Emma turned back around to the muzzle of another rifle, pointed directly at her face. John was standing to the side, bemusedly transfixed by another two such muzzles pointing his way.
“She was bit!” the officer covering her yelled. Emma idly wondered if he would have time to shoot her before she knocked his gun out of line and practiced experimental dental surgery on him. She doubted the other members of the National Guard would take such an event lightly.
“I wasn’t bitten!” she called back, looking him in the eye and lying her ass off, buying time.
“Bullshit!” he spat. He should have been a poker player this one, with instincts like that. “It was on your back. Prove you weren’t bitten or I shoot you now.”
Where is the trust? Emma bemoaned, silently. She turned around, exposing her back to him. Plan she thought to herself Must have a plan.
She felt a scrape on her back as one of his compatriots removed the generous coating of blood her wound had provided.
“Rich, you paranoid asshole” the second voice admonished the screamer as he started to walk away.
“But I saw her get bit…” Rich trailed off, talking to no-one in particular.
Got to love the quick healing! Emma thought to herself in mental triumph.
Chapter 21
A couple of hours later Emma and John were warming their hands around a brazier with a couple of off duty military personnel. Darkness had come pretty quickly and with it the fall evening cold.
“I don’t understand how I nearly die daily since I met you,” said John calmly.
“Are you the reason why?” the one to the left – a thin black man named Carl asked with a laugh “Shit I nearly died twice today too, you are bad luck.” There was general laughter.
“Trust me Carl,” John answered easily, a smile on his face “If you knew her longer it would have been at least three.”
“Oh man oh man,” the other military type said, holding out a hand – his name was also John so Emma and John had taken to calling him JFK. “When that second Zombie dived for you and you rolled out of the way leaving him to skid on his face down the road… I nearly peed myself laughing. I swear; he actually looked pissed off when he got up.”
Emma thought about it and laughed for a few seconds too “The first candidate for America’s Funniest Home Videos, Zombie Edition,” she added. More laughter.
“Get the audience Zombies. Bitches love Zombies,” Carl said. Somehow there was something charming about the way he said it, making it even funnier.
When the laughter died they stood in silence for a while, the fire crackling as it consumed; a hunger that would only abate on death.
Clearing his throat, JFK said “I just want to say ma’am.. it was impressive how you took down that Zombie. I been fighting them all day off and on, seen plenty of good men taken down when fighting one on one. They hit so damned hard.”
“Like fighting an army of junkies high on PCP,” Carl responded, darkly.
“Yeah…” replied JFK, trailing off and looking at the fire.
“I ain’t never heard of a Zombie being taken out by being punched to the chest,” said Carl.
“He was breathing badly,” answered Emma “Blood was pouring from his nose and on his breath; I figured his lungs would be pretty easy to puncture.”
“Shit those are the worst!” Carl replied “Any of their bloody spit in your eyes or down your throat and you done for.. I seen several people go down that way.”
“Me too,” said JFK “What is the deal with them? Are they alive or dead?”
Emma and John looked at each other briefly wondering how much info to safely give up.
“Alive I think,” John replied finally. “You can put them down by hitting the heart, or the lungs or with massive blood loss. They heal though.”
“They heal?!” answered JFK incredulous.
“Yes,” said Emma, feeling like she was giving the army men a diagram of how to kill her “So you want to make sure you do enough damage that they can’t heal past it before their body truly shuts down. If you want to be sure they can’t come back though, aim for the head.”
“The more things change...” started Carl, imprinting the ending to the phrase into everyone listening’s mind. The more they stay the same Emma finished, wordlessly.
“Well even if his lungs were damaged it was still impressive,” repeated JFK, moving back to the earlier subject. “I know this will sound strange but … care to arm wrestle? I would kinda like to know if I have what it takes.”
Carl barked his laughter “That’s our Jo- JFK. Asking the pretty girls to arm wrestle.”
Emma laughed for a minute and decided to show off a little. Sitting down at opposite sides of a nearby table, they stared at each other. A couple of other nearby grunts laughed and gathered round to watch the spectacle.
“1… 2… 3… Go!” yelled Carl. A slam accompanied the word go, the slam of the back of JFK’s hand hitting the table.
“Man,” said Carl, kind of embarrassed for his JFK “You are weak as shit.”
“Fuck ow fuck fuck,” JFK was holding his hand, the knuckles had taken quite a bang against the metal table.
“Damn man,” said Carl, “she has no muscles at all – holy shit.” He had grabbed her bicep to illustrate the point and felt the corded sinew. It didn’t look like much but was hard as nails to the touch. “Let me try this.”
“How about we make it a little more interesting?” asked John off to the side, a big grin on his face.
Emma became quite the circus freak over the next 30 minutes, taking on all comers all with the same result. At the end, the more or less good naturedly disgruntled soldiers dispersed, leaving just Carl and a happy John counting his money – JFK had wandered off to grab some chow.
“How did you get so strong anyway?” he asked, rubbing his shoulder.
“Yoga,” replied Emma, an earnest expression on her face.
“Fuck,” replied Carl, “the wife was right.”
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later they were sitting off to the side of the brazier in a couple of borrowed bedrolls, both of them perched up on an elbow. The commotion had died down and their benefactors had all dispersed to their various circles.
“Am I going to see any of that money?” Emma asked.
“Oh Emma, no,” replied John, smiling. “That would be like admitting I fixed a horserace.”
Emma scowled at him until he offered her a crumpled fifty, he offered it between two fingers as if it smelled bad.
“Is this the note the guy gave you after running it through his buttcrack out of disgust?”
“Treasure it,” he answered with a grin.
They sat for a while in easy silence, the side towards the fire a little too hot, the other a little too cold.
“How do you feel about killing so many people infected with the same thing we are?” asked Emma softly. It had been bothering her, as she remembered the look on the burly Zombie’s face when she punctured his lungs.
John took a moment before answering “It is pretty much like a war I figure.. you don’t have to be a terrible person to be on the other side and the situation makes you enemies.”
Emma wondered if he had taken the time to ponder questions like this before the craziness had hit or if he just bounced between situations.
“I guess we have to kill them,” answered Emma sadly. “Can’t have a million Zombies needing brains every few days, the Human race would be extinct in a year.”
“Well that isn’t necessarily true,” John said, settling down deeper into his sleeping bag.
“Wait, what?” asked Emma, confused. “Which part isn’t necessarily true?”
“Well what if Derek could make a counter virus that took away the Serotonin deficiency?” John answered, shrugging.
“HE COULD DO THAT?!” she yelled, then glanced around nervously. “He could do that?” she reiterated in a whisper.
Recalling John’s story, she remembered Derek was trying to make an anti-virus for Mary when she went crazy and stole John. He could cure her, hell with a bit more time he could probably cure the other Zombies too.
“Yeah I mean I suppose,” he answered tentatively, like he didn’t know what the right answer was to the question.
“And you .. you still don’t remember where he was from?”
“Afraid not,” he answered “but I did recall something else. You remember I told you my parents and I lived in Philly?”
It was Emma’s turn to nod mutely. John had stopped and seemed to be deep in thought for a second before answering.
“We were going to Richmond, pretty sure of that. See some Uncle or other. So Derek probably lived or lives somewhere between those two.”
John nodded once to himself and laid down, satisfied with his mental investigation. After a moment Emma did too. Philadelphia to Richmond was approximately 300 miles, Emma guessed. Still a lot of ground to cover but they were in much better shape than they had been before. Maybe she could even get a cure. Maybe all the Zombies could.
* * * * *
Emma woke early the next morning to frenetic activity.
“Hey what’s going on?” asked Emma hurriedly to JFK, who happened to be passing by.
JFK looked around for a second, just to ensure Emma was talking to him “We are being redeployed,” he answered simply “This place has been getting pretty quiet but Somerville is being hammered – guess they are redeploying troops there before that zone breaks like Cambridge did.”
Somerville – that place is pretty exclusive, she remembered. A couple of weeks might see more reasonable rent there the opportunist in her added.
Nodding her thanks, Emma blearily got up and walked over to a still warm coffee pot that was sitting by the embers of last night’s fire. Kicking John’s sleeping bag in the foot-ish region as she walked by, she served herself a cup and almost immediately wished she hadn’t.
The coffee had more in common with sludge than beans. In peacetime it probably doubled as high grade all natural fertilizer. By which the little voice in her head piped up again I mean to say that it’s shit.
Thank you for clarifying she answered herself mentally. Seeing John had barely moved she went over and treated him to some vigorous shaking. She laughed as the voice in her head reminded her that this was only a step away from shaken baby syndrome.
”What’s funny?” asked John peeking at her with one open eye, obviously wishing he hadn’t. “The apocalypse sure is bright,” John added.
“Ugh I stink,” Emma volunteered, as she checked her pits for fugitive B.O. “Do you think they have any showers at the Pelham Arms?”
“Aaaattttt the bar?” John inquired, looking at her incredulously.
“Well obviously not in the bar area,” Emma tapered off. John had succeeded in making her feel pretty stupid.
“I mean, I was there and didn’t see anything like that. I meant upstairs or uh yeah. Upstairs.”
“It’s possible,” shrugged John. “I just hope we can get in.”
“You really need to think positive,” Emma suggested, before turning towards their destination and striding confidently off.
“EV Positive, maybe,” mumbled John and collapsed back into the sleeping bag.
* * * * *
JFK had been right, the Zombie infestation was barely in evidence anymore. John and Emma wandered slowly down littered streets. Occasional puddles of blood spoke of the violence that the roads had seen just the night before but anything more grisly than that had been removed.
Emma wondered if they wore hazmat suits to do so.
Tentatively the people who had stayed inside had let out onto the streets, though Emma doubted in their position if she would be coming out yet. Looking to the windows of houses they passed, it seems she was not the only one to mistrust this newfound peace. Plenty of people were peering past their curtains, as if the scene was a put-on for their benefit and any moment now half the fools who dared folly outside would fall in terror as Zombies ripped off their masks and set about making a light lunch. You are 100% right! she grinned to one such shut-in. We are wearing flesh suits and walking among you!
About thirty minutes later, Emma was walking up to the bar she had visited previously, following the lead of a business card fished from a man’s brain. The rich oaken doors that she had noted before were now firmly closed. They looked like they could take a battering from an angry knight in full plate armor, so she doubted she would be breaking in through them. The only accompanying window was too small to fit through, leading her to compare it to a slit for an archer to fire through, leading her to imagine Steve inside defending the mini castle. If I had managed to stop Steve on the night I was last here, would everything have still gone to shit? She wondered.
“If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we’d all have a merry Christmas,” John piped up from the right of her, causing Emma to shoot him a puzzled glare.
“You were obviously navel gazing,” he answered the unspoken question “So I thought I would offer up one of the few pieces of wisdom from my childhood that I remember.”
“Yeah you caught me,” Emma replied with a sigh. “I was just thinking how it went down when I was first here – wishing I could have taken down that asshole right away.”
“If it is any consolation,” answered John “I wish I had helped you.”
It actually was.
John tried the door, even briefly trying a half-hearted experimental shoulder ram. The portal was still firm in its conviction.
“But that’s dangerous thinking isn’t it?” he said, as much to himself as anyone else. “How much of your life can unravel if you start wishing to change only the bad events.”
Emma was instantly transported in her mind to the night her sister had died – where would she be now if Michelle had lived? Suddenly she felt like a shade, one unlikely version of herself in a whole continuity of Emma’s – John was right, her life quickly unraveled if she took away the bad events that formed her. Emma fought off a sudden chill at the thought of fading to nothing.
“You’re quite smart for your age,” she said, forcing a sarcastic smile onto her face as she reached out to tousle John’s hair, then walking around the side of the bar to look for alternate ways in.
“I should have left you to the Zombie horde!” John called after her.
Walking down the alley that led behind the Pelham Arms, Emma looked for any cellar entrances or accessible windows a story up but was disappointed. This has to be the most secure bar ever built she decided to herself gloomily.
Turning another corner leading to the back of the English style pub, Emma was rewarded with a thick looking door.
“Please be unlocked,” she iterated out loud.
Trying it, she was rewarded with the door exhibiting a complete disregard for her wishes as it smugly stayed shut.
Looking around for any witnesses, Emma was gratified to find none. Taking a step back, she smashed her shoulder against the door confidently with a solid thump and found give – in her shoulder.
“Uhn!” Emma commented intelligently bending over and holding her right shoulder with her left hand. Damn that hurts! she exclaimed in her mind, kicking a mental pebble.
Looking up from her shoes, Emma’s gaze was drawn to a brick that seemed to lack mortar around it. Reaching out she found it slipped neatly from its peers – and revealed a key hidden in the slot behind it.
Grabbing the Key of Opportunity + 10, Emma tried it in the door and swung it open. It didn’t even have the graces to creak after her attempted shoulder bash.
Stepping into a dirty kitchen Emma instantly heard strains of ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ by Queen, playing somewhere in the distance.
Nice Touch she thought sardonically to herself. I wonder if they have that sucker playing on loop or if it is just random?
Dirty pans were in
a giant industrial sink, grease smeared the walls and it took Emma all of 2 seconds to spot her first bashful cockroach taking the opportunity to sneak a peek at the new guests. Good to see the health inspection system still works Emma noted sarcastically to herself, nodding at the proud B grade staring down at her from the wall. I am definitely not eating anywhere that gets a C she added.
Carefully creeping to the door of the kitchen, Emma stopped herself short. What am I afraid of, Zombie attack? I AM the Zombie attack! She reasoned with herself.
Straightening up and pulling her shirt a little straighter around the waist, Emma strode confidently towards the kitchen exit and the front door.
- and ducked at the sound of a creaking floorboard, just in time to be half deafened by a resounding clang by her ear as a frying pan smashed into the doorframe roughly where her head had been not a second previously.
Turning in outrage, Emma was surprised to see the short sweaty, balding mass that collectively identified itself to her previously as David Hoon.
He drew back the frying pan for a second crack when a flash of several emotions crossed his face. The first was embarrassment, as he realized he was trying to flatten the face of a woman, causing a slow lowering of his cast iron pan. This rare moment of chivalry was chased almost immediately with recognition as he remembered the face of the woman opposite him as belonging to the troublemaker who had asked awkward questions then scattered patrons out into the night.
“Scared people rarely stay for another drink” had become a motto of his after his first liquor license was taken from him, so people who made trouble were rarely tolerated.
Any attempt to re-engage his kitchen implement of door shattering was sadly dashed as Emma swung a lazy paw to smack the pan out of his hand and send it flying across the room.
It floated - almost defying gravity as it sailed slowly – until it encountered a table leg. The two inanimate objects held a brief discussion, which the frying pan won, then parted ways again, ships that crossed in the night. The table leg sported a sizable groove to forever mark their tryst, however brief.
Emma stared down her nose at the short man, saying nothing. She was a statue whose eyes stared into his soul – or so he seemed to think as he nervously backed up a step.
Finding some measure of dignity one step further from her reach, the man planted his feet and boldly proclaimed “G-g-get the fuck out of my bar!” in a weak, stammering almost effeminate voice.