Orpheus (24 page)

They both stood quickly, and on three threw their respective doors open. An immediate wave of fresh zombies left the gym and looked for meat, but, as Ethan and Mickey were hidden behind their doors, all they saw was Rachel.

Once she was sure that she'd been spotted, she took off towards the bomb shelter. This time, there were five times as many zombies and no rooftops to keep between her and them. This was just a footrace. If she was faster than all of them, her plan should work. If just one of them was too fast, she was dead. That thought kept her in the lead. She was comically worried that she'd get too far ahead of the flesh-eating monsters behind her and they'd lose interest, but they stayed with her.

When she was a little over halfway to the shelter, she heard a faint siren-like noise coming from the floor below her, where the shelter was. She kept running, plowed through the stairwell door and bounded down them as quickly as she could without breaking her leg. She didn't need to look to see if she was still being followed, because hundreds of footfalls behind and above her let her know.

She hit the landing and went through another door. She was now in a concrete corridor, and the door to the shelter was about a hundred feet away, one turn to go. She figured out what that siren noise was: someone must have figured what she was trying to do with the radio and one-upped her by rigging up a megaphone. That piercing sound would definitely do the trick.

All she had to do now was live.

She heard the door slam against the wall as it was thrown open by the zombies. She rounded the final corner, swung open the door, and hid behind it. Again. This trick had been good to them so far, and she hoped that the luck would hold out a little longer. She breathed as silently as she could, but the constant wailing of the megaphone made her want to scream. Thunder passed two feet from her face, attracted by the siren. How many were there, anyway? It seemed to last for ten minutes, when the reality was more like fifteen seconds. Gradually, the thunder faded into individual footsteps that she could have counted if she was of a mind to do so. When the footfalls faded completely, she slammed the door shut behind them. This one had no crash bar, and they'd shown no signs of being able to figure out how to work a knob.

She put her head against the door and enjoyed the cool metal against her skin. It was over. She'd done it.

When she saw the remaining zombie lumbering at her, it made sense why it had been so far behind its friends. In life, it had been a morbidly obese man in a cowboy hat. In death, it was several hundred pounds of maneater that fell on top of her before she could move, not that she had any place to move to. She wrapped both of her hands around its throat and locked her arms.

Justdon'tletitbiteyoujustdon'tletitbiteyou...

She was as successful at that as she could have hoped to be, but the thing's sheer mass was squeezing the air out of her, and it became impossible for her to breathe. Her arms began to weaken and its jowls inched closer to her face. She fought for as long as she could, but it would be over soon.

The hooked end of a crowbar, held by her new friend Mickey, wrapped around its throat and heaved. The claw dug deep into the meaty flesh of its exposed neck. Mickey pulled the thing's head back, and enough of its body followed that she stole a breath and stayed conscious long enough to see her boyfriend crush the fat zombie's head with three quick but devastating blows to its head. Satisfied that it was dead, they all worked to extricate Rachel from under the mass.

When she was free, Ethan hauled her to her feet and hugged her fiercely.

She buried her face in his shoulder and cried. When the moment had passed, she asked, "Can we please stop running for a while?"

Chapter 19: Haven

For the next few weeks, they stopped running.

Though the power only stayed on for less than two days after their arrival, it had been enough time for them to prepare. They moved all of the casino tables to the sides, but left them intact. Most made use of them at some point, especially the poker tables. The gear from the bomb shelter had been moved to the gym and inspected. Same for the medical supplies. Jason had taken to his job as librarian with gusto, and had not only grabbed dozens of books on medical treatment, herbology, and some fun reading, but had managed to hump a large bookshelf into the gym to hold them, as well.

Some of the non-perishable food items had been brought into the gym, as well. They'd barely scratched the surface of what the kitchen pantry held. The institution was built to feed over seven-hundred appetites every day; the fifteen of them could make use of that for quite some time. The inevitability of losing the power presented a problem for the perishable food. It was decided that it would be a waste of fuel to run the generator for anything but an emergency. They turned that problem into an opportunity in true "lemons into lemonade" fashion. The two women of faith organized a giant cook-in with hamburgers, hot dogs, pizza, and dairy products. What they didn't manage to eat then at least had a few more days of shelf life after it had been cooked.

The members of their little commune all had their roles to play, and each of them pulled their weight. Small disagreements often broke out, but were soon settled, and business as usual continued. Friendships were made, and everyone was at least cordial to each other.

The sole exception was the sister, Tonya, whom Ethan had threatened to use as bait back in the church. She didn't cause any problems. If anyone, including Ethan, asked something of her, she did it without delay. She was a model of efficiency and teamwork.

Ethan's concern was that she had yet to say a single word to him outside of a yes or no or clarification of instructions. Not one. After a while, Ethan brought this to her brother's attention.

"Cliff, she hates my guts."

"Naw. I've talked to her about it. She understands why you did what you did."

"She's got a funny way of showing it."

"It'll take some time, but she'll be okay." He held up three fingers. "Scout's honor."

Ethan kept waiting for the warming up.

In the meantime, their preparation was rewarded and their collective spirits were lifted by the arrival of two separate groups of survivors. Those groups brought to nearly thirty the number of hopefuls who now called the high school their home. There were still plenty of supplies (they'd brought backpacks filled with their own that they gladly added to the kitty). Their price of admission was information: where did they come from, had they seen anyone by this name, what had they learned about the zombies...they were barraged with questions, and answered every one with as much accuracy as they could muster. And then they turned the tables, peppering Ethan and his people with similar inquiries.

When all was said and done, the summer class of 2011 was a small force made formidable by the breadth of information they'd gleaned and their mutual desire for survival. Ethan still had no word of either of his parents, but the existence of other survivors helped him to believe.

* * *

Trent stood his watch on the roof of the school with his two compatriots, a woman named Helen and an elderly man, Amal. The watch groups had been shaken up to incorporate the new arrivals like Amal and give them the lay of the land. Additionally, this meant that people only pulled a watch every couple of days, and ensured that everyone was well-rested.

Amal, said, "Do you think there are any others?"

"Doubt it. We would have heard from them by now. This island ain't that big."

"We all made it, Trent," Helen countered. "If we could figure out the communications thing I bet we'd find more people just like us."

"All I'm saying is don't get your hopes up."

"We have a good thing here. There's reason to believe that others have done the same," Amal said.

"True. And I bet that others thought they had a good thing, got careless, and poof...gone."

Helen rolled her eyes. "Thanks for livening up the room, Trent."

"I'm just saying..." Trent looked at the digital clock resting on the air vent beside them. Their watch was up in a little over an hour. "Is anyone else not tired?"

"What?"

"I'm wide awake. Why don't we let..." He pulled the watch schedule out of his breast pocket. "...Ethan's group sleep through this one. That kid's been running himself ragged."

"Sure. It's only a few more hours. And if we do get tired, we can always switch out then."

"That's the spirit. Helen?"

"Yeah, why not? He hasn't looked good the last few days."

"Okay. I'll go tell him before his alarm goes off and wakes everyone."

"Hey, you're not supposed to walk around alone."

"I'll be fine, Mom. Back in a few."

Trent left the two of them chatting and made his way back to the gym. He felt a twinge in his bowels, and decided that he had time for a quick pit stop
.
He walked into the men's room and picked the roomier handicapped stall. He set his dynamo-powered flashlight on the handrail and sat down to do his business. It had rained heavily the night before, so the flush buckets had been topped off. He didn't need to be gentle.

He knew that he wasn't supposed to be here, or anywhere, alone. That was the kid's rule. But this place was sealed like a drum, and that had many advantages.

He finished, cleaned up, and poured a full bucket's worth of chaser into the bowl. He dipped his hands into another bucket and rinsed his hands. Satisfied, he felt around between the toilet tank and the wall. The package was exactly where he was told it be.

One quick errand, then back to the roof.

Chapter 20: Good While It Lasted

Ethan had always been a deep sleeper, but it turned out that he wasn't able to sleep through repeated punches in the face. The first one rocked him, but he'd been unconscious and never really felt it. It just woke him up.

The second one hurt.

On the third one he could feel the diamond engagement ring gouging his cheek. He put his hands up defensively and the screams started to register. The voice was definitely female, but shrill and hysterical. He could pick out random words like
bastard
and
kill you.

Tonya. It's Tonya.

He kept his hands high and limited the damage. He was trying to grab her wrists and roll her off of him. He was aware of several flashlights coming to life, and then a few yells, most notably coming from Rachel and Cliff. He finally managed to grab her left arm. That was the one doing the most damage, and her blows with her right became inaccurate and much less effective.

So she bit him. Her teeth clamped down on his hand and grinded.

Ethan couldn't help himself. He screamed, "Get off me, you crazy cunt!" All gentility forgotten, he unloaded a fist into her forehead which, even lacking his weight behind it, was sufficient enough to knock her unconscious. Her jaw released and she fell backwards with a thump.

Ethan sprang to his feet and cradled his hand. He didn't need any light to know that he was bleeding; he could feel the slick fluid beneath his fingers and dripping off of his fingertips. He didn't think he was in any type of danger, though. Tonya hadn't seemed infected in the zombie sense; she was just off her nut. Rachel, after determining he was okay, got a bandage for his hand and a wet one for the fallen woman's forehead. She handed it to Cliff, who placed it on his sister's forehead gently. "What the fuck was that for, Ethan?"

"You're asking me? I was asleep 'til this psycho jumped me."

"Watch your mouth, asshole!"

"Aw, eat me, Cliff. If you want to go just let me know."

Cliff got to his feet and clenched his fists. "Listen you-"

"Whoa, who, whoa," Sister Ann said, holding up her hands and stepping in between the two angry men. "No one's going anywhere or doing anything. Let's just calm down."

"Fuck calm. I really am throwing that bitch into the street this time."

Cliff threw himself at Ethan. They tangled, each of them landing a glancing blow before they were separated. Ethan calmed down enough to let Sister Ann and Rachel push him backwards several paces. Cliff had less of a choice, as Mickey had him locked in a half-nelson until he agreed to let it go and tend to his sister, who was stirring. He relented, but Ethan had the sense that it wasn't yet over, not that he really wanted it to be.

He realized that Sister Ann was talking to him. "What?"

"I said we should take a walk and start our watch a little early."

"Fine." Ethan said nothing else as he left the gym with enough force to cause the doors to slam against the walls. He clicked the power button on his flashlight but left it in on his hip as he wrapped the cloth tightly around his injured hand, mumbling to himself the whole time. When he was done he made quick, angry steps toward the roof access stairwell. He subconsciously registered two voices behind him. His watchmates stayed a few steps behind him at Rachel's behest; she knew him better than anyone else, and they were letting him blow off steam without interference.