Mistakes I Made During the Zombie Apocalypse Page 5

  He walked carefully in the dark to where he thought she was living; a stack of cargo containers on one end of a construction area. The place was once surrounded by chain link fence, but it was pushed over in sections and the dead roamed in and out freely. He walked over one of the fallen fences and it crunched beneath his feet. In the dead world, even such a small noise was going to draw attention. Like clockwork, eight zombies turned in his direction.

  In the middle of the lot was a large pit, several stories deep. Some of the infected, who had failed to avoid it, dragged themselves around its bottom. Ian circled around the hole several times, trying to lose zombies to the hole. Only four of them ended up falling, but four was enough to take the pressure off.

  To reach the cargo containers, Ian had to walk by two portable offices. He was tempted to loot them, but the urge to see the girl was stronger so he continued on. A faint glow of candlelight reached through a crack in one of the metal boxes. He climbed the side, holding onto the grooves like rungs of a ladder, and pulled his way to the top. Had any boy before me gone to such lengths to be with a girl?

  • • •

  Your hormonal drive isn’t unique.

  “It’s more unique now. Less competition if you haven’t noticed.”

  • • •

  His footsteps sent echoes into the container beneath him. The door, the one the candlelight was flickering behind, opened and the girl stepped out onto the makeshift balcony.

  “Who’s there?” she called out, throwing the beam of a flashlight in all directions trying to find the human source of the noise. Ian’s heart leapt at the sound of her voice. It was sweeter than he imagined it would be.

  He stepped into light, shielding his eyes from the intense scrutiny of the beam. “My name’s Ian. I saw you earlier. You waved.”

  “Oh, you,” she said. There was no detectable enthusiasm in her voice, but she still took his hand and led him into the cold rectangle that was her home. Inside a single candle flickered. An older woman sat near it, rocking and mumbling to herself. Ian jumped, as he wasn’t expecting that someone else would be inside the container. “Who’s that?” he asked.

  “My mother,” the girl replied. She clicked off her flashlight and lit another candle next to the first.

  Ian kept his eyes on the woman in case she might glance up and greet him, but she never did. “What’s wrong with her? I mean…what happened?”

  “It’s okay. She saw my dad die. She was normal before that.” She went to her mother’s side and ran a hand over her head comfortingly. The woman’s rocking slowed and her mumbling ceased.

  “Were you there?” Ian asked. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to see a parent killed. Thankfully he was spared witnessing his mother’s final moments.

  “No. I was at school when it happened. My name’s Ripley, by the way.”

  “Ripley?” Ian asked. What a unique name, he thought.

  “My dad, he liked the movie Alien,” she explained.

  “It’s a last name,” Ian said, displaying his knowledge of the film. “In the movie, Ripley is her last name.”

  “Yeah I know.” She shrugged. “I guess my dad didn’t care.”

  She must hear that all the time. Shut up! Ian thought. Change the subject! “Why are you here? Why didn’t you stay home?” he asked. A pile of clothes and bags was dumped by one wall, another area functioned as a makeshift kitchen.

  “I thought somewhere else might be safer than our house and my dad is still there, you know, walking around.”

  • • •

  You know exactly what it’s like to avoid bodies.

  “I guess I should be thankful that the ones I’m avoiding aren’t walking around anymore.”

  You put an end to that.

  Images storm Ian’s mind. He can see the chair leg in his hands, the moment of first impact with Grant’s head, and the blood on his hands when it was over.

  “I don’t want to see these things!” Ian yells.

  Come back to Ripley’s story then. What did you say next?

  • • •

  “Nowhere is really safe.” Ian scanned the room for weapons. He saw a small fixed-blade knife, a hockey stick with blood on its toe, but nothing else even remotely dangerous or protective. Perhaps the flashlight could be used in a bludgeoning.

  “I had to pick this place, up high, and stock up like crazy, because of my mom. She screams sometimes and it brings the dead. I lock her in when I leave. The food, out. I can’t trust her. I wish she had died with him because I know could survive on my own; it’s taking care of her that’s the difficult part.”

  • • •

  You didn’t show it, but you were shocked to hear that from her.

  “Yes, she still had her mom. She should have been thankful.”

  The grass is always greener, isn’t it?

  “I’d give a lot to have my mom back. I’d even take one of my dad’s lectures on ‘unhealthy behavior.’ I could really fucking use that right now.”

  At least you still had Grant. You told her about him, didn’t you?

  • • •

  “Grant, the guy with me earlier, he and I take care of each other like brothers. I’ve known him since I was little.”

  “That’s nice. I never had anyone like that. Isn’t he going to wonder where you are?”

  “He was asleep when I left, but if he were to wake up I think he’d know where I went.” Ian hoped it didn’t sound dirty, like all guys think about is bedding the ladies. Which was kind of true, but she didn’t need to know it.

  She seemed to have the same thing on her mind though for she said, “Before we…do anything, I have to feed my mom.”

  Ian’s mom had fed others at the hospital. It was messy and took patience and sometimes the patients didn’t want to eat. Sometimes, they became violent. Often, more of the food ended up on her or on the floor. “Do you actually have to feed her?”

  “No, she can still do that, but I have to prepare the food. I’m the chef.” Ripley dug through a box and pulled out a can of chowder and a very old baguette. It had a few spots of mold on the crust that she carefully cut away. When she was done, Ian took the bread from her and hit it on the card table. It was in the last stage of stale: rock solid.

  “You could kill a man with this,” he joked, trying to lighten the situation.

  She grabbed it back. “Not if you dip it in the soup first. It softens.” She lit the flame of a small camp stove and dumped the chunky chowder into a pot. Once the chowder was warmed, she poured a single bowl and set it down on the floor in front of her mother. She set the baguette next to it and kissed her mother’s forehead.

  “Do you want anything to eat?” Ripley asked.

  Ian shook his head. The last thing he needed before losing his virginity was a belly full of sloshing soup. His stomach was churning anyway, from a mix of excitement and nervousness.

  Ripley grabbed his hand and led him to her bedroom, which was nothing more than a bed and an overturned crate as a table. A sheet hung from the ceiling of the shipping container and acted as a wall. They lay down on her bed, which was only a pile of flattened cardboard covered with a sheet and quilt. She cuddled close to him.

  Ian’s heart began to pound and he could feel his cheeks and his crotch growing warm.

  “I’m sorry if I smell,” she said self-consciously. “I haven’t bathed in a few days.”

  “I’m sure I smell far worse. I’ve been running around a lot.”

  “Yeah and you’re a boy,” she said through a laugh.

  “A boy who forgot to pack his deodorant.”

  “You know, there’s a ‘take one, get one free’ sale at every store in town right now. It wouldn’t be much trouble for you to get some.”

  She’s cute and funny, he thought. How did I get so lucky?

  Ian was quickly running out of things to talk about. His life revolved around Grant and survival, and Grant was the last thing he wanted to bring up. He touched the
thin fabric wall that separated them from Ripley’s mother.

  “It’s a little weird, you know, with your mom out there,” Ian said. He worried she would become bored of her meal, wander over, and snap out of her senility long enough to chew him out for banging her daughter.

  “She doesn’t pay attention anymore,” Ripley replied as she blew out a candle, the only light source.

  “This is my first time,” Ian finally admitted to her in the dark. His hands felt heavy and awkward, but Ripley began to guide them and his nerves calmed. She was obviously not a virgin. There was something primitive about the low bed, the dirt of the construction site, and the metal smell from the container walls. Ian felt an animalistic energy come over him as he entered her. Ripley moaned softly and then covered her own mouth with a hand to stifle the noise.

  After they finished, they lay next to each other in the dark. Now that Ian was no longer a virgin, he was suddenly less shy and couldn’t stop touching her skin. It was soft and warm, made softer and warmer by the juxtaposition of their industrial surroundings. Ian was beginning to fall asleep when a dry and wretched noise came from the “living room” area. “What is that?”

  Ripley sighed. “My mother. I’ll go check on her.” She reached for a flashlight and turned it on. Ian got a quick peek of her naked body before she pulled on her dirty clothes. Ripley dragged her feet as she went to her mother’s aid.

  “Oh my god! She’s choking! Help me!” she called out to Ian.

  Ian felt around for his own clothes, dressed, and ran to them. Ripley pushed the flashlight to his chest. “Hold this!” she yelled.

  He held it above the woman’s face with a trembling hand as she struggled for breath. Ripley plunged a finger down her mother’s throat in an attempt to free the piece of bread, but she only succeeded in lodging it further down.

  “Dammit! Hold the light over her mouth!” she screamed. Ian had closed his eyes from exhaustion, but also to keep from seeing the woman as she was dying and that caused the beam of light to move to an area on the side of her head near her right ear. At some point the woman stopped breathing and her face lost its last spots of color, but still Ripley tried to dislodge the bread.

  Ian put a hand to Ripley’s shoulder. “She’s gone. It won’t help. We need to get out of here,” he warned her, but she was in a daze. Her mother’s eyes were empty, but open. Ian knew it was time to go when he saw them move once again.

  “Ripley!” Ian said forcefully. At that moment, as her name crossed his lips, her mother’s mouth closed on the fingers that were still inside of it. Ripley screamed and yanked until her hand was released. She stared down at the bleeding stumps of three missing fingers.

  • • •

  “I should have pulled her hand out.”

  At least you used your voice that time. You couldn’t do as much for Grant.

  “I could have saved her and let her mother die! And she could have come to live with us and then maybe I never would have let Lena in! Maybe we would have found a better house!”

  Watch your volume. You’ll alert the beasties.

  “She fucking thought she was going to be fine!”

  • • •

  “It’s okay. I just n-n-n-need to sto-p-p-p-p the bleeding,” Ripley stuttered, still unable to take her eyes off of the space where her fingers used to be.

  Ian backed away. “You know that won’t help.” He moved away slowly because he didn’t want to seem like a complete jerk. The wound, though technically non-fatal if treated quickly, would kill her. If the blood loss didn’t end her life, her infected mother’s saliva would. It was toxic and already mixing with her blood, traveling through her veins. She would die.

  She would come back.

  Ripley was in shock and Ian used that to his advantage. He knew he had overstayed his welcome. He closed the shipping container’s door and locked her inside as she had her mother. But he couldn’t yet leave. Her screams from inside where attracting a new group of zombies to the foot of the container tower.

  “Ian! Please open the door! ”

  “You know why I can’t, Ripley! I’m sorry!” He yelled back through the metal door. “I’m sorry.” He listened to her pound on it. Each thwack sent daggers through his heart. Each tearful cry, growing quieter as she weakened, burned his ears.

  “My mom. She’s getting-” Her final words.

  Ian heard a soft thud as Ripley’s body hit the floor. Blood was seeping out from under the door; too much blood. Her death had come.

  He waited for a while longer in the new silence. The dead below began to disperse. Before he climbed down, he heard two sets of dragging feet carrying lifeless bodies around the small and cluttered interior of the shipping container.

  • • •

  She stayed with her mother in death as she had in life.

  “I had a chance to free her.”

  There was no way to know what would become of them.

  • • •

  Tears fell from Ian’s eyes as he walked back to the bungalow. He walked slowly and carelessly, unconcerned if he lived or died. Ian’s reflection in the mirror had changed. He was more mature and defeated at the same time. Grant was still sleeping.

  • • •

  And Grant never knew.

  “No, he didn’t even know that I snuck out that night.”

  But you wanted to tell him.

  “I wanted to brag, but I couldn’t think of Ripley without seeing blood.”

  You still can’t.

  “Will I ever?”

  Grant didn’t let you brag much. He knew you were a wimp. Tell them about the guns. Maybe if you had had one, you could have saved her.

  …I WASN’T TRIGGER HAPPY

  It was one thing to shoot guns in video games and have discussions with your best friend about recoil and stopping power, it was a completely different thing to hold a gun in your hand and take a life. Ian had been purposely avoiding it and, through luck alone, a usable weapon hadn’t presented itself.

  Now, with the Discount Gun Shop dead ahead and Grant’s eyes already dreaming of the haul that awaited them inside, Ian knew he’d be holding one within the hour. And when the inevitable happened, he’d have to pretend that it didn’t scare the hell out of him.

  • • •

  You’re really frightened by a lot of things.

  As soon as his brain thinks the word ‘frightened’, it goes crazy with imagery.

  “I wouldn’t say a lot,” Ian lies.

  You can’t fool me. I see what you see. Long-legged spiders, plane crashes, being alone.

  “That’s why you’re here. If I keep talking to you, I’ll never be alone.”

  Or you’ll always be…

  • • •

  The front door was unlocked. Ian pushed it gently, in case a warning bell triggered or a zombie was just inside. Grant slid through the opening and into the darkness of the shop and Ian followed. They both procured flashlights from their backpacks and shone them on the walls. The pegboards were empty, the display cases too. There wasn’t one single gun in sight.

  “Looks like they sold out a long time ago,” Ian said. He tried to hide his relief. There weren’t any boxes of bullets that he could see either.

  “Dammit!” Grant yelled. He wanted a gun desperately. It was the only weapon that would make him feel safe. His nose caught a strange scent. “What’s that smell?” he asked.

  Ian sniffed the air. “Paint, I think.” He walked slowly behind the counter and into a large storage room. The beam of his flashlight found the source of the smell. “Yeah, it’s paint.”

  Grant came to stand beside Ian. “Fucking hell!” he screamed.

  A large pile of guns, the store’s entire non-looted selection, was sitting in the middle of the floor covered in pink paint. Emptied paint cans littered the perimeter of the pile.

  “Every last one of them is fucking useless!” Grant whined. “We don’t have time to figure out how to clean them.”

  Tho
ugh the smell was strong and the expression on Grant’s face was pitiful, Ian said a silent thank you to whoever had damaged the merchandise. “Someone took what they wanted and made sure no one else had the opportunity.”

  Grant picked up a handgun from the pile, some of the paint on it was still wet. “Who the fuck would do something like this?” he asked, though he had an idea.

  Ian searched the storeroom for the answer and he found it. There, on the door, was a sloppily scrawled set of initials in the same bright pink paint that covered the guns.

  “KK,” Ian said. “Keller did this.”

  Grant dropped the gun and it sent paint splattering outwards from its landing spot. “And the award for asshole of the century goes to…”

  “Well, nothing’s really useful here so maybe we should keep moving.”

  “Can’t you at least pretend to be sad?” Grant knew Ian was uneasy around firearms. The first time they’d played a shooting game on his Xbox, Ian flinched every time he pulled the trigger. “One of these days you’ll have no choice but to fight. Whether the weapon in your hand is a gun or not, well, who knows? But you need to get over this shit. We aren’t kids anymore.”

  • • •

  And yet you still made the other choice.

  “I should have dug through the guns with him. I should have found something useful.

  There had to have been something, but Grant couldn’t find it through his anger.

  “I could have, but I just didn’t want to.”

  The girls at the high school might not have messed with you if you had.

  “Guns do more bad things than good.”

  Like with Markie.

  “Yes, like with him.”

  …I DIDN’T SAVE MARKIE

  Where would you go when the world ends? What places would you avoid? When Grant and Ian saw the Quality Food Center and its parking lot, which had been blocked off by vehicles, it had all the markings of a great place to ride out the apocalypse: few entrances, plenty of food, and loads of open space surrounding it for nothing to take them by surprise. The only thing that kept them from breaking the perimeter was the four or five men that patrolled it; big, bearded men with guns and attitude. They looked frighteningly organized and ready to kill without warning.