WILL
He dreamt of Lara. Of white sandy beaches. A perfect breeze and the soft glow of blonde hair in the sun. Soft skin under his fingers, and kissable lips.
Lara…
“You know how to make a girl jealous,” a voice said.
He opened his eyes slowly, painfully. The spiderwebbed front windshield of the Ford F-150 was the first thing that came into view. Behind that, sunlight filtered in through holes along the steel garage door and from crevices around it.
“What time is it?” His voice sounded more like a guttural groan. How long had he been asleep?
“Morning,” Zoe said.
“What time?”
“You have a watch. Look at it.”
“I can’t feel my arms.”
Zoe leaned over, lifted his right hand, and showed him the face of his watch: 9:15 a.m.
“There,” she said. “Happy?”
“I slept through the night?”
She smiled down at him. “Yes and no.”
A bottle of water magically appeared in her hand. She tipped the opening against his lips and he opened his mouth and drank. Rain water. It still tasted better than no water, and his throat was parched.
“You slept through the last two nights,” she said.
“Two nights?”
“You almost died, Will. Again.” She frowned at him. “Honestly, I don’t know how you’re still alive right now. You’re basically seventy percent flesh and blood and thirty percent sutures. You almost bled out the last time you were conscious.”
“Good thing I’m stubborn.”
“No kidding.”
He struggled to sit up. She put her hand on his chest and pushed him back down. She must have been stronger than she looked, because he couldn’t move at all against her palm. That, or he was half dead and had little strength to resist.
“Slowly,” Zoe said. “Okay? Slowly.”
He laid back down and calmed his breathing. Better.
“The good news is, your sutures are holding and you’re not bleeding anymore,” she said.
“The bad news?”
“I tried washing your shirt in the rain, but I’m not very good at laundry.”
She held up his shirt. There were still blood stains on it, and it smelled like rain. He smiled and took it, put it on the dashboard for later. She offered him the bottle again, and he drank some more.
“Lara,” she said.
“What about her?”
“You kept saying her name in your sleep.”
“I guess I was dreaming about her.”
“I figured,” she smiled. “Hungry? I’ve been filling you up with nothing but water for the last two and a half days.”
“There’s food in my pack…”
“There was food in your pack. I ate it.” She picked up a plastic Phillips 66 bag from her floor. “But the gas station next door had some food on the shelves. Lots of stale chips, Pringles, and plenty of beef jerky and other nonperishables.”
She took out a can of Dole fruit and pulled the tab free. He smelled syrup-drenched artificial flavoring and immediately thought of Gaby.
At least one of us made it back home…
“You need to be careful about going outside the garage by yourself,” he said.
She gave him a wry look. “Give me a break. I’ve been doing it for the last two days while you were sleeping on your ass in here. I know you’re the big bad Army Ranger, but I do have some survival instincts of my own, you know. Besides—” she picked up something from the dashboard—his cross-knife “—I had this. You religious or something?”
“No.”
“So what’s with the cross?”
“You see a cross, I see a knife.”
“So, cross-knife?”
“Something like that.”
She handed it back to him, and Will slipped it into its sheath along his left hip.
“Did you have to use it?” he asked.
“No.”
“Anyone looking for us while I was out?”
“I don’t know if they were looking for us specifically, but while I was outside I saw a lot of movement along the highway the last few days. And a couple of vehicles came close enough a couple of times that I could hear them from inside the garage.” She pulled open a stick of Jack Link’s beef jerky and took a bite. Teriyaki-flavored beef drifted from her seat to his. “This thing isn’t half bad. I can see why you like it.”
He sporked a chunk of pineapple into his mouth, tried to chew it a little bit before swallowing.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said after a while.
“I’m not sure I could stop you if I wanted to, so go ahead.”
“Would you have really shot me back there at the camp, if the others had opened fire on us?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Because if they opened fire, chances are one of them would have shot you by accident first.”
She glared at him. “God, you’re such a dick.”
He wanted to laugh, but the most he could manage was a soft chuckle.
She went back to eating the jerky while he fished out the final piece of pineapple, then tilted the can over his lips and drank down the sugary liquid.
When Will lowered the can, he saw that the garage had gotten noticeably darker. He checked his watch just to make sure his internal clock wasn’t out of whack. No, it was still just 12:11 p.m.
“It’s getting darker,” he said. He glanced up at the roof. “Rain.”
The first drop hit Fredo’s rooftop on cue, quickly followed by sheets of rain pouring down across the holes and crevices along the closed garage doors.
“Good thing I went shopping earlier today,” Zoe said.
*
The rain made him feel better, and allowed him to relax and concentrate on not dying. The daylight kept the ghouls away, and rain kept the collaborators hunkered down. He wasn’t sure if they still had pursuers, but he always liked to keep his options open.
He got some of his strength back, enough that he could climb out of the truck on his own and walk around in the tight confines of the garage while barefoot. (He didn’t recall when Zoe had taken off his boots.) Every muscle ached and joints popped with every move, but he kept shuffling anyway until he got the hang of it again.
Zoe watched him carefully, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was admiration he saw in her eyes or pity. Probably a combination of both. Eventually, he got enough strength back to pull his shirt on.
By three in the afternoon, the rain was still pounding on Fredo’s, and water had seeped into the garage under the closed doors. He slipped his socks and boots back on and continued his movements. He felt better with every step, every hour on his feet. His strength wasn’t there yet, and it would be a while before he was his old self. The good news was that he barely felt the sutured wound along his thigh, and the one in his side was manageable as long as he didn’t think about it too much.
He ate his share of the beef jerky and canned food Zoe had scavenged from the Phillips 66 next door. Whenever they ran out of water—which was often—they refilled it outside in the rain, taking turns. Zoe regulated his medication, not that there was enough variety to choose from. The pain was unavoidable, but he soldiered through it and thought of something else.
The island. Lara. Danny’s bad jokes. Sarah’s cooking.
He was at least heartened that Gaby and Nate had probably made it back to the island by now. He had no way of knowing for sure, but Gaby was resourceful, and even injured, Nate had proven himself to be a good companion for her.
Teenage love in the apocalypse lives after all.
*
When he opened his eyes again later that night, it was pitch dark inside the truck, and he couldn’t hear the sound of rain anymore, only the soft and steady drip-drip-drip of leftover water falling off the sides of the building.
Nightfall.
He could see the whites of Zoe’s eyes. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, hands over her legs. She was staring at him as he stirred awake.
“They’re outside,” she whispered. Her lips trembled, making it sound as if she were stuttering.
He looked down at his watch, the hands glowing bright green in the darkness: 10:39 p.m.
Will twisted slightly in his seat, grimacing with the pain (Ignore it), and reached into the back for his M4A1 rifle. There, the cold but comfortable feel of well-worn metal. He pulled it forward by the barrel and into his lap. He ran his hands over the carbine, checking to make sure everything was where it should be.
Zoe was looking at the closed garage door in front of them now. Moonlight filtered in through the tiny crevices at the bottom and along the sides, as if the door were glowing in the dark. Figures—thin, gaunt shapes—darted across the other side, never staying at one spot for very long, and the sound of splashing puddles that had accumulated in the parking lot after the day’s rain.
How many? More than two. Possibly five. Likely more than that.
His gun belt was on the floor. He reached down and tugged the Glock gently out of its holster and checked to make sure he had a full magazine inside. He slipped it back into the holster, the slide of the Glock’s plastic polymer against leather like fingernails on a chalkboard. He carefully wrapped the gun belt around his waist and pulled it tight, ignoring the brief flash of pain. He was glad he had swallowed extra painkillers when Zoe wasn’t looking.
His pack rested between the two front seats; he picked it up and calmly, silently searched for the spare magazines inside. He had two spares for the M4A1 and two for the Glocks. All silver ammo. He had given the rest to Gaby.
“What are we going to do?” Zoe whispered, her voice impossibly strained.
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
Her eyes trembled and widened, over and over again.
“We’ll be fine,” he whispered.
There was a loud bang! as one of the ghouls crashed into the steel garage door. The whole building seemed to shake for an instant, before another one of the creatures smashed into the same door just as it was settling.
Zoe almost screamed, but somehow managed to stop herself in time.
“Did you latch the garage doors?” he asked.
Will had dispensed with the whispering now. The ghouls clearly knew they were inside, and he could see the number of figures increasing through the slits. There were so many that they completely overwhelmed the slivers of moonlight that were once visible.
Twenty. Maybe thirty…
Zoe managed to nod back at him, her voice trembling when she answered. “I couldn’t find the keys to lock them in place.”
“It’s okay, neither could I.”
He had looked everywhere the first time they had spent the night at Fredo’s, but the keys were nowhere to be found. The garage doors were simply latched, but not locked. It was one of the reasons why Will didn’t like staying in a place more than once. Betting on the ghouls missing you two times in a row was asking for trouble. Betting on three days in a row was begging for it.
Dead, not stupid.
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Zoe said suddenly.
“No.”
She was trying to read his face. Will smiled back at her. He had mastered hiding his emotions years ago. Fear, happiness—things that could be tempered with the right combination of resolve and denial.
He was very aware that there was a way out of this. The hazmat suit. It was still crumpled on the floor behind his seat, where he had tossed it days ago after they escaped the camp. He could put it on and probably survive tonight. Probably. He wasn’t entirely confident that was even true. Were the ghouls ordered not to attack any hazmat suits? Or just people wearing the uniforms at certain locations?
Too many questions, too many possibilities.
Not that it mattered. There was Zoe to think about. She had saved his life, even when she didn’t have to. He couldn’t pay that back now by grabbing the suit and leaving her to fend for herself. Besides, there was still a way out of this.
“We’ll be fine,” he said. “I just need you to stick with me, okay?”
“I don’t want to die, Will.”
“You won’t.”
Zoe jumped at the sound of footsteps moving across the roof above them. The truck’s windows were open, as they had been for the last three days. He could hear the steady, unmistakable patter of soft, bare feet treading over wet, loose gravel.
Definitely more than one. Probably a dozen…
“Oh, God,” Zoe whispered. “What are they doing up there?”
They’re probing, looking for a weak spot.
He said instead, “I need to get behind the steering wheel, Zoe, and you need to get in the back.”
“Why?”
“Just in case.”
He could tell she wanted to ask, “Just in case of what?”, but she didn’t. Maybe she already knew, or maybe she didn’t want to know.
He grabbed her hand when he saw her reaching for the door handle. “No, just climb into the back.”
She untangled her long limbs, then slowly (and so, so cautiously) climbed into the backseat. Will slipped over and settled in behind the steering wheel. He laid the M4A1 across the front passenger seat, the stock facing him for an easy grab. He made sure he knew where the power switches for the windows were—right next to his left arm, along the driver’s side door. That was important, since both front windows were open. He wondered how long it would take them to close. Five seconds? Maybe.
Zoe had left the Ford’s key in the ignition. He could hear her letting out short, labored breaths behind him, like machine guns. He didn’t blame her. The sound of ghouls moving above them was disconcerting. He had been through it countless times, and it still got to him.
“Will?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“Yeah?”
“Was I wrong? For doing what I did? At the camps, with all those pregnant women?”
The question surprised him, especially since she had defended herself so well. But there were very real doubts in her voice now. Doubt, and very real regret.
“No,” he said. “You did what you had to do. No one can blame you.”
“Do you?”
“No. I don’t blame you, Zoe.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded, and slowly tuned out the noises from above. That was a distraction. He could almost sense them trying to lull him, like sirens grabbing at his attention.
Instead, he focused on the garage door directly in front of him. That was where the danger would come from. It would take too much effort to crash through the roof, but the doors, held down by a simple latch that could be opened from both sides, was the real problem. All it would take was for one ghoul to realize that…
Then he saw the door moving slightly—ever so slightly—and Will put his hand over the key. Behind him, he heard a soft click, and grinned at the image of Zoe putting on her seatbelt.
Buckle up, here they come.
Before he had even finished his thought, they threw the garage door open—first one, then the other—with such a sudden explosion of sound and fury that he actually jumped. His senses, already overloaded, went into overdrive when he glimpsed darkness beyond and the ghouls packed into the parking lot.
Then every inch of him erupted into action.
He flicked the key in the ignition and heard the F-150 roar to life about the same time the first ghoul leaped through the door, which was still in the process of sliding open, and landed on the hood, scrambling on all fours up to the damaged window. Will ignored its gaunt face and slobbering mouth—caverns of twisted and brown and yellow teeth—and slammed his fingers down on the power window switches. His right hand was already moving, falling down on the gear shift and pulling it into drive.
The ghoul was perched directly in front of him, glaring through the windshield with intense dark eyes, as if it could will itself through the bullet holes. Will slammed down on the gas pedal just as two—three—four more of the creatures flung themselves through the air and landed on the hood with loud thumps.
More plopped against the windshield and careened off as the F-150 powered forward and burst out of the garage, all four tires spinning desperately under its massive bulk.
The headlights had popped on automatically as soon as he turned the key, and Will saw a sea of ghouls crowding around the parking lot. They seemed to fly at him, landing and bouncing off the hood and windshield and sides of the vehicle like baseballs, each impact denting and cratering but doing nothing to halt the momentum of the almost 5,000-pound vehicle.
He heard the loud crunch of bodies and bones and skulls under the truck’s large twenty-nine inch tires, most of it lost in the roar of a powerful engine designed to tow over 11,000 pounds. Against that kind of brute force, creatures that were essentially bags of skin and bones didn’t stand a chance.
By now both windows were fully closed, though that didn’t stop the ghouls from endlessly smashing into them with their fists—and skulls—anyway. It was a hail Mary of sharp, bony bodies, jackhammering fists, and flailing legs coming from everywhere even as the truck battered its way down Fredo’s driveway and into the streets, splashing puddles as it went. The truck’s magnificently bright headlights flashed across scowling faces and shrunken bodies.
There had to be hundreds. Thousands. The streets were lined with them. Wall upon wall of shriveled figures, so many that eventually even the truck began to slow down under the onslaught, the number of crushed ghouls clogging up the tires and undercarriage.
“There’s too many!” Zoe shouted from the backseat.
Gee, thanks for the fine observation, Zoe.
He jerked the steering wheel and took the F-150 off the streets and into the grass. Instantly, he felt the difference in how the vehicle handled, minus the bodies trying to cling to it from every inch of the roof, hood, and sides. He was pretty sure a number of the creatures had leaped into the truck bed and were now clinging on for dear life, but he didn’t have time to look in the rearview mirror to make sure.
Now that he had abandoned the strip mall, he was moving through uncharted territory. Literally. The ground before and around and under him was constantly shifting, from smooth asphalt to concrete to grass and back again. Every bump and hop and sudden dip threatened to send them careening to their deaths. The truck was rising and falling more than it was moving on solid ground. It took all of his concentration not to broadside parked vehicles or take a tree head-on.
And through it all, the cascading sounds of bodies bouncing off the hood and grill and back bumper. The squeal of flesh trying to grapple onto the smooth sides of the truck to no avail. The constant glimpses of marble eyes, like small rain drops of tar, pouring at him from left and right and front and back, and at one point, he swore they were falling out of the sky, too.
We’re going to die. Soon, the truck will run out of gas, and we’re going to die.
Then, like a tunnel opening up in an ocean of nothingness, he saw it in the distance. It was long and lean and looked tiny, but that was only because it was still too far away to see in any detail. It was bright, blinding whiteness in a dark universe. He remembered seeing it days ago when he first drove through Harvest. It was a kilometer away, maybe more.
Doable.
He stepped on the gas and the truck poured it on, crunching ghouls and turning skulls and bones to dust and pulverizing skin into paper. Would that even kill them? He wasn’t so sure. He had seen ghouls moving with half their heads literally caved in, seen severed hands still acting like they had minds. Compared to those things, getting caught under a truck’s tires was probably child’s play.
Behind him, Zoe was screaming. He wasn’t entirely sure why she had suddenly let loose. Was it the fear? The sight of the ghouls flinging themselves at them with wild abandon? He couldn’t really blame her; if he were seeing it all for the first time, he might have lost it, too.
He tuned her out instead and concentrated on the objective in front of him. Literally. It was getting closer, becoming more and more real as the truck tore across the open land. He was leaving the ghouls behind, but he had no illusions that this small victory was going to last. He could outrun them, but only for a little while.
There were too many; they were simply everywhere, coming out of every inch of darkness around him. And they weren’t going to give up. Not as long as he was out here in the wide open with them.
He slammed his foot down on the accelerator and willed the truck to go faster. In the back, Zoe was screaming her head off.
Plan Z, Danny.
You would have loved this one, buddy…