Love & Decay
A Novella Series
Episode Nine
By Rachel Higginson
Copyright@ Rachel Higginson 2013
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To Zach,
This would not exist without you.
Just like so many other things.
Chapter One
699 Days after initial infection
“I’m not going in there.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, no I am not.”
“Yes, yes you are.”
“Nope.”
“Fine, I’ll go in by myself. I’m sure it will be fine. I’m sure I won’t get bit. I’m sure I won’t die and leave you alone to take care of Kane all by yourself.”
“I hate you.”
Hendrix grinned at me, “You opposite of hate me, Babe.”
“God, you’re full of yourself.” I rolled my eyes, but he already won. And the worst part was, he knew it. I readied my weapon, double checked my butterfly knife in my pocket, my second gun in my other pocket and the two extra clips in my back pockets, and then triple checked the safety was off in the handgun I was holding.
Hendrix sobered. “Are you ready?”
I let out a slow, steady breath and forced my mind into submission and my body into adrenaline charged readiness. “I’m ready.”
“Shopping list?” he asked in a low, serious voice.
“Alcohol, gauze, pain pills, Neosporin, aloe and tweezers if they have them. But forceps would be better.”
“And towels. And iron pills.”
“Oh, right. Iron pills. Hopefully those won’t be picked over.” I sighed and glanced back at the van, idling in the parking lot. Vaughan gave me a curious but impatient look. No doubt he wanted to know if I wanted him to come out here.
Which I kind of did.
But I couldn’t ask him to leave the van full of his brothers, sister, my best friend and the Allen’s. Even though I wanted to. Well, I wanted everyone to leave the van and leave Kane behind so Feeders could find him and finish him off.
Ugh.
I didn’t really want that.
Ok, maybe I did.
Ok, obviously I couldn’t decide what I wanted! Kane showing up out of the blue, injured, unconscious and vulnerable pushed a riot of emotions into my stomach. I was nervous and angry, dreading the moment he would wake up, kind of hoping he would just die and also hating myself for feeling that way.
The guilt was probably the worst. I didn’t have a justifiable reason to hate Kane as much as I did. And I really didn’t have a reason to wish him dead.
But I also did that.
At the exact same time I felt all of that, I also didn’t want to deal with him. I just wanted him gone. Not dead, but gone. And the only way to get rid of him was to make sure he got better. This was the reason we were on a Walgreens run.
The empty store looked looted and picked over already, but it was the first one we’d come to since escaping Tulsa only hours before. Kane needed first aid- now- so Hendrix and I were off to get him some.
We couldn’t all leave the van with Kane incapacitated in the back. And after Tyler wandered off on her own last night- effectively giving us all panic attacks- Vaughan wasn’t excited about the idea of splitting us up more than we had to.
Both Vaughan and Nelson wanted to come out here with Hendrix, but my vote won because, well, mostly, because I promised second base later if Hendrix let me. Was that underhanded? Possibly.
Ok, definitely.
But I desperately needed to get out of the vehicle. Kane’s presence choked me in a way that was way too extreme for even our constantly life-threatening circumstances. I knew that. I knew my response to Kane was more over-reaction than logical, rational thinking.
But I couldn’t help it.
“Reagan,” Hendrix called my attention back to him with his deep, intense voice.
I faced him, my eyes meeting his ice blue ones. He shaved yesterday, before we had to flee the gift shop, so his beard was shorter than I had ever seen it- just a scruffy shadow across his jaw. He had a cut under his eye from our scuffle last night and another one near his hair line, but it was partially covered by his floppy hair. He was so put together for the end of the world. I found it macabrely amusing. Here I was, greasy hair, no makeup, too skinny and a solid layer of blood and dirt caking my entire body. Hendrix looked like a movie star playing in the movie adaptation of the end of the world. I looked more like the end of the world ate me, digested me and then threw me back up. I was the worst version of homeless and street urchin possible.
Life was not exactly fair.
And I meant that for Hendrix’s sake. Life wasn’t fair for him. I got to stare at him all day, while he was stuck searching for rubber gloves so he wouldn’t catch the black plague if he touched me. I was definitely getting the better bargain here.
“Hmmm?” I asked when I realized he was just watching at me.
“I,” Hendrix started to say something and I could immediately tell he was more serious than normal. My heart kicked up a notch in my chest and my stomach immediately clenched with anticipation. But then his shoulders sagged and he blew out a frustrated breath. “Try not to die, yeah?”
I smirked. “Ever the romantic.”
“I’m serious,” he growled.
I saluted with the barrel of my gun just to drive him nuts. “Yes, sir.”
He shook his head at me disbelievingly and then put his shoulder into the debris stopped door. He grunted with the effort to push the door past the shattered glass and other random broken items keeping it lodged closed. It finally creaked open and we slipped inside.
Guns up, we gazed around the dark store and listened for sounds indicating doom and gloom. It was barely morning outside and the only light that filtered into the store was from the hazy sun sitting low on the eastern horizon. The only space that let in the light was from the front doors, but it would have to be enough for now. We weren’t pulling out the flashlight when we needed to keep our guns in hand.
Some naïve hope that refused to leave my body or give up on a Zombie-free Utopia, held out for the possibility there wouldn’t be any Feeders lurking in the darkness here; that this would be a quick and painless run.
That hope should have been squashed, stomped on and burned in the eternal Zombie fires of hell years ago. But it was there all the same. And it tended to pop up just in time to get severely disappointed.
And honestly, the smell should have helped define my expectations. But these days everything smelled like Zombie-rot- including my hair.
Before I could even fully register just how disappointed I was to be headed back into the fray, Hendr
ix fixed his weapon on his target and fired three times. I jumped with each pull of the trigger, but pulled it together enough to follow after him when he went to call the time of death on his victim.
The gunshots set off the other Feeders hiding out somewhere beyond the front racks of candy and makeup and before Hendrix could investigate his entry points on the twitching, decaying body at our feet, three more Feeders were emerging from the aisles.
Hendrix took a step forward and started firing into the front line of our enemy. I was right behind him, left hand supporting right hand, bullet count in my head, ready to tick down, mean, vengeful spirit in check and ready to annihilate these hungry bastards.
I took a step forward at the same time the half-dead undead grabbed my ankle from his grave on the tiled floor. His firm, stiff hold sent me sprawling forward. A scream ripped from my throat as my gun flew from my grasp when my hands hit the cold floor. In the impact, my forehead slammed down between my outstretched arms and I felt the crack of my skull against hard, unforgiving tile all the way to the base of my spine.
I groaned and turned over, too busy to worry about head injuries or the flow of blood clouding my vision. The back of my neck burned with a searing pain and soon my face was covered in sticky blood. I promised myself head injuries simply bled more than others and this was nothing critical- my brain was not in fact, oozing from my forehead, even though it felt like it was. I wiped at my face with my flannelled at the same time I kicked out at the Feeder still grasping at my feet.
This took up three whole seconds of time, but it felt infinite with all the different struggles I was having. The Zombies Hendrix was fighting off became raving at the scent of my fresh blood and the one still holding my foot managed to turn his body and clamp down on the rubber sole of my shoe.
Holy hell that was f-ing close.
I frantically clawed at my pocket, desperate to get at my backup gun or knife, or anything that would keep this Feeder from moving beyond his appetizer to the main course of Leg of Reagan.
“Hendrix!” I pleaded for help. I glanced up at him, but he was shooting furiously to keep the other three away. He couldn’t get an exact shot on any of them because he was taking on three at a time.
He glanced over his shoulder at me and I felt his furious curse more than heard it. In one swift, expert move, he turned his body just enough to get a shot at the Feeder gnawing on my shoe and finish off his kill. The Zombie slumped back onto the ground while I finally pulled out my extra gun.
I clicked the safety off, just as Hendrix ran out of bullets and had to reload his clip. The other three Feeders, who had been shot but not put down, converged forward. Their moaning turned to ravaging, excited groans and from my upside down view from the floor I watched their foamy, mucousy drool drip down their deteriorating chins and land on their frayed shirts. Even through my blood-blocked vision, I could see how disgusting and far advanced they were. Their eyes were blood red, and their bones, while white and marrowy, were clearly exposed through layers of tattered flesh.
And then my life flashed before my eyes- all twenty years of it. From birth, to small-town Iowa living, to survival during the Zombie Apocalypse, I watched it all fly by when one of the Feeders broke from the pack and launched himself at me.
I could barely see. The blood was stinging my eyes and I squinted against the fresh pain and frustrating sightlessness. I raised my arms at the same time my heart and lungs stopped working. I fired blindly into the flying Feeder and said a desperate prayer. I heard someone screaming and vaguely registered that it was me.
More gunshots sounded from what felt like everywhere around me. But I swear, I blacked out into an alternate reality where time actually stopped. The flop of a body, hitting the ground next to my head brought me spiraling back to reality and I finally took another breath at the same time relieved tears mingled with the still flowing blood from my head.
I think I went into shock for a few seconds because when I finally came back to myself Hendrix was putting out a shaking hand to me and the gunfire had ceased.
“Holy shit, Reagan,” he panted. I could tell how shaken up he was by his trembling tone. “You have got to stop doing that to me! I’m not going to survive you almost not surviving!”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I was still lying on the floor in a puddle of my own blood. I wasn’t really sorry, just like I knew Hendrix wasn’t really asking for an apology. But I didn’t know what else to say. He wasn’t the only one worried about a heart attack. Seriously, I was getting so sick and tired of these life and death scenarios.
Not that I could do anything to stop them.
Except maybe go back to The Colony.
When a hysterical laugh escaped my lips, Hendrix’s brow furrowed and I decided it was better to keep that crazy thought to myself. I finally accepted his hand and let him pull me to my feet. I was a little unsteady, but whether it was from blood loss or the fact that I was almost Feeder food- twice- was up in the air.
He whipped off his shirt, exposing all his lean, defined golden muscles. But he wasn’t stripping for my pleasure. First, he carefully and methodically wiped it over my face and eyes so I could see again. Then he wrapped the shirt around my head, tying it tightly with the long sleeves. He ended his triage with a gentle kiss on my bandaged forehead.
He pulled me into a hug and breathed into my neck. We didn’t have time for his show of affection, but I needed the safety of his arms just as much as he needed reassurance that I was still alive and well. I squeezed him back and sniffled against his heartbeat.
“I’m alright,” I promised. “We have to get moving.”
“Right,” he agreed but still took two more seconds to hold me close.
Finally we separated and stepped over the now-confirmed dead Zombies. We picked our way through the debris from looters and mess the Zombies had made while they hung out here to hide from the daylight, or stock up on tampons- I didn’t really know why they chose to hide indoors instead of out on the street. But ever since the beginning this had mostly been the case. Unless they were on the hunt for fresh flesh, they tended to hide out from the sun and stick to the dark, shadowy places.
A rundown, abandoned Walgreens apparently counted as one of those dark and shadowy places.
I found three packs of washcloths and one two-pack of dishtowels that Hendrix put inside his over the shoulder messenger bag. We were moving systematically toward the pharmacy that was located in the back corner of the store.
We turned down another aisle and found tweezers. They were scattered across the floor, but still packaged. Hendrix grabbed some and we moved on.
Moving forward we ended up in the “Family Planning” aisle. Hendrix was behind me, so when I felt him stop I turned around to see what new treasure he found.
I expected something life-changing like penicillin or electricity.
But life-changing was apparently subjective, because he was staring at something I would have never thought to pick up in a million years. Or for at least another few months. Yeesh.
Condoms.
The boy had stumbled upon boxes of condoms.
And he was staring at them like they were the Holy Grail.
I watched with mortified fascination as he seemed to come to some sort of conclusion in his
hormonal head and then grab them by the handfuls and stuff them into his bag! He kept his attention firmly on his task, refusing to look at me.
I would have paid a thousand dollars for his thoughts at that moment.
I mean, that was awfully presumptuous, right? Or was it just careful planning for the future?
Oh, good grief, I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear forever.
This was not happening.
When Hendrix had cleared out Walgreens of their entire stock of rubbers- every size, shape and color- he finally turned around so we could get on with our original task. I schooled my expression just fast enough to meet him with one raised eyebrow and a frown.
His face flushed bright red before he even opened his mouth to explain and it took everything in me not to burst into laughter at his humiliation. I couldn’t let him think this was Ok! He needed to suffer just a little bit at least
“I, uh, it’s not what you…. Ok, wait, let me explain. I just think, that, well, they’re not exactly….” I just kept staring at him until he formed one complete sentence. “Why didn’t you wait in the car?”
“And miss out on the opportunity to watch you loot all the flavored condoms?”
If possible the red color of his face deepened. “They’re not for us!” he blurted.
What? Now my pride was wounded! Did he not want to sleep with me?
“They’re not?” I asked carefully, just barely managing to keep the irrational hurt out of my voice. I was so not ready for that. But I could be. One day. In the future. Maybe even tomorrow! And who were they for, if they weren’t for us?
Ok, probably not tomorrow.
“They’re for Nelson.”
“Nelson!” I shrieked. Haley hadn’t said anything about this. And I should be the first to know if she was planning on giving up her v-card to Nelson! I should know before she knew! That was so clearly girl-code.
Or something like that.
“I need to explain better,” Hendrix grimaced.
“Yes, you do.”
“They’re not…. it’s not like they…. They haven’t even had time alone to you know…. need them.” And then he coughed uncomfortably, so I didn’t make him explain that any further. “But Nelson mentioned, a few days ago that if we happened upon them, that we should probably grab them. Just in case.”
“We?”
“Vaughan or me.”
I cleared my throat, not even knowing how to begin to process this.
“And I figured he was right,” Hendrix continued. “We should probably have them on hand. It might be safe, for, um, all of us.”