Orpheus (19 page)

Two seconds later, zombies were bouncing off haphazardly as Ethan plowed through them. When he was clear of the other parked cars he started to move, not into the street, but through adjacent parking lots, which were much more orderly and less populated with undead. He drove slowly over the small barriers between them, not too concerned with his remaining zombie pursuers. Some of them seemed to lose interest in pursuit now that they couldn't see an actual human being, or, Ethan thought was a more likely explanation, because they got distracted by an easier target.

Regardless, a busted axle or a flat tire was a much bigger threat at the moment. If any got too close, he reversed course and mowed them down. It was working out to be a pretty sound strategy. Soon, there were only a few stragglers, and he'd drop them soon enough.

But those were just a few parking lots. He didn't try to comprehend what the busy areas of the town looked like. He cracked his window to make it easier to hear. There were still random screams here and there, but nowhere near as many as there had been only a few hours ago. The living had become an endangered species on the island in a staggeringly short time. He heard what sounded like gunfire a ways off, but he couldn't tell which direction it was coming from. The fact that people were still fighting lifted his spirits just a little.

He looked quickly to Rachel then back to the road. She was crying, but trying hard not to show it.

"What happened? What happened?"

"Nothing..."

"Nothing? You're-"

"I'll tell you later, Ethan. I'm trying to keep it together right now."

The alpha male need for him to fix something was warring with his sensitive male side that wanted to let her talk when she was ready. He said nothing, and only offered his hand to her. She took it, and their clasped hands settled on something soft between the seats. He looked down. He had forgotten all about her leather jacket.

"I, um, got you a jacket."

She looked where he was pointing. "You have no idea how awesome that is. This shirt is grossing me out." She grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt and started to pull it over her head. She hadn't gotten any further than her navel when she teased, "No peeking."

Ethan had a moment to reflect. Rachel had been through some unknown shit and had survived, all on her own. Judging by the looks of her clothes, she had not only survived, she had whooped all kinds of ass doing it.

I have a hot, sweaty, blood-soaked, zombie-ass-kicking girlfriend sitting topless next to me.
He was aware how inappropriate it was in light of their situation...maybe normal positive emotions were magnified as a defense mechanism in crises or something, he was an English major, not psych...but he was very turned on.

"Wouldn't think of it," he lied.

* * *

He and Rachel thought they had learned a lot about the zombies during their respective run-ins and subsequent escape. Ethan believed that they would pursue a target if it remained in sight or to the last point they saw it. They also possessed a sense of the path of least resistance when it came to target selection. They would always choose the easier kill, it seemed.

Rachel learned that, physically, they were the same body in death as they were in life. The slow in life remained slow in undeath, strong stayed strong, frail stayed frail, they could be injured as easily as a human could be injured, and (this took several attempts for her to elucidate without choking up) they could be killed by a grievous injury to the head.

They had been granted no superhuman powers by whatever had taken them over. No extra speed or strength, no telepathic powers or a sixth sense that they could see, no enhanced sense of smell, nothing. They were just greyhounds chasing mechanical rabbits. If they saw another closer, slower rabbit, they'd go after it instead.

Ethan had been able to get Rachel's story out of her, though he was pretty sure she'd given him the Reader's Digest version. He wasn't going to push her; she'd been through enough, and he tried not to think about how close he'd come to losing her.

"Rachel, you saved my life back there. That's not an exaggeration; you bought me the time I needed to figure something out. I can't ever repay that."

"I just reacted. You would have dealt with whatever."

She has no idea how unbelievably tough she's been. I was dead...or
worse...
until she led so many of them away,
he thought, but he let it drop.

The back lot of the hair salon was in sight. He turned off his lights because he didn't want to attract unnecessary attention, and the truck crawled forward without the use of the accelerator. A few zombies wandered around; if one spotted the truck, he just stopped and the two of them dropped to the floor until it lost interest.

"You still have the flashlight?"

She grabbed it from the back seat and handed it to him.

He opened the window enough to stick the head of the flashlight out and shined it on the hair salon. Zombie heads turned to face the large spot of light on the rear wall. Ethan moved it side to side, then in big arcs; their gazes followed it. None of them turned around to see its point of origin, however. He moved it around a few more times before Rachel interrupted him.

"Having fun?"

"No. Just learning more about them." He shut the light off and rolled up the window. He pulled out his cell phone. "I'll try again." He unlocked his phone and tried his mother's number, then his father's. Nothing went through. "Still zip." The screen flashed as the call ended, then went to his wallpaper. It was then that he noticed the little yellow envelope signifying he had a text message.
It must have gotten through before the network went down.
He opened the message, read it, and stared. After it sunk in, he put his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes. "Fuck," was all he said.

"What is it?"

He handed her the phone without opening his eyes.

She read the text. On any other day it would have been an inconvenience for them, if even that. But today?
"Hey, honey. Salon double-booked. Heading to the bookstore for a while until they can squeeze me in. Love you both!"

Rachel didn't even know what to say to him. She'd been trying not to think about her own family in North Carolina. They lived way out in a rural area, so there was no reason to assume they were anything but okay, at least for the time being. Ethan knew for a fact that his mother was in danger, and they'd unknowingly been a few dozen feet from her.

"We were right there, Rach."

She couldn't speak. She tried to put her hand on his, but he started pounding on the steering wheel and screaming. "WE WERE RIGHT FUCKING NEXT DOOR!!!"

She understood his reaction...she was near tears herself...but they couldn't afford to attract a crowd of the zombies to them again. More than that, she was afraid that if she didn't get him under control immediately, he might do something
really
crazy.

Knowing him as well as she did, she did the only thing that would get his attention. She punched him in the face. "Ethan! I need you with me! Please!"

He stopped in mid-tantrum. "Ow."

"Are you back?"

"Hard not to be after that." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and made no attempt to hide it. “Nice hit.”

"It's okay. We'll find her. Let's just head back the way we came. I'm sorry about your face."

He rubbed his jaw. "Sorry about
your
face." He allowed himself to believe her for a brief moment.
We were lucky to escape with our lives the first time, but we killed a lot of those things, and we know a lot about how to deal with them. The bookstore's small. Mom won't be hard to find, and there shouldn't be a lot of zombies inside, either. In and out. We can do it.

When that moment passed, he looked at Rachel. Really looked at her. What he saw was a woman who was peppered with blood, exhausted, emotionally torn up, and scared half to death. He saw a woman who loved him so much that, not only had she already gone through Hell both with and without him, she was willing to do it again without being asked.

He couldn't allow that. Once was already too much.

He drove, away from the bookstore.

"Where are you going? We need to get your mother!"

"No."

"We can do this," she said, echoing his own rationalization of a moment before.

"No, Rachel, we can't."

She slumped in her seat. "Then we are we going?"

"I want to check out the hospital. I think survivors would head there."

"Ethan..."

"We're going." They drove in silence. "Maybe my Mom's already there."

He had allowed himself a moment when he believed that everything would be okay.

He hoped that it wouldn't be the last.

Chapter 16: Crossing Paths

They drove through the back lots until they arrived at a six-foot concrete wall at the bank. They decided it was preferable to take the car to the streets rather than continue on their current course on foot. They were both exhausted enough as it was.

They drove parallel to the wall and into the street. The streetlights were on, and they cast their light on a large group of zombies congregated at the front of the bank. They were in a frenzy trying to get inside the bank and hadn't noticed the new arrivals. Ethan looked closer and saw that the large windows had been reinforced with tables that were apparently suspended in mid-air. His eyes adjusted and he could make out the shapes of what he thought might be legs.

"Survivors?"

"That's what I'm thinking. They must be holding the tables up to keep the glass from shattering. That's gotta be excruciating work."

"What do we do? Try to get in? Try to get them out?"

"That place isn't defensible for long. They could lock themselves in the vault, but then they'd just be waiting to die."

Rachel nodded. "Do you see that guy in the window?"

"Where?"

"Right there. Under that third table."

He found what she was pointing at. It was, indeed, a man squatting under the protection of the table. He wanted them to see him, because he was gesturing frantically and pointing to his right.

"What's that guy want?"

"Holy shit! Look out!"

Ethan looked up and saw the armored car barreling toward them. He didn't think they even saw the truck; it was sitting in the middle of the street with the lights off. His reflexes kicked in and he gunned the truck forward, trying to get out of the way. The armored car swerved, as well, but neither one of them was fast enough. The armored car clipped the truck's rear bumper and sent it spinning. Its passengers got knocked around as the truck broadsided a light pole in front of the bank. Neither was hurt, but Ethan couldn't get his pickup to move.

"Shitshitshit!" Ethan tried to unstick the truck, but it was hopelessly hung up.

The armored car started to back up and the doors flew open. Several people armed with handguns crouched in the opening, firing at the zombies who now came for them. Ethan was pretty sure that their original plan was to back the armored car as close as possible to the bank doors and have people climb in. That plan was no longer good, as his dead truck was now directly between it and the bank entrance. The armored car backed up as far as it could, then Ethan heard a series of honks. The bank doors flew open and the remaining survivors made a beeline for the truck as gunfire thinned the ranks somewhat.

It wasn't enough.

The first few survivors made it to the armored car before the zombies started to converge. The bank occupants all held weapons in their hands. Ethan saw mop handles, lamps, even what he believed was the cutting arm of an old-fashioned paper cutter. The man who held it swung it in front of him like it was a scimitar. It did a lot of damage, but a zombie slipped through and took him down screaming.

Rachel grabbed her pipe from the backseat. "What are we doing? What are we doing?"

"Just go! I'm right behind you!"

She bolted out of the truck and ran for the armored car. Countless zombie arms shot out to grab her, but she nimbly avoided them. She even smashed a few skulls on the run. She hopped into the back and started yelling for him.

Jeez, she's a natural at this,
Ethan though as he made a similar run. Rachel didn't have to yell for him for long; he was fifteen feet behind her.

The men in the armored car started yelling to no one in particular, "Let's go!" The armored car started pulling away. It was never meant to accelerate quickly, and they pulled away at an agonizing pace. Some zombies made it close enough to get their hands on the armored car, but they were either shot or kicked away. "Whew. Thanks, guys..."

"Wait! WAIT!!!"

The cry for help came from a young man who exited the bank through a side entrance. He carried a fire ax and was limping noticeably. It was clear that he had no chance to catch up to them. The zombies who had fallen behind turned to intercept him. He swung the ax wildly and scored some kills, but he was fighting a losing battle.