As the World Dies Untold Tales Volume 2 Page 13

  Carefully, she withdrew her grandmother’s hairpins from her jeans. Her hair was grown out and ratty. It annoyed her, but she didn’t have anything to secure it until now. Tears blinded her eyes as she carefully French-braided her hair back from her face, slipping the hairpins into the woven hair to hold the style. When she finished, she rested her hands against her hair, remembering her grandmother’s gentle touch.

  In silence they trudged up to the RV. Ken hung their wet clothes on the makeshift clothesline they had strung on the branches of a tree. While he was doing that, Lenore poured the tepid water they had boiled earlier over the campfire into a gallon jug. She hoped there was some Kool-Aid and sugar left. She hated the taste of the pond water even after it had been boiled to rid it of impurities.

  Lenore kicked dirt onto the fire to extinguish it. Turning, she saw Ken draping his jeans over the line. A shadowy figure lurked just beyond him, moving slowly through the brush.

  “Ken!” Lenore shouted.

  He jerked about, staring at her in confusion.

  “Run!”

  Panicking, Ken ran in her direction and away from the RV. Lenore pointed at the RV, breaking into a run.

  “No! That way!”

  Skidding around, Ken retreated to the RV. He was almost to the entry when the zombie lurched out from the gloom under the trees and into the moonlight. With a screech, Ken dashed past it and dove into the vehicle.

  “Get the gun!” Lenore screamed stumbling to a halt. The zombie was between her and safety. She cursed herself for becoming so lax in their security. It had felt so safe up here they had stopped carrying the revolver after the first week and a half. The beam of her flashlight caught the zombie in its light as it lurched after Ken.

  For a moment she was terrified it was her grandmother risen from the grave, but then she saw it was a man wearing bloodstained coveralls. The creature twisted around on its skinny legs toward her, abandoning its pursuit of Ken. Lenore swung the heavy gallon jug at the zombie’s head as it lunged. The impact shattered the plastic and sent warm water over both of them. The blow was violent enough to knock the zombie backward. It reeled, trying to regain its balance.

  Lenore surged toward the dark gaping entry to the RV. The light from her flashlight swung crazily over the ground as she pounded up the incline. Her lungs gasped for air and she felt light-headed. After all the hard work they had done today, she was physically exhausted.

  The reek of the zombie filled her nose as she pounded past it. Hurtling through the doorway, she almost knocked Ken over. Clutching the revolver, Ken screamed in terror.

  Lenore scrambled to shut the door, but Ken shoved her aside and aimed at the undead man. The explosive sound of the shots nearly deafened Lenore. She flinched as the revolver roared. Ken fired all six shots and the gun clicked empty. The zombie lay on the ground moaning, one leg shattered and an arm hanging from sinews. Lenore grabbed the door, swung it shut, and barred it.

  “You idiot!”

  Ken staggered away from her, hyperventilating. Cher was somewhere in the RV hissing angrily. Collapsing against the kitchen counter, Ken shook violently.

  Despite her anger, Lenore understood his terror. She gently tugged the revolver out of his hands and set it aside.

  “Ken,” she said in a low voice.

  Shivering, he stared at her through glassy eyes.

  “Go lay down.”

  Ken nodded and wobbled to the rear of the RV.

  Sighing, Lenore pulled the crowbar off the counter. For a few minutes she checked outside with her flashlight, peering into the darkness. No more shambling shapes emerged from the darkness. Only the one zombie keened as it tried to crawl to the RV.

  Clenching the crowbar in her hands, she unbarred the door and stepped outside.

  It took two whacks to kill the zombie. Once done, she wiped the end of the crowbar off on the grass. The wind whistled through the tree branches and stirred the tall grass.

  All seemed calm once again.

  As Lenore climbed back into the RV and secured the door, she wondered how long it would last.

  21.

  Time to Go

  Curled up on the bottom bunk, Ken wished he could stop crying. Though he managed to stifle his sobs, he was sure Lenore heard him. She had climbed onto the top bunk after going outside and killing the zombie. He had expected her to yell and call him names after he had been such an idiot by wasting six bullets. Instead, she had been silent, which had been in its own way even worse. She was Eeyore to his Tigger, and when she was grumpy at him he knew everything was okay between them.

  Silence scared him.

  Cher nudged his nose with hers before crawling over him to settle into the small of his back. Her presence was a comfort. He could always depend on her love. Maybe he was being foolish, but he wondered if Lenore hated him now. He was such a stupid Nancy girl. He couldn’t even deal with one zombie.

  But then again, he had avoided confrontations his whole life. Anxiety attacks had plagued him all through his formative years. It was very hard for him to stand up for himself or involve himself in any physical confrontation. He had never hit anyone in his entire life even when he was being beat up.

  Last night, his desire had been to run into the RV and hide, but the thought of losing Lenore, his best friend -- only friend now -- had compelled him to take action. Of course, that had resulted in him wasting ammo and not even killing the zombie.

  Sniffling, he curled up on the pillow. Sleep felt far away. His senses were heightened, his ears straining to hear every sound. The creaking of a tree branch sent shivers down his spine. The wind swirling through the field and the noises of the night creatures sounded eerie tonight. Of course, what he was truly straining to hear was the low, terrible moans of the undead.

  It was warm in the RV. The windows were cracked open just enough to let a breeze in, but it was still humid and he felt sticky. He wished he could fall asleep and forget the horrible day, but he felt painfully-awake. Worried that the zombies could be creeping up on the RV, he slid out of bed.

  A quick glance out of each window, including the windshield, reassured him that no more of the shambling dead had reached their safe haven. The moonlight illuminated the mesquite tree that sheltered Grandma’s grave. His overzealous mind began to ponder the possibility of the old woman crawling out of her grave as a ravenous zombie. Shivering, he tried to dispel that frightening notion and returned to bed.

  Cher glared at him as he jostled her and made a great fuss over having to resettle herself into a new position. He felt fresh tears fill his eyes at the thought of his little kitty girl suffering alongside him through this nightmare. He had noticed she had lost a little weight and it saddened him. Cher and Lenore were all he had left in the world.

  If Lenore wasn’t mad at him...

  Changing positions every few minutes, he tried to find a comfortable spot in the bed. He grumpily kept adjusting the pillow until Cher had enough and stalked off in a huff to sleep somewhere else. He considered sleeping in his regular bunk, but he wanted to be close to Lenore even if she was mad at him. If only he could get comfortable…

  Trying to fall asleep became a nightmare. Ken counted sheep, counted backward, tried to pretend he was floating on a cloud, and a variety of other mind tricks all in an effort to fool himself into sleeping. He finally gave up, convinced he was doomed to a long sleepless night, when sunlight struck his eyes, waking him. Groggily, he pulled himself upright, surprised that he had actually slumbered. He must have been dreaming he was still awake.

  Standing, he checked Lenore’s bunk to see that she was gone. A sour little knot of anxiety clenched inside of him as he hurried through the small RV looking for her and his cat. Cher was asleep in a sunbeam on the dashboard, but Lenore was nowhere to be found. The door was slightly ajar and he tentatively shoved it open. Lenore stood before the smoldering campfire gazing toward the meadows below. The revolver was clutched in one of her hands. The corpse of the zombie was nowhere to be
seen and Ken shivered at the memory of the creature.

  “The zombie...” Ken started, then faltered. He had left Lenore to deal with the zombie alone last night and with its body this morning. He felt like a jerk.

  “Dragged him off into the woods,” Lenore answered. “But I’m not worried about him no more. I’m worried about them.”

  Ken staggered forward, blinking his eyes rapidly as they adjusted to the brightness of the day.

  Wading through the high, dry grass toward the encampment were five zombies. The wind stole their moans away, but he could see their open mouths as their hands slashed at the air.

  “Shit,” Ken gasped.

  “Time to go,” Lenore said grimly.

  “They have terrible timing,” Ken groused.

  “Grandma would say it was a sign from God. That it’s time for us to step out in faith,” Lenore answered.

  “You think so?”

  Lenore’s solemn expression made his heart hurt for her. The pain in her eyes was painfully-evident. Finally, she nodded. “Yeah. If they had showed up earlier, they might have gotten Grandma, or us. But she’s with the Lord now and we’re left to fend for ourselves. We’re younger and stronger than she was. She got to spend some quiet days out here. I don’t think we’re gonna get those quiet days.”

  Tears in his eyes again, Ken embraced Lenore, holding her tight whether she wanted to be or not. To his surprise, she didn’t fight him off, but rested her head on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry I wimped out last night,” he whispered.

  “You tried to save me,” Lenore answered. “That’s not being a wimp. Now you can’t shoot worth shit, but at least you tried.”

  “I’ll let you handle the gun,” Ken said with a sigh. Releasing her, Ken started to collect their things. Lenore had boiled more water and had poured it into a different container since she had ruined the other one last night. He snagged that and the campfire stove. “How long do we have before they get here?”

  “Thirty minutes I bet. Let’s not be here when they arrive.”

  “Where are we going?” He knew he sounded like a broken record, but he was at a loss as to how to handle any of this. Lenore was much stronger than he was and he knew it.

  “Away from here,” Lenore answered with a shrug. “As Grandma used to say, ‘The Lord will lead.’“

  “And if He doesn’t?”

  “We’ll make it up as we go.”

  Casting a worried glance at the zombies, Ken realized that was the best answer he was going to get.

  22.

  Nothing Is Easy

  Lenore shoved the lawn chairs into the compartment in the back of the RV and wiped her palms off on her jeans. The day was cool, but she was sweating more from nerves than exertion.

  “C’mere, Cher!” Ken wailed again from outside.

  Lenore’s pocket was full of bullets and the gun was tucked into the pocket of her hoodie. She glanced out the window, checking on the progress of the zombies. They were circumventing the pond and slogging along the muddy bank. Another ten minutes and they would be upon them.

  “Cher! Stop being difficult!” Ken’s voice was starting to sound hysterical.

  The cat rarely went outside, but she had suddenly sprinted out the door just as they were finishing packing the vehicle.

  “Ken!”

  “I’m trying to get her! I can’t leave her! Cher, bad cat! Bad! C’mere!”

  Lenore sighed and headed out the door to help him. Ken sprawled on his stomach, trying to reach the cat under the RV. Grumbling, Lenore sank to her knees and peered under the vehicle. Cher was sitting directly out of reach, languorously cleaning one foot.

  “Really? Really? You pick this damn time to take a bath?” Lenore groused at the cat.

  Cher flicked a dismissive look at Lenore.

  “Ken, we might have to leave her,” Lenore said, hating to say the words. She looked over her shoulder, checking on the zombies’ progress. They were out of her line of sight, below the crest of the hill.

  “No, I can’t!” Ken glared at Lenore, then tried to stealthily edge up a few more inches.

  The cat gave him a sharp look, her muscles tensing. Lenore was certain the cat was about to bolt.

  A low, hungry moan floated on the wind.

  Cher lifted her head higher, staring past the humans with bright intense eyes. Ears slightly flicking forward, she lowered the foot she had been cleaning.

  “Ken,” Lenore whispered. She could barely see the top of a zombie’s head peeking over the hill’s slope.

  “Cher, come to daddy. The bad things are coming. Come here.” The tone in Ken’s voice was heartbreaking. It was desperation mixed with love.

  Shoving up with her hands, Lenore scrambled to her feet. Her fingers closed over the revolver in her pocket. She stared at the zombie staggering fully into view a little more than fifty feet away. Lifting its hands, the creature let out a horrible cry.

  “Ken!”

  “Got her! I got her!” Ken exclaimed. “Help me up!”

  Lenore leaned over, grabbed the waistband of his jeans, and dragged him out from under the RV. Twisting around, Ken scrambled to his feet clutching Cher in his arms. She was clinging to his shirt, claws dug in, staring at the zombie with wide, frightened eyes.

  The zombie was now moving faster, spurred on by the sight of living human flesh.

  “Get in now,” Lenore ordered as she drew the firearm.

  Skirting around her, Ken hopped through the entrance. Lenore followed, her eyes still on the zombie. She quickly pulled the door shut and grabbed the two by four. Shoving the wood into place, she felt her heart beating ever faster. The groan of the zombie sent shivers down her spine. The answering moans of the other undead creatures in its wake made her breath catch. Her hand was shaking as she tucked the revolver back into her hoodie.

  “Keep it together, girl,” she mumbled.

  She hurried to the driver’s seat, brushing past Ken who was shoving a hissing Cher into her carrier. Lenore slid into the driver’s seat and glanced out the window to see the zombie stumbling around the campfire, growling.

  “Lenore!” Ken cried out.

  “I see it,” Lenore answered.

  After fastening her seatbelt and making sure she could reach the revolver in her pocket without hindrance, Lenore meticulously followed Tito’s instructions on how to start the vehicle. She closed her eyes in prayer.

  “Dear Jesus, let this work,” she breathed.

  “You do remember how to hotwire it?”

  “Shut up, Ken.”

  The engine gave a little cough, but sputtered out.

  “What’s happening?” Ken gasped.

  “Low on gas and it’s been sitting for a month,” Lenore answered tersely. “Give me a second.”

  The sound of something impacting with the RV made both of them start. A quick peek at the rearview mirror made Lenore shudder. The zombie was slamming its fists against the side of the vehicle.

  “Lenore...”

  “Shhh...” Lenore tried again and lightly pumped the gas.

  The engine briefly came to life, then died.

  Ken shrieked as the zombie reached his window. It beat its putrid, rotting hands against the glass, hissing.

  Lenore again tried to spark the engine to life.

  The engine weakly roared and Lenore pushed down on the accelerator, giving it more precious gas. In her periphery the zombie assaulted the window, growling as Ken cringed away chanting her name like a prayer.

  “Got it,” Lenore said, then shoved the vehicle into gear.

  The RV lurched into motion and rolled forward. The zombie’s bloody hands slid off the window as it struggled to keep up with the vehicle. Lenore turned onto the narrow drive that would lead to a farm road. The wheels slipped on the gravel, stalling the RV for a second, before they regained traction. Lenore clutched the wheel tightly as the RV bounced over the rutted road.

  Ken leaned his forehead on the dashboard, dragging ai
r into his lungs. “Oh, my God! Did you see its face? It was all torn up. I don’t even know if it was a man or woman.”

  “It don’t matter, Ken. It’s dead.”

  Lenore flicked her gaze to the side mirror again and was relieved to see the zombies were out of view. Her stomach was doing acrobatics. Cher was meowing in her carrier and Lenore didn’t blame her. The mere sight of the walking dead was enough to make her want to scream. They had spent so much time on the hilltop safe and far away from the rest of the dying world she had forgotten how horrible they looked. It was worse than any movie and the smell was nearly unbearable.

  Settling in his seat, Ken took a deep breath. “I was so scared the engine wouldn’t start.”

  “But it did start,” Lenore answered briskly. “Don’t go freaking out after we’ve gotten away.”

  Ken frowned at her. “I’m not freaking out.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “No. I’m fine. I’m the epitome of fine. It was just so damn ugly! And...scary...and...the engine wasn’t behaving and...”

  “Freaking. Out.”

  Ken pouted. “Fine. Maybe just a little.”

  “Get the map and guide me. Also, turn on that CB. See if we can pick something up.”

  Unbuckling himself, Ken stuck his tongue before disappearing to do as she asked.

  Lenore watched the sides of the road for any signs of the zombies. The junipers, cedars, and oaks lining the road could be hiding anything from zombies to deer. The last thing they needed to do was hit something on the road. Being stranded in an area where zombies were prowling around was not a situation she wanted to experience.

  The trees gave way to brush, the road flattening out between two large fields. The fences were still intact, and Lenore felt a little safer as she drove.

  Ken returned to his seat with the map and flipped on the CB. Static filled the air, competing with Cher’s questioning meows.

  “I highlighted the path we should take,” Lenore said to Ken. “Just tell me what to do once we hit the farm road.”

  “Okay.”