Dead Quarantine (17 page)

“Tommy is—”

“Dead, I know. Lilly told me.”

“Lilly? Why is she not with you?” He looked
back at her. Her eyes trembled, moisture building behind them. She
balled her hands to fist. “She...she...is dead?”

He nodded. “She was bitten and she shot
herself.”

Sarah dropped to the ground, staring ahead.
“The others?”

“Dead. Zombies got them, only...”

Her eyes snapped at him. “Only, what?”

It gnawed at him. The only other one that
knew what had happened with the girl was dead. Whatever story he
told would be believed. He didn't want to be seen as a killer,
although he killed her, and had to live with it the rest of his
life no matter how short it would be.

“A girl was with Lilly. The zombies got her
and Lilly wouldn't let go. I shot her and dragged Lilly
inside.”

He expected outrage from her, but instead
she got silence. He didn't know which he preferred; the silence cut
as deeply as a lashing would have, maybe even deeper. Finally, she
said something.

“You had your reasons.”

Not what he expected to hear either.

“I just want to get home,” Sarah said.

“Me too,” he said, knowing there was no real
home to return to.

“My mother and baby brother are probably
dead by now, walking around the house aimlessly. At least I can
take care of them and bury them.”

He heard the emotions in what she said, felt
the same pain, but her face stayed plain, showing nothing, and that
scared him.

“Lauryn, the girl I escaped with, she was
ill when I left her. I went back for her, but she was gone. I
didn’t see her corpse; maybe some people get better from this
flu.”

She looked at him for a long time before she
said, “I don't know, maybe.”

“I need get home and make sure that they are
well. If I am immune or resistant to whatever this is, maybe it's
hereditary and my mom and Ginny are okay.”

She was thinking, battling with hopelessness
and hope. He was not sure which won. Her face was blank. She must
be in shock over what had happened for her to stop being her bubbly
self. Or it was never the real her. She gave him a cold vibe he
didn't like. He preferred her being the sunny person who ignored
him. She didn't ignore him anymore. Her eyes were fast on him. She
stuck her hand out.

“Let us escape this deathtrap together and
find our way home. It's not like we live that far apart; we would
be going in the same direction anyway.”

He shook her hand. A firm grip.

“Shall we go?”

He followed her to the roof access—a square
brick thing with a door.

“You've been here before?” he said, entering
the access.

“Yes, and it’s a long story.”

He went down after her, the stairs being too
narrow to walk down next to each other. At ground level, she paused
at the door.

“If there are only a few of them, we can run
and dodge them and go for the main doors,” Sarah said.

“That's no good. It’s blocked by a small
crowd of zombies. We need to take the back door.”

“You've seen the amount of dead walkers in
the yard.”

“Okay then, we go in one of the rooms in
front of the building and get out through the window. As long as
the majority of the dead are banging the front door, we will have
it easier running out the gates.”

She smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “It may
work.”

“Of course it will.”

She pushed the door open to a near-empty
hallway. They needed the door opposite to where they stood. Only
one zombie stood in their way.

“I got this one,” she said.

A shudder went down his back. It was time to
exorcise the demons from the past. He ran up to Mrs. Evergreen,
pushed the barrel in her mouth, breaking her teeth as he did. He
pulled the trigger to a shot that exploded the old witch’s head in
a red fountain. He shoved the body aside. He entered the room and
slammed the door shut once Sarah got through.

“We could have easily avoided it.”

She was right, but he had to do it. He did
not stop to answer her. It was their luck the room was empty,
making things easier for them. He aimed at the window and shot,
shattering the glass to pieces. He grabbed her hand and jumped out.
They were standing in the yard and as he expected, the zombies were
massed at the main entrance. From here, it was easy, a short run,
and they were out the gates. Now, they were going home.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The
farther they got from the high school, the fewer walking dead they
saw. They were rather easy to spot and avoid since they lingered in
groups. Most people had adhered to the quarantine and stayed inside
their homes. Others had been evacuated to their death with only
yellow paint left on their doors as a hint of that. It was possible
more people were alive, though they must be staying inside, because
no one alive despite them was walking outside. Only the occasional
group of zombies. They had to walk five miles to get home. It would
have taken about ten minutes by car, but walking, it took about an
hour and a half at a steady pace and they were not going at a
steady space. It wasn't possible; they had to be alert so as not to
accidentally walk into a group of zombies.

Ralph stopped near a car and looked inside.
“It would go faster if we had a car.”

Sarah leaned against the car, resting her
back. “Yeah, it sure would be faster and make a lot of noise.”

“How long have we been walking? An hour
maybe? And only a mile or two closer to home. We are stopping too
often, having to take detours around pockets of the zombies we
encounter. It will take too long walking like this.”

“So how are we going to get a car? Knock on
doors and ask for the keys?”

He didn't know how to jack a car. Sure, he
had seen it done in movies and it all seemed so easy to do, but he
had no idea if that would work in real life. Although, what Sarah
said could be an option. Lots of cars were parked here. The owners
could still be inside.

“Yeah you're right. We'll knock on
doors.”

“Excuse me?”

He walked along the cars, looking for a
newer model. He stopped at a hatchback Ford Fiesta, a late model
2008. It was small, nimble, and fast, well at least faster than a
zombie would walk. He would not be able to run one over with it. He
looked up and down the street. A couple parking spaces farther down
the street stood a Toyota 4Runner. He tried the doors. Locked. This
one was a bigger, sturdier, and fast enough. They could run a
zombie over and only feel a bump. He would rather have a Dodge Ram,
but beggars can't be choosers.

“What are you doing?”

He turned around to a quizzically looking
Sarah.

“I'm picking out a car for us, honey.”

She didn't return his smile. She had no
sense of humor today, and who could blame her? Actually, he didn't
now why he tried to lighten the mood. He didn't feel happy at all,
and what he was about to do wouldn’t improve that. The streets were
empty because people had stayed inside, making most of these houses
tombs, only a small percentage occupied by the still living. The
chance was small that they would happen on the later. No, he most
likely would be entering a tomb, with a very lively corpse inside
that was rather hungry. Nothing to lighten the mood there.

He looked up at the townhouse that the truck
was parked in front of. Number thirty-three. He went up the stairs
and knocked. He waited while Sarah looked at him as if he had gone
insane.

“They most likely are dead, or are you
planning to ask a zombie for its car keys?”

No one answered. He pushed the bell and held
it pressed. Still, no one answered the door. He pressed his ear to
the door. He did hear sounds coming from the inside. A long moan
very close to the door. Whoever was inside was dead all right.

“They are dead; we'll have to break in to
ask the zombie for its key.”

It dawned on her and he could see a hint of
a smile on her. “Duh, I should have known.”

Why should she have? A normal thought would
not have been stealing the truck. He was glad there was still
normalcy in her. After what both of them had been through, it
wasn't surprising that they would end up screwed up after the
initial shock had passed. He feared he was already at that point.
This was eerily becoming his new normal. Guess survival was
preprogrammed into the human species after all. The cockroaches
were difficult to weed out.

“After all, it's not really stealing if they
are dead. They sure won't be using it anytime soon.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sugarcoating things?
You plan to go in, kill the zombie, take his keys, and drive off
with his car. Murder and theft in one.”

He play punched her shoulder. “And you are
going to be my accomplice.”

He walked over to the living room window. He
lucked out that these houses had no garage and the living room was
in the front. Like every other house, the curtains were drawn.
Ralph offered Sarah the shotgun. “You know how to shoot?”

She shook her head.

“It's a semi-automatic; you don't have to
pump it. Just point and pull the trigger.”

She took it, holding it awkwardly. Her eyes
were unsure.

“Just cover me, okay?”

He loosened a brick from the pavement, took
a few steps back, swung his arm way back, and slung the stone
against the window. It bounced back, leaving a crack. He picked the
stone up and tried again. On the fourth throw, the glass shattered.
Carefully, he plucked the glass shards from the window frame. He
took his jacket off and put it on the frame so as not to cut his
hands when he hoisted himself up. Enough time had gone by for the
zombie to move from the front door to the living area. It could
appear any moment now from under the curtains and attack him.

“I'm going in.”

“I got you covered.”

He hoped she did. He pushed himself up, got
one foot on the windowsill, and pushed himself over and into the
room. He exhaled. It was empty of life and death. The living room
had a door separating it and the kitchen from the rest of the
house. The zombie was thumping against the door, barring its entry.
A meal denied. Ralph chuckled. He pulled the curtain aside and
helped Sarah in.

Ralph took the shotgun from Sarah. “Go
search for any keys. We might get lucky and not need to off this
zombie and who knows how many more in this house.”

They looked in all the places a key could be
left: on the dining table, on the TV furniture, on the salon table,
on the kitchen counter, in the pockets of a jacket they found
draped over a chair, on the windowsills. They found no keys.

“Sarah, at my nod, open the door.”

She grabbed the doorknob. Ralph aimed high
and nodded. She pulled it open. A tall, dead man in khakis and a
flannel shirt stood in the door opening. Ralph shot the zombie.
Missing half of its head, it fell in the hallway. Ralph waited for
a minute, just in case another one came through the door. He slowly
walked in the hall, the barrel of his shotgun leading the way. He
scanned up the stairs. No one or thing was near, nor did he hear
any sound.

“Check his pockets.”

He kept guard while Sarah went through the
pockets. She tried to turn the zombie on its belly but the zombie
was too heavy for her. He gave her the shotgun and told her to take
guard. He rolled the zombie over. His right back pocket bulged out
a little. He fished out the keys.

“We need to go.”

He heard the clicking of the pull of the
trigger but there was no shot. He looked up. Sarah was backing away
from the stairs. At the top appeared another zombie. It was naked
and his crotch was bitten off—a picture Ralph desperately wanted to
erase from his mind. He had to get the heck out. He scrambled up
and followed Sarah to the front door. Behind him, he heard the
bumbling sound of the corpse falling down the stairs. She tried the
door.

“It's locked.”

The keychain held six different keys. He
tried the first one. It didn't budge. A loud moan rose from behind.
He glanced back. They should have gone for the window; now that way
was blocked. He put a second key in. Not the right one.

“Hurry up,” Sarah screamed franticly in his
ear.

The third would be the charm. He held his
breath as he turned the key; it didn't move a bit. He fumbled for
the next one. The chain slipped from his fingers and fell.

“Fuck this,” Sarah said. She grabbed the
shotgun by the barrel and swung down hard, breaking the stock on
the zombies head. It staggered back and fell to on the ground.

Ralph scooped up the keys and put a random
one in, not knowing if it was one he already tried.

“He's still moving,” Sarah screamed.

He unlocked the door and rushed outside,
closely followed by Sarah. She threw the shotgun at the zombie's
feet, making it trip and roll down the front steps. It smack hard
on the pavement. Ralph pressed the button to open the car doors. He
got behind the steering wheel. Sarah ran to the other side and got
in. He started the engine and drove off. In the rearview mirror, he
saw the zombie get back up. He was a tough one, despite having no
balls.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ralph stopped the truck at the intersection. Sarah lived a few
blocks away. He had to turn left to go to her home, right to
his.

“You can drop me off here. I'll walk home;
it's only a short distance.”

He turned left. It was silly really not to
drop her off; the distance was negligible. Only, he was not sure if
he should leave the truck with her.

“Really, you shouldn't.”

He parked the truck in front of her home. He
glanced sideways. She was staring ahead, not showing any sign of
wanting to get out.

“You want me to come with you?”

“No, no need to.” She put her hand on his
leg, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek, taking him by surprise.
She smiled at his reaction. “You've done enough for me already,
thank you.”