Controlling the Dead (24 page)

She stands and I stop her. “Guido doesn’t have much longer to live.”

Straightening her shoulders, she casts a hard glance. “Good.” With that, she leaves the tent.

*

Rudy slips in later that night. After a period of silence, he says, “I’m going to kill Guido.” He swallows. “Slowly.” The word vibrates through his chest. This is unlike Rudy, so I know how deep his grief runs.

I try to lighten the mood. “Not if I kill him first.”

A corner of his mouth turns up. “You might not have to. The whole point of those zombies was to protect them from the revolutionists.”

“We need to get the families out, and soon.” I chew my cuticle and sit up. His head rests on his arm. “Before Mac went to see Guido, he said he needed to tell me something. I really wish I knew what that was right now. I should have asked him.”

“Right. Because that’s the first thing you should have thought of when he was bleeding out all over you.”

“But—”

“Kansas. Don’t. You’ll go mad.”

“Yeah, but this guilt is eating at me.”

He sits up—his silhouette visible through the dark. “What do you feel guilty for?” I don’t respond because, really, what do I not feel guilty over? “Would it help if I told you I feel the same way?”

“Why?”

His hand comes around my neck and the next thing I know, our breath mingles as our lips come together. Warmth spreads through me and I lace my fingers through his hair, feeling the thickness of it. He uses his lips in a slow, exploring way. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulls me into him, chest-to-chest as I straddle one of his thighs. His heart pounds and he becomes demanding, taking the kiss deeper. The stubble on his face scratches against my cheeks and my lower abdomen clenches tight. I break away with labored breathing. Putting his forehead to my temple, his breath hits my jaw and neck. “Because I’m so fucking glad you weren’t the one dead when I opened the van door.”

He lies back down, bringing me with him. We’re a little closer and holding on a little tighter, but maybe that’s how it feels mentally, and even though we are in the middle of nowhere, I feel like I’m home.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
S
IX

When the sun comes up again, we continue to lie still, listening to people packing up camp. Everyone is still subdued from the loss of Mac. There’s no joking around or laughter.

Reece clears his throat, poking his head in the tent, and throws some granola bars at us. He stares and for a minute I consider flipping him off, but he speaks, “We leave today.”

“About time,” I say, knowing we all need to trudge forward. Rudy gets up and tells me he’ll be back.

I’ve got all my stuffed packed and start to take down my tent, when Rudy shows back up to help. “You don’t have to help, you probably put it up.”

“Nah, it’s my tent.”

I check it. “Oh, it looks like mine.”

“I couldn’t find yours, you must have left it.”

“Where have you been sleeping?” His eyebrows rise at my question. “I mean, when you’re not with me.”

He grins. “In the truck. It’s comfortable.” He shrugs. “Want to ride with me? Could use the company.”

I bite my lip, patting down poles in the little box, knowing I want to ride with him, but… “Gwen might need the company.”

“Oh no, you go on ahead. Maddie’s riding with me.” Gwen ambles by with her arms full of supplies. She has to be the strongest person I know.

“Not the strongest
I
know,” Rudy says as I realize I said the last out loud.

We fold the tent, and I can’t help smiling. He finishes rolling it up and puts it in the box. We carry the bags, including Mac’s, to the truck. I put my pack in the front and unfold my map. We’re in Missouri. Today our destination is Nebraska, with two stops in the middle for gas, loot, leg stretch, and fishing.

I have to hand it to Sander, he knows how to plan a road trip. Everyone loads up as Glinda rushes over. “Here Suga. Take this.” She gives me a bag of white cheddar popcorn. I smile, knowing I’ll open it up when we pull out. Giving her a hug, I catch sight of Rudy walking from the willow in the distance. When I get into the truck, it’s high from the ground and brings me comfort as I flick the Hulk bobble head to make it bob. Rudy gets in, throwing a pillow at me.

 “Might get sleepy, and I don’t want you drooling on the window.” He starts the truck, following a van in front of us.

I sigh and my breath fogs up the window. “I suppose you’re right,” I agree, watching the willow tree until it’s out of sight.

The drive to the first stop is a long one. The ride is full of thoughts of Mac and his very last days. One day the team had gotten Reese to paint me on the mural. I was squatting in front of everyone else, holding the machete between my legs. The machete stopped me from flashing myself, because for some reason, I was wearing a skirt.

“You got Reece to paint me in a skirt,” I accused Mac as we walked to my loft.

He blew out cigarette smoke and flashed me a smile. “How’d you know it was me?” I shot him a look, telling him to prove me wrong. He laughed, and it echoed through the courtyard. “If I have to sleep under it, might as well be trying to look up your skirt in the process.”

I grinned, elbowing him in the ribs.

On the drive, I sketch landscapes and sing. By the look on Rudy’s face, I’m not singing too well, so I sing worse until he looks like his ears are going to burst. He never says anything, though.

I burst into laughter. “Want some ear plugs?”

He laughs, too, and shakes his head. “Better than silence.”

“You mean better than griping and complaining about life not being fair?”

Cutting his eyes sideway at me, he frowns. “No, but if you need to gripe and complain, go right ahead.”

“Hmm,” I muse as I snowcap a mountain. “I don’t know what to say about you being willing to put up with my singing and complaining.”

He doesn’t say anything, so I hum instead. He laughs deep and rich, “I don’t mind your singing. Honest.”

*

We get to a good place to camp near the Missouri River. Rain pounds the roof and runs down the windshield splitting into separate dribbles. I don’t move as everyone else gets out to pitch tents in a hurry. Glinda stands with a backpack over her head while Reece does all the work. Sam’s mohawk appears a little worse for wear, and Ty’s body hunches in like he’ll melt as I watch them argue about the tent poles. Mago smoothly puts up his tent like there is no rain.

Rudy opens his door. His bandana is soaked and raindrops are caught in his eyelashes. “I’ll put up the tent for you.”

I shake my head. “I’ll put it up, when the rain slows if you don’t mind me hanging out in here.”

He clenches his jaw, gazing out at everyone. “Be a good time to look at a radar.”

“No kidding.”

“Come on, get in the vault.” He smiles. “I’ll play the guitar for you.”

I perk, but make like I have to think about it. His smirk tells me he knows better. “Okay.”

We keep the doors open. I’m sitting on the back with my legs dangling. The air is hazy and humid as the rain slows to a dribble. Rudy takes off his wet sweatshirt when Reece, Bunyan, Sam, and Ty come into view. “Come on, Rudy. We’re setting nets in the river. Tons of trout,” Reece says, flashing his toothy smile.

Rudy glances to me and to the wet sweatshirt. He sighs, putting it back on. “Sure.”

“The one who catches the most fish wins,” Sam challenges.

“You’re on,” Rudy retorts, jumping from the vault.

“Hey.” I grab his attention, and he pauses as the guys make their way toward the river. “Go farther upstream. They’re lazy and won’t go far.”

A grin stretches across his face and spreads to his eyes. “Good idea.” Bending down, he gives me a kiss.

“Find an area where fish like to linger. Under a small waterfall or something like that,” I say against his lips and smile.

If possible, his grin gets wider, and he pulls me from the truck. “Come on, you’re going, too.” We grab a few weapons before heading out.

By the time we get back, it’s dark and we’re soaking wet. Everyone else is already back, but we got a little sidetracked keeping each other warm after falling in the freezing water. My teeth clack together.

The truck is parked out of the way, blocking the tents. I’m following Rudy inside when moans and snarls slice through the air. I turn toward the sound and a group runs toward us.

“Famished!” someone yells from the camp. Rudy’s eyes widen and he slips me the machete. He grabs his bow, jumps down from the truck and dashes toward the camp. Holding a stance, I can barely make out their dark forms running toward us. I shoot the closet one as people shout from the other direction. One comes out of nowhere and my heart picks up—a male with a flannel shirt and sunken cheeks. Pus runs from his lips as he lurches forward, right toward me. The eyes reflect milky whiteness from the campfire light. I freeze as panic rushes up my spine. I swing the machete around to catch momentum and slice through his throat. Gore splashes me, and another one hits me in my side. The famished and I tumble into the open truck door as I fling it off.

It lands on the ground face first. I swing and hack at it. It’s been awhile and my muscles ache and stretch with my movements. Gunshots split the humid night. A famished runs at me, but I step to the side and clothesline it with my arm. It falls back, still working its blackened teeth as I hold it down with my boot. An old wound oozes discolored liquid in its side. A few arrows whiz by as I bring the machete down on it.

Other famished have run past me, so I make a beeline to the other tents, not knowing if these are all rogues or a mixture. Gunshots continue to echo in my ears and I veer around to avoid bullets. Rudy stands at the bus. Arrows whiz past me and by the time I make it to where I’d be of help, the famished are down.

“Get them over there, we can start a fire.” Reece points downwind a ways. Sam follows me to the bodies by Rudy’s truck. He grabs two legs, one each from a different body. I grab the other one. We pull them over to the growing pile of corpses of the dead.

“We need someone on watch,” I say. “I’ll do it, but we shouldn’t start a fire at night for the rest of our trip.”

I go and pick up the heads I decapitated and throw them on top. Rudy smirks as he watches them roll to the bottom of the pile.

“Kan, two or three people should keep watch,” Sander says. “I’ll help. We’ll do it in shifts. Who wants next?” Several people raise their hands, and it ends up being Reece and Bunyan on next watch. Everyone else will get a turn next time we camp.

We walk around listening for any far-away sounds. He has an assault rifle. I have my Bersa, machete, and bow. “You cut off their noggins. Kind of chingona, if you ask me,” he states and smiles.

I have no idea what he just said, but I shrug. “Didn’t want to waste my ammo.”

“What about your zombie mojo?”

“Doesn’t work on all zombies, obviously. Mago calls them rogues.” I’m kind of pissed we got attacked by a bunch of rogues, but it seems we might be in between Voodoo spells. How weird.

“No comprende there, chingona de chingonas. You’re going to change things.”

I stare at him through the darkness. His statement, the statement I understand, baffles me—that a complete stranger has such faith, but I laugh. “What in the hell are you saying?”

He laughs, too. “It’s a compliment. Trust me.”

“Okay.”

He swats me on the back. “Good.”

Our shift ends without another incident. Climbing in the truck, Rudy’s awake and makes room for me. We’re drifting to sleep when Ariella starts crying. It echoes through our camp. Sitting up, I’m thinking we might need an extra person on look out.

“They got it, Kan. Don’t worry.”

I don’t know how long it takes to get her calmed down, but eventually she goes to sleep. It doesn’t mean I do.

*

The next morning, a big bonfire of zombies smokes into the sky about two hundred yards away. The guys walk to camp with their fishnets. Rudy is the only one wet from the waist down and he holds up our net full of fish, grinning.

“Cheaters,” Reece mutters, walking toward the fire.

Sander walks up. “Need help?” he asks, pointing to the fish.

“Sure, man.” Rudy dumps out the fish to the side, and both of them start cleaning them. I scrunch my nose and watch as they slice and remove the guts, both doing it differently.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to leave the head on?” They both look up at me. “You know if you want to debone it or whatever… never mind. Something I read in a book.”

“Keeping it simple, Darlin’.”

“Right.”

Sander watches me for a moment. “You might want to think about coming to Arizona, we could trade our secrets.”

“Uh, what do you mean?” I ask.

“I’m handy in resources, word is you are, too. We could probably teach each other a few things.”

I stomp down long blades of grass. “It’s something to think about.”

“Think about it.” With that, he stands with several headless fillets and walks away to help others clean their fish. I’m not planning on going to Arizona, so Rudy’s stare makes me uncomfortable. He hands me all the cleaned fish and hops in the truck to change.

Everyone gathers around the flames. The smell of bonfire and fish fills the air. Some of them laugh and joke around, and the only thing I can think of is they are moving on from what happened a few days ago. Looking at Gwen, she is worn down and doesn’t really have a smile for anyone. Rudy stares at his fish, not eating it. I bump him with my shoulder. I almost ask him about returning to the community after this trip, but I can’t bring myself to. I smile at him, but even that comes out sad.

After everyone eats the fresh fish breakfast, Reece bellows he wants to talk to everyone before we leave. We huddle in a meeting and he reminds everyone we’ll be reaching Montana tonight, and we’ll camp a good fifty miles away, sleep the night, and go in tomorrow morning. It is crucial we look out for famished because the closer we get, the more there will be.