Alone (3 page)

“Man these things are pathetic,” Mac mutters, walking forward and meeting the zombie at the edge of the road.

The thing reaches toward Mac, letting out a tortured moan. It’s a sound that used to fill me with dread. It used make my body tense and my heart pound. But all that stopped a while ago. When this thing started, I had no idea that two years would be enough time to adjust to zombies walking the earth. Somehow, though, it was.

Mac walks casually around the zombie, being sure to stay out of arm’s reach. The thing chomps and swings his arms toward Mac, but he’s too rotten to be much of a threat. Mac ducks behind the thing and gets ready to take aim. It’s the safest place to be, so we’ve gotten into the habit of getting behind the things to take them out. Up front, the bastard might be able to get his claw in you, and then you’re in trouble.

Mac jams his knife into the base of the zombie’s skull and up into his brain like it’s nothing, and the dead guy drops. Mac shakes his head as he pulls the knife back out. He plucks some Spanish moss off the ground and uses it to wipe the blade clean before tucking it away.

“They’re getting slower.”

I nod and turn back to the road. They are.

“They’re either starving or decaying,” I say when he falls in line next to me.

“You think they’ll start to die off?”

“Hell if I know,” I mutter. “Aren’t you better suited to answer a question like that? I skipped most of high school, even before all this shit.”

Mac’s shoulders bob up and then back down. “I was never much of a zombie fan. Computers, though… If they were cyborgs or robots, I’d have a theory.”

I snort as I shake my head. “Man, you were a nerd.”

Mac grins, not taking offense. He knows I don’t really think that. Maybe before, but now it’s different. That’s the only good thing about this whole zombie apocalypse: it taught me to see the world for what it really is.

“True,” Mac says. “But if all this hadn’t happened I’d be working for the NSA in a few years, and you’d be sitting in a jail cell somewhere upstate.”

“Guess I’m lucky that asshole decided to release this virus then.”

Mac smirks and looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “I could say the same for myself. Saved me from being a nerd for the rest of my life.”

“But not a virgin.” It’s a low blow, but he can take it.

He shoves me across the road, and I laugh, giving him a look of mock pain as I rub my arm.

“I’m working on it.” His face turns red, and he tries to cover up his embarrassment by saying, “I’ve been saving myself for the right person. Maybe that new girl is the one. You never know.”

I snort and reach back to pull out another cigarette but stop when I remember I only have a few left. “There are zombies walking the Earth, Mac. You get too picky, and you’re going to die a virgin.”

Mac swats his hair off his forehead and lets out a groan. “Man, that would suck.” He puts his hands together like he’s praying and lifts his head toward the blue sky. “Lord, please don’t let me die a virgin! If you grant me this one wish I promise I’ll go to church every Sunday—when they build them again.”

I scoff and shove him across the road. “He’s not a genie, you idiot.”

“He doesn’t grant wishes?” Mac’s face falls. “Damn. Gotta find me a magic lamp, then.”

“Or just grow a pair.”

We reach the outskirts of town, and I step off the road, heading down an overgrown driveway.

“I need to get some stuff to trade,” I say, not really having to explain. This is normal for us. “I’m almost outta cigarettes.”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you those things cause cancer?” Mac says as he jogs to catch up.

“Cancer sounds better than the damn zombie virus.”

Chapter Three

Freedom

Roman and another boy duck behind a bush just as we step out of town hall. Guess he decided not to go to school after all.

After he left, Roz was blatantly hostile toward me, earning her a reprimand from the Regulator. Not really sure what ticked her off, but I couldn’t give less of a crap. Girls like her are almost as common as the walking dead.

We reach the car, and Mr. Smith climbs into the passenger seat, meaning I get the back. He apologizes, but I shrug it off. Not sitting next to my father is a relief.

“Sorry about my son,” Mr. Smith says once we’re all settled in the car. “Roman’s been difficult since his mother died.”

“Was it the virus?” My father’s voice is too formal. It gives away the fact that he doesn’t really care.

The Regulator shakes his head and frowns. It’s hard to tell for sure from where I’m sitting, but he looks genuinely sad. Guess he isn’t a total asshole. “Cancer. When Roman was ten. What about you?”

He doesn’t even bat an eye when he asks, and neither does my father. These days, people asking about the loved ones you’ve lost is normal. It’s become the conversation starter that replaced
how about that weather
?

“She was a doctor. When the virus hit, she was working non-stop. We still don’t know if she was taken by the virus or…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to.
Or was eaten by a zombie
is implied. My father doesn’t care, but just thinking about my mom and how awful it must have been for her makes my throat tighten. It was two years ago, but I’ll never get over it. It’s the not knowing that’s the hardest part.

The Regulator purses his lips. “I’m sorry.”

My father nods, but his shoulders twitch like he really wants to shrug. He probably does when I’m not around. “We were divorced, but I know the loss has been hard on Jules.”

Yeah, just like having to live with an asshole has been.

The men talk as we drive, but I tune most of it out. We pass a pool, which is filled with green, stagnant water, and Mr. Smith tells us that the clubhouse is now used for town meetings and trials. Apparently, it even has a few rooms that have been converted into jail cells. As the Judicial Officer, I guess my father will be spending a good portion of his time there.

After the clubhouse, we don’t pass anything but houses and open land, and I can’t stop thinking about what my dad said. About the Regulator turning people away. The houses here are huge. Stately. The kind that were once featured on the covers of magazines. They had to have been multi-million-dollar homes before all this started. And there’s plenty of open space here. They could add whole apartment complexes if they wanted to. Sure they’d need the supplies and the know-how, but that’s what Atlanta’s for. There’s a reason the government set up building crews: to make sure there’s enough living space inside the walls of the sanctioned settlements.

“We’re pretty full, so most of the homes are occupied by more than one family.” The Regulator points at a few houses as they fly by. “They’re big, so it’s usually not a problem. Of course, being a government official, you’ll get your own house.”

I keep my head down while I roll my eyes. My father will just love that. It’s hypocritical, criticizing the Regulator while accepting a house for just the two of us, but he’ll do it. And it’s dumb, too. No one is more important than anyone else these days. Not that I would try to tell my father—or Mr. Smith—that.

Dad shifts in his seat, and I raise my eyes just in time to catch him squaring his shoulders. “Well, that’s very generous of you.”

I knew it.

“This is my house,” Mr. Smith says, pointing out the window.

I sit up straighter when Roman’s face flashes in my mind.
My curiosity doesn’t have a thing to do with Roman, though. Not at all.
The pounding in my chest contradicts the thought.

“Turn into the next driveway,” the Regulator says. “We’re neighbors.”

My heart actually skips a beat. How pathetic.

Dad does as the Regulator says, and even though I was disgusted with the two men a few seconds earlier, I can’t stop myself from sitting forward as the car moves down the driveway. The house comes into view, and I almost smile. It’s even more beautiful than all the other houses we passed.

It’s two stories and white, with a porch that wraps around the first story. Everything about it screams Southern splendor, like something out of a Nicholas Sparks movie. There are large, live oak trees on both sides of the house with Spanish moss hanging from the branches, blowing in the breeze. Azalea bushes covered in purple flowers line the front porch. But the best thing about it is the water glistening in the distance. The ocean is practically in my backyard. It makes all my earlier disgust melt away. I’ve never lived near the ocean before, and as scary as this whole move has been, the beach almost makes it worthwhile.

The two men climb out, and I’m right behind them. Sucking in a mouthful of air. The salty wind stings my eyes and whips my hair into my face, making my heart pound with excitement. I’m ready to go for a swim or walk on the beach. Anything to get away from my father and be out in the open air for a bit.

“How big are these houses?” I ask, looking the thing over. It’s huge. Maybe I won’t have to see my dad very much.

Mr. Smith purses his lips. “Um…I’m not sure. I think ours is around 4,000 square feet. It was years ago that we bought it.”

He owned a house here? There goes my theory about him being a Chemistry teacher. There’s no way he could have afforded to live here on a teacher’s salary.

“What did you do for a living?” The words are out before I can stop myself, and even I can hear the disbelief in my tone. My father frowns, but curiosity flashes in his eyes.

“Family business,” the Regulator says elusively, waving his hand in the air. “Doesn’t matter now, it’s all gone.” He smiles, but his eyes harden.

My father doesn’t react, so I doubt he noticed the change in the Regulator’s demeanor. Not that I’m surprised. My observation skills did not come from him.

“Well, this is it.” Mr. Smith sticks his hands in his pockets and smiles like he single-handedly built the house. “Make yourself at home and I’ll see you in the office tomorrow morning, Jon.”

My father and Mr. Smith shake hands as I turn away and grab my bags. The Regulator yells his goodbyes, but I ignore him and head for the house. I want to get settled in and go for a walk. The feeling of being stuffed in the car with my father hasn’t faded, and I could really use some air.

The house is stuffy. Humidity and neglect hang in the air, and every breath tickles the back of my throat like I’m sucking in mouthfuls of dust. The former JO lived here, but it’s been several weeks since he died. The place has obviously been sealed tight since then.

“You going to find a room?” my father says from behind me, making me flinch.

He sighs, and it echoes through the house, filling the halls and rooms. Making the place seem small and suffocating. Stuffier than when I first walked in.

If Mom were still around, she’d tell me to give him a break. They divorced when I was four, but they stayed friends and she always stuck up for him. Emotionally stunted, that’s what she’d tried to tell me. He didn’t know how to show love because of how he was raised. To me it always just seemed like an excuse for him to be an ass.

I head toward the stairs without responding.

“We’re going to have to get an electrical crew from Atlanta out here soon,” my father mumbles as he heads for the garage. “They’re wasting too much fuel on running the generators.” Louder he says, “I’ll get the power on so you can take a shower.”

Thoughts of my mother still swim in my head, making my heart ache and allowing me to soften toward my father just a little.

“Thanks,” I call over my shoulder.

The word actually hurts coming out.

I claim a room at the back of the house. It’s huge and has an attached bathroom with a Jacuzzi, a walk-in closet like I’d never seen before, and a balcony that looks out over the water. The closet and dressers are empty—all the abandoned clothes were collected a long time ago and used as part of the rationing system—so I’m able to put my own things away. Living out of a suitcase is
the worst.
Even if I do only have a handful of things to my name now.

The South Carolina air is more humid than I’m used to, almost like living in a sauna. We left D.C. in the middle of the night, and it was chilly enough that I needed to wear a long-sleeve shirt. Here, though, the air is sticky despite it being late October. When does it get cold here?

I strip off my jeans and toss them aside, then throw open the French doors. Even though I’m not dressed, I step out onto the balcony. Salty air whips my hair back and caresses my skin, and my eyes close on their own. I exhale, feeling like I can breathe for the first time in…I’m not sure how long. Weeks? Months? Years? I honestly can’t remember.

Yes, the ocean is a huge perk to moving out in the middle of nowhere.

By the time I have the shower turned on, my father has gotten the generator going. In less than a minute, steam has filled the bathroom, and when I step under the water it’s warm and inviting against my skin. Even though I want to stay in forever, I kept it short. I’ve become the master of quick showers since the infection broke out. In the beginning it was because the water was so icy that I wanted to get in and out as fast as possible, but even after they got the power going in D.C. again, I kept it up. Preservation, maybe? Water use was never limited, but it always seemed like the thing to do. The government in D.C. never really disappeared completely, but things were still uncertain for a long time. I always felt better being conservative in the things I did after the initial outbreak.

By the time I’m dressed and headed downstairs, it’s after three. The windows on the first floor have all been opened, and a salty breeze is blowing through the house. I find my father on the back porch, reading a book.

“I’m going for a walk on the beach,” I say when I step outside, my voice firm. I don’t want him to think I’m asking for permission.

My father glances up from his book, and his eyebrows pull together. It makes my shoulders tense.

Mom
.

I try to focus on her memory, but annoyance prickles through my body anyway, starting at my fingertips and working its way into my brain. Two years I’ve been living with this man, but I still can’t get used to his fumbling attempts at parenting. After all those years of indifference it just doesn’t
feel
genuine.

“I know this community is supposed to be secure, but I still don’t like the idea of you walking around by yourself when there are zombies out there.”

Even when he’s being totally rational I can’t help feeling like he’s just going through the motions.

I inhale slowly and focus on calming the fire that’s building inside me. Somehow, it works. “I’ll stay close.”

His frown deepens. He’s torn, and I know it. He’s trying to do the
dad thing
and keep me safe, but he also wants to make living with me easier.

I force my lips into a smile, and it’s so difficult that it feels like my mouth is doing a push-up. I have to strain every muscle in my face to make it happen. But being nice is the best way to get my way, and all my dad really wants is to go back to his comfortable life.

“I’ll be careful.”

He relaxes a little. “Keep your eyes and ears open.
All
the time.”

This time, I don’t have to strain when I smile because it isn’t directed at him. It comes from the freedom I just gained and the little bit of sunlight that has seeped into my future. Walks in D.C. were impossible, but not here. Here I can start to live again. Find where I fit into this new world.

I charge down the steps and into the backyard before he can change his mind. The second my feet hit the beach, I rip off my shoes and toss them aside, wiggling my toes in the sand. For the first time in two years, I’m able to pretend things are normal. Nothing ever felt normal in D.C. again. No matter how hard they worked to clear the city out, things still felt off. And it wasn’t just because I lost Mom and had to move in with my father.