Zomb-Pocalypse (20 page)

Ryan takes the bag from my shaking hands and follows me as I head for the door. Outside, Silas honks the horn and it makes my belly fill with fear. I throw open the door and see that he’s parked super close on the lawn, and that zombies are beginning to surround us, though they are still about two hundred feet away.

“Hurry yer asses up!” Silas yells.

I break into a run and practically dive into the backseat with my haul. Ryan gets in the front and Silas rolls his window up as he forces the truck through the medium-sized crowd of zombies. There are probably thirty of them, but they are spread out for now, so there are still a few holes.

He doesn’t drive too fast, probably because he doesn’t want to damage the truck, so it’s more like he eases through the crowd—with zombies gently bouncing off the bumper. It’s a little bit unnerving to be so close to this many zombies and not be plowing through them at top speed to escape.

Some of them are pushed out of the way and some of them are pushed down and crunched under the trucks tires. Every time we bounce over them, I get a sick feeling in my stomach. Worse are the zombies that aren’t in front of the truck. They are beside it, clawing and moaning at the windows. I move over into the middle of my seat, certain that they are going to break through at any moment.

The sick feeling hits me. If we die it will be my fault. “I’m sorry!” I shout to be heard above the beating arms, moaning groans, and gnashing teeth.

Silas looks back at me in the rear-view mirror, catches my eye, and winks. “There’s nothing to be sorry about!” he shouts back, and then we are free and clear of the crowd as he pins the accelerator and gathers more speed.

It takes a long time for my heartbeat to steady, and it takes even longer before Ryan will look at me again. No matter what Silas says, that was too close.

Chapter Eighteen

Without having to stop for fuel, we make great time. We make even better time because Silas is driving, and he doesn’t go much below eighty miles an hour. I can tell that Ryan hates it, but Silas seems to be a good driver, always in control of the vehicle. He’s had to slow down a couple times to brake for shamblers on the road, but otherwise it’s been a straight shot down a wide open highway.

We get more than halfway to Indiana before the late afternoon starts to fade into evening.

“We need to stop for the night,” Ryan says tersely from the passenger seat. He’s been tense all day.

My bladder is close to bursting, so I secretly rejoice at his words. I haven’t wanted to slow us down, and I definitely haven’t been in the mood to have the guys pull over so I can pee on the side of the road while zombies try to bite my exposed butt.

“How about this place?” Silas says, which is really more of a rhetorical question because he’s already pulling off the road. He parks in front of a house that is nearly invisible from the road because of a large copse of trees.

Ryan eyes the trees nervously for any sign of zombies. I do the same, but nothing seems to be moving other than the branches swaying in the wind.

The place is small. It can’t be more than a simple one or two bedroom house. The wooden slats on the outside are faded from the sun, and the whole place looks a bit dilapidated.

Silas pulls his gun from his holster and gets out of the vehicle without waiting for either Ryan or I. Ryan curses under his breath and pulls the large hunting knife from his own belt loop.

“Stay here,” he commands me, and I do a double take.

“What?” I ask, my voice is frosty enough to give him a definite chill. It makes him pause and look back at me.

Ryan sends me a conciliatory smile, “It’s just, with the two of us, you don’t need to be in danger anymore.”

I roll my eyes. It’s the zombie apocalypse, I am in danger every second of my life, and the sooner I learn how to deal with that, the safer I will actually be.

I pointedly ignore Ryan and slide out of the truck, making sure not to slam my door. I pull my gun from my hip and jog over to join Silas, who has his lock picking set out and is working on the door knob.

“You should wait for backup,” I lecture.

He snorts. “What do you think I did before you came along?” he challenges me. I could argue, but I let it go and turn my back on him to keep a watch on what might be coming up behind us.

Silas might not have the most amiable personality, but at least he treats me like I’m capable of doing things.

Ryan walks up, but I make a point to purposely ignore him. He doesn’t say much to me either. We both turn when we hear the door click open. Silas pauses in the doorway and lets out the same low whistle I heard him do back at my old house.

I turn towards the house and smell the air. It smells stale and dusty, but nothing along the lines of rotting flesh jumps out at me, and more importantly, zombies don’t jump out at me. Ryan brings his flashlight up and pans it back and forth in to the dark house.

His light reveals a kitchen with a grubby linoleum floor, and Silas takes his first few steps inside.

“I think it’s okay,” he says, motioning for Ryan and me to follow him in. “This place is a shoebox, it shouldn’t take too long to clear.” Silas moves into the kitchen and opens a door that reveals a bathroom. There is a washer and dryer squeezed in there as well.

The only other rooms are a living room with a small couch and a bedroom with a double bed.

“This place is no frills,” Ryan remarks, and I secretly agree.

Ryan pulls the black garbage bags and duct tape out of his backpack and gives me a handful. “We’d better get to work.”

There aren’t a lot of windows, and it takes us less than ten minutes to cover them with bags.

Silas watches us silently while we work, not offering to help. He doesn’t speak till we are done. “That’s a good idea,” he says at last, when I hand Ryan back his roll of tape.

“It was Ryan’s idea,” I tell him, making Silas grunt.

I want to shake them both. They haven’t out and out fought, but I can tell they are feeling the pressure of having two alpha males in the group.

I roll my eyes at them and unsling my backpack. I can’t wait to get back to the camp and infuse my life with a little estrogen.

I sit at the tiny kitchen table and watch Silas dig through the cupboards. He finds a large can of coffee and dumps the grounds out into the sink.

He sets the can on a baking sheet in the middle of the table and then disappears outside.

My heart skips a beat, and I almost follow him out, but Ryan puts a staying hand on my arm.

“Don’t,” he warns me, and I actually heed him. The idea of going outside when it’s so dark you can’t even see a foot in front of your face is terrifying, flashlight or not.

Five long minutes pass while I pace around the kitchen, practically wearing a hole in the already worn lino.

Silas comes back in the house with a bang, carrying an armful of dried sticks and twigs.

“What the hell are you doing man?” Ryan asks as Silas sets the wood down in the middle of the floor.

“Making supper,” Silas murmurs as he breaks a bunch of small twigs up with his hands and stuffs them into the coffee pot. He starts breaking up the bigger sticks. I suddenly remember seeing a newspaper in the living room, so I go and get it for him. I’m pretty sure he’s making a fire.

Silas grunts his thanks and crumples the paper up in a ball before pulling a lighter from his pocket.

He blows carefully on the tiny flame while it smokes and splutters until it grows larger. When the flames are high enough that they are flickering merrily out the top of the can, Silas pulls his pack of smokes from his pocket and uses the flame to light it, like a total bad ass.

Silas takes a deep puff and blows the smoke out through his nose. Ryan, who hasn’t said a word during this whole production, lets out a pointed cough, and despite our situation, I giggle.

Boys can be so immature.

Silas finds a clean fork, knife, and plate from the kitchen and pulls out two cans of spam from his bag. He slices the spam and uses a fork to toast the meat over the coffee can fire.

Despite how disgusting spam was to me once, the sizzling smell of cooking meat makes my stomach growl.

Silas hands me the first slice, and I barely let it cool before I shove it in my mouth. It burns my tongue, but I haven’t tasted anything so good in days. I lick the grease from my fingers and sigh.

Silas finishes roasting the spam and divides it up into three piles. Ryan looks like he wants to refuse, but it really does smell delicious, and I know that he’s just as hungry as I am.

When I’ve eaten my share, I get up and prowl around the kitchen, looking through the cupboards to see what else I can find.

Silas grins when I come back with a bag of marshmallows. He hands me the roasting fork and I spear two marshmallows on at once.

We eat the entire bag, and then I think the combined salt and sugar makes us all feel nauseous.

“I’m ready for bed,” I tell both Silas and Ryan, who haven’t said very much all night.

“You guys take the bedroom, I’ll take the couch,” Silas surprises me by offering, and I give him a smile.

“Thanks Silas,” I say. Then, I grab my bag and disappear into the room. Having a full belly, combined with weeks of not sleeping very well, just about put me to sleep right there at the table.

I set my bag down and lie down under the thin blankets. I miss the days when I could get into a pair of pajamas before bed, but unless I want to be running from a horde in my slippers, I’d better stay in my regular clothes for now. I let out a sigh. There are so many simple things I never took the time to appreciate before this mess with the zombies started.

I’m almost asleep when Ryan comes in. He stands awkwardly in the doorway.

“Is it alright if I sleep in here?” he asks, and I feel a lump form in my throat. I haven’t been the nicest to him lately, but I really do owe him everything.

“Of course,” I manage to choke out, and I feel the bed move a little as he lays down.

He doesn’t touch me, so I roll over into his arms and lay my head on his shoulder. I can feel some of the tenseness in his body relax at my peace offering, and his arms tighten around me.

“I’m sorry that I was so stubborn today,” I blurt out before I lose my nerve.

“I get it. You really wanted to go back…I just didn’t want to see you get hurt,” he says, and I feel myself thaw out completely towards him.

“Good night,” I mumble, and he plants a sweet kiss on my forehead. We haven’t talked about our passionate kiss on Liberty Island, but with everything going on, I’m not looking to ‘date’.

I’m glad Ryan is willing to just let things go back to the way they were, and he isn’t pressing the issue. I sleep better than I have in a long time.

I wake up and Ryan is still sleeping soundly, spread out on the bed, snoring softly. I ease out of bed and am surprised that he doesn’t wake up. I grab my bag and strap my holster back to my hips, it’s become second nature now.

The couch is empty and so is the kitchen and bathroom. I relieve myself and wash my face, then peel back a corner of the garbage bag to take a look outside. I see Silas out there having a smoke, but I don’t go out, it’s too early to deal with things that want to eat me.

I dig in my bag for a power bar, water, and some more antibiotics. Ryan gets up while I’m eating. We are outside loading up the truck within half an hour, at Silas’s urging.

“Who drives?” Ryan asks when we’ve finished stowing some food into the box of the truck. It’s obvious from his tone that he doesn’t want it to be Silas again.

“Jane,” Silas suggests, and I turn to him in surprise.

“I don’t know…” I say, not sure I’m the best person for the job.

“Why not?” Ryan asks, and I freeze. I didn’t think Ryan would be on board with Silas’ crazy idea.

“You need to learn,” Silas presses, and I feel a tad defensive.

“I’ve driven before. I had my learners permit,” I say, making them both smirk at me.

“Prove it,” Silas taunts, and I snatch the keys out of his hand.

“Fine. I will,” I say, accepting the dare. I get in the driver’s seat and have to adjust the seat because Silas has ridiculously long legs. Then, feeling like I’m being judged on my driving prowess, I back carefully out of the driveway, and we are back on the road.

Our moods are surprisingly jovial as the truck eats up more and more miles of our journey. We have to pull over on the side of the road, and Ryan shows me how to fuel the truck up from the external gas tank.

Nothing stirs around us, and as I stare out into the bald fields, dotted with trees, things almost feel normal.

We get back on the main road quickly, and I find myself pressing my foot harder to the gas pedal the closer we get to the camp.

“Maybe you should try using the cruise control,” Ryan suggests when I hastily take my foot off the gas for the tenth time after realizing I’ve been going too fast.

I glance down at the wheel to try and figure out how to do that, and things happen so fast.

“Look out!” Silas shouts from the backseat.

All of a sudden, Ryan is grabbing the wheel and cranking it. I jam on the brakes and look in my rear-view mirror to see what all the fuss was about. I see a lone zombie in the middle of the road, staggering in the direction of the truck.

“You have to keep your eyes on the road,” Silas lectures from the backseat. I turn to look at Ryan. Even though I know that he is loath to agree with anything Silas says—he nods his head too.

“It’s dangerous to risk destroying the truck when we don’t know how easily we can find another one, and we are too vulnerable out here without protection and mobility.”

I nod to show that I understand, but inside I’m angry with myself and embarrassed.

“It should only be another ten minutes to that town where we picked up the truck,” Ryan tells me, probably trying to take my mind off of my bad driving.

“You can practice your city driving,” Silas snickers from the back seat, and I shoot him a glare in the rear view.

The thought of seeing Abby is the only thing that has me putting the truck back into gear.

It isn’t very far, just like Ryan said, but as we pull into town, I begin to get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. When we’d left, the town hadn’t had any zombies wandering the streets. It’d been mostly cleared out of walkers, with only a few houses and business that needed to be cleared. Now there are a surprising number of them stumbling around, and absolutely no military presence.

I swerve the truck around a zombie that’s standing stock still in the middle of the street and accidentally clip him with the corner of the truck. Ryan looks like he wants to say something, especially since it’s so soon after our talk about not wrecking the truck, but after one look at my face, he doesn’t berate me.

“You’re doing great Jane,” he encourages, probably noticing how white my knuckles are on the steering wheel.