Crowded Yet Desolate: A Zombie Novel (17 page)

Unlike those around him, Ryan struggled to fall asleep. He listened to Cam stir in his dreams. Ryan rolled away from him. If Ryan could name one thing that was the same after the outbreak, it was that the ones most deserving of a long, joyful life still died first: The oncologist who never smoked a day in his life drops dead of lung cancer at forty-nine, while his patient who has smoked three packs a day for sixty years dies at eighty-four; Jaden died and Ryan continued to live. Life had never been fair, and the outbreak would not change that.

Chapter 17

Ryan woke while the others were still asleep, feeling that it was early by the lack of the sun warming him or the tile underneath. He knew it was time. With Joe and Roe gone, it was time that he became what they had been for the group, that he became what all the parents of his youth said he would become. He let the parents’ words, whispered as secrets by his classmates, fill his head and set his face hard, make it stone, and let that hardness spread through the rest of him. He felt it chill his heart, goosing his flesh, clearing his mind, and he held onto this coldness, surprised at how easy and quickly he was able to call on it. Had it always been hiding there, he briefly wondered, or was it born out of the chaos? It didn’t matter. Nothing did. He lay on the floor a moment longer, staring at the ceiling, his hands crossed behind his head. Then he stood and slipped quietly out the room.

He went to the twin’s old room, where they had left the ammunition, and picked up one of the handguns, which had been cleaned and prepared. He loaded ammunition into a clip, placed the clip in the gun, and thought about nothing but what his hands were doing
.
He left the room, ascended the stairs, and crossed the hall to Bill’s office. Standing outside, he set the gun down and began moving the mountain of desks and chairs they had erected. Over the sound of desks sliding on tile, he heard Albert moving within. Ryan’s heart pounded with effort and nervousness. Once he cleared a path, he picked up the gun and braced himself, filling his lungs with air and then exhaling slowly. He knew once he pulled the trigger, things would never be the same, he would never be the same, and the coldness briefly left him until he reminded himself that he wanted this, that the ensuing hate and anger had been trying for years to emerge. And it was time to let it.

“Sorry, Albert,” he said in a voice that sounded too rough for his own. “This is just the way things work now.” An anxious tingle spread into his hands as he reached for the doorknob.

He gripped it and began to turn it.

A voice issued from the other side of the door. “Hello? Hello? Who is it?”

Ryan’s hand shot away from the doorknob. He stared at the door, waiting. Surely his mind was playing tricks, making him hear things.
He’s dead, Ryan. He’s dead. Quit holding onto things that are gone
.

The voice called again: “Is anyone there?”

Ryan knew he heard it that time. “Albert?”

“Who else would it be?” Albert returned.

Ryan hesitated, the gun still in his hand, the other in a fist. Albert was alive, yes, but how did that change anything? This would have to be taken care of eventually. Ryan reached forward and felt the coolness of the door handle. He opened the door. Just over the desk and the bookshelf Ryan could see a sliver of Albert’s face staring back. His fever was breaking, and he was re-gaining his strength and color.

It was this, the re-gaining of Albert’s strength, that pulled Ryan from the state he was in.

“Ryan?” Albert asked, surprised. He climbed onto the desk and sat on his knees. “I didn’t think you’d be the first person to visit. Although you didn’t think you come here to apologize, by the looks of it.” Albert nervously eyed the gun in Ryan’s hands.

“How are you still alive?” Ryan asked, his voice still not his own.

“Yes, I’m glad to be alive too, Ryan.”

“You know what I mean. I came up here, finally ready to put this shit behind me. And–and . . . you should be a fucking zombie by now!”

“I should, but I’m not. What does this tell us about the virus, class?” His sarcastic tone infuriated Ryan.

“Cut that shit out. This doesn’t make any sense. You’ll change any minute now. Make peace with the God you don’t believe in, because I’m going to be here to look in your eyes as you realize you’re wrong.” Ryan suddenly stopped, shocked by his own words.

Albert remained silent, but from hurt or confidence, Ryan couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

“It’s quite fine, I suppose,” Albert said calmly. “Ryan, my fever is completely gone, and my bite is scabbing over: my body has the virus figured out. I’ve beaten it. You can’t hold me hostage in here forever.”

Ryan was bewildered by Albert’s improvement. Looking at him, he couldn’t deny the turnaround, but he also wasn’t ready to confirm Albert cured. If there was still a chance Albert could change, he couldn’t let him out. No more bloodshed was needed in the school.

“I know, Albert. How long has it been since you were bitten? Two days now? Give me one more day, just to be sure, and if you’re fine by tomorrow morning, I’ll let you out. You have my word.” His voice was his again.

“And you won’t be here to look into my eyes when I’m right?” Albert asked.

“No.”

Albert simply nodded. Ryan turned to walk away, then stopped.

“Albert? Tell me, how did all of this happen in the first place? How did you get bitten?”

“There isn’t much to the tale, I’m afraid. I had been planned on doing it for a while, but I wanted to be sure. Well, I guess I was never one hundred percent sure, but, to me, the uncertainty was worse than anything that could’ve happened. So, I woke up before all of you that morning, and it was as easy as sticking my arm out the top of a classroom window.”

Ryan turned around. Albert’s smile dropped when he saw Ryan’s face. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened? Albert, what if–”

“I know, I know. It wasn’t an exceptionally bright thing to do. I didn’t say I was proud of my decision. But Ryan, if I’m right, think of the ramifications of this discovery. It will change the very way we fight, the very way we defend ourselves. It may even affect the survival of the world.”

“Albert,” Ryan said desperately. “That’s a big if.”

“If,” Albert repeated, nodding his head. “Let the morning decide.”

“Morning it is,” Ryan agreed. Ryan scrutinized Albert’s face. He was telling the truth. Ryan gave him one last sympathetic look and then closed the door. Ryan walked away, forgetting to place the rubble back against the door.

As Ryan walked down the stairs and towards the classroom, he had an epiphany that stopped him in his stride: Albert’s situation was more similar to Deborah’s than he had realized. When he saw Deborah on her last night, she didn’t have a fever. So, possibly the transformation only comes after the fever brakes (if the fever did come), when the person looked healthy again, which would mean that Albert was on the typical path towards transformation, at least when compared to Deborah. Ryan began walking again.
What’s changed?
he suddenly thought. At one point, had he not suspected that the virus behaved differently than everyone thought? And now, he thought the opposite . . . or did he? Was his mind fighting the truth, a defense mechanism guarding his mind from what actually happened to Deborah, no matter which way he leaned?

I guess we’ll see tomorrow morning, won’t we?

Later on that morning, Ryan sat in the cafeteria, reluctantly eating a can of spam and looking forward to his chocolate pudding dessert.
Kyle walked in, went to the far right corner, and grabbed some food from the shopping carts. He walked to Ryan with a pack of strawberry Poptarts in his hand.

“These things are never as good as you remember, but I continue to eat them anyway,” Kyle said as he sat down.

“So how’s it going?” Ryan asked.

Kyle widened his eyes, and his glasses magnified them, making him look like a bug. “That’s a loaded question if I ever heard one.”

“I know, sorry. Feel free to dodge it with the stereotypical fine if you’d like.”

Kyle took a bite from his Poptart and shook his head. “I always told my congregation that fine is the Christian version of fuck, so I try to avoid using it. Almost anytime you say it, you’re lying.” He made his voice carry when he said this, as if he were actually preaching.

“I’m just surprised to hear a pastor use the F–word.”

“Well I never did then, of course. But inappropriate language hardly seems to matter now that the world is dead and gone. You know what I fucking mean?” At this, both men guffawed until tears were rolling down their cheeks. Then, they laughed more. Eventually, they had to stop to catch their breaths. “Ooooh,” Kyle said. “Besides, I don’t think I can really call myself a pastor anymore. What good is a pastor without a pulpit and a congregation?”

Ryan shook his head, saying, “About as good as a graphic designer without corporate America. Unless zombies evolve and figure out the Internet, I’m betting my career is over.”

“Ya. I suspect that’s probably true. I guess zombies could still benefit from God’s love. But I’m not so sure if they’ll stop trying to kill me long enough to let me reach the invitation of my message.”

Kyle smiled. Ryan was surprised that he did as well. Perhaps he had prematurely assumed that Kyle had abandoned the whole idea of faith, Ryan thought.

“So what’s that then? You a God-fearing man again?”

Kyle got serious, pulled off his glasses, and tried to clean them with his dirty shirt, which only smeared them. He placed them back on his nose. “I don’t know that I stopped fearing God. Hell, maybe I did.” He paused. “Life was always difficult, but now it just plains sucks. The way things are, it’s impossible to stay agreeable with anyone all the time, especially God.”

Ryan began wishing that he had taken a few beers from Wal-Mart, for this seemed an appropriate conversation to drink to. Instead, he threw his remaining spam to the side and eagerly ripped the plastic off the top of his snack pack, saving it to use as a spoon.

As Ryan and Kyle sat in silence, Cam walked in the room, still yawning heavily. “What’s up muchachos?”

“Poptart?” Kyle asked, apparently full from just half the package.

“Two days in a row? Fuck ya, regular breakfast of champions.” Kyle threw the Poptart. Cam caught it and sat. He looked tired, even though he had slept in late.

“And how are you this morning?” Kyle asked.

“Fine,” Cam answered. Kyle and Ryan looked at each other and experienced another series of uncontrollable laughter. “What? What did I miss? I mean, I know I’m funny and all but– ”

The door opened again, this time revealing Mrs. Bennet. “Hello.” She said. Her eyes were dark and heavy. She stood there, biting her lower lip and shifting her weight between her feet, looking fairly attractive and coy for her advanced age. “Could you come with me please?” She turned and walked out of the room without waiting for a reply.

“This is all you two,” Cam said.

Ryan sighed. “What the fuck is it now?”

“The fuck if I know,” Kyle answered. The both laughed as they stood.

Cam looked suspiciously at them and cleared his throat. “If you two so happen to have some, hmm, illegal substances in your possession, could you please share? I sure could go for some right now.”

Kyle turned to him and said, “Cam, I’m a God’s man. Why would I have anything like that?”

“True, I guess,” Cam said, unconvinced. 

“Besides,” Ryan added “what does illegal even mean when there isn’t a government?”

When Ryan and Kyle entered the Bennet’s room, Don and Marge were waiting for them, Don holding Reginald and Marge standing directly by her husband. Both of their faces seemed to sag, and they had dark bags under their eyes. Ryan found it hard to pity them, though, when they had explicitly said they wanted nothing to do with him. Ryan, prepared for passive aggression, was caught off guard by their humble request.

“We’re all adults here,” Mr. Bennet began. “I think we’re beyond apologies and blame shifting. The simple fact is that we need your help. We love our little Reggie here, but he’s exhausting us beyond belief. You have no idea. I had no idea. I can’t believe we used to want one of these things.” Marge elbowed him in the stomach, hard. He made a gasping noise and then continued. “With having to take care of the baby and . . . ” he looked away, trying not to appear angry. “The recent events.”

“We just can’t do it alone,” Mrs. Bennet finished for her husband. Mr. Bennet looked reluctant over her word choice. “We just would like to know if you could watch him for the day, so we can catch up on some sleep.”

Ryan stuck out his hands to take the baby. “Of course we can,” he said, sounding confident and feeling reluctant. At least they asked, he thought.

“Oh, thank you so much,” Mrs. Bennet said as Mr. Bennet quickly handed Reggie over, as if he were afraid Ryan might change his mind. “This is simply wonderful. I’ll finally be able to get some real sleep.” She turned on Ryan. “Oh, but you mustn’t hold him like that.” She reached over, pulling his elbow back and laying the baby down so that it could rest easily in his arms. “Yes, that’s better. Now off you go.”

She shooed them out the door and closed it behind them, leaving Ryan and Kyle in the hallway with Reginald.

“Please tell me you know something about babies,” Kyle said.

“Nope, not a clue.”

Suddenly, they both smiled at the same time. “Cam!”

Cam was more than willing to help them watch Reginald–a name that Cam snickered at every other time he said it. Cam, however, refused to change dirty diapers, which were never in short supply. And since Kyle only had one hand, this task fell to Ryan, who had never changed a diaper in his life and who soon discovered that Hollywood’s cheesy diaper changing scenes were not far fetched: he could now add urine and feces to the long list of bodily fluids on his clothing. Ryan was beginning to understand why the Bennets needed to rest.