Chapter 41
Those first few days after, I saw them every time I closed my eyes. I dreamed of them every time I fell asleep. I woke up screaming every time I dreamed.
In some ways, it’s gotten better since then. Some days, if I keep myself busy, I can go a few hours without seeing them, without thinking about them. Some nights, I don’t have nightmares. Some nights, I don’t dream at all. Those are the best nights, the nights I find it easiest to rest.
But in some ways, it’s gotten worse. Because when I do think of them, when I do see them in my memory or in my dreams, I see them how they became, so much more vividly than I can picture how they were before. As time goes by, it gets harder and harder to see them clearly, to get every little detail – the laugh lines around Leighanne’s eyes; the freckles across Bonnie’s nose; the devilish smile on Brooke’s face - just right in my mind’s eye. Sometimes, I’m afraid a day will come when I won’t remember what they look like anymore.
But I tell myself that will never happen. I have a picture of each of them – an old photo of Leighanne from around the age when I met her, and the twins’ first grade school pictures – that I kept in my wallet, and whenever I worry I’m forgetting, I take them out and look at them, practically study them, like I’m trying to relearn every last detail. Those small, single photos could never capture the spirit of the real people they represent, but they don’t need to. Their spirits, the essence of each of them, live in on my memory. The day may come when I don’t remember the exact shade of Leighanne’s roots, or which twin had a cowlick at the back of the part in her hair, but I will never forget the love my wife and I shared, or the two daughters we brought into the world together.
The world is a different place, and so much has changed since that infernal Friday, it’s almost hard to recall what our lives were like before. But I can’t forget. I don’t want to forget.
Monday, April 16, 2012
9:00 a.m.
Their voices came to him in the midst of his sleep.
“Daddy?”
“Daddy…”
Brian opened his eyes, blinking blearily as they swam into focus: blonde and tiny, standing barely four feet tall beside his bed. He sat up quickly, the tangle of covers falling down from his bare chest. “Brooke,” he croaked, his voice hoarse from sleep. “Bonnie.”
He looked upon his beautiful twin daughters, smiling at him, innocent and angelic, and tears of relief filled his eyes, as he realized he had been dreaming. Their deaths, their transformation into bloodthirsty monsters… all a nightmare.
“Girls… my girls…” He swung his legs over the side of the mattress and opened his arms wide, eager to hold his daughters tightly. They clambered onto his lap, wrestling each other for space as their blonde heads nestled against his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around them both, savoring their soft, warm weight on his knees. The dream had seemed so real, he’d thought he would never hold them on his lap like this again.
He hugged Bonnie to his chest. He ran his hand through Brooke’s silky hair, gently untangling the gnarls made in her sleep. When his fingers got stuck in a particularly knotted clump, he gave a little tug. Brooke’s head tipped back… and when he looked down to make sure he hadn’t hurt her, Brian saw that her face had turned a deathly shade of grayish green. He gave a little gasp of fright, and her head toppled back further, clean off her neck and over his arm, bouncing once off the mattress and landing on the floor with a sickening thunk, where it rolled once and came to a stop.
Brian screamed and let go of his daughter’s decapitated body, watching in horror as the bloody stump of a neck slid out of sight, the body dropping into a heap at his feet. No sooner had he turned to Bonnie than he felt an immense pressure and ripping, tearing pain in his chest. He looked down and saw Bonnie’s fist inside his chest cavity. “No!” he choked, but he could not draw breath back in. He could feel Bonnie’s small fingers literally squeezing his heart, her fingernails digging in, and then, all of a sudden, her arm yanked back, and he retched as his heart was wrenched out of his body.
He looked down in shock at the gaping hole in the center of his chest, then slowly up at his daughter, still sitting on his lap. She was holding his heart up to her mouth; it filled her hand like a large apple, fleshy and blood-soaked, still vigorously beating. She lowered it slightly, revealing a sinister grin, and he saw that her lips were dripping with his blood; it beaded at the corners of her mouth and trickled down her chin. Then she bowed her head, tipping it slightly at an angle, opened her mouth wide, and sank her teeth into the organ.
“No!” he cried again, as she ripped another chunk out of his heart and rose up, stringy bits of vein and sinew dangling from her teeth.
Then, from behind, he heard a woman’s voice whisper his name (“Brian…”), and he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, and he stiffened, for he knew this was Leighanne, and in a second, he would feel her taloned nails dig into his skin, and he would turn, and there she would be, not his beautiful wife, but a monster, dead-eyed and hungry for his flesh…
“No!” he moaned once more, and the grip on his shoulder relaxed, and he could feel the hand moving over his arm. But this hand was not heavy and menacing; it was delicate and very soft, almost comforting…
Brian rolled over in bed, and when he opened his eyes, he saw not Leighanne, but a different woman, a stranger: brown hair, fair skin, and a look of deep concern etched upon her face. It took him a moment to realize the face was not a new one and put a name to it.
“Gretchen,” he mumbled, and as he sat up, his conscious brain sorted his muddled thoughts into clarity, and he became aware of his surroundings once more. This was not his own bed, not his house. He was in a stranger’s home, somewhere just across the Georgia/Florida border, where he and Gretchen had stopped to stay the night. They’d been fearful to travel at night, he recalled, because of the zombies. Those were real, but what he’d just experienced was not.
Only a nightmare, he realized, looking down at his bare chest, which was unblemished but for the scar running down its center. He placed his hand there, his fingers slipping over his clammy, sweat-soaked skin, and felt the reassuring pulse of his heart racing beneath it, and he let out his breath in a long sigh, then inhaled shakily. He felt his heart rate begin to slow as his body started to relax from its dream-induced state of stress.
He looked up at Gretchen, who was gazing back at him, her mouth pursed with pity. “I’m sorry if I startled you,” she said timidly. “You must have been having a nightmare. You were… twitching… and sort of gasping in your sleep. I was afraid you…” She trailed off, shrugging apologetically.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, still taking measured breaths. “It was…” He, too, trailed off, shaking his head. There was no way he was going to relive what he’d just experienced in his sleep. “I’m glad you woke me,” he finished dully.
“No problem. It’s already nine in the morning.”
“What??” Shocked, he turned towards the window nearest his bed. The light filtering through the curtains was still dim and gray.
“It’s raining. The sky’s all dark and overcast.”
Pausing to listen, he could hear the rain now, spattering lightly against the windowpanes. “Oh.”
“Do you… d’you wanna stay here awhile and wait it out, or should we get going?” she asked hesitantly. She seemed to be tiptoeing around him, as if she were afraid of upsetting him. He must have been a sight to see in the throes of his nightmare, he thought, a dull flush creeping up his cheeks.
“Nah, it sounds like a light rain… I think we can drive through it,” he decided, adding, “I mean, if you’re okay with that. If we leave now, we should be able to get to the base before nightfall.”
Gretchen nodded quickly. “That sounds like a good plan.”
They should have been in Tampa by now, thought Brian, as he got up and moved around the room, dressing and gathering up his belongings. With the roads clear, the drive should only have taken seven or eight hours. But the freeways were cluttered with the abandoned vehicles of those who had died in their attempts to escape the plague, and they couldn’t drive as fast or as freely as they normally would. Thus, each mile traveled took significantly longer. They had meandered south for a few more hours the previous afternoon, after leaving the farmhouse, where they had stopped to rest and freshen up and gather supplies. They’d finally reached the Florida state line just before sunset and had agreed to find another place to stop and stay the night. The last thing either of them had wanted was to get stalled in the midst of another horde of zombies in the dark.
They had stopped in another rural area to find a house because lower concentrations of people before the plague struck meant lower concentrations of zombies afterwards. And indeed, after locking up the house and laying low, they had not been bothered all night. Brian’s sleep had been restless, permeated with nightmares and flashbacks, but Gretchen, at least, appeared to have slept reasonably well.
She and Brian repacked the white SUV they had been driving since yesterday with their supplies, a mixture of the few personal possessions they’d brought with them and supplies they had scrounged from the homes they’d stayed in. Another perk of choosing country homes was that the owners tended to be well-stocked with food, both fresh and canned, tools, and weapons. They were now armed with a pair of hunting rifles and plenty of ammo, along with other necessities, and as Brian climbed into the driver’s seat that morning, he felt confident that they would have no trouble making their way down the Florida peninsula to Tampa Bay. If they did run into trouble, this time, they would be prepared.
And so they set off, iPod playing softly, wipers swishing across the rain-spattered windshield, headlights beaming through the gloomy morning mist. Brian’s nightmares were shoved firmly into the depths of his mind, while on the surface, he focused solely on his driving. Their spirits were as high as could be expected, given the circumstances. They had a plan now, at least, and they were hopeful that they would find other survivors – perhaps even, miraculously, cousin Kevin among them – at MacDill Air Force Base. Brian refused to lose sight of that plan, for it was the only thing keeping him going, the only hope he had left to live for.
“I wish I had thought to leave a note or something,” sighed Gretchen, as they wove through the stalled traffic on the freeway. “If Shawn’s made it home by now, he won’t have a clue where I’ve gone…”
She had mentioned this several times before over the past day. Brian knew she was worried about her husband and worried that, if he really had left the army base in Maryland at which he’d been working, he would come home to an empty house and not know what had become of her. He was surprised she hadn’t yet asked to turn back, but she seemed to have enough sense to know better. There was no way he was going to head back to Atlanta, not until he found out what was waiting in Tampa. Likewise, though he sympathized with Gretchen’s situation, he’d had enough sense not to tell her what he really thought – that there was no way her husband would ever make it home alive. He was probably dead – or undead – like everyone else… like Brian’s own spouse… and children…
He swallowed hard, forcing thoughts of his family to the back of his mind again. To Gretchen, he replied, “You couldn’t have left a note; from the sound of things, there wasn’t much time. You had to get out of the house. And anyway, what would you have said? You didn’t know where you were headed till we decided on MacDill.”
She nodded. “I guess you’re right… I just don’t know how I’ll be able to reach him, with the phones down…” She trailed off sadly, and out of the corner of his eye, he watched her fumble with her backpack and take out her cell phone. She turned it on – she’d kept it off to conserve the battery that was left – and played with it for a minute, checking for signal bars, even trying to make a call, but of course, there was still no service. She put the phone back without a word, and Brian kept on driving and didn’t mention it.
They made good time crossing the Florida panhandle, for along their route down I-75, there only seemed to be small towns, few and far between, which meant there were fewer abandoned vehicles to get around. It was only once they reached the intersection with I-10, which ran east towards Jacksonville to west towards Tallahassee, that the freeway became crowded again.
As he navigated through this mess, Brian was aware that they would need to stop and get gas for the SUV soon – that or abandon it for a vehicle with a full tank. But the cloverleaf at this interchange was crawling with rain-soaked zombies, who had forced their way out of their cars that still clogged the exit ramps, and there was no way he was going to leave the freeway – or the SUV, for that matter.
The empty light came on a mile or so past the interchange, and the SUV emitted a friendly warning ding. Gretchen looked over in alarm. “What was that?”
“We’re almost outta gas.”
“What?? Well, we better find somewhere to stop!”
“We will. We can try the next exit.” Brian wasn’t too worried; he knew that most gas tanks had a decent-sized reserve. They were never really empty when the fuel gauge said they were.
But the next exit ramp, a few miles down the interstate, was completely barricaded by stopped cars. “Let’s keep goin’,” Brian said, swerving back into the left lane. “There’s gotta be another exit up the road a ways.”
Gretchen looked uncertainly at the exit sign as they drove past it. “Are you sure? The last thing we need is to run out of gas…”
“We won’t,” Brian insisted, and still, he felt confident. “I reckon we could go another twenty miles on empty. There’s bound to be a clear exit in that span.”
And he kept on driving.
They had traveled only ten miles or so – which took nearly half an hour, during which time they saw no exits, clear or otherwise – before the engine began to sputter. Gripping the wheel tightly, Brian heard Gretchen’s sharp intake of breath beside him. She didn’t say “I told you so,” only looked at him with wide, frightened eyes, as he grimaced and took his foot off the accelerator, allowing the SUV to coast.
“There!” he said suddenly, pointing to a green sign up ahead. “There’s an exit up there! There’ll be a gas station. We can make it down the ramp if we coast.”
He fed the engine the last of its gas, giving them enough acceleration to reach the exit sign. Ellisville, it read, with an arrow directing them to the off ramp. The engine died as he swerved onto the ramp, but the SUV hurtled down it with no trouble in neutral. Afraid to brake, he blew past the stop sign at the foot of the ramp and took the turn practically on two wheels. Next to him, Gretchen had reached up to grasp the clothes hanger bar above her door and was clutching it tightly, white-faced.
“Almost there,” Brian chanted, spotting the sign for a gas station up ahead on the two-lane road. Unfortunately, the road was flat, and the momentum of his acceleration slowed, until at last, the SUV slid to a stop. Brian released his breath in a low sigh. “Well,” he said, gazing out the windshield. “We’re close, anyway. The station’s right up there. We just need to walk and fill a gas can; that’ll give us enough juice to get the car up to the pumps.”
Gretchen bit her lip. “What if there are zombies?”
They both looked out the windows, all around. It was hard to see out, through the misty drizzle, but they didn’t see any of the undead, nor hear their distant moans of hunger. “I think we can make it,” said Brian. “Listen, if you want, I’ll go, and you can stay here in the car. If you lay low with the doors locked…”
Gretchen shook her head furiously. “No way, I’m not staying in here by myself. If we’re going anywhere, we’re going together.”
Brian nodded. “Alright,” he agreed. “Then we’re goin’, right? Because sittin’ here ain’t gonna do us any good.”
“I guess you’re right,” Gretchen sighed. “We might as well go now, before any of them show up. But let’s take the guns, just in case.”
“Definitely.” Cautiously, Brian climbed out of the SUV. He stood by the driver’s side door for a moment, looking and listening, and when he was satisfied that nothing was going to jump out at him, he went around back and opened up the hatchback to retrieve the weapons. When Gretchen came around to join him from the other side, he saw that she was carrying her backpack.
“I threw everything back in it,” she explained, “just in case.”
He nodded. “Good planning.” He handed her one of the loaded rifles, taking the other for himself, and closed the trunk on the rest of their supplies. Then they started up the road at a fast walk, which quickly turned into a jog. The rain rapidly drenched them, but getting wet was the least of their concerns. As she trotted ahead of him, her bag bouncing on her back, Gretchen repeatedly looked right and left, like a scared animal. Brian didn’t blame her. He did the same.
He felt a feeling of immense relief when they reached the gas station and found the building unlocked. They ducked in quickly, found a gas can, and hurried back outside to the nearest pump. It was only once Brian reached up to select options on the pump that he realized the electronic screen was dark and blank. “Oh no,” he groaned.
“What? What’s wrong with it?”
“No power. Modern gas pumps run off electricity, same as everything else. The pumps are shut off; they won’t work.”
“How are we gonna get gas??” Gretchen’s voice rose shrilly as panic set in.
“I dunno,” Brian sighed, looking around. “Lemme think…” He racked his brain, eyeing the covered manholes around the perimeter of the station, which he knew lead to the gas tanks underground. If they could pry off one of the covers, maybe they’d be able to rig up a hose and siphon gas manually straight from…
“Brian!” Gretchen gasped suddenly, and he felt her grab his arm. She turned him around, and, following her line of sight, he saw her cause for alarm.
Zombies had appeared on the outskirts of the property, emerging from the trees, rising out of flooded drainage ditches. Moaning at the scent of living flesh on the wet breeze, they converged upon the gas station.
Brian looked around wildly for a means of escape, his mind racing, heart pounding, adrenaline pumping. There were two cars parked at the station; if just one of them had keys inside, they could drive off before the zombies reached them. “Check that car for keys!” he ordered Gretchen, pointing to a Cadillac pulled up to one of the far pumps. While she darted off, he hurried over to the pick-up truck parked in a space in front of the building. But both doors were locked, and peering through the windows, he didn’t see keys inside. When he looked up and over at Gretchen, she was already running back towards him, shaking her head in defeat.
“No keys,” she confirmed. “Nothing here either?”
He shook his head, feeling panic starting to rise up his throat, as the zombies staggered closer.
“Let’s go inside,” said Gretchen. “We can lock the door and hide out in a back room or something until they go away.”
Brian saw no other option. He gave a single nod of agreement, and together, they ran back inside, as the zombies shambled across the forecourt towards them, their clumsy feet splashing through puddles of rain. Brian slammed the glass door shut and fumbled with the lock, while Gretchen looked around in dismay. “The whole front of this building is nothing but windows,” she observed. “Do you think they’ll crash their way through?”
Brian rapped his knuckles on the glass. “It’s probably safety glass. They’d want it to be strong, in case of a car crashing through… or an armed robbery or something…”
“Wait…” Gretchen’s eyes suddenly widened. “I have an idea! Open that door again.”
“What? But…” He looked outside. The zombies had reached the pumps.
“Just do it!” Gretchen raised her rifle. Brian quickly unlocked the door and thrust it open, but she wasn’t pointing the gun at him. She aimed through the open door instead. He realized what she was about to do a split second before the did, and as soon as she pulled the trigger, he fell upon her, throwing her to the floor and covering her body with his own as a colossal boom rocked the station.
He felt the wave of heat sweep over him and heard the roar of flames. Looking up and over his shoulder, he saw a massive fireball rising up from the pump Gretchen had shot. Burning debris from the explosion littered the pavement, and several zombies tottered around in flames, their dead flesh melting away from their bodies in sheets.
To his surprise, the front windows of the station had not shattered with the blast; indeed, the glass was as strong as – perhaps stronger than – he had hoped. The fire seemed contained to the pump embankments for now – perhaps the falling rain was helping to keep it under control – but he imagined more explosions, as the other pumps went up, and couldn’t imagine they’d be safe in front of a wall of glass. “Come on,” he muttered to Gretchen, pulling her up from the floor as he climbed to his feet. They staggered off to the back of the building, where there was a door marked Employees Only. They pushed their way through, and Gretchen screamed.
There was a lone zombie wandering stupidly around the back room. At the sight of them – and the sound of Gretchen’s scream – it halted in its tracks and looked right at them, letting out a rather excited moan. Immediately, it started lurching towards them. This time, Brian raised his gun, and with a single shot to the forehead, sent the zombie crashing to the floor.
“Can we get rid of it?” pleaded Gretchen, eyeing the fallen zombie warily.
Obediently, Brian grabbed its legs and dragged it out of the back room, across the tiled floor of the building, and kicked it through the door, which he’d forgotten to re-secure in his haste to take shelter from the explosions. Rolling the dead zombie out onto the wet pavement, he closed the door and latched it, then ran back to Gretchen. He found her trying to drag a set of supply shelves across the floor – “to block the door,” she grunted, struggling. Brian hurried to help her, and together, they moved the shelves against the closed door to the back room, barricading themselves in.
Once that was done, he looked around. The room was small and windowless, with a table and a couple of chairs, a coffee maker and a few snacks strewn about. They wouldn’t last long using it as their bunker, but for now, until the flames died down and the remaining zombies with them, it would have to suffice.
He and Gretchen hunkered down in the pair of chairs to wait it out.
