The Reanimates (Book 3): The Escape (2 page)

Trent started the meeting, and began to tell everyone about our trip. As Trent spoke my eyes drifted over the group and my mind began to wander.

There was something that inspired being introspective when we were getting ready to start again. We'd started again a few times since the day that changed everything. It had only been a year and a half since the director of the CDC made his infamous reanimation speech, but we had lived many different lives in that time, more than people ever lived in the days before the apocalypse. I was far from that idealistic early 30's girl who was defined in life as 'that nurse' or Trent's wife or, among my favorite titles, Drew's mom. Back then, there were less worry lines around my hazel eyes, less gray in my auburn hair. Back then I moved with a confident stride, so sure of the world. Now every movement away from the confines of our walls was made with purpose and caution. Funny how much a person can age when they live with a virtual knife to their throat and no sunscreen.

My eyes scanned each face in the crowd. I studied the intense looks on the children's faces as they tried hard to pay attention. Daniel would have been proud of his little ones as they sat still, hands folded in their laps. I still missed him. Every once in a while, three-year-old Dalynn would tilt her head just a little when she was thinking about something, and the way her eyebrows knitted together, she looked just like him. When Tomisha, now four-years-old, took that extra step to do a random kindness, the look on her face as she walked away was identical to her dad. I watched as Trisha played with them and how she taught them new things. They loved Trisha and tried to mimic her every movement and sought out her approval in everything they did. Tomisha was close to mastering the art of shoe lace tying under Trisha's care, the pride that little girl had on her face was so awesome and inspiring. Trisha was the mother they always should have had, not that woman who gave birth to them and then abandoned them to do drugs. Not that woman who only came back when it served her interests. Not the woman who sold us out to the marauders. Not the woman who shot their father. I was still bitter about Alexus, and I probably always would be. I tried to keep that anger in a locked box, but every once in a while it bubbled to the surface.

I wondered how Mercedes was doing in Scipio. I wondered how much Kyle and Annali had grown, and if they were happy. Sometimes while sitting in the window while on guard duty with Derek's rifle propped up on my lap I would search the roads for any sign of a moving vehicle. Sometimes I used the binoculars in my search, but not always. It made me sad to stare out over the abandoned highways to find nothing at all.

As much as I tried to avoid it, I thought about Jody. I missed her. I remembered the hours we spent talking on the roof of the complex. We giggled like teenagers as we sat in the sun and pretended that we were sitting poolside getting a tan. She earned a good sunburn and new freckles for her efforts while I wore a mild burn that faded into a tan. I remembered how worried she was about how Christmas would be handled. I thought about the way her eyes seemed to be lit from inside whenever Joey was near. She wore her emotions on her outsides like a suit that was glued on. Her eyes were windows into her soul, and they were incapable of hiding her secrets. She was my friend, my sister, and that was a hard title to earn in my book. As my finger traced the wood grain in the stock of the rifle, I wondered if she was doing okay. I wondered if there was anything I could have done that would have changed what happened in Heartsvale. Would she have left her children to stay with Brother Michael if I had been a better person to her? Jody's four kids were virtually orphaned when she opted to stay behind, and even though Erin put on a brave face when people were watching, the effects of being abandoned were etched in her eyes. She had her mother's eyes, both in that deep jade color and in the way they betrayed the thoughts in her head. Some nights she would slip out the back door and silently move into the garden where she would cry for the mom that she once had. She tried so hard to keep her brothers and sister safe and protected, but she was just a kid herself and her arms just weren't big enough to wrap all the way around them all.

Lacey tried to fill the void in Jody's children. She moved in a gentle fashion, her small hands moved softly as she showed Erin how to take care of a touch of diaper rash on her baby brother or how to encourage him to reach those developmental milestones. Her blue eyes were hypnotic and her soft lips gave smiles freely whenever JJ would reach up to grab at her silky black hair, tangling it in his long baby fingers. She was kind and encouraging, and she loved Jody's children like they were her own. She taught with love and led by example. When it came to JJ, never had there been, nor will there be, a baby that was as doted on as he was. Lacey's husband, Lucas, helped corral the energy of the boys and included Liam and Drew in as many activities as possible.

Jackson and Justin were hard to classify as kids. When we first met them they struck me as normal teens, but in the time we spent on the road, the loss of their mother, and the time we were trapped in Heartsvale, they matured a great deal. Their eyes spoke volumes, having seen so much of the world and its horrors. The youthful shine was gone, leaving behind pools of blue-green sadness and defensiveness. Derek and Matt worked with the boys, teaching them how to work on cars, partly to have them prepared to help out in the event of an issue, but more to keep them occupied. They got along well with Derek, and I think Derek enjoyed having them around.

Matt was struggling to keep the ground under his feet himself, the loss of Merideth just before the internment at Heartsvale hovered over him, threatening to slice through him like a hot knife in butter. He missed his wife deeply. He seemed to be off balance, like half of his soul was missing, and it kept him from total equilibrium. His black hair used to have just random strands of gray, but now those strands were streaks; silvery lightning bolts that raced through a moonless sky.

Matt's brother, Lucas worked hard to keep his brother from sliding into oblivion on the bad days, and on the good days he hammed up whatever project they worked on to try to keep the mood light. Lucas shared the same color of hair and eyes as his older brother, minus the gray, and when he stood next to his brother, it was obvious that they were siblings, almost able to pass for the other. Had Lucas been a bit taller the similarities would have made us all question whether or not they were actually twins, rather than being born less than a year apart as Irish twins. Lucas was a gentle person, always searching to lighten the mood and offer hope as often as he could. He and Lacey had been married for many years and they had a daughter named Lorraine.

Lorraine went by the name Raine. Raine was thirteen, but much older than her years, her features were much like her mother's, but smaller. Her eyes betrayed that she was still a kid, but those eyes were beginning to lose that innocence that only kids have. She took to her mom adopting Jody's kids, and accepted them as her own siblings. She had been an only child before the apocalypse and always wished she had a brother or sister like her cousins did. Trent's mom, Louise, as well as his sister Kristen, worked with Raine to develop her green thumb. Raine enjoyed digging in the dirt and the magic involved with planting and harvesting. She loved turning the mixture of the harvest into a stew or canning the freshly plucked fruits and vegetables for later. She wore a wide smile when people commented on how good the fruits of her labor were. Her introverted self and her love of gardening sometimes reminded me of Steven, our introverted rock star friend who found his calling in the gardens. He died protecting our gardens back in the complex, and I missed him very much.

Louise, Trent's mom, took the girls under wing in the kitchen. Louise was a kind woman with a warm heart and mothering spirit, and she even looked the part of a grandma with her long gray hair twisted in a braided bun at the base of her head, although she lost a lot of her round shape on the apocalypse diet plan. She adopted all the kids as her extended grandkids, and they loved her. She was their surrogate grandma, and helped lessen the loss of everyone's extended family. It was especially fun to watch them all in the kitchen together. When all the ingredients came together, intact and bug free, which was rare after a round of scavenging, the smell of bread that they worked on together filled every space of the house. It was in those moments that I could lose myself in the moment, and revel in the fantasy that everything was fine and we were simply on vacation.

Kristen was standing in the back of the room holding on to Nathan, who was asleep on her shoulder. She rocked from side to side, soothing him. Five-year-old Nathan hadn't been sleeping well at night for a while; his dreams were filled with monsters. I noticed that Nathan's hair did the crazy spike thing that Drew's did when he was asleep, which made me smile. Mike came over to his wife and took Nathan from her. When he was passed over, Kristen put her long blonde hair into a ponytail before she readjusted her tank top and skirt. Nathan buried his face into his dad's chest, and sighed. Mike gently patted his son on the back.

Tyreese and Tanya were sitting together. Tyreese had his arm around his wife and she leaned into him. They looked like two pieces of a puzzle that were designed to be interlocked. The firelight reflected in their eyes as they listened to Trent speak. They seemed to be entranced by the idea of a town of our own, like I was. Tanya let her eyes wander over to her son, DaWayne then on to Trisha.

DaWayne was doing very well after our run-in with the marauders when he was shot. He had almost full movement in his shoulder and was back to being an active young man, although on occasion he would rub his shoulder and grimace when the weather was changing. It was hard to look at him sometimes. I wondered if I had done something different in my "surgery" if he would have fared better. I wasn't prepared for that kind of stuff; I was a heart nurse, after all. I did the best that I could, and was grateful that he did manage to recover without a significant disability. He was still able to be a part of what he seemed to enjoy doing as far as the work was involved. He was excellent at security during a scavenging trip, a trait that he must have learned or inherited from his dad. His sense of humor lit up the room, and his touchdown dance that he did when he was part of taking out a mini herd was becoming legendary.

I felt guilty sometimes that I still had my people. I saw the others pile up their losses and I looked at my family. We got off light in the loss department and that made me feel almost guilty that I had so much. I had my husband, my kid, and Trent's family still. Everyone that I counted as my people were there, which was something I didn't take lightly. I knew that in a moment, it could be taken away.

I forced my mind back into the speech that Trent was giving about Wilsall and how wonderful it could be. The others seemed to be lifted by the idea that there would be a chunk of land and space for everyone. Soft whispers broke out over the idea that they would have a home of their own in this place. We might be able to breathe there. I know I thought a great deal about being able to live in my own house again with my husband beside me. I felt that same giddy swirl that the others were feeling just thinking about having space to be myself again without stepping on the toes of the rest of the group. I missed a quiet house where I could have a cup of tea in front of the fireplace, or where I could stare into Trent's eyes and feel that young crush feeling that wasn't interrupted by a game of tag. I was just as excited as the rest of the group. I hated tucking away those hopes to take the reins of this discussion.

I took a turn at speaking when Trent was done.

"What I think needs to be done as a first step is to clear the town, make sure that it really is zombie free and to make sure that there aren't any survivors holed up in any of the houses. We need to do what we did in Scipio, go house to house, clear them, and then gather the resources. After we know we are clear, then we can start securing the borders. I don't want to have anyone moving there until it's secure, and that might take a while. We definitely need to take our time and do this right. So," I paused here for a moment, partly to take a breath, but also to give the others a chance to consider what I was saying, "Any volunteers for the clean-out?"

The room quickly came alive with a buzz of indistinct conversations overlapping, but it wasn't a buzz of anxiety. The room was alive with the sounds of promise.

Home Is Where The...

We decided that, like in Scipio, a small group of people would be ideal in checking out the town. I argued my spot on the team, using the argument of a medical person and a woman being there as a good idea, and I won. I wanted to be there; I wanted to be a part of making a home for Drew. Tyreese wanted to go as well, and in the past, his eye for the unexpected was a valuable asset. Lucas and Trent also joined us. We had done this before, and I was comforted by the familiar group since we worked so well together in Scipio. I was also grateful that Drew was going to be with his grandparents. My initial thought was that he was staying with family but I quickly chastised myself for thinking that. We were all family, not by blood, but by sweat and tears, and our experiences. We had been through more than a lion's share of hurt and struggle, and that formed bonds that were stronger than blood, and I knew that they would have my back in any situation, and I theirs.

It was early in the morning when we were preparing to go. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, and a soft pink glow was kissing the earth in the east. Only the most dedicated birds were making their songs heard in the branches above. I packed lightly, my back pack held a couple clean tank tops, a sweat shirt, and a few pairs of really thick socks. I loved socks. The feel of nice, thick, cotton socks were like little blankets that kept me warm and grounded, and socks were always the first thing I went for after I raided all the medical supplies in one of those box stores. The rest of my bag was filled with gauze and rolls of tape. I also kept a knife in the medical supplies, sharpened to a razor sharp edge, because you never knew what the future held. When I was content with the stash, I zipped the bag shut and tossed it by the door. I fished my steel-toed boots from under the bed. They were worn with the constant wear, and the leather was getting thin in both toes. They were my constant fashion-meets-function accessory with every trip beyond the walls, the weight of them kept me focused. I looked longingly at my low-top bright red Chuck Taylor's, the shoes that I wore all the time at home. They were a sign that we were safe, and that we could dial the anxiety down a notch. Steel-toed boots said we were getting ready to walk into the mouth of hell, and I felt my muscles tighten with every pull of my boot lace. After each boot lace was pulled as tightly as I could make them, I tied them up and double knotted the bow, before I slid the cuff of my jeans over the laces.

I sat on the edge of my bed with my hands on my knees, and took a deep breath. Part of me was excited over the idea of going out and doing the door to door thing, but another part of me was scared at the same time. Right now this idea of taking over the town was perfect. Moving there was a grand dream, a perfect utopia. I was terrified that the reality was going to fall flat on its face. What if there were people who already lived there? What if there were more zombies than was worth clearing? What if we settled in and a whole new set of marauders took everything away again? My head was full of what-if scenarios and I felt almost glued to the spot.

"Cali?" Trent called from downstairs, "Are you coming?"

I made my brain stop this looping panic at the sound of his voice. Trent always had that effect on me. I closed my eyes, drew in a deep breath, and I slowly exhaled. This is what I wanted; I wanted to be a part of the clean-out. I wouldn't have volunteered otherwise. I wanted to be in on the action, and if there was someone to save, I wanted to be there for that too. It didn't take away the anxiety, but it helped to remind myself that there was a bigger picture here. I remembered that I always had that anxiety when a patient was going bad at work, but I loved the adrenalin rush as the job was being done. This clear-out was the same thing, and I was in store for a big shot of adrenalin.

"Yeah, sweetie. I'm on my way." I called back as I stood up. I walked across the room, squatted down to pick up the back pack, opened the bedroom door, and stepped out into the hall. I closed the door behind me and ran down the stairs, my hand lightly tracing the glossy oak banister, and my boots made a loud thudding noise the whole way down. Trent was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs and I leaned in to kiss his cheek. His eyes searched mine, making sure that I was up for the task that stood looming in front of us, and I made my stance show that I was ready for this. I loved that he still worried about me, that he still wanted to keep me safe, and I felt that safety when I was near him. He completed me, and as long as we were together, I could move mountains.

We kept the weapons in the hall closet next to the front door. We had taken a locking doorknob with a key and replaced the old knob with it. The key lived on a cup hook near the top of the door frame, high enough that it was almost too high for me to reach, and that was the point, not to make it impossible to find a way into the closet, but harder for the kids to get access, without being obvious about it. I retrieved the key, opened the door, and pulled my Luger off the shelf. I tucked the gun in my waistband then pulled out a couple of boxes of ammo. I handed the boxes over to Trent and reached for my homemade sword that I had crafted from a lawnmower blade. I had made a sheath with a strap for the blade so I could leave it on my shoulder until I needed it, and I fastened a hunting knife to my belt loop, making sure the snap that held the knife in the sheath was still easy to open and close. I hoped that I didn't end up needing any of the weapons too much.

Drew saw through the window that I was loading up in front of the weapons closet, so he ran in from outside where he was playing. He nearly tackled me as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

"You going back to the town?" Drew asked with a smile. I nodded and he grinned. "It's a great place. I know that everything will go perfect. Mom, I love you. Come home soon, okay?" I held him close to me for a moment longer. I rested my chin on his head, marveling over how much he had grown, that my chin was the perfect height to just sit there.

"I love you too baby. I'll be home as soon as I can. I'm probably going to be back before dad will; the guys are going to start on the wall as soon as the first clean-out is done. It shouldn't be long." Drew nodded and gave me an extra squeeze before he went to say bye to his dad.

I watched Lucas and Lacey as they murmured their goodbyes to each other and Tyreese talk to Tanya before he turned to his kids then to his grandkids. To him, it didn't matter that the kids weren't his grandchildren by blood, they were his grandkids all the same. The kids called him Grandpa T, and he beamed at his new name. We slipped out the front door and walked down the side yard to where the cars are. DaWayne ran the gate open while Derek kept watch. He popped off a couple of rounds into the dead that merged too close for comfort as we began to exit. I looked up to where Derek stood in the window. He tipped his hat at me and the pride in his eyes was unmistakable. I nodded back. This was his idea that we were going to make come to life, and that filled me with joy.

We drove down the road and hopped on the various highways to reach our new home. Trent and I were in the lead car while Lucas and Tyreese followed. I watched the land as it rose and fell in rolling hills of brown grass that moved in the wind like a never ending sea. It was easy to let my mind drift as the road stretched on. Abandoned buildings dotted the landscape, like tombstones in a graveyard, monuments to the long passed world. I absently looked for signs of life in these buildings and found nothing, right until I did.

A rather run down building off the highway showed up on the horizon, getting taller as we neared it. Beyond the run down shack, there was a dirt road that extended past the building and disappeared into a valley. As I stared out at this building, writing it off as another ghost filled outpost, a man stepped out on to the dilapidated porch, holding a shotgun in his hands. He just stared back at us, not moving beyond the porch. He was alone, and the house really didn't look like it was anything that someone was trying to live in. Houses that were occupied should have fences, an intact roof, a car. This house was not something someone could survive in during the upcoming winter, not to mention that zombie survival was not a solo project. This man had to be part of something bigger, maybe the first stop watch point, a clever ruse to deter would-be thieves. I pointed him out to Trent, and he glanced over quickly, but didn't slow at all. We didn't want to give the impression that we were scoping him out. Besides, it was obvious by the way he held on to that gun that he was in no position to want visitors, and we knew better than to force his hand. If some strange car showed up at Kristen's, we would fire first then ask questions later. It was that sort of world.

When we arrived at Wilsall, we decided that we needed to set up a home base. The first house we came to was set off of the road and closer to the creek, and we quickly saw the benefits of the location as a starting point. The driveway wound around a bit before the front of the house was totally visible. Closed curtains in the windows made sure that the house's secrets would have to be learned the hard way.

We climbed out of the truck and silently trekked towards the home. The porch was thin and a pair of rocking chairs took up most of the walkway of this one story ranch house. We approached with caution, our guns drawn and our ears listening for any sign of life or reanimation. The door was left open, and the screen door was hanging haphazardly on the bottom hinge. The top hinge was pulled from the door frame, and the screws that once anchored the door to the house were left dangling from the metal, wood shavings still embedded in the twisted teeth.

Tyreese moved quickly to the opposite side of the door as Trent approached the side closest to us. I stood behind Trent keeping my eye out on the front yard, scanning constantly for threats. They both quickly looked inside, with their heads bobbing in and out of the door. It was like watching a cop movie to see them peeking around the corners like that.

Trent readjusted his grip on his gun before taking a deep breath. In a rasping whisper, Trent called inside of the house, "Hello? Anyone inside?" No one answered and there was no movement inside to indicate anything or anyone heard him. I hoped that in the time that passed, any zombies would have long moved on after the food ran out, but there was always that fear that I was wrong.

We entered the house and went room by room, peeking in closets and under the beds, to make sure that it was clear. When we found nothing, we closed the front door and bolted the locks.

I remembered Scipio, when we first came to the house there. I remembered the feeling that washed over me in waves when I was face to face with the proof that we were in an abandoned home, not just some house that was foreclosed on. This place triggered that same feeling. Under a layer of dust, we were watched by the photographs that still hung on the walls. We were intruders in a home that once was loved by a family.

This house had apparently been owned by a middle aged couple with a teenage boy and a preteen daughter. I ran my hand across the glass to remove a layer of grime. The girl smiled through metal braces. She was an awkward thing, thin and stiffly posed. Her self-consciousness was obvious, like the insecurity was painted on over the blue dress she wore. The boy was more confident; his eyes stared into the camera with an almost arrogant smile. The parents were posed behind the kids, their arms wrapped round each other and the other hand resting on the shoulder of the kid in front of them. I wondered if they were nice people. I wondered if they escaped in time or if they were a member of team zombie. My brain jumped tracks and I thought about all the zombies out there that were in various stages of orthodontic work before the apocalypse began. I wondered how long the metal glued to the teeth of the undead would stay attached. I shook my head to try to clear out the images of muscle dangling off of the hardware of braces and broken wires that had to be poking them in the cheeks like a splinter that refused to come out. I stepped away from the picture, and wandered listlessly around the living room. I ran my hand on the back of the love seat that acted as a border in the living room, creating a forced walk-way to the kitchen. Little porcelain figurines sat on shelves of a cabinet in the corner next to the television. Soccer cleats were left discarded in the hall, the mud that clung to it in a game dried to a hardened paste. Each item was a clue into the lives of the people that were. Each was a reminder that we were imposing on a graveyard.

It was a necessary evil, what we were doing. We were alive and we needed to be here. I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that we were going to be erasing them, erasing every house of the past. We were going to put everyone's belongings in a pile someplace and riffle through them on an as needed basis. Yes, I was grateful that there were clothes for Drew when he got older, but they were once this boy's. That was the reality of the situation; a necessary evil. It didn't bother me in Scipio, why did it bother me now? I wondered if the dramatic feeling was just from being tired. We were all so tired. I thought about how in Scipio, we were there as a stopping point with no intention of staying put. We weren't going to have to deal with any day to day reminders of the lives that were gone. This was about to be our home, not just a hit and run town. I reminded myself that we were just moving in. This was no different than moving into a new house. When you moved in to a house you saw the wallpaper that was left behind. The wallpaper didn't make the house someone else's, it was just there. Same here. That was what I made myself remember, the things weren't these people nor were they ghosts of them, they were just things.

I turned to the guys, and found them securing the windows by moving tall furniture in front of the openings or placing doors taken from other rooms over the sliding glass. When the last nail was buried into the wood, we were almost ready to start the door to door clearing.