pointed toward the shore and slowly began to swim toward
the rock. She’d find a way back onto land. She had to.

She didn’t know what time it was, but
judging by how fatigued she was on top of all her injuries, she
guessed it was close to midnight if not past. Yawning, she kept
kicking.

Billie went under again. This time she
dipped forward, going vertical before tipping forward completely so
she was face down. Panicking, she screamed and let out most of the
air in her lungs in the process.

No, no, no!
She
instinctively screamed again, deflating her lungs even more. Her
eyes went wide at the realization.
Okay, calm down. Calm down. Think. Which way is up?
She paused, got her bearings, and
began to lean back, thinking she’d go vertical again and would be
able to kick to the surface. Adrenaline beginning to pump through
her limbs—
all
of them—she scrambled against the
water and tried to head to the surface. Despite how hard she swam
or how hard she kicked, the surface never came. She stopped, lungs
burning for air, and tread under the water. Looking up, she
couldn’t make heads or tails which way the surface was in the gray
murk. No starlight or moonlight thanks to the ever-present brown
and gray-clouded sky.

Her only guide was gravity, and right
now, it was winning.

Billie’s
lungs pounded for air, her heart thumping so hard in her chest it
felt like it was going to break free and fall out. Black fuzziness
overcame her vision and a low buzzing filled her ears. Detachment
began to set in and for a split second she thought she was
comfortably at home, about to fall asleep. The weightlessness
brought her back to where she really was and she took in a lungful
of lake water. She tried to cough, choke it out, but it was
useless. All she did was force the last tiny bit of air out of her
lungs, making her body breathe in another gulp of water in
reaction.

Immediately, she started crying,
understanding what she had done and that she was about to
die.

Sinking,
heartbeat slowing, Billie thought she’d soon go into a state of
complete relaxation, like she once heard somewhere of drowning
being like that: lose air, get sleepy then peacefully pass out
before dying. Instead, even with her eyes closed, darkness drew in,
black, pure. The sensation of her body disappeared for a moment
before returning full swing, each movement, each part of her,
utterly sensitive to the water—then there was no water.

Billie
opened her eyes, a sudden gust of wind rushing up her body as she
fell into total darkness. Her heart didn’t race. She didn’t feel a
pulse, but she did feel her stomach going up into her chest as she
fell further and faster into the black abyss. Fear gripped her and
every nerve in her chest and gut trembled, sending quakes of terror
through her body. The solemn realization she was dead rose within
her. She began to shake and kick against the air as if she could
somehow fight it and ascend back to the lake, to the world . . .
above.

In a flood of emotion and knowledge
she understood what was happening. She glanced up as if to confirm
only to see a small halo of brilliant light far in the distance,
growing tinier and tinier the further she fell until the light was
gone and there was only darkness.