Will To Live (6 page)

“
Amy, get up here and when I tell you, start driving. Nick and Eric, up top with me.” As I climb over the back of the front seat, I lean close to Vicki and hand her one of my handguns. In a much lower voice I tell her, “Watch Fiona. With the blood she's lost, she could still die. Kill her if you have to.”
 

Vicki's eyes widen, but then narrow, just before she nods her head. She helps me move Fiona to the very back so that I can get into the storage under the seat. I pick up a box of the grenades and hand them up through the hatch to Nick and Eric, then I grab a second box and pray to God that the two boxes will be enough, because that's all we've got.

The guys help me up to the top, then sit back and wait while I take a few moments to look around. The undead are crowding the street, and much more are headed our way. I close my eyes tight and suck in a deep breath, praying we can get through this alive.

Ask me what I think our odds are, and I'd most likely tell you to get bent.

I feel the fight and survive mentality stealing over me – and the adrenaline that comes with it – so that when I open my eyes, I hear Nick and Eric suck in their own breaths.

I can imagine what they see. Expecting an expression of hopelessness and despair, they instead see fire in my eyes – a will to live. I've been through so much – too much! – and by god, I'm going to fight until my very last breath.

I grab one of the grenades, quickly show the guys how to use it, what will get us all killed if they forget, and throw the first one into the crowd. Seeing the grenade's results, the blood and body parts as
they scatter and stick to the other undead, doesn't disgust me this time. It makes me feel triumphant, encouraged, and
yes
,
damn frikken happy.
 

Once the area in front of the truck is clear enough to push our way through, I slam my fist on the top and scream at Amy to drive. The guys and I clutch at the top of the truck, as we scream at her to take it easy when she floors the gas and almost throws us all off, but she either doesn't hear us, her terror is too great to comprehend the meaning behind our words, or she's just an evil little bitch –
I'll let you know which when I find out
–
because she doesn't take it easy.
 

Not at all!

Hanging on for dear life, I'm unable to grab the grenades, and watch helplessly as they slide off the top of the truck.

“
Eric, what the hell is wrong with your woman? Jesus!” Nick screams, his eyes wide with fear. His hands are white where they clutch at the hatch opening.
 

Eric is desperately hanging on to the opposite side of the hatch and doesn't respond, as his concentration is entirely focused on staying on the vehicle. My foot with the walking cast has conveniently gotten caught in the hatch, but just barely. My fingers are clamped onto the half inch of trim sticking up just before the slope of the front window, and I feel the nails on two of my fingers snap off as I cling to the thin metal.

The sharp sting of the cold mountain air feels like shards of glass piercing my eyes, and I'm blinded even more by the tears that stream from them. My left leg is unable to find anywhere to grab onto and swings off over the side, dangerously close to the decaying hands that won't give up in their need for food, and it also makes my effort to hold on even more difficult.

Blocks of this bullshit – and a few minutes after leaving the city behind us – just as I finish praying for Amy to slow down, she does...but only enough to make the sharp curve in the road. Halfway through the turn, she slams on the gas again, and my foot snaps free from the hatch. My fingers squeeze harder on the thin metal, but it doesn't stop me from going off the truck.

I don't have time to prepare for the fall, or to even scream for that matter. I feel my body fly through empty air, then slam into the unyielding ground. Then I feel...
nothing
.

In my mind, my eyes still closed, I can clearly see the zombie that is licking my arm. His hair wild, his eyes blank and black, and his face gray and peeling. Bits of flesh is stuck between his teeth, teeth which are stained a dark brown from old blood. I squeeze my eyes tighter, waiting for the bite...but it doesn't come.

I open one eye and stare into the one enormous brown eye looking back at me. I watch as the abnormally long tongue moves out of its mouth and leaves a wet scratchy trail from my chin, up my cheek, and into my hair. I see strands of my hair stick to it, as its tongue slithers back inside its mouth.

We stare at each other for a few moments, my body and mind frozen in shock. And then, it speaks.

“
Moo.”
 

The loudness of the cow scares the living hell out of me, breaking the silence I was most comfortable with. After all, we all know noise attracts the undead.

Undead!

Oh, shit!
 

I scramble onto my stomach and lift my head to look around. I'm several feet from the road, having been thrown well over a pasture fence, and lying among a herd of cows. None of them really pay me any attention, except the one who considers me her personal salt-lick stash. She stays close, and never takes her big brown eyes off me.

After checking the pasture and seeing no undead, I look up the road to my right. Nothing. The road to my left, which leads back to Memphis, has the curve that Amy so sweetly used to throw my ass off the top of the truck. I can't see much past the curve, as it has trees surrounding both sides, and even after getting to my feet I realize the curve is at the top of an incline. Not a real steep one, but steep enough that I can't see the bottom.

I turn back to the way the truck had gone, and it finally hits me.

They
left
me! They just plain left my ass here to die.
Damn
them!
 

The anger sweeps over me, and my first thoughts are of complete and total revenge.

W
hat
I'm going to do to those people – every frikken one of them – will
not
be pretty.
 

Before I can really get into the painful ways I plan to torture them, I hear a moan that I almost miss, or
dis
miss, rather – at first, thinking it was one of the cows...but
that
was no cow.
 

My eyes sweep the pasture, but I still see nothing. I turn back to the curve, and my brain and body freeze in fear. I literally feel my eyes roll from the terror and I beg my legs to move. I barely register the herd calling out warnings and taking off.

I wonder if I would have moved at all if the cow who had become so attached to me, hadn't butted me with her head, causing my legs to remember how to work again and take off runnin
g.
 

The trees and curved hill seemed to be vomiting zombies faster than I could count. By the time Bessie got my shit together, the first of the undead were pressed into the barbed-wire fence – the barbs sinking in, digging in, and ripping into their bodies...but that doesn't stop them. They can't feel it, obviously.

They push and push, and when more come up behind them, the new ones push the others right over – or right through – the poor fence, which isn't nearly strong enough to stop them.

I turn and follow the cows, but they quickly outrun me and I lose sight of them as they disappear over a hill. Unable to go very fast because of my still-injured leg – and all my new aches and pains from being thrown from the truck – Bessie finally gives up on me and takes off, making her way to the rest of the herd and safety.

Not that I blame her, but she still could have given me a ride!

I resist the urge to look back, focusing instead on not tripping or falling in any holes. I reach the top of the hill and a sob of relief escapes me. Down below, about half a mile, is a large farmhouse, a couple barns, and a few grain bins. I see the herd heading straight for one of the barns, Bessie not far behind.

I can do this. I can make it. Please God, let me make it!

I start the decline slowly at first, trying to be careful and not break another bone on the steep and fairly rocky terrain, that is, until a moan sounds way too close behind me. Then I quickly pick up speed. I'm doing okay, really, until my legs are knocked out from under me. Now I, and the zombie who tackled me, tumble down the rest of the hill. My hands squeeze and shove back on his throat as his teeth snap at me. We roll down the hill like this, and when he's on top of me, I do my best to dodge the spit and drool that rain down from his nasty mouth.

Finally, after my entire body seems to be bruised and torn from all the rocks and sticks that littered the hill, we slam to a stop against a tree at the bottom. Fortunately for me, the zombie ends up being the one to stop our fall, as his backside crashes into the large sturdy wood. It also busted his head wide open, which solved my dilemma of how to kill this thing barehanded.

I suck in air as I try to get my breath back from the quick and painful way we stopped, and jump to my feet, ready to run. A quick glance shows me the zombies are quickly on their way, most of them rolling and some already at the bottom, struggling to their feet.

I head straight for the farmhouse and buildings, doing my best to ignore the old pain of my ankle, and the new pains from the tumble. I reach the large barn first and give myself a second to see how close the nearest undead are. Deciding I have plenty of time to try and make it to the farmhouse, where I probably have a better chance of finding food and water, I turn away from the barn and continue on.

The farmhouse is two-stories, three if you count the attic, and has a wrap-around porch high off the ground. I rush up the side stairs closest to the front of the house, then make my way to the back door of the house.

The zombie moans and groans are loud, and I know if I look back, I'll be able to see their faces through the bottom part of the rails on the porch, but I refuse to look. Instead, I grasp the knob of the door as I send up a quick prayer that it opens.

It does, but now I wish I'd included the house being empty in that prayer.

The momentum of my body as I hurl through the door, sends me straight into the arms of an older man wearing overalls and a long sleeve plaid shirt. I immediately start fighting, and it takes a minute before I realize he's yelling at me with actual words instead of moans and groans. When I finally do realize he's still alive, and his words of comfort sink in, I collapse against him and sob like an idiot.

I hate it when people see me cry, but there's no stopping me now.
I'm on a roll.
 

He pulls me over to a small kitchen table and gently pushes me down into a chair. Then he kneels down in front of me and asks gently, but firmly, “Have you been bit?”

I shake my head no.

“
Are you alone?”
 

I nod my head yes. Then my eyes widen, as I realize I probably shouldn't have let him know that.
 

I mean, just because he's in his late sixties or so, and would make a damn good Santa Claus without needing a fake white beard or wig, he could still be a rapist, or a serial killer, or...
something
!
 

He smiles and assures me he won't hurt me, which tells me he's easily able to read the expressions on my face.

“
My name is Ernie.”
 

“
Nice to meet you, Ernie. My name's Canada.”
 

I jump when a soft female voice comes out of nowhere and says, “Ernie? Everything okay?”

Ernie pats my hand in reassurance before standing and looking toward a door on the other side of the room. “Every thing's alright, Mama. Come on out.”

I watch as the door opens wider and a short, plump white-haired woman hesitates for a few seconds before entering the room.

Ah, this must be Mrs. Claus.

“
Canada, this is my wife, Bertha. We call her Bert.”
 

I stand and take a few steps toward her. She steps close to me and surprises me with a warm, tight hug. I surprise myself when I realize my arms are wrapped around her just as tightly. I sigh in relief from just being able to relax for a minute, to feel safe, which is something I haven't felt in so long.

Then my mind catches hold of something, and I start to giggle. Bert doesn't release me, but leans back so that she can see my face. Her ice blue eyes are sparkling and her smile almost makes me start sobbing again because it's so beautiful...and just what I need right now.

“
Papa, I think she may have just caught on to the significance of our names,” she guesses correctly.
 

“
I think you're right, Mama,” Ernie is wearing a matching grin to Bert's.
 

Bert squeezes me tight once more, then leads me to the table, pushing me down into one of the chairs. “Let's get some food into you. Then you can get a shower. Then after that, some rest. No arguing!”

As if I would!

Ernie sits back down after Bert refuses his offer of help, and proceeds to ask me about myself. I tell them everything...and I do mean
everything
.
 

“
...so now I'm pregnant, and have no idea where my family is. They most likely think I'm long dead...or undead.”
 

My chest hurts knowing how true that probably is.

They've all probably given up any hope by now.
I miss my husband, my kids, and the rest of my family so damn much.
 

Ernie places his hand over mine and gives it a gentle squeeze. I clear my throat several times to keep the sobs from escaping, and am relieved when the distraction of a plate is placed in front of me. It's loaded with a cheese and ham omelet and buttered toast. I almost start to literally drool all over the plate. I don't start eating immediately as I'm too overwhelmed by the sight and smell of the food, but when Bert encourages me to, “Go on. Eat up, while it's still hot!” I dig in, and have to remind myself to breathe in oxygen instead of food more than a few times.