Our Undead (23 page)

Margaret:
It's… not great. It felt like it was getting better, but last
night was a killer.

Billy:
Let
me take a look at it.

Margaret:
Ummmm…

Before she can give him
permission, Billy has already taken some tools out of his bag and
is sitting in front of her, taking the shoe off of her bad
foot.

Billy:
What is this you wrapped it with? Ugh, everything is soaked.
Your sock is disgusting.

Margaret:
Yea.. It's my mom's.

Billy:
……

Margaret:
I had to wear something… I wrapped it with an old
washcloth.

Billy:
I
guess it did the job well enough.

He unties the crusted
washcloth and peels it off, as well as the moldy sock. His face
crinkles a bit in repugnance.

Margaret:
Is it bad? It feels like hell.

Billy:
You're right about it not looking great, but at least it
doesn't look infected. I'm ninety-nine percent sure that it'll be
fine. Here, I'm going to put some antiseptic on
it.

Billy opens the little
bottle up and pours some of it's contents on to a cotton swab,
getting ready to apply it to the partially healed gash on
Margaret's ankle.

Margaret:
Ninety-nine percent. I like the sound of- sssssss! Ow,
dammit!

Billy:
Oh,
relax. It doesn't hurt that much.

Margaret:
Hmm, you're right. Sorry. Force of habit.

Billy repeats the cleaning
process with one more swab of cotton, and then unravels the
surgical tape to dress the wound.

Billy:
Yea, last night definitely did a number on this ankle. We'll
take it easy today.

Margaret:
You say that like we have a choice.

Billy:
We'll try… You know, I have to say, you did really well in
that field last night. I didn't expect you to be as cool and
collected as you were.

Margaret:
What the hell are you talking about? What happened last night
was the definition of unsettling, far worse than unsettling. I was
anything
but
cool and collected.

Billy:
Right, but when it came down to it, you handled it really
well. I kinda expected you to panic or freeze under the pressure. I
underestimated you. I shouldn't have. There's definitely a reason
you're still alive too, and it's not your smart
mouth.

Margaret:
Heh, thanks. I appreciate that Billy Boy.

Billy:
Well, it's the truth, but… please, don't call me
that.

Billy's sentiment brings a
warm smile to Margaret's lips, but his comment almost makes her
burst out laughing. Besides her parents, Margaret isn't used to
people being so blunt with her. She knows Billy is being real with
her because she understands the liar's language. It has always been
easy for her to spot another slick talker like herself, and play
around with them until the two storytellers became gripped in a
verbal battle of clever quips and sarcastic anecdotes. It is
probably why she found Billy a little weird at first. She couldn't
play those word games with him, but she's fine with it because she
knows that Billy will most likely always be honest with
her.

Billy:
There. You're all cleaned up. It's gonna be a little annoying
walking around with no sock on one foot, but I guess that's the
least of your worries.

Margaret:
Actually…

Margaret reaches into her
bag, shuffles around a bit with her free hand and yanks out a dirty
sock.

Margaret:
I grabbed my mom's other sock… just incase.

Billy:
That's… gross… but smart.

He gets up and returns the
first aid materials to their place in his bag. After sipping out as
much of the soup as possible and dabbing her bread inside the can
to
really
make
sure there is no more sauce left, Margaret tosses her empty can of
Spaghettios behind her and slips on the nasty looking sock. She
grimaces at the feeling of the soiled fabric caressing the areas of
her foot that haven't been covered by the fresh bandage, then she
puts her shoe back on.

Margaret:
Ugh… It'll do. I'm ready to get going, but listen, if you
could catch Abe something to eat, I'd really appreciate
it.

Billy:
No
problem. We have to continue heading west. We'll go a little slower
because of your injury, but if we keep moving at a steady pace, we
should make it to the highway in less than a few
hours.

Margaret:
(getting cautiously to her feet)
That sounds okay. Let's get a move on then. Abe,
come!

Abe remains where he is,
staring out into the woods.

Margaret:
Abe, come on! What are you looking at?

He still appears to be
drawn to something in the woods. Both Margaret and Billy walk over
to him and look off into the woods in the same direction. All three
of them stare for several seconds, but the two living beings see
nothing among the trees, not even a movement. Billy's sensitive
hearing isn't even picking up anything. He shakes his head and
shrugs.

Billy:
All
right. Let's go.

Margaret:
Yea, there's nothing out there, Abe. Come
on.

Billy begins on his way to
the highway and Margaret shoves Abe along behind him, until he
finally pulls his gaze away from the empty area in the woods and
starts walking properly with the group. The three of them leave the
area, two of them unaware of the not-so-lost soul that trails them.
It was the focus of their undead comrade, unfelt by their limited
human senses, and even undetected by Billy's acute hearing for it's
impeccable stillness. Now that the three targets have begun moving
again, the thing emerges from its camouflaged impression on the
landscape. A slim feminine figure of average height stands
motionless amid the wilderness. It's long dirty black hair covers
it's face almost completely. Only it's small pointy nose jots out
from the grimy strands. It stands facing the path in which the
three trek. The pale wretched woman stands in wait.

<><><>

Billy's E.T.A. is
reasonably precise and about two hours later, he, Margaret and Abe
are walking unhurriedly up an exit ramp on the I-5. Margaret is
limping along, but doing a good job of keeping up with the tireless
kid, who seems to need just about as much rest as Abe. It is,
however, affecting her state of mind and her mood. Neither of the
travellers have spoken a word in over a half an hour.

Billy:
It'll be straight on from here.

Margaret:
That's nice.

Billy isn't oblivious. He
knows that Margaret is having a hard time. He silently but
genuinely appreciates the effort she is putting in and feels she
could use a rest. It just wouldn't be the smartest thing for them
to do in their current situation and environment. The farther they
can get before the sun goes down, the better. She's a tough girl.
Billy knows she'll be all right. It isn't his forte, but perhaps
some conversation will help distract her from her
dis-ease.

Billy:
You
know, this morning before you woke up, I was trying to teach Abe
how to fetch.

Margaret:
(huffs)
Oh,
really?

Billy:
Yea. It didn't work out too well.

Margaret:
Of course it didn't. He only listens to me.

Billy:
Actually, he listens pretty well. I think he just doesn't get
the "fetch" part. He couldn't understand what I wanted him to
do.

Margaret:
Wait. What do you mean he listens well?

Billy:
Like, when I would tell him to come over to me or to stop
what he's doing. He didn't seem to have a problem with those
simpler requests.

Margaret:
Ugh, you mean he obeys you too? Abe, you're such a
traitor.

She looks back at the
zombie, and he stares back untroubled.

Billy:
Oh,
you don't have to worry about that. I'm certain he only trusts me
because you trust me. Give the word, and he would probably rip my
head off in a second. The two of you have some sort of weird
connection. You're unmistakably his master.

Margaret:
Damn right. I should be, after what I put him
through.

Billy:
Yea, I don't think he would want to go through that again...
Isn't it strange?

Margaret:
What?

Billy:
You
would think a mindless creature wouldn't know the difference
between freedom and being confined.

Margaret:
Oh, Abe is anything but mindless. I wasn't sure about it in
the beginning, but now I'm sure there's something going on in that
head of his. It's like there's still a piece of his humanity in
there somewhere.

Billy:
Exactly. It's hard to believe, but there's the
proof.

He starts walking
backwards, looking at Abe as he continues the
conversation.

Billy:
This zombie, with the ability to retain information. I almost
feel like it's against the rules.

Margaret:
Ha! Rules don't exist here. They never existed, really, but I
do worry about him.

Billy:
Why?

Margaret starts walking
backwards as well, so she can get a better look at their topic of
conversation.

Margaret:
He's not as spritely… I mean, like he was before. He's like,
losing energy or something; decomposing?

Billy:
No.
Zombies can last up to five years on no food. He couldn't have
already decomposed enough to slow him down to a point of notice.
Plus, he's so well built. He must've been a powerful man. Has he
taken any significant damage since you've been with
him?

Margaret:
Aside from what I've dealt him? No. Nothing to fret about.
Just a few falls here and there.

Billy gets closer to Abe
and examines his body, still walking backward and sometimes
sideways, along Abe's side.

Billy:
He's got a lot of scratches… stabs wounds… His left arm looks
a little dinged up.

Margaret:
(playfully)
He was like that
when I got him, I swear! The stabs wounds are from the door if got
stuck in. Actually, they don't even look as bad.

They both turn around,
walking forward again. Billy jogs a few steps to catch up to
Margaret.

Margaret:
But yea, even if his arm
is
broken, he can't feel it, and
it hasn't stopped him from mercilessly ripping other zombies' faces
apart.

Billy:
What's that?!

Margaret:
Yea, last night in the cornfield while you were off doing
your explosion thing, a zombie had me pinned on the ground. Abe
grabbed it off me and literally ripped it's bottom jaw off. He
saved my life,
again
. I think it's safe to say
he's physically fit… as far as zombies go.

Billy:
(in slight shock)
Um, well then,
if it isn't a matter of his strength and physique, maybe it has
something to do with his diet.

Margaret:
That sounds like it would make more sense, but I've been
feeding him almost daily since we were trapped in that cabin
together, and I haven't skipped a day since he got out. I have you
to thank for a large part of that. You made things a lot easier for
me, thank you.

Billy:
Right, but what has he been eating?

Margaret:
You know, rabbits mostly. Little woodland
creatures.

Billy:
Maybe that’s the problem.

Margaret:
What is?

Billy:
Uh,
I know you haven't watched many of them, but have you ever seen a
zombie movie where the zombies eat cute little woodland
creatures?

Margaret:
(thinks for a moment)
No… I
don't think so.

Billy:
See? And that's because zombies aren't supposed to eat that
stuff. I don't think it would be far-fetched to suggest that that's
the reason for his lack of energy.