The In-Betweener (Between Life and Death) (S) (16 page)
Read The In-Betweener (Between Life and Death) (S) Online
Authors: Ann Christy
Tags: #post-apocalyptic science fiction, #undead, #post-apocalyptic fiction, #literary horror, #women science fiction, #zombie, #horror, #strong female leads, #Zombies, #coming of age, #action and adventure, #zombie horror
Clambering up onto the hood, I get as close as I dare and get ready to bring it down again. His hands are still reaching and he manages to get his ragged nails into my knee and clamp down like a vice. I bring the sledge down on his wrist and it crunches like old twigs. The fingers loosen and he flings the arm, now possessing an extra joint, in my direction harmlessly.
When I swing the sledge this time, my center of balance shifts during the swing—the total amateur move of someone without knowledge of basic physics, which I do have, so it’s unforgivable. I slide right down the hood and into his space, one foot on his shoulder and the other braced against the car I hit. The way we’re positioned is almost pornographic except that the place his face is close to is unarmored and within range of his teeth.
I straighten my legs with a panicked jerk and he clamps his mouth around my shin. The sound of teeth meeting the hard plastic of my shin guards replaces his horrible screeching. I’ve got a better angle now and the sledge does its work, his teeth clamping down hard with the first blow and then falling away from my body. I hit him at least a half a dozen times, his head nothing more than a pulpy bulge of red atop his neck by the time I stop.
The sound of crying reaches my ears over my breathless gasps and my sledge
thunks
against the hood. My arms are so tired they’re shaking. Sledgehammers aren’t meant for awkward, fast swinging, but rather for careful and steady strikes.
I get down from the hood and realize I’m covered head to toe in blood and bits of in-betweener brain. Through the window, Veronica looks at me in horror as she holds Jon in her lap facing away from me. I notice, fluttering from a lamppost above the car I hit, a ragged banner announcing a forthcoming civic event. I’m pretty sure all events have been cancelled so they won’t miss the banner. I climb up on that car, rip the banner down and use it to wipe off as much gore as I can. I don’t want this on me and I don’t want Jon to see it.
Veronica keeps half an eye on me while she uses Jon’s shirt to clean them both up. I’m still stained red, but the chunks and goop are gone, so I jump down and get back into the car, hoping against reason that it will still start. The front of my car looks like an accordion. This wreck is a lot worse than a fender bender.
I don’t say anything when I get in. I close my eyes for a moment, make a wish, and turn the key. Nothing whatsoever happens. Nothing.
“Dammit,” I say and lean my head on the steering wheel and its deflated air bag. Without looking up, I ask, “How bad are you hurt?”
When Veronica doesn’t answer, I open one eye and look at her. She’s got a goose-egg coming up on her forehead where the airbag knocked their heads together, but the blood doesn’t appear to be coming from her. She dabs at Jon’s forehead and says, “Not bad. Jon’s head is cut, though. I might need to close it somehow.”
“We’re about eight miles from where I live. We’re going to have to hoof it. Can you do that? Can he?”
She blots his forehead again and smiles at him in that fake way parents do when their child is in pain. Finally, she looks at me and answers. “We’ll have to.”
There are a good half-dozen deaders making their way toward us, so there’s more work to do before we can safely leave. On foot, we’ll be able to distance ourselves from this source of noise. We’ll walk quietly and stay out of sight. We’ll watch and avoid. But for now, I’ve got more bolts to loose and more heads to smash.
I just know my shoulders are going to be hurting tonight.
One Month Ago - Forever
It’s summer again and it’s been a year since she died. A full year of first watching and listening, and then just listening. That’s long enough. I can’t take even one more day of it. One more day of not knowing what’s going on behind the wall of metal and wood and I know I’ll go completely insane.
I heft the claw hammer and start pulling nails. I’m so naturally frugal now that, even without thinking too much, I remove the nails carefully, trying to keep them straight in case I need them again. This is more noise than I’ve made near the cage in a long time and I’d expect to hear more agitation, more movement, but all I hear is a soft whisper of sound between each tug on a nail.
When the last nail is out, I suck in a deep breath and get ready. Then I wiggle the piece of corrugated metal away from its mates. This one is my doorway piece, with no wood behind it. Every other piece of the metal has a messy construction of pallet boards keeping it upright and firmly in place.
I put the metal aside and then stand, not turning around and with my back to the opening in full view of the cage. If she’s still capable of moving, and if she has eyes, she can see me. If she has any of her senses intact, she should react.
There’s only a faint leathery swish and then that fades, too.
I turn around and finally see what has become of my mother. She’s lying pressed against the chain link, as close as she can get to my normal sitting spot. My thought that she was desiccating was spot on, because she looks almost like the mummies I used to see on TV programs about ancient Egypt. Her skeleton is plainly visible, withered skin covering, but not hiding, the bones beneath. It looks like parts of her skin have broken down and rotted away, but for the most part, she is whole.
And wholly horrible.
She has no eyes, only black pits where they should be. Her nose is just a stubby remnant of its once perfect straightness. My mother was beautiful once. The only part of her that is still recognizable is her black hair and even that is dull and dirty. Great dust bunnies of it litter the floor where her shriveled scalp has lost its hold on those once-lustrous locks.
Her hand moves on the floor like a movie prop. It’s stiff and gnarly, all bones, but it moves. Her jaw flexes a little as well. Even after a year, she is still animated to an extent. I don’t need another year of wondering and keeping charts. I can tell from this that it will be a very long time before the world is rid of the deaders. She’s had no food, nothing, yet she still moves.
“Mom,” I say.
The fingers twitch a little, but that’s all. She can’t come after me. If she could, she would have already.
I pick my sledgehammer up from the floor and walk over to her locked cage.
“Mom, I’ll love you forever.”
Today - As Good As It Gets
“Yeah, this place looks safe.” I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not. I don’t know her well enough and the way she says it, I could take it either way. But, what I
can
say is that it’s definitely not safe. Nowhere is truly safe. A place might be safe for an hour or a night, but safety is not a permanent state.
And this raggedy building looks like a horror movie set. Office chairs have been flung all over the messy strip of grass between the building and the small parking lot. The windows appear to have been busted out a long time ago, and for some reason there’s a big flap of rotting carpet hanging out of an upstairs window.
Veronica snuggles the sleeping toddler closer to her chest and eyes me, apparently waiting for me to agree with her. I can see she’s bone-tired. I might be carrying a pack and the weapons, but she’s carrying a small human and another pack. Her human burden is also one that needs to be soothed when he gets upset so that he stays quiet. One that needs more medical attention than my little first aid kit in the car could provide.
“It’ll have to do. Stay here,” I say and walk away. I know I should be more sympathetic, more friendly or something, but I just can’t bear it. As soon as I smile, she’ll get snatched and eaten or something. That’s just been the whole tenor of this day. Shitty.
It’s dirty inside, a little dark once I get away from the windows, and there isn’t a single intact pane of glass, but there are a few windowless rooms and enough debris to pile against the doorways. It might do after all.
I wave them in and it takes a good while of futzing about to get Jon settled after being held all day. The butterfly bandages seem to be keeping the cut on his head closed, but he’ll have a heck of a scar. It’s strange, but even now, he’s quiet and minds well. Sadly, I doubt kids who couldn’t adjust to this survived. For him, I fear it will be all he’ll ever know. But maybe not. The deaders will keep slowing, and maybe by the time he’s old enough to understand just how much he missed out on, he might have a chance of getting it back. I hope so.
While Veronica feeds Jon from the little stash I brought with me—my just-in-case satchel—I keep watch. A deader lumbers past, his mouth sucking on something that is painting his face bright red, but no in-betweeners. Just like everywhere else, there are birds all over the place here. Roosting in open windows and along roofs, their presence allows me to relax a little, grip my weapon just a little less tightly. They sent up an alarm when the deader went by. They’ll do it again if more come.
Night falls and I keep the watch. The temptation to quiz her, to simply talk to another human, went away as soon as I saw how tired she was. Yawning almost as soon as the light faded, she seemed to be fighting the urge to lie down next to the sleeping boy. I convinced her it was okay.
I want to let her sleep. She says she’s fifteen. Fifteen seems so young to me now, but I wasn’t much older than her when my mother left me on my own, and I was far less prepared and capable. Veronica is going to be busy with Jon, but I think she’s going to be okay. At least, I think she will if I can just get her to my place.
Three miles at most, then we’ll be there. Then I can show her how everything works, how to take care of the deaders at the fence, what to do if actual people show up. I can show her where all the emergency supplies are stashed and the best places to hide until she can escape, in the off-chance that humans overrun the complex.
When I’m sure she’s out, her breathing moving from the heavy breaths of new sleep to the lighter ones of true sleep, I roll up my pant leg under the light of the moon and look at the crescent-shaped wound that marks my calf. It’s deep. Anything carried in that in-betweener’s saliva is now inside my body, circulating in my blood.
Time, how much time?
Not much, I think. The headaches are back and now that there are other people to worry about, I can’t pretend they aren’t serious. I know what it means. This time, there are no medulloblastoma-eating nanites handy. It’s only a matter of time until I take my mother’s place in the cage. But that’s okay, too. I’ll have company to talk to me even after I’m gone. I like that idea. I’ll never be alone again.
And who knows what might happen before the worst comes to pass. I still have my mother’s hard drive. I might make it to the military base. But not just yet. For now, I’ve got two people who depend on me, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
Happiness. Yeah, that’s it exactly. You know what I mean?
Ready for Book Two?
There are three books in this series and book two,
Forever Between
, is already available for pre-order. Get it on
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From the Author
Thank you for reading!
I sure hope you liked what I did with my zombie apocalypse. As I was thinking about the whole concept, I realized that I wasn’t as enthralled with the idea of the actual apocalypse anymore, but rather, my imagination was fired up by what would happen afterward. What would it be like for those who are left after most of the biting and entrail-showing is done?
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Table of Contents
Six Years Ago - My Medullo and Me
Five Years Ago - Magic Beans for Everyone
Today - The Loneliness of Being Alive
Four Years Ago - A Life Saved Is a Future Saved
Three Years Ago - Mix and Match
Two Years Ago - Miscommunications
Fifteen Months Ago – Programming Futility
Thirteen Months Ago – Studying Death
Today - Driving Without a License
One Year Ago - You Can’t Plan for Everything
Eleven Months Ago - I’ll Stay With You
Six Months Ago - Before I Lay Me Down to Sleep
Table of Contents
