In the Lone and Level Sands (41 page)

She went without music that night, deciding
to save the last of her charge for a more suitable time.

When she woke up in the morning, she was
sore. She sat up, grateful to finally be off of that godforsaken
floor, gathered her things (including her makeshift sleeping bag)
and headed out through the empty doorframe.

Through the holes in the building, she could
see that the sun was just rising. Zoe headed up to the roof. It was
solid and sturdy, and it provided a great view of the surrounding
area. It also provided a great view of the sunrise.

Zoe walked to the edge of the building. In
the distance, farther into the city, she could see a few things
wandering around, but no clear sign as to whether they were human
or something else. She tried to think of a plan of action. Going
deeper into the city seemed completely out of the question at this
point, and she wondered if she could go around the city as she had
done with her home town.

She sat at the edge of the building, legs
dangling over the small ledge. She kicked her feet. The morning sky
was growing more colorful, the dark blue was giving way to reds and
yellows and oranges. It seemed an appropriate time to listen to her
music, to do this moment of beauty justice in a world where moments
of beauty were growing increasingly rare. It would also help her
clear her thoughts and come up with a plan.

Beyond Zoe’s music, there were footsteps.
Some were distant, and some were very close. The close ones were
aimless, wandering. Pausing, then, noticing the place wasn’t as
empty as it seemed, noticing something there, noticing a hunger,
that incredible urge rising up within. The footsteps became more
focused yet somewhat uncontrolled, all the while quiet, like
ghosts.

Before any plan could be formed, the zombie
was upon her. It grabbed Zoe from behind, nearly shoving her off of
the roof in the process, into what would be a possibly fatal and
definitely crippling fall. But in an event that Zoe couldn’t decide
was either lucky or unlucky, it pulled her backward. She fell from
the ledge of the building and onto the hard cement of the roof, her
headphones pulled from her ears in the process, her beautiful music
and beautiful sunrise cut tragically short.

Her back and head hurt as she hit the
cement, but there was no time for the pain. The zombie tumbled onto
her, pinning her down, snapping its teeth at her. Zoe caught its
shoulders with both arms and held it out of reach. The zombie had
been a decent-sized man, and Zoe couldn’t find the energy to shove
it off of her. She tried once, and then again, but both attempts
did little more than drain what precious little energy she had. The
zombie pressed down, harder and harder, teeth gnashing, eyes a
million miles away yet focused dead on her.

“Help!” Zoe said. She heard her words echo
through the empty skeleton of a building, across an empty part of a
dead town. She decided against calling again; only her echo and
more zombies would answer.

She looked around, wondered if there was
something she could use as a weapon. She saw nothing but a white
canvas of concrete. If she could only get the zombie closer to the
ledge, perhaps she could knock it over.

Only she couldn’t. It was too strong, had
taken her by surprise, and all she could do was hold it there. She
could swear it gained a few millimeters on her every few seconds,
but hoped that was an illusion.

Then came the other footsteps. Fast, yet
carefully placed, decided, controlled. Across the hardening mud
(carefully, so as not to lose footing). Through the door. Up the
steps, one by one, toward where the call had come from (had it been
here? It must have been). Up more, through the door, toward the
ledge.

The next thing Zoe knew, the immense weight
she found herself barely holding up disappeared. The zombie made no
noise as it toppled over the ledge and was gone, like a ghost, like
a footstep.

She breathed heavily. So did he.

A young man stood there, panting, hands on
his thighs. Sweat lined the outer reaches of his face, his brown
hair barely dangling onto it. He swallowed hard, and then turned
back to Zoe and extended his hand.

Zoe hesitated out of sheer disbelief at
seeing an actual human being, and of all times, when she most
needed one. Then she realized what the gesture was for, and took
his hand. He helped her up.

“Were you bitten?” he asked.

“Almost,” Zoe said. “You came out of
nowhere.”

“I came out of the city.”

“I was heading into—around it.”

“No point.” He straightened up. Zoe guessed
him to be around the same age as her. “There’s nothing out
there.”

“Is there anything anywhere?” Zoe said. She
wondered if what she saw then was the crack of a smile.

“I suppose not.”

“I’m Zoe.”

“Derrick.”

The two waited for a moment, caught their
breath. Zoe felt something she’d never felt before, then. It was so
miniscule, she couldn’t be sure she had felt it at all, but it
grew, it wouldn’t be ignored. She felt that things would change.
There was someone here now, someone she could travel with, perhaps
even be safe with.

“You all alone?” Derrick asked.

“I was,” Zoe said.

“Well, you don’t have to be, anymore. If you
want to follow me, I mean.”

“Where are you going?”

“California.”

California was far. A long way, in the
direction Zoe had been walking away from. “Yeah. I’ll follow you,”
she said.

“Just like that? Not even going to check and
make sure I’m safe? That I won’t hurt you?”

“I can’t help but feel that if you were
going to hurt me, you wouldn’t have just saved me.”

Derrick laughed. Zoe laughed, too. For the
first time in a long time.

He reached into his bag, retrieved
something, and handed it to Zoe. It was a handgun.

“Just in case you change your mind about how
safe you feel. But I can promise right now, I won’t hurt you.
You’re the first person I’ve seen for miles.”

“Thanks,” Zoe said. She took the gun,
unaware of how to use it, hoping she wouldn’t need to, knowing she
probably would, someday. But not against Derrick.

The two of them headed down the stairs and
out of the building, down the road Zoe had come from the day
before. For a while, very little mattered. It didn’t matter that
she was backtracking days’ worth of walking. It didn’t matter that
the zombie had clutched onto her headphones as it fell, taking her
MP3 player with it on its way down. It didn’t matter that the MP3
player hadn’t even worked since the bus crash. In some way Zoe
thought she would never be able to describe, it didn’t even matter
that the whole world had died. Because things were going to change.
She wasn’t alone anymore. She had found Derrick, and unlike the
others she’d met on her journey, Derrick wasn’t imaginary.

43

John, In the Ferrington

John watched the others hurry out into the
late afternoon air with the items they had scrounged up. He waited
until they disappeared out of view, then he collapsed to the floor,
holding his hands against the bullet wound. Though it wasn’t fatal,
it bled profusely. He leaned against the shelves; the bread served
as a good cushion for him.

His gaze fell to the floor, and he began to
weep. A headache had come over him. He couldn’t stop the memories;
as much as he tried, nothing put them to rest. Even though he was
not in Liberty when his family was lost, his head ached with the
images, and even worse, the guilt. If only he’d been there. If only
it hadn’t been so busy in Gladstone, he could have gotten off and
gone to Liberty. He could have prevented this from happening to
them. But thinking like that only made him feel worse.

John limped to the pharmacy and found some
gauze. He sat down carefully in the aisle, rolled up his pant leg,
and cleaned around the broken skin. While he held a hand on the
hole in his leg, he tried to open a bottle of iodine, but failed
miserably. He tried again, and managed to pop the cap off. He
poured the liquid on the hole in his leg. It stung, and his face
was tight with pain. After that, he wrapped the wound with gauze.
John sat in the aisle for almost an hour, surrounded by Band-Aids,
gauze, and spilled iodine.

Hunger set in, so he made to his feet, took
everything he’d used, and limped with it to a cart that had been
abandoned with several food items inside. John set the partially
used iodine and gauze into the child seat of the cart and pushed it
to the express register he’d left open.

The register beeped as he ran the chips,
bread, medical supplies, and everything else across the scanner. He
cringed with every beep. His head was throbbing, and then he
realized he could use some pain pills for that, so he limped back
to the pharmacy, grabbed some, and then headed back to complete his
order.

He spent the next hour or so in the
cafeteria. John picked the farthest table back, a round booth near
the window with the shade closed on the setting sun. He made a few
sandwiches and listened to the stillness of the store, accompanied
by muffled moans of the zombies outside. He leaned back (feeling a
slight surge of pain run up his leg) and belched.

After throwing his silverware in one of the
sinks in the dish room, John wandered to the front end. He moved
the pallets of Pepsi away from the automatic doors. After that, he
walked the store, unlocking the other exits. The last one he
unlocked, at the end of a short hall, led out to the employee
parking lot. A phone hung on the wall beside the door. John grabbed
the phone with a cold, shaky grip and dialed
70
. A soft tone
emitted in the receiver, and John breathed raggedly over the
intercom. He had a smile on his face.

“It looks really grim out there folks, but I
just want to make sure all of my customers still have access to the
only Ferrington in Gladstone. I’m glad we’ve decided to re-open our
doors. You mean a lot to me, and I want to make sure you have
everything you need.”

John hung up the phone. The door to the
outside was just a few steps away. He opened it and stepped
partially out. There were no zombies in sight. John gripped the
door jamb and stepped out farther.

“I’m not going out there, you fucking
bastards! If you want me, you have to come get me!”

John stood there for a moment, looking from
side to side. He still saw no zombies. He waited a good minute
before sighing and closing the door. Then, he began the long,
lonesome walk back up to the conference room.

****

John remembered the phone call that changed
everything. He had ducked for cover behind the customer service
counter, and then the phone rang. Even on that day, surrounded by
chaos, he had answered after the first ring. It was his son.

“Dad… Dad, can you hear me?” He could hear
the fear in Vince’s voice.

“Vince, what’s wrong? Are you and your mom
all right?”

“I’m fine, it’s Mom. She’s been bitten.
What’s happening, Dad? What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” John said. “I wish I did,
but I don’t! How bad is she?”

“Bad.”

“It hurts,” Carol said, barely louder than a
whisper.

“Shh,” Vince said. “Don’t waste your energy.
An ambulance will be here soon. Dad, are you going to be able to
get here?”

John heard his stutter crackle over the
phone. “I-I don’t think so. Not right away.”

“Mom?” Vince said, then he let out a
blood-curdling scream.

“Vince! Are you okay?”

There was a lot of muffled commotion on the
other end of the phone, and then Vince returned, breathing heavily.
“Mom’s… Mom’s gone. She bit me, and I don’t have a lot of time. I
love you, Dad.”

“No,” John said. “You don’t know that! Don’t
say that!”

“I saw how long it took Mom to become the
same as the thing that bit her!”

“This can’t be
it!
No! No!”

But that was it. Now John looked around the
empty conference room at the things left behind by the other
survivors who had stayed there.

“Why couldn’t I have been there? Why do I
deserve this?”

****

John sat at the conference room table with
the light on and a bottle of water held loosely in his right hand.
He had been awake for hours. He checked his watch. It was 6:34 a.m.
John took a sip from the water bottle and then set it down, rubbing
his stubble-covered face with both hands. He sat there for another
half hour, slowly finishing his water, letting his thoughts work
themselves out.

I think I know what I need to do.

John smiled a broken smile. After that, he
turned the light off and went back to sleep.

****

Just before 10 a.m., John woke up. It was
the latest he’d woken up in a long time. He felt rested, almost
good
. He went down to the store. His leg still hurt, but
limping made it easier.

John collected a small amount of food and
water in a basket, and also took his knife and kept it in his
pocket. When he had everything he needed, he headed for the south
entrance. He went through the door without paying for any of
it.

He stood in front of a bench that faced away
from the window and peered out. It looked scary out there. There
were groups of zombies wandering around in front of the store.

The side door whined as John exited through
it into the drive-up lane. It was covered by a huge brick overhang.
Once he made it past that, he saw a beautiful, nearly cloudless
blue sky. It felt great to breathe in the fresh morning air.

John headed for his car, which was parked in
the employee parking lot. He didn’t see many zombies on this side
of the store; those he did see were too far away to be a bother.
John sat down, turned the car on, and drove toward the Liberty
Ferrington.