Chapter 1: Ground Zero: Landon
Chapter Text
The world ends when I turn eighteen.
It doesn't end in the way anyone thought it would. I'd heard stories predicting the end of times, always hinting at some sort of catastrophic event, like disastrous weather or some biblical revenge cast down upon the world in its final days. I assumed it would happen quickly, perhaps over within minutes, or one day I'd go to sleep and just never wake up.
Instead, it happened slowly, stretched out over the months leading up to my birthday.
I noticed it the first time while sitting on our porch, my arms wrapped about my legs, watching my neighbors Carole and Howard fight over a missing chicken. For a small town, their argument was my Friday night entertainment. Carole was wild in every way; her wavy blonde hair hung to her waist, her animal print pants were garish, and the flower crown she wore was a nice contrast to the manic look in her eye. She and Howard were fine neighbors –friendly and mostly sane – though my mother found them odd. Howard was bug eyed and wiry, and he did whatever Carole asked, while Carole could often be seen in her yard, ranting about chicken rights.
Usually.
This day though, they were fighting loud enough for the whole street to hear.
I watched them go round and round, arguing over just exactly where Don had gone, and Carole's voice grew louder, until they stopped altogether. I tried to lean in closer, desperate to hear what she was saying because her defense had shut Howard up, and I wish I hadn't.
Carole swung around, and when our eyes met, she looked different.
Not so smug and intense, but panicked.
She shook her head, pointed past Howard to a girl wandering up the street, and they both stepped back.
I should have, too.
The girl heading our way was a few years older than me. I recognized her from school, tall and pretty and popular, and not all that nice. Normally, she'd barely look in my direction. Hazel always had somewhere to be, and even in the hallways between classes, she was surrounded by a mob of girls wanting to talk to her. That night was the first time I'd seen her alone, without her groupies hanging off of her, seeking out her fleeting approval.
This night, I knew something was wrong. Hazel walked in a weird pattern, sort of clumsy and drunken. One of her ankles was turned in, dragging on the ground like it was broken. Her hair hung limply, her arms swung in a jerky manner, and her jaw looked like someone had smashed it to the side. I watched for several minutes while she stumbled around and seemed like she couldn't see. By the time she neared my house, Carole was hissing my name, urging me to get inside.
I waited one second to long. Carole's voice rose to a shrill pitch I hadn't heard before, and it sent a chill down my spine.
"Everly, go! Go inside and lock your door. Hurry. Before she gets over here. Get inside and lock the door. Hurry."
I looked at Carole and Howard as I stood up but froze when Hazel noticed all of us.
There was something off about her reaction when she realized we were there. Her head tilted to the side, like an animal listening for its prey, and her jaw moved uncontrollably. When she opened her mouth, a few of her teeth were missing, and the rest were covered in blood.
I hopped up so fast I nearly tripped. I was inside before Hazel could lurch forward a single step, and I fumbled to the lock the door. The heavy bolt slipped as I tried to jam it into place, and I knew I couldn't. Our house was old and creaky, and sometimes the structure shifted, making it impossible for the locks to line up.
"Shit, shit, shit!"
I can see the faint outline of Hazel as she stumbled closer, and the way her foot turned made my stomach tighten. I finally managed to shove the lock all the way through, and then nearly collapsed with relief when it clicked into place.
"Everly, are you okay? What's going on down there?"
The voice of my mother floated down from upstairs, light and easy, but tired. I yelled back a yes, because really, I didn't know what my mom could do. It was just us; my father has been working out of state for a few months, and he'd left behind a family of too many children all needing attention. My mom had been struggling to keep up with all of us, and I'd done my part to try and not involve her in anything unnecessary.
At that exact moment in time, I felt like Hazel was unnecessary.
Maybe she was just sick, or maybe she'd hit her head, but whatever it was, I was inside and safe, and Hazel couldn't break through the door.
"Everly, are you sure? I thought you were outside. What is Carole yelling about?"
I yelled back that I was fine, and Carole was always yelling about something, and my mother seemed satisfied with that answer. When she yelled back to come get ready for bed, I peeked out the window to see if Carole and Howard were okay. When I couldn't see them, I assumed they'd gone inside, and my night returned to boring nothingness. I went upstairs, washed my face, and eventually fell asleep reading a book Forrest had left behind. It was about someone playing a game, and the twisted turns lead to crazy adventures.
The next morning I woke up, certain that Hazel was dream.
That is, until I saw her a few days later, stumbling down the road with one arm completely ripped off.
They said it was a chicken virus.
Carole was personally insulted, as though she supplied our town with all the chickens and didn't hoard them in her backyard. Much to the dismay of everyone around us, she loudly rebuked the idea. I listened to her and Howard talk about it while I lounged in the garden, ignoring the shrieks of my brothers and sisters playing in the tree house.
Things had been mostly quiet.
Sort of.
It had been a few months since I saw Hazel. I had since turned eighteen, a lackluster affair since my father was still gone and the best my mother could do was a pink cake with the wrong number of candles. I'd gotten a few gifts from my friends, but it was clear my mother had forgotten until the last minute. I didn't say much, because things were mostly alright, but sometimes they weren't.
Sometimes I saw Hazel.
Sometimes I saw her walking along, looking lost and confused. She never responded when I said her name, and the only time I got close to her, I was too afraid to do much. I went to the store the other day, starting to avoid where she was if I could, and I often forgot she was still out there, and it seemed like everyone else had, too.
Except for one.
Carole noticed. On a still warm day, Carole announced she was missing more chickens and she thought Hazel was messing with them. This time three –her most prized ones, the fattest and fluffiest and probably meanest. She had been on Howard to install a security camera, and he hesitated because he thought it would scare off the wildlife. I listened to them go round and round, figuring this was more entertaining than trying to figure out what was going on with the girl from my school.
A few days ago, Hazel showed back up again. She seemed like this area, because she kept walking the street, night and day, until a neighbor must have called it in. Just as the sun was beginning to set, our lone sheriff came by, and he tried to talk to her.
I watched from my bedroom window.
Ian was a good sheriff. He was kind and easy going, but brave when he needed to be. Our small town had little crime, and he spent most of his days helping the community. He had a staff of a dozen officers, all wearing the same dark uniform, all just as friendly. He trained them himself, having no patience for anyone to be unnecessarily rough and intimidating, and most of them were highly respected. A few weren't, but not everyone was a good person, no matter how hard Ian tried.
That day, it was clear Ian was a good person, but it was also clear, that he had no idea what to do. He tried talking to Hazel, tried getting her in his patrol car, and even tried calling in backup to take her to the local hospital. Eventually, she stumbled away, head cocked at the sky, paying no mind to Ian calling her name. Her foot dragged along, bent completely now, and her lone arm was now varying shades of bruised grey and purple.
The image of her lurching down the sharp ravine stayed in my mind, right up until today.
This morning, I went into town to grab some things for dinner and I noticed a weird feeling in the air. It was tense and heavy, like a blanket I wanted to kick off. I felt it first while I walked, how everything was eerily silent when it normally wasn't, and it made me nervous.
All the birds had stopped chirping. There were no animals scurrying anywhere, and even the cows and sheep normally grazing along the farms weren't out. The little market offering fresh produce and meat was deserted except for the butcher and the elderly clerk, and the outside where people normally sat to talk was empty. I grabbed the things I needed, tried to make small talk, but stopped when Jerry kept looking over my head. I asked if he was alright and he nodded, but his eyes stayed on the windows when he handed me my bag, and he told me to get home safe and not to mess around.
I would normally write him off as being paranoid, but it seemed like there was a pretty decent chance he knew something I didn't.
On my walk back home, I took a different route. I went by the library, cutting through the park and across the schoolyard. It wasn't as quiet over here. There were little kids playing at the preschool, some families leaving the basketball courts, and a few talking with the teachers. I recognized one as a teacher I'd had for a math class, and he frowned when the woman he was speaking with stepped away from him.
His skin was grey.
Not as grey as the concrete he was standing on, but grey in a way I'd never seen before. Grey like Hazel's arm. His lips were an odd color, too. Dark, like they were filled with old blood, and his eyes were tired. He waved, but his fingers didn't quite work right, and his wrist had a funny bump on the side. I clutched the bag tighter to my chest, slowing down to get a better look, and I nearly tripped.
The woman's skin was the same shade of grey.
Her eyes were just as dull, and when she scratched at her arm aimlessly, it left several dark red marks on her skin. She did it again, over and over, until it became clear she wasn't feeling the slivers of her skin peel up.
I left immediately; I hurried home, rushing through the pathway lined with trees and down the winding streets. I got home just in time to catch my mother watching the tail end of the news, and I listened while I put the groceries away. According to the perfectly made-up news anchor, there was a virus working its way through our cities, and our small town had been hit. It was thought to come from contaminated chicken, but it was mostly harmless. It would cause mild symptoms like chills, fever, malaise, and if the fever was high enough –weird visions. They advised us all to stay home, stay hydrated, and avoid handling livestock if you could. They believed the virus was animal born, something my mother did not.
Nor did Carole.
"Do they really believe Mr. Cluckers has a virus? Do they really think this is coming from Nugget? You know what I think this is? A plot to destroy my farm! For months now, I've had everyone after my chickens. They aren't for sale nor, are they for dinner!"
Carole's voice rose over the short fence, over the rose bushes my father had planted, and over to me. I turned the page in my book slowly, hoping I would hear more.
"Carole, calm down. They're aren't targeting you. There are some diseases that can be picked up from improper handling of –"
I tuned Howard out.
He was practical in his logic that this isn't a big deal, but not impossible. I listen to him talk about how this doesn't explain Hazel and her missing arm, but it also could explain why a few of Carole's chickens had gone missing. Howard assures her they're probably fine, but perhaps had been hit with the very same virus everyone else has, and it was unlikely Hazel gone into the chicken coup.
"Everly, are you out here? Hello!"
I look up and see a police car parked at the side of our house, with the lights turned on. For a second, the officer stares into our yard, shielding his eyes for a better look. He then walks toward me, immediately familiar, but unfortunately so.
It's Landon, and he cuts through our yard like he lives here. He waves hello to my slew of brothers and sisters, all perched high in the tree, laughing and giggling as he walks beneath them, and he saunters over to where I'm sitting. His uniform is similar to Ian's, but Landon has never been able to duplicate Ian's kind nature. Or his easy going way of reassuring everyone we were safe. Landon is too arrogant and smug, and despite being only a few years older than me, has some mild authority given his job, which makes him even worse.
I'd have to talk to him, or he could arrest me.
"No, I'm not home. None of us are," I answer quickly, and I open the book to a random page. The words blur before my eyes, and I try to focus on reading them. "Go away, Landon."
"Don't be rude, Everly." Landon frowns, and I hate him. His long hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and the uniform doesn't make him look as cool as he thinks it does. "I came to talk to you about Hazel. We got a call she was spotted around here again."
I look up with as little interest as I can.
I'm tempted to tell him I'm reading and he can come back later, but it's been a few days since I've seen Hazel, and I'm curious if they've run into her.
"Have you seen her?"
"Have you seen her?" Landon asks, and he rocks back on his heels. "Carole called in to report several missing chickens and two dead ones. I was assigned to come out and investigate because she thought maybe it was Hazel messing with her. Since you live next door, I thought perhaps you'd seen something."
"I haven't seen anyone murdering chickens, but I have seen Hazel. She was here the other day. She's missing an arm." I sit up, ignoring the way his gaze skirts over my bare legs. It's almost fall, but the days are still warm enough that I have no need for pants. "Ian tried to talk to her, and she acted like she couldn't hear him. Shouldn't she be…sick from missing her arm?"
"Ian did say it looked like it had been torn off," Landon answers evenly, and he looks over the fence. "I don't know. I guess maybe she's in shock. Hey, is your mom doing okay? I saw her yesterday. She didn't look good."
"She's fine."
My answer is sharp, and we both know better.
Despite being very capable and levelheaded, there was only so much one person with multiple children, a large farm property, and neighbors crusading for chicken rights could handle.
"What's wrong with Hazel?" I sit up straighter, pulling my legs beneath me. "Have you seen her?"
"No. Do you know? I thought you knew everything." Landon stares, and I bite back the retort of telling him to go find someone else.
A year ago, I'd gone out on a date with him. I felt like I was doing something wrong given his age, but his father was a good friend of ours, and he assured me Landon had only the best of intentions. My mom helped me do my hair, I picked out a pretty dress, and I spent the next three hours wishing I'd stayed home. Landon spent most of the night talking about himself, grilling me about my dating history, and comparing me to an ex-girlfriend he'd had previously. When I didn't meet his standards, he dropped me off at home, and left before I was halfway up the driveway.
A few months ago, he and his perfect ex then current but then ex again girlfriend broke up for good. Devastated and desperate, Landon came looking for me, only I'd already decided that being someone's second best wasn't anything I was interested in.
I told him to go jump in the creek, and a day later, he ratted me out to his dad, Jerry. I got a lecture about being rude and giving people second chances, and at that moment, I vowed to stay away from Landon whenever I could.
"I just…I heard there's something off. Maybe she got the…the chicken thing." Landon looks at me again, and I shake my head. "No? You think it's something else?"
"Her arm is missing, Landon. No one finds it strange that she's trampling through the woods, not caring that she's bleeding and had one arm ripped off?" I close the book, and he takes another step closer, pausing when Carole starts to yell about a footprint. "There's Carole now. Maybe you should go talk to her."
"When was the last time you saw Hazel?" Landon asks, but he lowers his voice. "What's wrong with Carole?"
"The last time I saw Hazel, she was walking up and down the street. She didn't respond to anyone, and I'm assuming someone called asking for help." I pause, and Howard's answer of he'll call Ian evokes a large sigh from everyone. "Carole is mad because she thinks someone is stealing her chickens. You should probably go investigate. She knows more than I do."
Landon blinks.
Nothing about his posture screams that he wants to go visit Carole or her chickens. He looks like he'd much prefer if I invite him to sit down and share my lemonade, perhaps enjoy a few minutes in the warm sun, before he gets back to work. He goes as far as to look at the empty chair bedside me, until I cheerfully point out that the gate is open, and he can cut right on over to Carole's.
"Alright, I'll…see you around. Stay safe. Try to stay home, too. Ian's gonna send out a bulletin and start a curfew. He thought that might help." Landon lingers, tossing me a longing look, but I shake my head. "Have a good night, Everly."
"Bye."
I return to my book, listening to Landon's boots thump over the stones my father had placed. Eventually, he greets Carole and Howard, and it takes him a good hour to get through her whole story. Landon leaves looking torn; while her story is wild and twisty, there was a very small chance someone is actively hunting her chickens down.
I think about this as the sun sinks into the trees, and the darkness slowly spreads over the yard. My brothers and sisters go inside when my mother calls them, and I stay out just a few minutes longer to enjoy having no one around me. I recline back in the chair and close my eyes, thinking of my dad and how absolutely ridiculous he'd find all of this. My dad loved animals and people. He had a funny appreciation for how quirky and unique they were, even Carole.
He would have helped her look for the chickens, maybe even offered to lend a hand in starting a search party, or gone and bought her some new ones just to shut her up. I smile when I think of how he and I used to hunt for fireflies down by the river, but I stop smiling when I hear the crunch.
It's loud.
It's followed by a muffled snort of impatience, and a low grunt. I sit upright when I hear the grinding of teeth mashing together, and the smell hits me before I can stand up.
It's a weird smell, like rotting trash mixed with dead skunk, and I gag as I scamper away.
"What the…"
My question vanishes into the air, into the dark night sky and stars, because coming from the front of the house is not Carole or Howard or Landon, but Hazel. Hazel with the missing arm, the bloody teeth, and the dead eyed stare of someone who isn't actually alive.
The fear is hot and fast, especially when Hazel heads toward me. Her eyes move around in their sockets without purpose, and her gait is awkward. I swear when she speeds up, nowhere near fast enough to catch me, but faster than I'd like, and my foot catches the step. I lose my balance for a second, but I catch it just in time. I manage to make it onto the porch and inside before she passes the chair I was sitting on. I slam the door shut as hard as I can, scrambling to lock it, and luckily for me, it's easier this time.
Also lucky for me, Hazel loses interest.
Something must have caught her attention. She tilts her head in the direction of Carole's yard, and I watch with wide eyes as she heads through the gate Landon went through. He forgot to shut it, and while not normally an issue, tonight it is.
Hazel crashes into the side of it, and there's some manic fumbling as she tears through the opening like she's on a mission. I stand there frozen in place as Hazel disappears and only then do I move. I grab the phone and call the sheriff's station, hoping and praying they will at least send Landon back, but there's no answer.
Only a recording telling me all officers have currently been dispatched, and to stay inside, locking all doors and windows.
"Goodnight, Everly."
Zander kisses my cheek sloppily. His tiny hands press on each side of my face, and there's a moment of annoyance when he leans against me. I still let him. Barely three, he has no boundaries, no sense of personal space, and all the affection in the world. My little brother kisses my other cheek, and waits for me to invite him to stay.
This has become a habit.
He hates sleeping alone. One night, Leif read him a story about ghosts, and ever since then, Zander firmly believed everywhere in our home is haunted. His bed. His dresser. His closet. His shoes. Even the tiny action figures he liked to line up. No matter what anyone told him, showed him, or promised him, he refused to listen. Even the monster spray Wesley made him didn't quell his theory that if he slept alone, something would get him in the middle of the night.
While adorable, he's horrible to sleep beside.
"Sleep here."
"Not tonight, dude." I pick him up, and his protest is immediate. "You can sleep with mom. I'm too tired and you sleep sideways."
"No! Stay with you!" He grabs onto a chunk of my hair, pulling when I don't put him down. Zander's tantrum is pretty mild, though understandable in every way. He's overtired, hasn't quite figured out where our father is, and struggles with the idea that one of us could leave him at any moment. "Bad Everly!"
"I love you, too." I answer dryly, and I carry him into my mother's room. She's not in there, but I can hear her brushing her teeth. "Mom, I'm leaving Zander with you. He can't stay in my room. He wants to sleep in my room."
"Okay!" She calls back, not really listening to me. "Zander, you stay with me. Daddy is supposed to come home tonight."
"He is?" I pause by the bed, shocked at this news. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"He just called. He wasn't supposed to be home until next week." My mother emerges from the bathroom, looking stressed. "He sounded funny when I talked to him. He kept asking how everyone is and if we're all okay. I think he's worried about that chicken thing."
"Do you think it's real?" I swat Zander away when he tries to climb back into my arms, and he sulks when my mother tells him to lie down. "Carole said someone killed her chickens. And Hazel has been wandering around missing an arm."
"What?" My mother blinks, and it's a lot like looking at myself. Her long hair is the same dark color as mine, and she's not much taller. Even Leif and Wesley were starting to tower over the both of us, and Wesley loved to point this out whenever he got the chance. "Hazel is missing an arm? What are you talking about?"
"How did you miss this? Didn't you see her?"
My mother sighs. She looks exhausted, and I feel bad that I didn't help her more today. "I don't know. I've been worried about a few things and trying to keep up with everyone. Paisley didn't feel good and Holly broke two of the bowls and the glass went everywhere. I meant to do the laundry and then there was an issue with the goats…"
She pauses when Leif peeks his head in, and his smile is wide. "There's always an issue with the goats. One ate my hat."
"It was an ugly hat, so, really, the goat did you a favor." Wesley snickers, appearing behind Leif out of nowhere. "Mom, have you seen my hair gel?"
"It's late Wesley. Why do you need hair gel?" The exhaustion on my mom's face increases, and she waves us all away. "I'll find it tomorrow. I'm going to bed, and all of you should be going to bed. It's late. Zander, you stay here."
"Bye." Zander yells, burrowing beneath the heavy comforter on the bed. He kicks the sheets every which way, and my mother already looks like she's regretting the decision to keep him in here. "Goodbye. See you later."
"Okay, goodnight and good luck with Zander." Wesley grabs Leif, and the two of them leave, presumably not to go to bed. I follow them out after asking my mom if she needs anything, and her expression makes me nervous.
She forces a weary smile, shakes her head, and turns off the lights right as Zander tells her he can see the ghost coming up the stairs and it's looking for me.
I listen to the news while I get ready.
I dry my hair, idly twisting a few pieces around a brush, and the woman on the tv yammers on about the chicken virus outbreak. She alternates between sounding professional and informed, to sounding fraught with panic. Her voice breaks when she talks about what she's seen, and when she talks about her sister, I stop fixing my hair.
Her voice cracks when she describes the way her sister's eyes turned white, her mouth looked wrong, and her attention became impossible to hold. The woman's voice tenses when she says she dropped her off at our local hospital, and if anyone experiences the same symptoms, that they should be seen immediately. I turn the tv off when she starts talking again, and it hits me that I haven't seen my brothers and sisters today.
This isn't entirely unusual.
Often Paisley and Holly would slip out early, especially on the weekends, to go walk through the woods and down to the lake. Leif and Wesley liked to bike or skateboard down the street, and only Zander would remain home, glued to my mother's side. She's usually outside, working in the garden or helping Carole with some chore that's merely a guise to get her to come over for a visit.
Today, the house is silent.
I set everything down. The hairdryer hits the counter with a clank, and it's amplified in the quiet. I grab the first dress I can find, pink and ruffled, and ideal for lounging around on the back patio, and I call out for my mom when I hear the faint shuffling of footsteps.
"Mom, do you want help? I was thinking I could do the laundry. Or I could take Zander to get ice cream," I call out, slipping on shoes and grabbing a sweater. I pick up my phone and shove it into my pocket, thinking I'll call Sophia and Courtney and see if they want to come over for dinner tonight. It's nearly lunch, now, and maybe they're free. "Mom! Where are you? Is dad home?"
I head down the hallway, pausing at the bannister. I press my fingers to the railing, giving myself a second to look around, but there is no one inside. I do hear faint voices coming from the backyard, but they're impossible to make out. I have hope it's my mom and dad, so I take the steps two at a time, and when I reach the last one, I call out for my mom again.
That's when I see the note.
It's set on the table beside the stairs, and it has my name on it. I skim it quickly, and the words are a confusing rush of apologies.
My mother has left for the day. She's taken everyone with her –Paisley, Holly, Leif, Wesley, and Zander, and they've gone to meet my father in the town an hour away from us. Her excuse for not waking me up is that I looked tired, and she knew I needed a break. The note ends telling me they'll be back by dark, and if not, to stay inside and lock the doors.
I read it again, still confused, and a second later, I'm knocked onto the floor.
My head hits with a thud. There's a wave of black, a few stars, and I gag when I'm hit with the same smell from before. I open my eyes to see Hazel hovering over me, a lump of sick looking grey skin and moving teeth, and she claws at me with her remaining hand. She clumsily catches a chunk of my hair, and my scream agitates her.
Or really, what's left of her.
She's a kaleidoscope of gashes and bruising, like she's rotting from the inside out, and the fragile skin splits apart when I kick her away. I sit up in pure horror when she hits the bannister, and it takes everything in me not to throw up. Her head hits it with a soft thump, like her bones are pliable.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." I scramble away, looking for anything to defend myself. "Stay back! Get away from me!"
Hazel ignores me. There must be a disconnect somewhere, because I swear she looks right at me, then lurches forward. What's left of her hair is matted and damp, and there are feathers stuck in it. They are the color of Carole's chickens, or at least they were. Everything on Hazel is now wet and sticky, and a putrid shade of rot.
I take off.
I reach the front door, running as fast as I can, and I throw it open. There's another thud as Hazel hits something, and I tear down the steps, off the porch, and towards the street. There's some mild relief when I see the police car driving my way, and I wave my arms frantically, screaming for it to stop. I can make out the faint shadow of Ian driving, and he slows down, braking harder than he should.
Something is wrong.
Just when I think things will be okay, the car turns sharply, skidding as it careens off the road and at me, and the front hits my side. There's a wave of pain as I'm thrown forward, and I land on my hands and knees in the gravel. My breathing comes in jagged pants, uneven and terrified, and the faint voices from earlier grow louder.
It must have been them this whole time. Right now, Carole's screams are manic. High pitched and frantic, absolutely terrified. Howard's yelling matches hers, but they're overpowered by the crashing and thudding coming from inside their house. I wrench myself up, pushing on my side where the car hit me, but I don't think it's done any major damage. It feels bruised and tender, but nothing seems broken. I straighten myself up slowly, and I realize Ian is still sitting in the car.
"Ian! Ian, you have to help me!" I gasp the words as I see my neighbors across the way come running out of their home. The husband is pale and sickly, and his leg bent inward at an impossible angle. His hair is missing in chunks, and the wife screams, begging for someone to help. Two houses down, there is more screaming, and someone loudly pleading for the other to stop. "Ian…I….I…."
I take a step backward.
In the car, Ian sits at the steering wheel, chewing on something. The action is violent enough that his lips are bloody, and the side of his face has the start of a gaping hole. One of his fingers is bent backward, and his eyes scan back and forth until they land on me.
"No, no. This can't be happening. Ian…"
He gets out of the car.
There is no grace to his movement, or a single ounce of awareness past realizing I'm there. He cocks his head just like Hazel, his neck cracking and popping, and he walks slowly. One arm swings wildly, and his eyes are cloudy when he turns in my direction.
"Fuck."
I take off, and so does he.
This can't be happening. My mind screams as I run, and I choke back the urge to lose it in the middle of the road.
I can't.
Unlike Hazel, Ian has both arms and is much faster. Even in this state of absolute horror, he is quick. He reaches me before I cross the street, and I tumble down the same ravine Hazel had. It's as unpleasant as one would imagine. I hit everything; rocks, branches, someone's shoe, and a few old toys. I almost manage to get to my feet, but I'm not fast enough.
Ian is over me, pushing me down into soft soil, and I know I'm going to die. His uniform is covered in blood and guts, his hair is damp and sticky, and he smells like death. I fight him off the best I can, kicking and pushing and screaming, until his eyes land on mine.
His are terrifying.
They are an opaque white, rimmed with red and some black, but I swear there's still a faint connection. I push at his chest when he snarls at me, ignoring the heavy weight of him and the understanding that this won't end well for me, when my fingers touch cold metal.
"Ian, no. Please don't kill me. Please," I plead, hoping he'll understand. When he doesn't, I yank the gun out of his holster, and he rears back to attack, lording over his hunt for one final second.
Then he lets go.
The action is a little too quick and frightening. He hops off me like a wild animal and heads further into the ravine in search of better prey. I wince as I sit up, trying to slow my breathing but failing miserably. I watch him for a second, and his hesitation is only because he hears some yelling. The voice calls out asking if anyone is around.
While faint, it must be more enticing than me. Ian stops to listen, then moves in that direction. I have mere seconds to make a decision, and none of my options are good.
I can run back to his car, try to call someone on the radio, or drive off in it.
I can go back home, lock the doors, and try to call 911, praying someone else is there.
Or I can follow Ian and save whoever is out there.
"Shit," I swear, and I know what I have to do. The person in the woods could be anyone: my mom, my dad, my brothers, sisters, maybe one of my friends. I struggle to my feet, and I take the same path Ian did.
The woods are dark and deep, and they swallow me whole by the time I find him.
"Stay there. Don't take another step. Is anyone out there! Can anyone hear me? Linda, do you copy? Linda, I need backup. I need you to send…stay the fuck back!"
The man waves his own gun at Ian, while simultaneously trying to radio someone. From a good distance away, half hidden behind a tree and trying not to scream, I watch as Ian heads toward the man. The guy looks a few years older than me, tall and fit, and he's dressed in a similar uniform to Ian's. His hair is dark blonde, damp with sweat and blood, and he has a badge on. I assume he's an officer from the next town over, but I have no idea what he's doing in the woods.
"I said, stay back or I'll shoot." The guy cocks the gun at Ian, brandishing it fearlessly. "I gave you a final warning."
Ian says nothing. There is a cackle of static on the radio, then faint voices making no sense. Ian sways on his feet, looking mostly normal, except for the twist of his finger and the way his head moves back and forth. His hands are pale, the color of dull ash, and every so often, there's a shudder that runs through his body.
"I said, stay back. I know you can hear me!" The officer yells out again, and he tilts his head arrogantly. "I'll fucking shoot. I've had my fill of you corpses."
Ian lunges for him.
It's animalistic. He attacks like he's unafraid, and he's faster than expected. The man fires the gun several times, the click loud and empty, and my stomach sinks when nothing happens.
He's out of ammunition.
He swears loudly, tossing the gun aside, and he has no choice but to fight Ian himself. Their struggle is evenly matched, aside from Ian's lack of awareness and humanity. Ian claws and grunts, struggling to get close to the man's neck. There is a rough moment where he does get close, but the guy shoves him away violently, pushing him as hard as he can. Ian's head smacks into a tree, momentarily stunning him.
Then, just like that, he's fine.
He attacks again, even more violently, and the man's expression darkens when he figures out Ian isn't slowing down.
I have no choice but to help. I reach the two of them in seconds, and I raise Ian's own gun. It's heavy and warm, and I pray its loaded. Neither notice me until I yell Ian's name, and his head turns slowly. His grip is still on the guy's throat, and the man's eyes find mine, wide with surprise. Ian presses his head down, digging his fingers in.
"Ian, let him go. Ian…you're hurting him. Ian, stop!"
My words come out choppy and loud. The gun is heavy in my hands, and I fear I'm too shaky to hit him if I try.
I have little choice.
Ian rises, then turns back to snarl at the face beneath him. I aim the gun the best I can, trying to remember the few things Forrest told me about shooting, and the hunting lesson from years ago comes back. I steady my aim, and I squeeze the trigger right as Ian moves, and the officer screams for me not to shoot.
The bullet hits Ian in the neck. There's an explosion of gore, deep red blood and muscle, and it's enough to stop him. I aim again, shooting him in the head, and the man shoves Ian away and jumps to his feet.
His stare is wild.
In person, he's tall and intimidating, clearly fit and strong. He steps toward me, and thrusts his hand out when he's a few feet away.
"Give me the gun."
"No." I shake my head, stepping back and away, not willing to turn over the only weapon I have. "No, there are more of them."
"Yeah. A lot more," he agrees, and I notice he's younger than I was thinking. His jaw is sharp, his cheekbones are sharp, and his uniform would be sharp, were it not filthy. He towers over me, and the intimidation tactic works. I almost give in, but I don't let myself. "Do you know what they are?"
"No. Do you?" I have to crane my head to look up at him. The authority in him is natural; his badge reads Lieutenant Coulter, and his posture tells me he's not afraid to fight for what he wants. "Where do you work? Who are you?"
"Lakeview," he grits out, and there's a slight wince when he cocks his head. "More importantly, where did you get that? That's an officer issued weapon."
"I got it from Ian. He's a friend of ours. Or he was. He attacked me earlier but he stopped when he heard you." I try to stop shaking, because this guy could kill me just as easily as Ian could. "What are you doing out here?"
"Looking for someone." He eyes me warily. Lieutenant Coulter exhales heavily, and he scans the area before his stare returns to me and the radio cackles. "Shit, hold on. Linda, do you copy? Linda? Anyone? I need backup near Haling Cove. I need backup and possibly a medic."
Her response is impossible to make out. I catch something about him returning, followed by static.
We stare at each other.
His uniform is caked in dirt and lord knows what else. My own dress is covered in mud and blood, and my sweater isn't much better. Neither of us move, not even when there's a rush of birds taking off. The woods come alive for a few seconds, and the chirping sounds distressed.
"Why are you here? Why are you in the woods? Does Lakeview have these…these…" I don't know what to call them, but I also don't know if I really want to know what they are. "People."
"Zombies," he answers evenly, and his shrug is dismissive. "That's what our lab calls them. They aren't people anymore, not even the newly infected ones. I was sent this way to check on your town. We've been trying to contact them for days with no response. We previously sent two of our men, but they didn't return."
"Zombies," I repeat incredulously, because the idea is absurd. "Are you serious?"
He isn't impressed with me in any way. I can tell. He eyes me up and down, his lip curling in disgust at my dress, or maybe the blood splattered all over it, and he sneers. "Yes. Zombies. There's no other technical term for the undead the last time I checked, so that's what we're going with."
He turns and tries to radio Linda again, and I try to figure out if Ian was really the undead. I decide I can't handle that right now, and my best bet is to get out of the forest before the rest show up.
Lieutenant Coulter must be thinking the same thing.
He rips the radio off his uniform in pure frustration and throws it to the ground.
"Look, I don't have a lot of time. Give me the gun and go home. Lock your doors, lock your windows…" he steps even closer, so close his chest nearly touches mine, but I don't back down. "Stay inside. It'll be over soon. They're sending in –"
He gets cut off when there's a snap.
We both turn to look at the same time. We're deep in the woods, far enough that no one should be wandering this way without purpose. Just when I think maybe it's the wind, there's another crack, like a branch breaking, and from the depths of the woods, Landon emerges.
I hate that I feel an odd flash of relief at seeing him. He's dressed in his uniform, his hair is clean, and compared to this officer and me, he's put together. The feeling fades however, because up close, Landon is pale. His skin has a sheen to it, slick and almost slimy, and he grunts when his knee juts out to the side, rolling like it's not entirely attached.
I retreat before I can stop myself.
Lieutenant Coulter glances down, and angles himself to shield me, like Landon is a threat. He steps back with me and holds one hand up, taking in Landon's uniform. "Don't take another step. Sir, wait there. Are you with the Haling Cove police department? I'm looking for two officers. They went missing two days ago. Did anyone stop by?"
He pushes me back a step. I let him, because Landon looks strange. One hand scratches at his neck, and his head lolls to the side as he looks at me.
"Landon…what happened? What's wrong?" I call out to him as nicely as I can, but he doesn't slow down.
He walks the same way Hazel and Ian did, aimless and unstopping.
"Landon…"
"You know him?" Lieutenant Coulter steps further back towards me, and I'm half blocked by him. "Hey, hey stop. I'm here to meet with your chief. Max sent me. Station 1103." He gestures wildly, fully expecting Landon to listen. "I said stop. Are you deaf?"
Landon opens his mouth to snarl, and it's the same nightmare from before. A mash of blood and bone, of spit and whatever it was he was chewing before he came this way, and death. I see it in the weird, hazy gaze, and the way he lunges without any hesitation. There is no fear of death, because he's pretty much already there. Landon teeters somewhere between the two worlds –alive, but not quite so –until the officer punches him.
Lieutenant Coulter fights dirty, but he has no choice. I'm shoved back, and I stumble as the two of them engage. Landon is focused on biting him, on getting at any free inch of skin he can, any way he can. There is only a moment of struggle before I realize there is a chance Landon might win, simply because the officer is unarmed. Landon wrangles him to the ground, knocking his head into the officer's, and he pins him down by thrashing on top of him. Each swipe gets him closer, and he manages to rip apart a thick strip of fabric. There's a violent fit when the officer tries to kick him away, and Landon fixes this by standing up and stepping on his throat.
There's a gurgle of horror, and I have seconds to act.
I aim the gun again, and my fingers shake when I call Landon's name. It takes three times before he stops, but he does.
His eyes fix on me, clearing ever so slightly, and when he speaks, its strained. "You won't shoot me. I can't…I can't stop it. I can't –you need to get out of here. You need to run. I got bit. Got bit this morning. Ev…"
I don't run.
I can see Lieutenant Coulter fumbling to knock Landon away, but his face is turning a pale shade of blue. I aim the gun at Landon, shaking my head, and I try to conjure up a reason to let him live. Zombie or not, he's still Jerry's son, and there's a chance he'll be okay.
I can't think of a single one.
I shoot him in the head, with surprising accuracy. The bullet hits him off center, closer to one eye than the other, but it does the job. He crumples to the ground immediately, and before I can celebrate my win, Coulter is back on his feet. He's in front of me before I can ask if he's alright, and he tries to wrangle the gun from my hands.
"No!" I refuse again, trying to wiggle away. He's much larger and faster, and a second passes before he's got the gun out of my hands, and he clicks something. I give a huff of exasperation, and glare. "That's not yours. And I just saved your life. Twice. Give it back!"
"Absolutely not," he snarls, and I decide I don't like him. "You're a little too good with it."
He ignores my continued protest. He presses the release and he counts the remaining bullets with a swear. "Fuck. It's almost empty. Look, I have to get back. Your town is overrun with zombies and there are two bullets left. This won't last long. There's a swarm heading this way."
"A swarm," I repeat, and my voice cracks. "Then give it back. You have a gun. I don't. I don't have anyone. My family left me!"
"What?" He stares down at me, and I like him a little more because he looks insulted on my behalf. "Your family left you here? Alone? Are you serious? Do they know what's going on?"
"When I woke up, they were gone. They left a note and said they'd be back." I step closer and I reach for the gun. "So, give it back. Two bullets is more than enough to get me home. Please. I…I won't shoot you."
He considers this. Lieutenant Coulter chews on the side of his cheek while he thinks. He closes the minute gap between us, and when I think he's going to give me the gun back, he doesn't. He bends down and pulls a piece of something sticky off my sweater. I try not to grimace, because odds are, it's a chunk of someone else's skin.
"What's your name?
His fingers return to my sweater. He pulls up one side, then moves my hair off my neck. One warm hand press around the column of my throat, not threateningly, but it's not a reassuring feeling. He moves to the other side, and it dawns on me he's checking to make sure I haven't been bitten. His fingers linger there while he waits for an answer, and I know he's going to leave me behind.
Without a gun.
Alone.
In the woods.
"Everly." I look up at him carefully, trying to see if he's been bitten. There's a scrape on his cheek, a gash on the side of his neck, but no bite marks. "What's yours?"
He waits another beat. His fingers still, then he jerks them away like he's realized he's unmoving, and we're targets out here.
"Eric. Eric Coulter."
"Are you going to leave me? Can I please have the gun back?" I wait impatiently, figuring he might give it back if I don't ask for his help. My guess is he's going back to Lakeview, where he'll get another gun and have someone look at his neck. "Are you going back?"
"Yes." Eric's answer is sharp. "I have to get back tonight. We have officers missing and not enough to cover the next forty eight hours."
"Are all the towns like this?" I try to imagine more Hazels, lurching around with one arm. "Does every town have zombies?"
"I don't know. From what I've heard, yes," Eric answers, and he hesitates. "Where do you live? I'll take you there and you can grab some things. I'll bring you somewhere safe, but we don't have long. I'll stop at my station and you can figure out if anyone has seen your family. They might know something. They've been closing the roads, so if your family went north, they wouldn't have gotten through. They might not be allowed back."
"You're taking me with you?"
He nods.
The relief is overwhelming.
The thought of finding my family, seeing my mom and dad and brothers and sisters feels good, and I'm feeling far more optimistic than I was a few minutes ago.
"Just to the station. They'll be able to help you. I have shit to do."
I nod again, falling silent when he gestures for me to follow him. I look back only once at Landon, lying prone and motionless on the ground. Behind him, there's a dark sea of endless trees, each one taller and wider than the next. I stop for a second when something moves and the low hanging branches rustle .
I don't wait around to see what it is.
I walk faster, keeping up with Eric until we reach the clearing.
Chapter 2: Infection Level Four
Notes:
Thank you so much to Erin for editing!
Thanks to everyone giving this story a shot!! I think it'll be super fun, and I so appreciate everyone who read and reviewed. My goal is to update once a week, and depending on our schedules, I'll make it happen.
Have a super good weekend! 💙Enjoy the chapter!
Chapter Text
The walk back is endless.
I try to stay close to Eric. While I know the area well, he goes farther west than I think he will. He shoves branches out of his way, kicks a few broken chunks of wood, and easily walks up the ravine. I follow less gracefully. A branch hits me in the face, I trip over the same chunk of wood he kicks away, and my shoes slip when I near the top. Eric is quick, though. It's almost like he was expecting my fall, because he turns and catches my arm before I slide all the way back down. His grip is tight, and he yanks me back up with a single, unimpressed stare.
"Come on. When we get to the car, sit in the front. If we get attacked, you'll be stuck if you're in the back. If anyone comes by, don't look at them until you're sure they're alive. Don't touch anything, either."
His orders are as serious as he is. He rakes his fingers through his hair once he catches his reflection in the car window, and exhales in sheer annoyance. I climb into the passenger side of the patrol car, wondering why he was over this way, but I don't ask.
I glance around, impressed by the interior.
I've never been inside a police car before, and this one is loaded with a surprising amount of technology. Several alerts flash on the screen, something beeps repeatedly, and a cell phone sits in the middle console. It vibrates with several alerts, and from what I can tell, they're all warnings telling people to stay inside and avoid the main roads.
Things must be escalating.
Once he's done fixing his hair, Eric throws the door open and sits down like he's over this day. He reaches over the computer mounted inside and pulls out a stack of papers. The radio beeps and crackles with a few more alerts, but he pays no mind to it. I listen to the codes coming in, but I have no idea what they mean. 3-156, route 3. 19-11, Highway 16. The last one makes me nervous –Z-89, routes 5 and 7 –but Eric doesn't even flinch. He flips through a few pages until he finds the one he wants, then looks over at me.
His profile is sharp. His stare isn't friendly, but it's more friendly than when Landon attacked him. "Name?"
"Everly."
"Your last name."
"Carlen."
"How tall are you?"
"Five…something." I wait a second, and he takes down my address, phone number, parent's names, and last time I saw them. I quickly tire with his list of questions, but it could also just be my nerves. I keep looking around, hoping to see someone I know, but the street is silent.
"Are you married?"
I look up at him like he's insane. He waits expectantly, and I shake my head no. He marks that box with a dark x, then side eyes me again.
"How old are you?"
"How old are you? Are you really a lieutenant?" I ask him, knowing I'm walking a fine line when his eyes narrow. He is an officer, and I should be respectful, but I know Landon had been working hard to get promoted, and Ian was hesitant to give anyone such authority. Maybe things are different in Lakeview, or it was easier to rise up through the ranks. "You look too young to be a lieutenant. We don't even have a lieutenant."
He throws me a dark look, which makes me nervous, considering I'm a mere foot away.
"I'm twenty-four, and yes, that is my rank. I took over after the last lieutenant was murdered. Don't ask me anything else." He glares at me out of the corner of his eye, continuing to fill out whatever report he'd decided was of dire urgency.
"Do you really have to fill that out now? Shouldn't we go?" I ignore his command not to talk to him, because I'm fully expecting Landon to come bursting through the woods. I have the strangest feeling we shouldn't just be sitting in this car, right out in the open. "What if he comes back?"
"He won't," Eric answers distractedly. He scrawls his name at the bottom, then looks at me. "Did you say Ian attacked you first?"
"Yeah. I saw him driving and thought he could help me. I said his name, but he didn't seem to recognize me. I ran away from him, but fell down the ravine." I toy with the edge of my sweater, hating the blood on it. "He attacked me there. I thought he would kill me, but he heard you yelling and he stopped."
"Did he bite you? Break the skin or draw blood by scratching?"
"No," I shake my head. "I scraped my knee and hit my side, but that's it."
"Okay." Eric makes a sound of mild approval, and I use my time to observe him. His haircut is severe and short, and the dirty blond color is darkened with blood and dirt. His uniform jacket is thick, just like Ian's, but his badge looks different. Every so often, the radio crackles with another code, and his eyes flick up to look at it. He frowns each time, especially when the last few attempts are nothing.
Only static, followed by heavy silence.
Eric reaches to shut it off, and one of his sleeves has dried blood on it. "I'll try them in a minute. You and I are heading to the local station here. I'm going to see if I can reach anyone before we swing by your house. I'm not continuing unarmed, and two bullets won't be enough to make it through the rest of the day."
"Is that all you have? Don't you have more?" I can't shake the feeling of horror running through me.
I assumed he'd have another gun somewhere, but Eric nods his head.
"I've been working since five. I've gone through everything I brought with me. Your town is reaching Lakeview levels of infection." Eric tosses the paperwork aside and turns the car on. He reaches behind me to rest his hand on the top of the seat, then backs the car up quickly. A second later, the siren turns on, and we head in the opposite direction I'd come from. "Have you seen anything else suspicious? Is anyone here in charge? Your mayor? Local representative? Fire? First response? Anyone?"
"Maybe Carole." I lean back, pulling my feet up beneath me. The dress I have on is splattered with all kinds of stuff; there's a splay of blood along the bottom, and dirt on the side. "Am I able to change? My dress has –"
"After the station. We'll stop by your house and grab a few things. Lakeview is a little over an hour away. I'll need you be ready to give them a statement, and hopefully, they'll have someone there to help further. Ian is your police captain, correct?"
"He's the sheriff."
I realize I have no clue about police rankings, only the human behind the uniform. Before turning into the living dead, Ian was a really nice man. He had a wife and son, was routinely seen at the park with them, and attended every barbeque he was invited to. He wasn't ever violent like the officers I saw on the news. He was mild mannered and patient, always willing to try and talk things through before resorting to calling for backup.
"What's Lakeview like? Is it nice?" I turn in the seat so I can watch Eric, and I decide I like him.
Sort of.
He mostly keeps his stare on the road, but every so often, he looks over at me. He's not that much older, but there's something impressive about the way he's unafraid of what's going on.
And how tall he is.
"Cold. Boring. Riddled with calls from old ladies not liking people walking through their yards. Those calls did taper off once the town became infected. Chicken virus, my ass. I can't believe anyone believes that load of shit."
His dry answer makes me smile, and for a brief moment, I can ignore the fact that my mother left me behind, Hazel had attacked me, and Ian and Landon were dead. Eric's words make everything feel okay, at least until we reach the police station.
He swears loudly, parking right in front.
There isn't a single other car in the parking lot, and the entire building is dark.
"Fuck."
I stare up at him, doing my best to stay out of his way, because Eric does not like the current state of our police department.
I don't blame him. Coming from Lakeview, he appears to understand our small town, but he didn't seem to think too highly of it. He asked me a few more questions about Ian, scowled when I said our police were very friendly, and rolled his eyes when I said we didn't have a ton of crime. He stopped rolling his eyes when he discovered the power was off, swore as he fumbled to find the breaker box, and exhaled sharply when we discovered the place is empty.
To be fair, Haling Cove has a very small police department.
The building sits near the school, quiet and unassuming. It's always open, one of the numerous receptionists is usually sitting in the front, and there's always someone dropping off baked goods for the officers. Ian's office is right in the front; it has his name by the door, and tacked beneath it is a picture his son drew.
That's about as far as I've ever been.
Today, I walk right in with Eric, past Ian's office and down the hallway. I learn our station has only a few jail cells, a couple of offices, a large breakroom, a locker room, and an armory, which Eric promptly raids. He breaks the door open with his shoulder, and his sigh tells me we don't have everything he's looking for.
"Here. Take this, and this one, and this one. The safety is on, or should be, so you can't shoot anyone." He pauses to look right at me, and our eyes meet in the middle of cold metal and steel. "Just hold onto them. If the need arises, I'll take care of it."
"I saved your life back there. You can trust me," I point out, but he ignores me. He hands me so many guns I almost can't hold them all, then casually turns and reaches for dozens of boxes of ammunition. "Are you taking all of it?"
"Yes." Eric answers flatly. "I'm assuming all of your officers are dead."
"What?" I nearly drop the guns. I back up into the now empty rack, and the fluorescent lighting above us buzzes. "Why would they be dead?"
"There's no one here. No one answering. No sign of anyone coming back, not even support staff."
"They could just be out responding to a call or…" I trail off, and Eric's eyes find mine.
"Did you miss the guy trying to bite your head off? Did you notice there were two of them, appearing within minutes of each other? They're fast. They're semi responsive and semi-intelligent. They have excellent hearing, an undying lust for blood, and the means to get it. Injuries that would normally slow someone down, or cause them to bleed out, aren't stopping them." Eric's concern is a mere flash on his face. "Stick by me unless you want to become one of them. I'll get you to Lakeview and they'll find your family. They'll have you stay there until they do, and the resources to help if they don't'."
"Do you think my parents are alive? Do you think my mom found my dad?"
The panic returns. It's a dizzying feeling, hot and sticky, and for the first time since my run in with Hazel, I start to wonder if I truly am alone. Maybe my mother didn't make it very far, or maybe she'd been bitten. Maybe my father had never made it back. I feel a wave of panic, so heavy I nearly drown in it, until Eric hands me another gun and the lights flicker.
"No, I don't."
I feel worse, so much worse, as he leads us out of the armory and back into the main building.
My house is empty.
The floors creak as I walk in, and Eric follows behind. Our ride over was quiet. Eric spent most of it trying to radio someone back in Lakeview, and each time it sounded like they were trying to answer. There was a final loud click when it did connect, but the voice was strained.
A woman asked his location, asked if he was injured, told him there was no backup, and his orders were to return to Lakeview immediately. He agreed. He informed her he was bringing back a survivor, and I sunk into the seat, feeling like I'd been shot.
The word survivor made me nervous.
He made no mention of finding my family. His response implied I was the last one alive, and he went on to announce my town had been infected and it wasn't looking good. The woman informed him there were no available officers, but she'd attempt to contact local authorities beyond the station. He clicked the radio off after giving her an estimated time of return of ninety minutes, and listened as I gave him directions to my house.
The rest of our time was silent. He parked in the driveway, and followed me up the porch steps.
I found myself afraid to go inside.
I lingered there until Eric told me I had ten minutes to grab my things. He raised an eyebrow when I realized I left the door unlocked, and another when we went inside. There were signs of my struggle with Hazel, and Eric zeroed in on them immediately.
"Were you attacked in here?" He crouches down to examine the floor where Hazel's skin remained, and he looks up at me with a funny stare. "Ian?"
"Hazel. She was oddly strong for only having one arm." I walk around him, noticing his stare turn unamused. "What? I'm going to wash the blood off my skin. Should I grab anything else?"
"Were you going to tell me there was another one? She only has one arm?" Eric rises up, and his head tilts. "What happened to Hazel?"
I pause on the second step. Eric is still taller than me, and he waits for my answer with a look of frustration.
"Spill it, Carlen."
"She…" I find it hard to explain, and maybe it's the way he said my name. I had expected him to say my first name, but he didn't. "I don't know. She was sick for a while and no one seemed to care. She just kind of walked up and down the street, and then one day she was missing an arm. I think she ate Carole's chickens, and she was in our backyard a few times, and this morning she was in the house. She came at me when I was leaving. When I saw Ian, I thought he'd help, but he was sick, too."
"So, three people, all infected, all tried to kill you. And you managed to fend them off and not get bit?"
I dare say he looks mildly impressed, but it quickly vanishes.
"Hurry and change. I'll radio this in, though it's doubtful anyone will answer. Is she still on the loose? How old is this girl?" Eric glances back at the blood, then at me. "Grab some clothes. They'll keep you there for a few days if they haven't found your parents. You'll need a jacket, any medications you take, toothbrush, things like that."
"Okay," I step up, and I glance past him, to the broken rail on the bannister. "She's a few years older than me. I don't know what happened to her arm, but it looked like it was ripped off at the shoulder. Ian talked to her once and tried to take her in, but she just wandered off. I don't think he knew what to do. She eventually went back into the woods."
"You're sure she only has one arm?"
"Yeah," I shrug, wondering why that was important now. Someone could have helped Hazel weeks ago, but she's beyond any sort of treatment now. "No one cared. I told my mom, but she didn't pay attention. I didn't see where the arm went."
"Okay…well, forget the arm and get your things." Eric ends our conversations with a nod. He heads into the kitchen, and I go upstairs and into my bedroom. It looks the same as it did this morning, and my stomach hurts when I see my bed still unmade. It seems like forever ago that I was getting ready. It feels like a weird dream, like this isn't really happening, and when I wake up, Zander will be jumping on my bed, and my mom will be making breakfast.
"Shit. Shit. Shit." I press my palms to my eyes, and I hear Eric in the kitchen. He turns on the sink, and I imagine he's washing the blood off his hands while he waits.
I work quickly.
I change out of my ruined dress, and into another one. I wash my arms and face, wipe the scrape on my knee off, and grab the first bag I can find. I cram as many dresses as I can into it. Pajamas. Underwear. A sweater, then another that's warmer. I throw in a hairbrush, my toothbrush, toothpaste, and the bodywash Holly liked to steal. A few more toiletries, since I'm not sure how accommodating the police station in Lakeview is, or where exactly I'll be staying. Right as I'm trying to decide on if I should bring another pair of shoes, there's the loud crack of a gunshot echoing through the house.
"No!"
My gasp is drowned out by a loud thud. There's an explosion of glass hitting the floor, and I nearly crash into Eric when I tear down the stairs and turn the corner. The sight before me is quickly becoming unfortunately familiar, but my stomach still tenses up like I'm about to throw up.
The smell is awful.
Eric stands there staring down Hazel, now really dead and unmoving, and he looks annoyed. He raises an eyebrow at me, and his lips press together.
"I thought you were lying about the arm."
"I wasn't!" His words make me laugh, but it's more of a hysterical gasp. Hazel is really dead, splayed out and spilling blood everywhere, and she has even less of her one arm. Her hair is so dark it looks black, and whatever she has on is filthy. All around her is the glass from the mirror, and it reflects the warped image of her grey skin.
"Where did she come from?" I realize I'm leaning into Eric, off balance and panicky, and he notices.
He shoves me away from him but takes hold of my arm and takes the bag from my hands. "She came in from the backyard. Here, I found this under the sink. We'll take it with us."
He hands me our family's ancient first aid kit, and I hope he knows there's no real medicine in there. It contains some Paw Patrol band aids, a spray Zander screamed when you used because it stung, and maybe some gauze. If he was lucky, some expired Advil or Tylenol. We only had it because my father insisted my mother have actual medicine on hand, though she rarely reached for it.
I hold onto the kit tightly, feeling my sanity slip as he leaves me to opens the refrigerator. Eric pulls out two water bottles, then a third. He surveys the area once more, then looks at me.
"I think we should go. The longer we stay here, the higher the risk of someone else showing up." Eric takes hold of my arm again, gentler this time, and he pulls me away from the kitchen. "We'll get some lunch along the way. You should eat something. It'll make you feel better."
"Now?" I look up at his face, having a hard time seeing Hazel dead in the kitchen where I helped make dinner most nights. I glance around at everything in my family's home, and nothing makes sense. The backdoor is wide open, the gate between our house and Carole's is ajar, and the faint breeze whipping through makes me want to scream.
"Yes."
"Wait, I should leave a note."
I shrug away from Eric's grasp. I step around Haze's body, and everything turns dreamlike. I find some paper in the drawer, a sparkly pink pen Holly often wrote her grocery demands with, and I write quickly. My fingers shake as I explain that if my family comes back and I am not here, that I have gone to find them and will be in Lakeview. I write a quick apology about Hazel, wondering if maybe we should move her, but I know there's no time.
I finish the note while Eric waits, and the clench of his jaw tells me he thinks we should have left already.
"Are you done here?" Eric's eyes follow my every move, piercing and intense. He's unaffected by what's happened, at least as far as I can tell. "We have to go. Now."
"Do you think they'll come back?" I set the note on the table, and I don't know why I'm asking him. It's not like he knows my family or where they are. But the world seems to be falling apart around me, and he appears unflappable.
He's also made it very clear he doesn't think my mother got very far.
"No, I don't. You're welcome to stay here and wait for them, but odds are, you'll run into someone else infected. Your best bet is to come with me." His stare holds mine. "We'll keep an eye out for them along the way. There's a chance we'll see them while driving."
I waver back and forth, but not really.
Staying here meant boarding up the house, holing up inside it, and praying no one got in. It meant sitting with two single bullets, if Eric was even willing to turn the gun over, whatever food is in the house, and biding my time until help arrived, or the zombies took over.
Eric's gaze bores into mine, and it's an easy decision.
"I'm going with you," I answer, and I follow him out of the house, pausing to grab my purse along the way. I get back into the patrol car, taking the same seat as before, and I look back at the house only once. The view is warped, strange and tinted through the patrol car window, but I pretend this is fine, just fine, and not in any way out of the ordinary.
I focus on that feeling as Eric drives away, and I swear I see Carole's face peering out from her window, yelling my name and waving her arms frantically.
Haling Cove is pure chaos.
I watch from the safety of the passenger seat, blinking as it descends into a level of hell I've seen only in movies. Eric drives out of my neighborhood quickly, avoiding a few people running and screaming, and their pleas for help. His acknowledgment of them is subtle enough I nearly miss it. I know he's probably taken some oath about helping citizens no matter where he is, but he doesn't stop. If anything, he drives a little faster, until we reach the main street.
There are people everywhere.
It's hard to think of them as people, because most look a lot like Hazel. Dull stares, eyes moving around in every direction, mouths agape, and limbs in various states of decay. There are several with bones snapped in half, broken hands, and cracked, peeling skulls. A few look coherent, but it's a gamble if they're infected or just stumbling out of the local dive bar. I lean away when one man gets close to the car, his good eye roving over us as Eric slowed down to turn, and he seems to look right at me.
Chunks of his head are missing. His jaw hangs crookedly, giving him an evil looking grin.
He waves.
"How he is alive?" I scoot away from the window, watching the guy lurch at the car. He's slow moving, but he's missing half his knee and I imagine it's the only reason he's not jumping at us.
"You're fine. He can't get in. I'm not even sure he's really looking at you." Eric's comment is jarring. I look over as he turns the corner onto a street of shops and he shrugs. "Maybe they can see. I don't know. Jason said they can still see and hear, but he says a lot of things."
"Who's Jason?" I glance away, wishing things were different over here.
Some of my favorite stores are down here, including the ice cream shop and Melly's coffee bar. The street is normally vibrant and full of people walking around, but today, it's full of the undead, lurching and clawing their way down the street. Storefronts are broken and damaged, windows are smashed in, and there are streaks of blood everywhere. The large fountain in the middle of the square has someone in it, or at least what's left of them.
It's mind blowing to think this has been happening all while I was at home.
"I work with him. He's one of the officers who went missing. Him and…" Eric pauses, and this time, the radio turns itself on. It's so loud I jump, and Eric turns it off completely.
"Is he your friend?" I ask, trying to distract myself, because another head emerges from the water, gnashing its teeth at the zombie beside it.
"Yes."
Eric's answer is short and sharp, and it's easy to see he doesn't want to talk. We lapse into silence, and I welcome it, because the farther we drive, the worse it gets. There are piles of bodies everywhere; some have fought until the very end, others looking like they'd given up almost immediately. One sidewalk is awash with blood, the cement stained and weeping, and a lone hand lies a few feet away, a shiny bracelet still attached.
I eventually close my eyes, and the exhaustion of the day wins out.
I fall asleep right as we pass the empty church, and I don't wake up until I hear the sirens.
"We're here."
Eric's voice is sharp.
I blink my eyes a few times, lifting my head off the door and wincing at the dull ache from the awkward position. There's a flash of unease at having fallen asleep in the car with him, but I don't have too long to think about it.
Lakeview explodes around me. The town is rich in greenery and trees, each one thicker and wider than the next, and it all surrounds an immense, glittering lake. There are plenty of picturesque stores and shops on one side, but most of the buildings are newer and more modern looking. The homes are set back, similar to the ones in Haling Cove, but with grand facades and large gates. Some are less impressive, but still larger than the ones on my street.
There are fire trucks here, rushing past us in the opposite direction, with their lights flashing and sirens blaring.
Eric is quiet. He drives faster, and it's clear this route is routine for him.
It only takes a couple of minutes to see where we're going. The police station sits at the very base of the town, near one of the lake's open beaches. It's hard to miss. Made of glass and steel, rising up high into the sky, the design proves to be a poor choice given the state of the world.
The outside is caked with blood.
There are several red streaked sections with long spiderweb like cracks creeping upwards, and several bullet marks. There are dozens of police cars here, ranging from SUVS and trucks, to the normal patrol cars, all lined up haphazardly.
I don't feel the sense of relief I was expecting, but instead, a sense of deja vu.
Eric must feel the same.
He parks the car near the front, but he doesn't make any move to get out. Instead, he reaches for a gun, checks to make sure it's loaded, and looks at me out of the corner of his eye.
"What?" I look back and him, and I fumble for the door handle. "This is your station, right? Is anyone here?"
"Yeah, look, before we go inside…" he pauses, and his hesitation makes his jaw look even sharper. "While you were sleeping, I tried to radio confirmation of my arrival. There was no answer. Linda should be here, but no one responded. I tried the station in the town over, thinking maybe they'd answer, but got no one. The only connection I could get was with Williams, and it's a good three hours from here."
My fingers still on the cold metal. "You think –"
"I don't know what to think. My hope is they're all out and Linda is busy, but my guess is most aren't coming back. So, we're going to get in and get out. There should be plans on Max's desk documenting a safe zone and the coordinates. I need you to stick with me and not do anything stupid. You get bit, you're on your own." Eric's commands are crystal clear, but even I can see his not happy with how this is turning out. "Max didn't answer, either. My guess is something has happened inside."
"Was it like this when you left?" I slide out of the car, and Eric shakes his head.
"Not this bad." He walks around to join me, and his stride is arrogant. So is his sneer when he points to the side of the building, where a car has smashed right into the side. It lies tipped over, smoking and burning, with no one in sight. "When I left, things were orderly. My officers don't fuck around."
I don't have a good response for him, so I follow along silently. He leads me inside the front doors, and a few pieces of loose glass rain down upon us as we walk in. His boots crunch over the larger pieces, and I stick close behind him. My head only comes up to the middle of his back, but it's a good thing.
Eric makes an impressive shield. There is a snarl coming from a few feet ahead, but I can't see anything other than blood splattered walls and paperwork strewn onto the ground. The air is tense, like back in my hometown's station, and thick with anticipation. The snarl grows louder when Eric stops walking, and he takes a step backward. My head hits his back, but he doesn't notice.
He hesitates for a split second, then backs up again.
"Linda, what happened here? Did someone get inside? Did something happen? Can you tell me where everyone is?"
Linda doesn't answer.
My guess is she's the one snarling, because Eric reaches for the gun on his hip and asks again if she's alright.
She's not.
"Linda, stay right there. Can you tell me if Max is here?" He keeps talking to her like she's fine, but he raises his arm, and aims the weapon. I peek around just enough to see who he's talking to.
It's not a reassuring sight. Linda doesn't look as bad as the others, but her skin holds the same sallow tone Landon's had, and her posture makes it look like her spine has been broken. She reminds me of one of the grandmas who occasionally would stop and coo over Zander, except her teeth grind together every time she closes her mouth, and her eyes are cloudy.
"Um, she's…I think she's infected," I whisper, well aware that my observation is not at all helpful.
Eric turns around like he's forgotten I'm behind him, and I'm still so close that I could reach out and grasp onto the fabric of his jacket. I don't. I stop breathing when he cocks the gun, and a second later, Linda's head jerks back. It doesn't explode like I'm thinking, but blood pours from the wound immediately. The bang echoes in my ears as she sinks to the ground gracelessly, and Eric sighs.
"Carlen, back the fuck up. She's not going to get you."
"You said stay close by," I reluctantly step to stand by his side, and I survey Linda as though I was the one to take her out. She lies unmoving, but every so often, there's a gurgle of blood leaking from her mouth. "Besides, I don't have a gun. You took all of them."
"Yeah, well I'd prefer not to get shot. You have suspiciously good aim, and I'm not taking any risks," Eric answers, and he gestures for me to follow him. "Come on. Max's office is in the back. If he's in there, I'll make sure he's…alive."
"Is Max your police chief?" I walk alongside Eric, though I have no clue where I'm going. The Lakeview police station is way more impressive than ours. We pass through rows of desks and down a hallway lined with plaques. I linger to read a few, noticing Eric's name is on more than a dozen, and there's another Coulter. Daniel's name is on more awards than Eric's, and each one sounds more prestigious than the other. "Is he in charge?"
"Max is our captain. He's been overseeing our station, plus a neighboring station for a few weeks. We've been helping out a few neighboring towns since this shit started." Eric stops in front of a large office door, and he waits for me to catch up. "He sent me to Haling Cove. I was there on his orders."
I watch with wide eyes as he opens the office door.
It creaks loudly, but ultimately, it's a letdown. There's nothing but darkness inside, and Eric waits a moment before reaching in and flicking the flights on. The florescent lights reveal Max's desk is covered in manilla file folders, stacks of papers, and empty fast-food wrappers. There's a large map behind the desk with pins stuck all over, and an open laptop on the desk. Eric walks around the desk and immediately begins tapping away at the keyboard. With a grunt of frustration, he nudges it aside, and begins to rifle through the paperwork, seemingly ignoring the soft thud coming from the hallway. I hear it again, heavy and slow, and it makes me nervous.
"Is he here?" I chew on my lip while I wait, and something pricks at the back of my neck. "Do you think he…um….do you think he's…."
"Do I think he's what?" Eric demands. He looks up once, and his stare holds minimal concern. "Carlen, did you hear me? What's wrong? Is someone there?"
I step back.
I move slowly, staring at the man a few feet away, and my fingers fumble against the wall. Unfortunately for me, there is nothing to hold onto. I step back again as the man comes closer, and I take a wild guess that this must be Max.
"Eric –"
He lunges.
Both Eric and Max, though Max has the advantage of being only a few feet away. He moves easily, his dark skin a blur as his hands grab my neck, and I'm knocked back into the wall of awards. They fall down with a surprising amount of force, clattering at my feet as I try to wrench myself free from his grip. His fingers are cold; chilly, but strong, and he only startles when Eric yells his name. It's enough for me to run, a lousy plan since I have no gun or weapon of any sort, and a failure. Max grabs me by the hair, and I'm yanked back, right into his soft, almost squishy chest.
The smell is overpowering.
I dry heave as I trip over my own feet, but manage to elbow him as hard as I can. His hands claw at my hair, less clumsy and a little too controlled, but luckily, Eric has great timing.
The bullet hits Max in the head the very moment I stumble. My shoes are slippery on the concrete and have zero traction when his blood spills everywhere. It falls to the ground in dark bursts, richer and stickier than I would imagine, and I only stay upright because Eric is right there.
He grabs onto me, pulling me away from Max with far more force than necessary, and I barely gasp out a thank you before he shoots Max again.
This time, he makes sure the bullet goes right through his boss's temple, and when he's not sure it's enough, he shoots him again.
I decide I do not like the zombies.
I stand in front of a large counter, doing my best to stop shaking. My breathing is choppy, bordering on hyperventilating, and I try to explain to Eric that by the time I saw Max, it was too late to do anything but try and run.
He's not listening.
He's busy rifling through the lockers, slamming them shut when he doesn't find what he's looking for. He asks me a few questions, but I can barely answer him. His voice rings in my ears, until the sound is so loud, I jump when he says my name.
In all fairness, this day is starting to wear on me. I'm not a trained police officer, nor are zombies my thing. While I liked watching scary movies with Leif and Wesley, the undead wasn't anything I ever picked out. I found their lack of a soul disturbing, and the way they turned on family and friends made my stomach flip over. Their appearance in the movies is disturbing enough, but the ones in real life are horrifying.
If I close my eyes, I can still feel Max's hands on my neck. They were cold, lifeless but strong, and smelled like rotten flesh.
I jump again when hands find my waist. I wince when they hit a sore spot, whirling around expecting to see Max or Linda again, but it's Eric. He picks me up before I can ask what he's doing and sets me on the counter. To my left is a large box marked uniforms, and to my right is someone's laundry. Eric looks at my face once, then moves me back further and grabs my foot.
His actions are easy. There is no hesitation in his posture, only an impatience to get going.
"Explain to me," he pauses, yanking the shoe off and tossing it aside without looking. "what went through your mind when you chose your outfit for today. There are zombies everywhere. Every person I know is being turned into a mindless, dead eyed corpse, and you're dressed like you're heading out for tea."
"I didn't know I'd run into more of them," I answer slowly, too stunned to do anything but watch him. I would protest that he's thrown my favorite shoes into the middle of the room, but they're ruined. They're covered in blood and guts –some mine, most not –and definitely not sturdy enough to be running around in. "I thought I was going to find my family."
"You are. But I can't get you there if you're dead."
Eric is a smart guy.
He shoves a pair of socks at me, and steps to the side while I put them on. He rummages through a few lockers that are open, swearing at the few that are closed, but eventually, he's triumphant. He returns with a pair of boots in his hands, and my brain is a second too slow when I realize they are for me. He roughly helps me put them on, and it's obvious they're for his benefit as well.
They're close enough to my size. They are awkward and heavy, but warm.
"Here. These will help. They'll be easier to run in if you need to." He bends down to tighten the laces. He's focused on his work, and I stare at his head while he ties them for me. When he straightens himself up, Eric frowns at my dress again, and gestures for me to stay put. "Don't move. I'll be right back."
I take his orders seriously. I have no desire to leap off this counter and wander anywhere. The hallway we'd walked down was eerily silent, and the offices were all dark. With my luck, the second I jumped down, another zombie would appear.
The thought of them is terrifying on every level. I'm learning they can hear and see, most are fairly fast, and their rotten and decayed bodies don't slow them down the way one would hope. As much as I hate knowing all this, I feel like it'll come in handy.
Mostly because I have the sinking feeling there is no one here to help me.
"So, um, you said someone would take me somewhere? To find my parents?" I fix one of the laces on the boots, and I have to admit, they are far sturdier than my shoes. They're part of someone's uniform, but I don't think they're coming back. "What about –"
"There's no one here," Eric interrupts. "Linda was my point of contact. She'd been working for the past two days, and she was supposed to be here until my shift ended tonight. Max must have been bitten sometime today, or maybe last night. The woman who runs the program taking in missing persons or vulnerable citizens is not here, either."
He hands me a jacket.
It's thick and dark, similar to the one he has on, and his smile is unfriendly.
"It's supposed to be cold tonight. We'll drive north to Williams. There's a chance they're still operating, but they aren't answering any incoming calls. According to the paperwork, there are six safe zones set up, and the sooner we get to one, the better." Eric's stare holds mine, and I notice his eyes are a light grey. "I can leave you here at one of the motels, if you'd prefer to stay. I can make sure you have enough food and water for a few days, and I'll leave behind a number for Lauren in case she does return. If not, you can take a patrol car back to Haling. Can you drive?"
I stare at him, unable to answer.
There is exhaustion creeping into his expression, but he doesn't let it last for very long. Still, it's impossible to miss the way he leans forward, the way his eyes look heavy, and the way his hair falls to the side instead of being slicked back.
"Carlen, can you drive? I'll leave you the keys. This town's about to –"
"My name is Everly." I stare back at him, panic choking at my throat. "You're really going to leave me here, aren't you? You're going to leave me with all of these…these…."
I can't finish my sentence.
The boots and jacket make sense now. He's preparing to leave me behind, just like my family, and this way, he can feel good about making sure I had enough going for me that he won't have to feel guilty. My chest burns at the realization that he will be gone, and I will be here alone, in an unfamiliar town, with the option to drive a patrol car back to Haling and the risk of trying to make it all the way back to my house.
The reality is, he has no real responsibility to me. If anything, I'm a liability to him, even though I could have let Landon bite him.
"You're leaving me here and –"
"No," Eric interrupts, shaking his head. His hands move to fix the collar on the jacket, and he yanks it into place. "Listen, I don't even know you, but I'm taking you with me. Staying behind is an option if you don't want to go. It's unlikely I'll be able to locate your family. If you come with me, you'll be going further away from Haling Cove, and I'm not sure when I'll be able to bring you back. If at all. When I get to the safe zone, I'll be put to work. I won't be able to turn around and drive you back home."
"So, if I go with you, we're going –"
"To one of the safe zones, yes. If they're still standing." Eric pauses, and his fingers are warm against my neck. Max's were cold, like he'd been sitting dead for a few hours and all the life was long gone by the time I saw him. "I'm going to find my friends, but I'll get you somewhere safe. They're set up to help any survivors."
"Are you sure they really exist?" I ask, and I have the craziest feeling every town is the same as Haling Cove and Lakeview. "Are you sure there are people there?"
The urge to throw up is strong. My day has gone from thinking I'd have my friends over for dinner, to fighting off Ian and Landon, and to now learning my only chance at likely survival is to tag along with a guy I barely know.
"I'm not. I'll keep calling until I get an answer, but the map has six locations that went up the minute the outbreak started. Odds are, one of them is active. It's just a matter of getting there alive. No matter which one I try, it'll take some time to get there. Now, do you want to go, or do you want to stay?"
He waits for my answer, his patience thin and temporary, but he doesn't move.
Maybe he's trying not to startle me, or perhaps he's not worried Linda or Max could come back to life, but Eric makes no move to hurry my decision. He goes back to adjusting the jacket collar, and I dare say there's a connection to him that I can't place.
It's even stronger when he pushes my hair back off my cheek to make sure there's no bite mark.
"You have to tell me what you want me to do. Stay here, and see if anyone returns, or come with me. If you stay behind, I'll leave you a gun and enough bullets to get you home."
"And if I go with you?" I crane my head up to look at him, and he smirks.
Eric Coulter, police lieutenant and zombie killer extraordinaire, has the audacity to find my question amusing.
"You can hold the box of bullets."
I scowl at him before I can stop myself, but it doesn't matter.
Eric helps me slide down off the counter, his hands staying on my waist even after I hit the floor. We both know my decision isn't to stay in Lakeview any longer than absolutely necessary, and it's a smart one.
Eric shuts the door to the locker room as we walk out, and we both walk a little faster when we hear the faint, heavy shuffling coming from one of the offices.
The zombie apocalypse is hardly the way I saw the world ending.
Eric and I leave Lakeview with the mutual desire to stay alive, a few more guns than we came with, and the awareness that zombies are lurking around every corner.
Neither Max nor Linda come back to life, but Eric doesn't stick around to see if that is going to change. He does pause by Linda's desk to grab something. He takes papers with notes written on them, then tells me to grab the phone and charger on her desk. He takes other things with no real meaning to me –some gum, a few matchbooks, a set of keys, and a picture. I look at him curiously, but he waves me off.
Our moment from earlier is gone.
Eric announces we're leaving, and I walk carefully around the splash of blood and guts. These boots are way better than my shoes, and there's a weird sense of feeling like I have armor on. I get why Eric likes them, even if they do clash with my dress.
The lights start to flicker right as we make it outside. I turn to ask Eric if he'll consider giving me one gun, even just with a few bullets, when the whole world explodes.
The ground shakes and pieces of metal and debris fly through the air. I crash into Eric, and after steadying me, we both take off running, and he pushes me ahead of him. When we're far enough away, I look around, swearing the explosion came from right next to us. To my surprise, it's not. In the distance, a large tower bursts into flames, and the sky above it is immediate black with smoke.
"It's the power plant," Eric informs me, unenthused and visibly annoyed. "We should get out of here before the whole town catches fire."
"Do you live here?" I follow him to the car, and to my surprise, it's unlocked. "Are you stopping at your…house?"
"I don't think we'll have time." Eric eyes the sky warily, "I have a bag packed for emergencies. If we leave now, we can make it to Williams before it gets dark. We'll stop along the way where it's less…"
He pauses, and behind us, the power plants crumbles. It collapses with a groan of metal and smoke, and the air turns thick and impossible to breathe.
"Come on."
Eric touches my elbow, and there is no hesitation in following him.
We get back in the car, and behind us, Lakeview descends into the same chaos of Haling Cove.
The scenery is a blur.
The road Eric takes cuts through the woods. It slices between heavy rows of trees, banking and twisting up the mountain. In a lot of ways, Lakeview reminds me of my own town. There are a few homes along the way, expensive and expansive, and but it's not long before there is nothing but trees, the horizon, and silence.
I have plenty of time to think about my family, and the feeling of disappointment at being left behind rises up again. Though my mother had seemingly good reasoning –she planned on being home by dark, and she knew I didn't want to spend hours stuck with my brothers and sisters –it still stings. At any point on her way to get my father, she would have to have realized what is going on. She could have turned around, called home, or tried to get ahold of someone. Even Carole would have answered her phone and come over to tell me to stay inside.
Instead, I am here.
Speeding along a highway, with an officer I've just met, while he tries to radio the city we're heading towards. His patrol car is safe and fast, but the lack of communication makes me nervous. He tries several times once we reach a higher point on the mountain pass, but no one answers. The radio is either silence or loud static. I jump when he nears the top, and his phone rings shrilly.
Eric pulls over at a scenic look out point, and I use the opportunity to stretch my legs. We haven't been driving more than two hours, but it's a nice break. I use the restroom in a creepy, deserted state-run facility that begs for someone to commit murder inside its cement walls, and when I return, he's on the phone, scowling into the abyss.
I wander close to the edge, peering down while he snaps at someone to tell him if Jason is there or not. I watch him rub the back of his neck, furious over their lack of answers, and it gives me a chance to really look at him.
In our short time together, I've learned a few things about him.
One, his patience is minimal.
Two, he's sort of handsome, if you took away the pissed off look on his face and fixed his hair into something less police-like.
And three, he's probably the only person around who isn't afraid of the zombies.
There's a lot of appeal in my last conclusion, because no one else is jumping to get rid of them. Eric is the first person, other than Carole, who isn't afraid of getting his hands dirty. I doubt his training included having to deal with the undead, but he's unfazed by them, even his own boss. His main concern seems to be finding his fellow officers, through it's obvious their mysterious disappearance bugs him.
When I look back at him, his voice sharp and unhappy as he demands –again –to know if anyone from his station is there, he's frowning at me. He steps toward me and yanks me back away from the railing like he fully expects me to fall right over it.
There's some mild romance to him saving my life, but it wanes when he darkly informs me if I fall to my death, he's not going after me.
"Are you sure? Jason. Jason…" Eric pauses until I get closer to him, and I listen while he exhales heavily. "Williams is shut down? I was just told it was active. What about Harrison? Has anyone heard from him?"
I listen to the person answering him, and it's weird to hear another voice. I decide it's where we are. The lookout point is secluded. It's cold up here, and the air is so sharp that it burns when it hits my skin. The view is stunning, but a harsh reminder that Eric and I are alone, and the steep drop will end my life much faster than a zombie bite. I stare out at the lush valley of treetops until I hear Eric finish his conversation.
"Alright. Will you call if anything changes? I'll need to know if any of them are up and running. Radio if you see Jason, or even Karl."
The voice on the other end agrees, but they don't sound optimistic. I try to listen without looking like I'm eavesdropping. Eric's words feel important for reasons I don't know, and his tone hints this isn't going the way he thought it would go.
Nothing is.
I would give anything to have a few hours of normalcy, which is laughable considering this doesn't seem like it's going away any time soon. I look up when Eric snaps a goodbye, and he stops next to me with a dark expression.
I know it's bad news before he speaks.
"Williams hasn't had any active communication in the last four hours. I just talked to someone in Greenpointe. We can head that way, but it's a couple of days drive to get there. The woman I spoke with isn't sure what's going on or why, but verified they've sent what officers they can out that way. They've had trouble reaching the contacts for each safe zone. They're supposed to be run by the military, but they've been pulled in other directions."
"The military?" I freeze when Eric's arm touches mine. He stands beside me, gazing out at the same spot I am, but his mouth is tense. "Do they know what's going on?"
"Yes."
His answer is annoyed, but not at me.
"Jason thinks the zombies are a failed military experiment. They set up safe zones the day the outbreaks started, and he found the timing suspicious," Eric pauses, and I feel him looking at me. "He went missing trying to locate one of their researchers. One we believed to have driven through Haling Cove to warn your sheriff."
"What do you think?" I keep my gaze on the tallest portion of the valley, because I've figured out Eric will talk, but he'll talk more if I'm not looking at him. "Do you think your friend is alive?"
"I'm sure he's fine. He's well prepared. Harrison trained us for this, so he should live."
"Someone…trained you for a zombie apocalypse?" This time, I do look at him. He cracks the barest of grins, so slight it's a mere second of his lips turning up, then it's gone. "Are you serious?"
"Yes. More importantly, we should get back on the road. I was informed there's a hotel and diner a few hours away. Some are being forced to stay open so search and rescue aren't stuck camping in the woods and starving," Eric answers, but he's distracted. He hits my arm with his, and glances back at the patrol car. "You sure you're up for this? There's no guarantee of seeing your family. You'll be states away by the time you could potentially know if they're alive."
"If I say no, are you going to take me all the back to Haling?" I look right at him, and he shakes his head no. We're both well aware Haling Cove is hours away now and taking me home would set him back a day. "I told you, I'm going wherever you go. The last thing I want is to be stuck inside when Carole comes crashing through the walls to kill me."
"She sounds fun. Are you sure she hasn't been a zombie all along?" Eric snickers, and it's a rare moment for him. His expression immediately turns serious, and he announces we're leaving. "You lead the way, Carlen. I want to get to the other side of the mountain before it gets dark."
"Are you going to call me that forever?" I catch his eye as we walk, and the jerk looks smug when he shakes his head no. "Because you know my name. It's Everly."
"Yes." Eric pushes me ahead, and he points to the passenger door. "Do me a favor and try not to fall asleep this time. I need you to stay awake."
"Why?" I get back into the car, watching as Eric walks around to the driver's side. He turns the engine on while looking over his shoulder, and his frown makes me nervous. "Eric?"
He locks the car doors.
He takes off before I can buckle my seatbelt, and I glance around nervously. There doesn't appear to be anyone driving this way, but maybe he saw something I didn't.
"Just…. stay awake. Got it?" Eric looks over at me, and he waits until I nod. "Good."
He doesn't drive off until I've buckled my seatbelt, and we lapse into easy silence.
I listen to the radio, and every so often, someone's voice does come through.
It sounds anything but human.
There's snarling and snapping, a ripping sound the makes my heart speed up, and a scream so deep and desperate it makes me wince.
Eric reaches over and he fumbles with the dial. Every channel he finds is the same –shrieks and moans, a few swear words, and no one answering anything he says. One channel is extra loud, a guy frantically begging for someone to call in backup, but he doesn't respond when Eric asks where he is.
We reach the very top of the mountain as the man yells again, and this time, Eric turns the radio off completely.
Chapter 3: Black Mountain Inn, Code Zero
Notes:
Thank you oh so much for reading and reviewing! I'm so happy you guys are enjoying the story. I missed writing Eric and Everly a ton, and this has been a fun way to jump back in. I loved reading all your thoughts, and I'm happy most like the idea. I have one other story planned after this if Erin will agree lol, so we'll see.
To answer some of the questions, yes, we are going to see a bunch of familiar faces, and I promise not all are zombies. Everything is eventually explained, and this story has tons of Easter Eggs from The Training. If you are new to my writing, I highly recommend starting with The Training, or a few of the characters will not make sense. You can definitely read this one alone, but some of the inside jokes and moments will make more sense if you ready the original story.
Have a really good weekend! 💚
Chapter Text
"It says here, you should always shoot them in the head, twice. Once to kill them, then a second time to make sure they're really dead. It also says, you can only be infected if they bite you, but if they scratch you and draw blood, then you should…cut your arm off. Or where they scratched you."
I look up from Eric's phone as he looks over at me, as much as one can while driving.
"Is that what happened to Hazel?" He returns to looking straight ahead and slows down as our descent down the mountain begins. The road ahead is winding, and on Eric's side, there is a sharp drop, protected only by a flimsy looking railing.
"Maybe."
I keep scrolling down the page I'm reading, impressed he even has a signal out here.
A few minutes ago, Eric gave me his phone and told me to look something up. I took it gingerly, my fingers touching his for a split second, then typed in the site he requested. I was impressed when an entire blog appeared on the screen, with all kinds of pictures and links. At first glance, I assumed it was a government site, but I quickly figured it wasn't.
It was Jason's.
The picture of him is at the very top. It's him beaming as he stands in the middle of a desert, documenting his quest to find extraterrestrial life. I'm surprised to find he has long, red hair, is taller and skinnier than I imagined, and is dressed like he's going skateboarding. In the pictures, he's posed in front of large, graffiti covered domes, all crumbling and looking ready to collapse. His bio on the bottom of the page explains he's been researching all sorts of paranormal activity for years: everything from aliens abducting people out of their homes, military cover ups in area 51, to zombies.
He actually has quite a few pages about zombies, and they're linked to his latest post at the very top of the page with a warning to read carefully, and alert local authorities if you think you've seen one.
"Did you…" I pause as the road dips down enough to make my stomach drop. "Did you hunt aliens with him? It says he and his friends often went on trips to areas with high reports of activity?"
I glance at Eric, noticing he looks like he's struggling to keep a neutral expression, and I decide he has been alien hunting.
"Did you ever find any?"
"I never went!" He shoots me a dirty look, and points at the phone. "You're supposed to be looking at the zombie page. See if he's updated anything. If he has, then I know he's alive."
"The last update was four days ago." I go back to the zombie page, grimacing at the facts Jason has listed. He seems knowledgeable enough about them, but I don't know how he would know all this. "Or the last post was updated then. Where was he when you last talked to him?"
"On his way to Haling Cove. He was sent to look for some researcher who went missing. We lost contact the day before and Jason was assigned there. Max assumed he'd gotten stuck helping out your police, so he sent me, even though we really didn't have enough officers." Eric exhales heavily, and I feel a flash of discomfort, since my assumption is that Jason is dead. "There's nothing new? Are you sure? A post, or link, or anything?"
"His last post is a list of weapons commonly used to kill zombies, and that was posted on the same day," I answer slowly, pulling my feet up beneath me and skimming his post. It's well written, and had I found it on my own, I would believe Jason hunted zombies on the regular. "Swords, hatchets, knives, homemade explosives. Surprisingly, he's listed the gun last."
"Of course, he did." Eric sighs. "Only Jason would put the most practical weapon last. I guess it's more fun to nearly die by trying to stab one of them."
I can't help but smile at the look on his face. He looks like he's counting to a high number, and I use the opportunity to look at his phone. I click out of the website and onto his home screen, and his list of apps is incredibly boring. Mostly icons for work, his messages, and at the very bottom, one for photos. Before I can click on that one, he yanks the phone out of my hands and glares.
"I meant to ask, the whole family really went to find your dad? Except for you?"
"All of them," I sink back against the seat, and outside, the trees blur by. "My dad works out of town, and I guess he called to say he was coming home. Then suddenly, my mom was going to meet him. She took my brothers and sisters but left a note saying she didn't want to wake me up. Only one of my brothers didn't go, but he's been gone a few months."
"How many siblings do you have?"
I try not to look at Eric. He sounds mildly interested, but his tone says otherwise.
"Um, three younger brothers and two younger sisters. Forrest is older, but he left a while ago. My mom doesn't know where he went." I stare at the trees until my eyes blur, and Eric nods. "I think he ran off with his girlfriend. He was tired of helping babysit."
"That's…a lot of children." Eric's answer is muttered with obvious horror. "You all lived there? In one house?"
"Most of the time." I pause when he glances back, but he's merely switching lines. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"None," he answers sharply, slowing the car. "Which is fine by me."
"Were you ever lonely? My brothers got on my nerves, but someone was always home. Even if they were annoying." I think of Zander, doing his best to make everyone pay attention to him, no matter what was going on. "I hope they're alright."
"It was fine." Eric's jaw tightens. "I don't need to be entertained or have anyone bugging me. Your mother took all of them? Are you sure?"
"That's what her note said," I answer glumly, and I don't have to make any wild guesses as to what he's thinking. "She said they were heading an hour away. Maybe they went to Lakeview."
"Or Park Valley," Eric counters. "What does your father do?"
"He –"
I pause, because Eric pulls off to the side of the road. A few feet away, there is a car stuck halfway in the road, and were someone not paying attention, they'd more than likely hit it. It's parked haphazardly, like it broke down and they didn't make it to the side in time.
"What the…"
"Stay in the car." Eric puts the car in park, and he's out the door and flashing his badge before I can protest. I loathe feeling trapped and unarmed, though I'm sure I could find a gun if I really needed to. I watch Eric intently, hating the nervous feeling roaring its ugly head as he questions the man who must have been driving. It increases a million times more when the man looks at the police car, and our eyes meet.
He's creepy.
Not like he's some hideous creature, or is standing there waving a knife around, but there's something about him that makes me want to leave. He doesn't seem to like Eric much, and he keeps frowning with every question Eric asks. The man is shorter, close to Eric's age, but his brown hair is curly and damp looking. He forces a fake smile when Eric turns back to head to the car, and he throws the door open and slides in.
"What happened?" I turn to face Eric, and I hope he'll announce we're leaving. "Who is that guy?"
"He says his name is Peter." Eric opens the laptop, and he types the first and last name, along with the city and state, into the system. A profile appears with information about the car and driver, and a copy of his license appears.
He's even more unfriendly looking in his photo.
"He thinks his battery died. I'm going to help push him off the road. Claims his brother is coming with a new one. He doesn't want a jump or anything. I told him he needs to be completely off the street and not blocking traffic." Eric sounds bored, and he backs up the patrol car quickly. "He gave me some dick answer about there being no traffic. He still can't block the lanes."
"I don't like him," I announce, and Eric looks at me curiously. "I don't know why. He's weird. He didn't look happy while you were talking to him."
"He isn't happy," Eric answers evenly. He parks the car, and his stare finds mine. "He's got three unpaid speeding tickets. Luckily for him, I don't have a jail to bring him to. It's not worth my time to arrest him and he knows it."
"Oh, so…" I open the car door when Eric does, and he stops and shakes his head when I step out. "What?"
"Get back in the car," he orders, immediately thereafter barking at Peter to head to the front of his car. "You'll wait there till I'm done."
Before I can offer to help, thinking that maybe if both of us help this guy, we'll be on our way faster, Peter is right in front of me. His smile doesn't reach beyond his mouth, as he utters a low hey. He eyes me up and down, like he's taking inventory, and his stare slips back over to Eric.
"She should help," he suggests, as he steps closer. "It'll go faster if –"
"She waits in the car," Eric snaps, and he moves between us. The two of them have a silent standoff, though Peter is dumb to assume he'd be able to take Eric down. "She's not helping."
"Is she your girlfriend? Or you arrested her and dragged her along?" Peter looks around Eric at me, and his eyes are bright. "Let her help, man. She doesn't need you telling her what to do."
Eric cocks his head.
Even though we've only spent a few hours together, I've quickly learned Eric isn't someone I'd mess with. He's tall and broad, still covered in blood, and unafraid. He steps toward Peter, and I witness the exact moment Peter figures out it's in his best interest to shut up.
He backs down immediately, but his stare doesn't leave me.
"Hey, no worries. She doesn't have to help. Just though it would be quicker."
"Carlen, in the car. Turn the radio on and call this in." Eric looks over his shoulder quickly, and I nod, despite having no clue how to do any of that. "Route 5."
"Got it," I answer, and I do get back in the car. With one eye still on Eric, I fumble with the radio while he walks a few feet with Peter, and I start pushing buttons hoping something will connect.
To my surprise, it does.
"Station 1999, who is responding?" The woman's voice is even and calm. "Station 1999, again, who is responding? Are you in danger?"
"Um, this is Everly," I say carefully, and there's a clicking sound. "I'm calling in for…Lieutenant Coulter. He said to radio someone."
The clicking continues. She types at a frantic rate, pausing to ask me where I am.
"He said route 5."
"City and state?" She keeps typing, but I'm watching Eric and Peter. Eric helps him push the car back a few feet, and Peter looks annoyed when it gets stuck. "Ma'am are you still there? Is your officer in trouble?"
"There's a really weird guy with his car in the middle of the road. Eric is helping him push it back but I think something is wrong. He said to radio someone." My answer is quiet, and I know this information is probably super unhelpful. "Where are you? Are you nearby?"
"We are in New York." Her answer is clipped, and the radio crackles. "Is the Lieutenant armed? Have you tried reaching a local station? I'm showing no connection to the highway patrol near you, but I'll keep trying. Is your area infected?"
"Yes." I freeze when Eric turns to walk back, and Peter watches him intently. His eyes narrow when he sees me, and I swear he smirks. "Um, he's coming back. He's –"
The radio disconnects.
It's sudden and disappointing. Eric throws me a funny look when he slides into the driver's seat, and he locks the doors.
"You okay?"
"I got a hold of someone," I blurt out, and his grey eyes find mine. "They were in New York. She said she tried to reach the highway patrol here but there was no answer. Then it hung up."
"It's alright," Eric shrugs, watching as Peter gets back in his car. "Normally, I'd call this in and have someone patrol the area until he's gone, but there's no point in it now. He's going to sit there until his brother shows up. You okay? I only told you to stay in the car because he looks suspicious."
I nod, relieved when Eric drives the car back onto the main road. "He just gave me a weird feeling."
Eric is silent. He drives past Peter without looking at him, and he only glances in the rearview mirror once, like he's making sure he's not following us.
When we are a good distance away, he nods, and he looks fairly impressed.
"Agreed."
By the time we reach the shitty diner, I realize he's probably never going to call me by my real name.
Our drive down the mountain was pretty quiet, but time consuming; Eric scanned the radio for active stations, listened to a few calls, and skimmed through most of them. The ones that connected were all the same: stations begging for help, or the occasional person answering and informing whoever was listening, that their only option is to head a safe zone. There were a few moments where other agencies answered, but not many. A lone highway patrol officer radioed that there was a pile up of bodies on the 10, and his call was cut short when someone started screaming, followed by a loud crash of grinding metal.
By the time we reached the base of the mountain, my head hurt.
Eric parks in front of a diner named Black Mountain Inn Eatery. It's settled near a gas station, a rundown looking motel, and the wide expanse of forest. It appears to be a tourist trap, a nice break from the twisty mountain drive, and fairly popular. I'm stunned to see numerous cars here, and the neon open sign lit up. I should be thrilled for another break from driving, this time without the creepy guy and his car, but it's starting to get dark. The sun is dipping in the sky slowly, casting an eerie but fitting glow over the woods.
I sit silently as Eric shuts the laptop and shoves his phone in his jacket pocket. He glances over at me, and cocks one eyebrow when I don't move. "Are you hungry? I thought we'd eat, and I'll try Jason again. The next town is still a day away."
"Yeah, I think so."
It's weird to remember I haven't eaten anything today. I slide out of the car when Eric does, and I observe the area like I'll need to remember it. The gas station appears to be empty, but it does offer sodas for a dollar, and the large gas pumps creak in the wind. There are benches outside the store, a few pots with flowers in them, and a large A-frame sign promoting the diner next door for its spectacular views and home cooked meals. The diner is set to the side, about a dozen steps up, and I'm guessing it offers a view of the woods.
Behind it, the motel lurks, seedy, and not at all safe looking.
"Come on. If it gets late enough, we'll stay here," Eric gestures for me to follow him. "You okay over there?"
"Here?" I stare at the motel in horror, remembering the time Leif and I watched a movie about a crazy mother who ran a motel and killed people while they showered. "You want to stay here?"
Eric looks at me in disbelief.
I would normally find his reactions interesting, because it's obvious no one ever disagrees with him. His lips press together, and his shoulders pull back, like he's going to physically fight me for not wanting to be murdered by a psycho motel owner, and his eyes narrow.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you expecting the Ritz Carlton? There are only certain places still open. If a town is overrun with zombies, it's likely there's nowhere to stay. Roadside motels are being forced to stay open for officers and rescue. Would you like me to keep driving? Maybe you'd rather camp in the woods?"
"Um, no it's just…. I saw a movie about a girl who stayed in a hotel just like this one, and it looked fine when she checked in, but that night, someone tried to kill her while she was showering and –"
He glares at me.
Eric puts his hands on his hips, and I fully expect him to read me my Miranda rights. "You'll be fine. I'll make sure no one stabs you."
"Are we sharing a room? I'm not an officer."
I squeak when he takes hold of me by the arm, and to anyone watching –like the crazy old man who's now standing in front of the gas station, or the guy standing beside him, squinting at us –it looks like he's about to lean in and kiss me.
He most certainly doesn't.
Instead, Eric lowly informs me our options are limited, I can go with him or stay in the car.
I give in.
Not because he's scaring me or he's in charge, but because I am starving, it's dark out here, and the creepy old man is still lurking at the gas station.
Also, because Eric's hands are warm, and he keeps one on my arm as we walk in. He stays so close that I bump into his side, and we only separate when we're led to a table in the back of the diner, overlooking the deep, dark forest.
"Here you go. The plates are hot, so be careful. One turkey sandwich, and one hamburger with extra fries. I'll come back to check on you in a few minutes. By the way, where are you two from? Lakeview? I heard it's up in flames. The last officer here was leaving town because his mother-in-law tried to eat him. Paul is worried it'll come this way."
Our waitress is friendly, but more to Eric than me. She hovers near his side of the table, or just off to the side, pouring endless cups of coffee while staring at him. Her nametag reads Lucy, and she occasionally looks at me like she's not sure why I'm with him.
Or wearing the same jacket.
Her gaze lingers on it longer than it should, until I look up at her.
"Are you both from Lakeview?" She narrows her eyes, and glances back at Eric. "You're with him?"
"Do you remember the officer who came through here? Did you get a name?" Eric interrupts, and I smile sweetly at Lucy before she looks at Eric. I feel as though she doesn't like me very much, or maybe she's hoping Eric will save her from working in this haunted diner. "Male, female? How old?"
"It was a guy. Kinda…jumpy. I don't remember where he was from. His uniform looked like yours." Lucy lingers, even when the cook yells at her from behind the counter. "Same color and everything."
"Yes, well, if he's an officer, he'd be wearing the uniform," Eric answers dryly, and I can't help but laugh as I take a bite of my sandwich. Lucy throws me a dirty look, and Eric's stare flashes to me. His expression is unbothered, but it's obvious he finds some mild appreciation in me laughing.
"Great." He waves Lucy away, then reaches for his plate. "She'll have another drink, by the way."
"Oh…uh, sure." Lucy reluctantly leaves, and I watch her out of the corner of my eye.
When she reaches the counter, there are a few plates waiting to be served. We aren't the only ones in here, and much to my surprise, the place appears to have regulars. Some are sitting at the counter, some are a few booths away, but they all look like they really enjoy eating here. I take a quick inventory of if they're alive or not, and I decide all look not dead, except for one.
The old lady at the end of the counter ranting about her eggs looks suspicious, but it's not from a zombie bite.
At least not that I can see.
"Eat your food. Your drink should be back soon," Eric insists, and his own stare sweeps the restaurant. His eyes linger on the old lady, yelling about how the cook is a moron, and Lucy tells her she can leave if she's going to be rude.
I sit up straighter when someone else drops a drink off for me, and Eric raises his eyebrow when I tell him Lucy has the hots for him.
"She wants you. She keeps looking over here."
"Aren't you funny," he retorts, dragging a fry off his plate like it's killing him to be eating such food. "She's being nice because she wants a good tip. Which is stupid, considering money will hold no value in the next few days."
"What?" I freeze with my drink halfway to my mouth. "What do you mean, money will hold no value? We still have banks."
"For now," he mutters. "Look, I thought Jason was nuts when he wrote the zombie post, but everything he's outlined has come true. It started in small towns, is spread by being bitten, the zombies are fairly intelligent. He said he'd studied it enough to piece together what was coming, and so far, he's not wrong."
"So, what's next?" I take a sip of the drink, and I enjoy the soda slowly, figuring it might be my last. "Cities on fire? Godzilla rising up out of the oceans? Aliens?" I ask slyly.
Eric's expression changes.
It turns to something that hints he can't believe he brought me along with him, and his odds of survival have just plummeted.
A scowl later, he shakes his head.
"Media will go down. They'll stop reporting the outbreaks and what towns are being infected, and at what rate. You'll see more military than police, though we'll be asked to help. Communication will go down on a civilian level, thought the radio in the car might still work." Eric pauses to shrug, and he watches me toy with the straw. "Power will go out, outbreaks will become uncontrollable, it'll be a free for all. We'll need to make sure to take any ammunition or weapons we find. Some towns are on the brink of collapse already."
I lean back against the booth, and my appetite fades.
"Should we really be sitting here and…and…" I glance around furiously, but he doesn't move. "Shouldn't we be leaving?"
"No. We need to eat. And if I'm being honest, Jason is too kind in giving humanity as much time as he did. He predicted if a zombie outbreak happened, half the US would be wiped out within seven days. Two thirds by fourteen days, and the remaining one third would be left to rebuild. If they can get the infection under control."
"Is there a way to stop it?" I force myself to eat a few more bites. "Is there a cure?"
"He believes so," Eric accepts something from Lucy, a weird paper packet with the logo of the motel printed on the cover, and he sets it off to the side. "Depends on how fast they can pump one out."
"How do I pay for my sandwich?" I glance at the windows facing the parking lot, and I try to remember if my wallet was in my purse when I grabbed it. "Do you want me to go get –"
"Eat your lunch. Dinner. Whatever it is. Do you want anything else?" He pulls a card out of his wallet, and he's quick. He hands it to Lucy as she wanders by again, her uniform skirt riding up and her hair now down from the ponytail it was in previously. "Here, will you run this? She'll need a to go box, as well."
"Are you guys…are you staying here?" Lucy plucks the card out of his hand, trying to examine the name without him noticing. "The keys are only for one room."
"Do you work the front desk?" I ask, curious if she did everything here. "Does your mother own this place? Is she…old?"
"Carlen," Eric says my name warningly, and I do my best not to look at him. "Finish your dinner."
"I'll take the to go box. You haven't seen anything…weird going on here, have you? Anyone lurching around with one arm? Or one and a half arms?"
Lucy blinks. She stares at the jacket –not mine, with a badge pinned on it that does not say Carlen –then at Eric. For a solid minute, her gaze slides back and forth as she tries to place who I am to him. I could save her the trouble and point out I barely know him, but he kicks my foot and I smile widely.
"It's okay if you have. You can tell me."
"What are you talking about?" Lucy demands, and she looks annoyed. "One armed what?"
"She wants to know if you've seen anyone infected. There aren't any reports for this area, so she's making sure it's still safe. We're heading to one of the safe zones, but it's a day away." Eric answers, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "You can run the card. Add ten for yourself."
"Oh, so you're….co-workers?" Lucy ignores the last part and focuses only on figuring out why I get to eat with Eric. "Okay, um, sure. I'll go ring you up now."
"Thanks."
His answer is tight, and so is his jaw. It stays that while we finish eating, but I don't mind the silence. There's plenty to look at in here –weird animals mounted to the wall as trophies, sticky menus with the daily specials, and numerous, aged photographs of famous patrons. I stare at a man with wild, curly hair and an accordion, until Eric asks if I know any of Ian's other officers.
"I know all of them. Greg and Tony are really nice. Matt is newer, and he works by the school. Or he did." I stop when I think of him waving kids across the crosswalk, and I don't doubt he's probably been bitten. "We had some who've been there forever. Daryl and Wendel, a woman named Maize."
"Have you seen them lately?" Eric accepts the bill from Lucy, and scrawls his name on the bottom of the receipt. "Or just…Ian and—"
"Landon?" His name tastes bitter in my mouth for a few reasons, but there's some guilt about shooting him in the head hours ago. "Yeah, I know him. His dad is really nice, but Landon? He's not."
I drop my gaze to my half-eaten sandwich, and unfortunately for me, Eric's interest is piqued. He stares intently, and when I look up, his lips are pressed tightly together. He relaxes when I force myself to smile, because we both know Landon is dead. My only choice was to let him bite Eric and me, or kill him and move on.
"You didn't hesitate to shoot him," Eric takes a sip of his coffee, and his posture doesn't relax. "You must not have been that close."
"Not really," I look away, not wanting to talk about him. "But he was one of the zombies and I didn't want him to kill you. Which, by the way, are you going to give me a gun? Or at least return the one I had? It's not fair that you're armed and I'm not."
Eric leans back against the booth. He looks like he's trying not to laugh, which is hilarious considering he seems to have no real sense of humor. "Who taught you how to shoot a gun? You have decent aim for someone…wearing that."
I keep my own expression neutral, not at all bothered by his suspicion. In his line of work, anyone with a gun would probably put him on alert, and Haling Cove residents are no exception. While a lot of our community liked to hunt, most found the act violent and unnecessary. It would make sense Eric would be curious how I saved his life, especially considering it was with Ian's gun.
"My brother taught me. We'd go in the woods and he'd shoot cans or dead branches or targets. Whatever he could find. We never shot any animals or people," I pause when Eric's lips turn up oh so slightly. "But I know how to shoot. I know how to check if the safety is on. Forrest was always really careful when we went. That's why when I got Ian's gun, I knew I could shoot Landon."
Eric considers this while he finishes his coffee, and I fidget with the to go box. Outside, the sky is turning black. Helping Peter had taken some time, our stop had taken time, and driving here had put us way behind Eric's schedule. I have the sinking feeling that we are staying here, because Eric looks tired. I remember he told me he'd been going since five, and now, he's looking a little run down.
"Come on. We'll go check in and if it gets too creepy, we'll head out after I sleep for a few hours. Unless you want to drive. I have to take a break, or risk falling asleep while driving."
"We can stay." I agree, putting aside my fear of being murdered by a psycho in the shower. I'm not stupid enough to ask him to keep driving, and I'm not confident enough in my ability to drive his patrol car. With my luck, I'd drive us right over the ledge on the next mountain, and if we survived the fall, he'd never forgive me. "You should sleep. I don't mind staying here."
My words are a lie, and he clearly knows this, because he smiles.
It's flat out exhausted, thin and quick, and it looks completely wrong against his dark uniform.
The motel is terrifying.
The desk clerk hovers near the ripe old age of ninety-seven, and her voice croaks when she tells us the room is down the hall, around the bend, another turn, then around the corner from the ice machine. Her welcome speech includes several other perks to staying here –free cable so long as it stays on, heating and air conditioning, a pool if I wanted to risk being killed by a zombie while in a swimsuit, a bathtub, and a stunning view of the cliff the motel is built on. I stared wide eyed when she explained the motel was built years ago, on a large bluff overseeing the woods, and is still very safe. There's apparently a free breakfast on the outdoor patio each morning, and I shake my head no, until Eric knocks me out of the way to dryly thank her.
Black Mountain Inn is huge.
It creaks and groans as we walk through, and every so often, I catch our reflection in the artwork on the walls. Eric is much taller, broader, and less afraid. I come up somewhere near the middle of his chest, my dress is nowhere near as tough looking even with the police jacket, and I am afraid.
The hallway twists like a maze. We head down a winding, dimly lit section, and it feels like I'm descending into an underworld. The numbers are in ascending order, and each one seems more ominous than the next. We turn the corner the woman told us we'd reach, passing an ancient ice machine and a wave of chilly air, and there is the room. Eric swipes the card several times, staring at it with a hint of hesitation that it might not open, and I wonder if we'll be trapped inside if the power goes out.
I don't get too long to think about it.
It unlocks with a mechanical click, and I'm ushered inside, clutching my bag to my chest.
"Carlen, move. You have to be in the room so I can shut the door," Eric barks, his exasperation coming from my inability to keep walking. I'm frozen in the tiny entryway, and he does his best to move me. "What is your problem?"
"We're going to get murdered here." I blurt out, and I whirl around to face him. "That lady –"
"Is near death, yes. Now get inside and go take a shower. I'm going to bed as soon as I take one," Eric growls the words are me, having no real patience for my freak out. I force myself to calm down, and once I do step inside, he shuts the door. Then he slides the heavy top lock across and throws me an eye roll. "Happy? She can't get through that. Now go wash the blood off and change, and I'm going to try and call Harrison."
"Who's Harrison?"
I set the bag and the to-go box down on the small table by the bathroom door while Eric moves past me. He closes the curtains, covering up the dark view of endless treetops, before he fumbles with his jacket. He pulls out his cell phone, then sits down on the edge of the lone bed. I look around for somewhere else to sleep; a second bed, another door leading to another room, a chair, anything.
There is nothing.
"Harrison is a co-worker. Same rank as Max. I'm hoping he's in this area."
"I hope he answers. Do you think he's nearby?" I look at Eric once more, noticing the fatigue in his posture and the way he closes his eyes, and I walk into the bathroom before he can tell me no.
Of course, Harrison is nowhere near here.
That would be too easy.
I turn the shower on, praying for enough hot water that both Eric and I can shower, and my fingers shake as it hits me how real this all is. I strip off the second dress, this one not covered in blood, and I wonder if I can wash it somehow, or if the safe zone will have somewhere to do laundry. The bathroom quickly turns warm, and when I step inside, the water is hot enough to nearly burn my skin off.
It feels heavenly.
I stand there for a few guiltless minutes, letting the hot water wash away the day. The heat sears off the visual of Ian lunging at me, of Hazel roaming my neighborhood while my mother left me behind, and Landon on top of Eric, seconds away from biting off a chunk of his neck. While I wash my hair with crappy motel shampoo, I let the burning feeling of crying work its way through me, then I blink it away because I'm safe.
It might not be permanent, but for now, I'm away from the zombies. I'm in a motel with an armed officer, and while I don't really know him, he won't hurt me.
I can tell.
Landon always had the faintest hint of violence to him. Eric does, too, but it's different. He has a restraint and a discipline Landon never possessed, one that hints Eric earned his position, while Landon lucked into his. I hate comparing them since their intentions are far different, but I'm not afraid of Eric the way I occasionally was of Landon. I liked to hope he'd never outright hurt me, given we knew his father, and he was fairly well known around town, but there was a feeling that if he could own me, Landon would.
I use more conditioner than necessary to detangle my hair, and I try to think what I can do to help Eric. The thought comes of out of nowhere, but it settles in my brain until I decide there must be something that will make all this easier on him. He's agreed to bring me along, and the least I can do is lessen his stress.
Unfortunately, my knowledge of police work and driving a patrol car is limited.
With a sigh, and the understanding that the best I can do is to stay out of his way, I turn off the water. I reach for a towel, drying my hair with the thin, cheap fabric, and with great horror, and I realize I've left my bag outside. I have no choice but to wrap myself up in the towel, open the door, and go get my clothes.
Much like the very way Hazel attacked out of nowhere, I crash into Eric. He wasn't heading toward the bathroom, but the motel door, and he steadies me with his hands.
"What are you doing?"
"I forgot my clothes."
We both speak at the same time. He stares at me unabashedly, his eyes examining my face and neck. His stare trails down to my collarbone, and I know he's looking again to make sure I really haven't been bitten.
There's some odd disappointment on my part.
It comes out of nowhere, a punch to the stomach that his gaze is clinical, but my cheeks burn anyway.
"I left my bag out here so…" I wait for him to let go, and he steps aside with a nod.
"I'm going to get some ice. I'll be right back."
Eric slips out the motel door the second I grab the bag. I change quickly, taking inventory of the clothes I have left, and I figure I'm good for a few days. I've packed enough for a week, but nothing in my bag is particularly zombie ready. The darkest thing I've brought is a pair of underwear, and the boots Eric had found.
I throw on pajamas, figuring I can climb in bed and watch something if the TV works, and I hang up the police jacket in the closet. I kick the boots in there as well, then head back into the middle of the room. I stop to look around, taking in the décor and bland furniture, but it's not entirely awful.
While there is no one hiding behind the heavy curtains to stab me, and the room is far unlike my bedroom, it offers the faintest stirrings of hope. It's dark and clean, paisley print carpet and a matching bedspread, outdated. I don't know who's stayed in this room before me, but there's something about the generic artwork, the empty dresser, and the archaic tv, that makes me feel optimistic.
I feel less optimistic when Eric returns, slams the ice bucket onto the table, then silently heads into the bathroom. He's on the phone, his voice low and tense, and I figure it's not good news.
I try to conjure up what he could possibly be saying, but I climb into bed, still wondering if he really planned on sleeping by me, but I don't think about it too long. The bed is warm and surprisingly comfortable, and the room is quiet. My eyes close the second my head hits the pillow, and the sounds of the shower are soothing.
I dream of absolutely nothing, until Linda shows up in a nightmarish way, shoving handfuls of muffins and tiny knitted sweaters at me.
Much like Zander, Eric takes up more than half the bed.
I wake up to him beside me, face down in the pillow with his back to me. One of his legs is touching mine, bare skin upon bare skin, and his feet disappear near the end of the bed. I try to push him away carefully, as if I'm strong enough to move him, and it proves predictably impossible.
I scowl at him and his enviable sleep. I test out saying his name, whispering it into the darkness, but he doesn't move. When I reach my hand back out to nudge him, his skin radiates with a warmth I'm unfamiliar with, though the urge to curl up beside him is strong. I ignore it while I try to shove him onto his own side of the bed, because it's clear he collapsed after his shower and did his best not to lie near me.
Unfortunately, this bed isn't oversized in any way. I'm so close I could put my head against his shoulder blade to count every inhale and exhale, and he's more on my side than his. I reach out carefully, pressing my palms flat on the bare skin of his arm and I try to nicely shake him so he'll scoot over.
It doesn't work.
He wakes up enough to aimlessly swat at me, and then there's a low growl for me to leave him alone.
I do, but only for a minute.
My stare leaves him. It heads over the wall, to the outside.
The curtains are still closed, but there's a sliver of moonlight filtering through, and the sound of a car crunching over gravel. I slip out of the bed silently, and head over to the curtains to peer out. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust, and an even longer moment for me to realize we're so far back in the motel that we're almost back around near the diner. This dawns on me when I see the man park right next to the patrol car, and out climbs Peter.
"What the –"
He's impossible not to recognize. His hair is messed up, and his shirt is rumpled, but it's him. I watch from the window, a floor above him, on a level the check in lady swore is safe, and he ambles around his own car to look into Eric's. Lit up by a single, still on streetlight, he eyes it warily, going so far as to bend down to get a better view. I can't figure out what he's looking for, but he glances around in both directions to see if anyone is out there to see what he's doing, and then he tries to open the car door.
"Hey!"
"What on Earth are you doing?"
I jump at the words, and I nearly smack my head on the window. Behind me stands Eric, half asleep and shirtless, and none too thrilled to have been woken up.
"That guy from before, the one you helped move his car…. he's out there. He just tried to open the car door!" I look up at Eric, doing my best to avoid his bare chest and deep scowl, but it proves impossible when he steps so close, that I do knock into the window. "Hey! What are you –"
"That is him," Eric comments, squinting out into the darkness. "What the fuck is he doing to my car? Is he an idiot?"
"Are you going to stop him?" I crane my head up, and Eric looks down, sort of surprised. He steps back quickly, then pulls the curtains closed. "What if he gets inside?"
"He won't," Eric retorts, but he leans over me, glancing out once more. "The alarm will go off. Not to mention I brought everything inside. He's a nosey prick. Probably recognized the car and thought he'd steal something." He hesitates for a moment, and blinks at me, like he's not sure I'm real. "Come on, I want to leave by seven."
"Seven…in the morning?" I repeat, not sure if I've heard him right or I'm still half asleep.
"No, seven at night. I thought we'd stay here all day and you can hang out with Lucy." Eric retorts, and he leave me to climb back into bed. He shuts his eyes immediately, and his breathing slows. "Go back to sleep. Or you can stay up and watch Peter. Whatever works."
"You aren't worried he'll break the window or something?"
"If he does, I'll kill him." Eric's voice turns low, sleepy and not at all threatened by the man who was snooping around his car. "Come on, Carlen. It's late."
I agree with him, but I take a moment to watch Eric fall back asleep, completely unbothered. He sleeps gracelessly, one arm thrown over the edge of the bed, like he's not afraid there's a monster hidden beneath, waiting for bare flesh. His eyes don't open, not even when I step away from the window, and if anything, he exhales heavily once I do climb back in bed.
I try to stay away from him.
He's a little intimidating with how brave he is, and while I can mimic some of it –his arrogant posture, his no-nonsense attitude, his general disdain for nearly everything –I find myself a little more skittish. I sink back into the pillows, knowing it's not just his police training, or every intense situation he's ever been in that I never will, but who he is.
And while admirable, I don't know if I can keep up.
I know I can't.
It's why when I do fall asleep, it's facing him, with my knees bent so they're close, but not touching, and my head is near his back. It's why when I wake up to him grunting out a greeting on his phone, dark and irritated over being woken up again, that I'm so close that I'm almost pressed against him.
Neither of us mention it.
He gets up out of bed, grasping for paper to write something down, and I stay there, drifting in between listening to him say yes, and okay, and sure, and a dreamworld where zombies don't exist. I hear Eric leave, gone for much longer than I'd like, and I get up when he returns with toast and waffles. He evenly informs me we're leaving in a half hour. I try to mirror his cavalier attitude toward everything as I sleepily eat a waffle, but it sticks in my throat when I think of Peter, and not even the terrible coffee washes it down.
"Do you have something against pants?"
This time, his looks is incredulous.
I would dare say Eric is handsome in this moment; striking against the mountain backdrop, his hair slicked back and his uniform buttoned all the way up, and somehow even taller than I remember. He stands by his car chewing on a toothpick, watching me smugly wave a goodbye to Lucy. She's gaping from the diner, forlorn and weirdly lovesick, and I hope she knows it took Eric nearly ten minutes to comb his hair, and another three to lace up his boots perfectly.
"It's supposed to be hot out today," I announce, taking the steps two at a time. He cocks his head to stare at me, and I pause on the last step. "Really hot."
"No, it isn't," Eric grits out, and his gaze falls to my bare legs. "Did you only pack…dresses?"
"I also brought a couple of sweaters."
My answer greatly displeases him. I have the feeling Eric does not have a partner, and if he did, it would be his friend he's trying to find. But if he had a partner who wasn't his friend, it's obvious he expects them to be dressed the part.
"It's cold where we're going. Possibly snowing." Eric hisses, and I decide I like when he gets all riled up. Despite his cool exterior, I can see his mind whirling, and I have a feeling he's going to demand I change. "Carlen, it's –"
"My name is Everly, and I didn't bring pants. You said I was going to a safe zone, where I assumed it would be warm. I'm fine. I can run in this, probably faster than you can, and I put my hair up. So, we're good. I have the jacket, too. I'll put it on in the car."
His jaw tenses.
I'm surprised the toothpick doesn't snap in half, especially when he clenches his jaw down.
"And your boots?"
"I packed them. They didn't match." I head for my side of the patrol car, having silently claimed it as my own. "These are fine."
"They're untied," Eric retorts, watching me like I've personally wronged him. "You know what, fine. Wear whatever you want. Don't come crying to me when you're cold, or you fall down another cliff."
"That was Hazel," I answer testily, and he slides into the driver's seat. "I didn't fall down any cliff. And I saved your life. Twice. You owe me."
"Whatever."
His answer is petulant and sulky, and he slams the car door shut. His scowl vanishes when I hand him the muffin I've taken from the outdoor breakfast, and he stares at me in confusion.
"The check in lady said I should take you some breakfast. Something about my husband needing to eat, and a waffle wasn't going to fill you up," I watch him while I talk, doing my best not to laugh. "Oh, and she said you can come back any time. She'll even upgrade us to one of the suites. I thanked her on your behalf."
He looks at me.
Eric is silent, his expression torn between not believing me, and losing his mind over someone assuming he was married to me, but also like he doesn't know how to react.
He finally puts the car in reverse, and we leave the Black Mountain Inn.
It looms behind us as we drive, sort of beckoning us to return, like it can't believe survived the night.
I don't look back.
"Do you think dinosaurs really ruled the land?"
Eric stares.
His gaze is not unwelcome; in the four hours we've spent in the car today, I've learned two solid facts about him. One was that he was right-handed, and two was he absolutely loathed being asked anything personal. I made the mistake of asking if the Daniel Coulter back at the Lakeview station was his father, and as a response, he snarled out a very dark, unfriendly yes. I should have stopped there, but I wanted to know more about him, so I asked if his mom worked there, too, and his answer of no was said while he ground his teeth together.
His answer to my question of was she nice, was so icy that I shut up, and I alternated between staring out the window and trying to figure out what I would do at the safe zone.
Eric stopped when I reached peak boredom. He pulled off the road into a truck stop, and he seemed relieved it was opened. He got gas, ignoring my comment that the banks must still be operating, and forced me to go inside and pick out something for lunch. My options were limited to the fine selection of greasy fast food, so I picked a chicken salad, and went to sit with Eric near the window.
"What?" He cocks an eyebrow and pauses eating the chicken sandwich he ordered. "You're asking me if dinosaurs ruled the land? What's in your chicken salad? Tequila?"
I point to the large sign a few feet away. It's covered in dinosaur pictures, advertising the toys in the kid's meals. "It says right there. I was just wondering what your thoughts were on that."
"Are you serious?" He throws me a bewildered look, but he does turn. His uniform is stiff and uncomfortable looking, and I try to forget I've seen him without his shirt on. The last thing in the world I need is a stupid crush on the officer I'm tagging along with. "I've never given it much consideration. I'm too busy."
"Me either," I take another bite of lunch, trying not to laugh. He looks so thrown off that I'm guessing no one asks him anything other than police questions. "Um, how did you meet Jason? Is he your partner?"
There's a flash of surprise that crosses his face.
It vanishes quickly, and Eric nods. "We went through the academy together. Me, him, and Rylan."
"Who's Rylan?" I stab my chicken with a vengeance, and behind me, the door chimes as someone else comes in. "Does he work at your station?"
"He does. We all work in Lakeview. Jason and Rylan were both sent to Haling. Rylan went…a different way and we lost communication after a day. Jason made it to Haling but I haven't heard much since then. I've been trying to find them, but –"
"Should we go back to Haling?" I ignore the voices behind us, and Eric's attention slides over me, to look at who walked in. "Maybe they're still there."
"I thought about that, but I was there for hours with no sign of them. Rylan's last connection came from far north, and Jason's went dead somewhere in Haling. The assumption is that both are dead, but I refuse to believe it. They're resourceful."
"Yeah," I agree, though I've never met either. "Do you think –"
"Everly, get up."
Eric says my name, my real name, darkly. He stands quickly, reaching for his weapon and aiming it somewhere over me. I trip over my feet as I stand up, and he moves to stand beside me. Right as I think he's about to push me behind him, he pulls me against his chest, and instructs me to take hold of the gun.
"Aim at the head. If you can get him in one shot, great. If a second is needed, that's fine. Don't fire until I say so."
"What?" I'm stunned as he covers my hands with his, and his arms close inward. Eric is solid behind me, and he smells oddly good for someone who used the same shitty motel soap I did. "You want me to shoot him?"
"You wanted a gun, and I need to see you can shoot and not panic. So, aim, preferably at the temple, and when you're ready, we'll shoot."
The moment is dreamlike. In a rundown, aging McDonalds, Eric and I stand facing the rotting zombie roving through the restaurant. It shares an open space with the gas station, and it was probably a busy hub for travelers. It's empty now. There are only a few workers, uninterested and only here because someone likely insisted they show up for work. There is a single man stocking cups behind the counter, and he barely looks up when the decaying, grey skinned man missing one eye drags past him.
The zombie walks slowly, his head tilting and his mouth grunting out words that sound like he's in pain, and he's failed to notice us. He walks by a row of chips, gets his arm caught on a slushie machine, and knocks over the hot dog display.
"Everly…"
My name sounds foreign coming from him. It's not the rough Carlen, barked while he tried to get me back in the car, but very normal sounding. Encouraging even.
"Can you shoot him?"
"Is this how you train all your officers?" I ask, and he snorts.
Eric tightens his grip on my hands and raises the gun a fraction of an inch. "Yes. All of them."
"Okay, I'm ready. I can do it." I stand still, and the zombie turns to look at us. The sound of my voice must be appealing, because he starts running, right at us, and Eric nods.
"Good. You can shoot now."
I squeeze the trigger right as the zombie picks up speed, and Eric holds me still. The action isn't entirely necessary; I'd shot Landon just fine but having Eric behind me is reassuring. I'm knocked back into his chest once I fire, and the bullet hits the zombie square in the head. His skin splits apart with a satisfying, yet sickening squish.
Dark, sticky blood pours out, but Eric nudges me to fire again.
"One more. He's still walking. Fire whenever you're ready."
I listen obediently. I aim the gun as best I can, and it's harder this time. The zombie isn't slowing down, but his walk is choppy and drunk, and he nears us much faster. I try to get the perfect shot, knowing I'll be wasting ammunition if I miss, and Eric urges me to shoot.
"Any day now. Unless you want to be zombie food."
He says the last party dryly, walking us back a step, and it's obvious he's not entirely concerned. The zombie lumbers on, hitting his shin on the bolted down, swirling chair, and I swear he looks down in annoyance.
"Come on, Carlen. Stop messing around," Eric mutters, and he drops his head down. His mouth is near my ear, and he nudges his head against mine. "He's gonna bite you. After he sues the owner for having such a horrible seating layout."
"You're distracting me," I try not to laugh, enjoying this moment. Eric is clearly not worried, and he's using this time to have some rare, sudden fun. "Will there still be courts? I thought the power is going out and the world is ending."
"Don't jinx it," Eric warns, and I pull the trigger right as the zombie comes a little too close.
This time, he collapses to the ground, gurling and gasping.
I grin in pure triumph, and Eric smiles. I can't see him smiling, but I can feel it. He holds on longer than necessary, his hands still covering mine, and his chest against my back, and he stays there until we're sure the zombie is dead.
It takes a minute for the zombie to stop moving, and when he does, Eric drops his head down again.
His cheek touches mine for a split second, and he lowly informs me I can have a gun if I promise not to shoot him.
Eric breaks away when the McDonalds workers clap, startling the both of us. The bubble of privacy bursts, and the scene before me sharpens. I've killed a zombie in a fast-food chain, wearing another dress, a pair of untied shoes, with Eric's arms around me.
It becomes even more surreal when the door opens again, and this time, Peter walks right on in.
Chapter 4: The Golden Acorn
Notes:
Thank you so much to Erin for editing! Have a great weekend!
Chapter Text
I stare in total surprise.
Standing there, Peter is illuminated by the exit sign. His cherubic face is lit up by the red light, and it gives him a devilish glow. He turns when the clapping slows down, and while surveying the store, his eyes meet mine.
The recognition is immediate.
His lips turn upwards, but his smile isn't kind. I have the feeling he's been hunting Eric and me, and he thinks he's stumbled upon his prey in the most near perfect situation possible.
A middle of nowhere fast-food restaurant, except with a gun aimed in his general direction. Even though we could shoot him before he can utter a word, he doesn't look concerned. There's a glint of metal near his waistband, and I don't need police training to figure out he's armed, too.
Eric notices as well; he pulls me closer while adjusting his stance wider.
"Are you going to shoot him?" Eric's voice is low in my ear, rich and warm. He keeps his hands on mine, and his arms tighten around me. "Didn't you say you didn't like him?"
"Eric, why is he here?" I whisper, and I lean back against him, watching Peter as he stands near the doors. Eric lets me. There's an understanding stemming from our brief time together, that we'll look out for each other; I saved his life and he'll save mine. It's an unspoken deal, one he will honor because of who he is.
Which is why he barely moves when Peter steps further inside; Eric merely shifts his weight as Peter heads in our direction, looking pleased.
"I don't know why he's here, Everly, but I do know you can't just shoot people you don't like," Eric announces mockingly, loud enough for Peter to hear.
It's intentional.
Peter's gaze darkens. Despite having done nothing to me, his expression turns to something vicious and heavy, and I'm reminded of Landon. Every so often, someone got under his skin. As an officer, it was easy for him to always have enough authority that people never challenged him. Like Eric, the badge gave Landon the control he wanted, though Landon occasionally let it get to his head.
Peter is nowhere near as intimidating, but sometimes, those kinds of people, are the worst. The ones you don't suspect, or don't give a second thought to, wind up being the most dangerous.
"Whoa, hey. Isn't this a coincidence?" Peter smiles, holding his palms up. "Who would have thought I'd run into you two, here, shooting at things?"
"Stay where you are," Eric calls out. "Don't take another step toward us. Go back toward the door."
"Why?" Peter demands, and he waits to see if Eric will do anything.
He could.
His hands are covering mine, and he could easily pull the trigger.
"I said, go toward the door. It's for your own safety," Eric commands, and he moves us over a step. I have no clue what he's doing, and I try to figure out if he's planning on shooting Peter, because he adjusts the gun higher than Peter's head. "I would listen –"
"Oh, right. Sorry. You're the cop and I'm not. I guess I should listen to someone who can do whatever can do he wants, just because he has a gun."
I'm pressed so close against Eric, that I feel his chest tighten. It's clear Peter's words hit a nerve. In Haling Cove, our officers are well respected. I always held Ian in high regards, and most of our townsfolk really enjoyed seeing the officers going about their businesses. One of the better career choices is to join our police force, if not just for the job security.
Maybe things are different in Lakeview and other towns, and they aren't as well liked.
"I think it's pretty clear you use your power to do whatever you please. Like how you kidnapped this girl," Peter grins, faux sympathy dripping from his smile. He glances at the workers behind the counter, all busy watching with rapt fascination, then gestures at me. "You might not have figured it out, but she's not here with him. He stole her. I tried to help her yesterday, but he hid her in the motel. She begged for me to help her."
"What?" I tighten my grip on the gun when my stomach drops. His words make my skin crawl, because the two workers look at me and their expressions are stunned. "Eric didn't steal me. I wanted to go with him! I'm looking for my family. I barely spoke to you."
"Right," Peter scoffs, and he walks slowly, one step at a time. "Did he tell you to say that? Look, let her go and she can come with me. I'll take her somewhere safe."
"Yeah, no thanks." I lean back farther into Eric, and the girl behind the counter snickers. "You can stay over there."
"There is no way you're willingly with him," Peter reaches for the gun he has, and Eric backs us up a step. "Let go of her, man. No one here thinks she wants to hang out with you. I saw that motel you dragged her into. You think you'll get away with it now, but you won't."
"I'm not going anywhere with you," I call out, and were Eric not behind me, I'd have already bolted. Or shot Peter. "I don't even know you."
"She doesn't want to go with you, man!" The guy working looks up from the register, and he taps at the screen a few times. "Dude, this is way better than my last shift. The best thing that happened was someone fell asleep and the fries caught fire."
"I suggest you stay right there," Eric warns, a hint of finality ringing through the store. His grip tightens as well, and my arms start to burn from being extended. "You don't know anything about her or me. Like I told you yesterday, I'm with the Lakeview police. I was assigned to the Haling Cove area. I –"
Eric jerks the gun up higher.
It takes me a second to figure out what he's doing, but when I do, I gasp. So does the girl behind the counter, and the guy working with her –both no older than me, and looking in the same direction I am, and we all see it at the same time.
A second zombie.
She comes out of nowhere, dressed in what was once a pretty red skirt and top. She's missing half her lower jaw, the bones of her upper face are exposed, skin slipping and dripping down to her neck, and she's missing a few fingers. She walks faster than her friend from earlier, but with the same broken gait. Her eyes are more focused than the first zombie, but still opaque. Her hair was blonde, but now it's splattered with what I'm assuming is blood.
Whatever it is, it gives her a haunting appearance, like she's more ghost than zombie.
"Look, asshole. Give me the girl. I thought it was weird she was in your car, and it was weird when you made her get back in the car. You aren't in charge of her. So, lower your gun, quit pretending you'll shoot me, and let her go."
I feel Eric shift. He does lower the gun, a mere fraction of an inch, but it's still aimed over Peter's shoulder. The zombie looks at Eric, her head tilting to mirror his, and we all wait.
"Listen, asshole, I said –"
"You sure you don't want me to shoot?" Eric asks, and his voice drips with politeness. "Because really, it would be in your best interest."
"Yeah, you shooting me is in my best interest. Aren't you funny?" Peter rolls his eyes, and it seems like there's a speck of humanity left in the zombie behind him. She stands up straighter, cocking her head the other way to size him up, then she moves in silently. Unlike her friend, she doesn't crash into anything, but her mouth is concerning.
She stretches it wide, the lower half missing teeth, and her jawbone jagged and rough, but the top is sharp and expansive. I'm reminded of a shark, especially when she lunges for Peter, and her remaining teeth sink into the skin of his neck.
"Fuck!"
She's quick. For a zombie, she's fairly agile, and it's instinctive to shoot her. Eric fires the gun for me, but she's already torn a chunk of Peter's skin away, and he frantically presses on the wound to try and stop the bleeding.
Unfortunately, for him, it's a losing battle.
His fingers are covered in a sticky red; he screams as he collapses, swearing at Eric, but it doesn't do much. The blood gushes out faster than I would expect. It's like a movie, one I'd prefer not to be watching, disgusting and gory, and without an off button.
Behind Peter, the zombie woman crumples as soon as she's hit by the second bullet. She's graceless, though I imagine her to have been graceful in her former life. She lands behind him, her head smacking on a display of cheap sunglasses, and her final sounds are grunts of sheer annoyance.
Peter's are similar.
"Fuck you, asshole! Get me to a hospital!"
"Oh right," Eric mocks. "Because I know where the nearest hospital is."
"Eric, should we…" I trail off when the girl behind the counter gestures wildly, and we all know what's coming.
Watching it in real time is horrifying, but fascinating in a morbid way.
Peter's eyes roll back in his head, and his entire body tenses. He blurts out a string of obscenities, one after the other, until his words are intelligible. I watch with wide eyes as his skin turns pale. The faintest sheen of grey appears, and he turns sweaty and ashy. He slumps over with a thud, and Eric aims the gun at him.
"You gotta finish it. He'll reanimate by the end of the day." Eric's words are quiet. He says them lowly, muttered against my ear, and I feel him take a deep breath. "Do you want me to do it?"
"Why was he saying that stuff about me?" I ask, staring down at the body. "I don't even know him. I barely spoke to him."
"He wanted you," Eric answers. "It's dangerous everywhere. If I wasn't with you, and you were driving on your own, God knows where you'd be now."
Eric's words send a chill up my spine, because he's telling the truth.
Just like Jason predicted, there really is no plan to handle the zombies. Their infection has brought about a wave of lawlessness to the towns, and now I'm seeing it firsthand. If Ian couldn't fend off a zombie, and neither could Landon, odds are, normal citizens wouldn't be able to, either. This left the remaining officers scrambling to retain some control, but it gives people like Peter their moment.
With little protection out there, it was everyone for themselves.
"Fuck him."
I fire the gun before Eric can say another word, but it takes a few minutes for my hands to stop shaking.
Eric's stare is unamused.
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, driving as though we really are being chased by zombies, and his lips press together.
"Did you really have to get that flavor?"
"What? Strawberry? I like it," I answer brightly, feeling so much better than earlier. "Are you saying that because it reminds you of zombie blood?"
I say the last part with a grin, and Eric's exhale is heavy.
In his defense, the strawberry milkshake does look sort of zombie-ish. The workers had made it to thank us for shooting both the zombies, and Peter, the almost zombie. Eric declined his, snapping that the smell of the zombies was enough to make him never want to eat anything again, but I accepted immediately. After a day of driving, of seeing more living dead than I would have ever liked, of learning Peter probably would have kidnapped me, and being in the middle of nowhere with an unknown destination looming over us, I felt like I'd earned a milkshake. The girl rattled off a list of a flavors I could choose from while the guy moved the bodies out of the store, and for a single moment, things felt decidedly normal.
If you ignored the literal walking dead.
I left sipping on a swirl of pink and red ice cream, carefully stepping over sticky blood while Eric swore under his breath. He wasn't so much mad at the zombies, but that their blood got on his boots and he looked a little queasy. He side-eyed me when we got back in the car, and was silent for the next few minutes, until the road opened up from the forest into a less dense stretch. He turned the air on high, this time bothered by the smell of the corpses, and for several minutes, I froze until he felt better.
"Yes, it looks just like that." Eric's answer is dark, but not entirely annoyed. He looks at me again, shifting in his seat, and I hand him the milkshake.
"Here. You can admit you like ice cream."
"I don't!" He hisses, and it's amusing to watch him look insulted that I would dare think he'd like such a sugary drink. He does take it from me, and I watch carefully as he takes a single sip. He grimaces, like he's drinking straight up poison, and his swallow is exaggerated. "It's disgusting."
"No, it's not."
"Yes. It is," he takes another sip, swallowing with an ever more intense grimace, and I watch from my side of the patrol car.
There's something amusing about him, but what's even more amusing is how easy it is to exist alongside him. I've known him for a little over twenty-four hours now, but there's an unbreakable bond from being attacked and fleeing a town overrun by the infected. Even if he dumped me at the next rest stop, I'd always think of Lieutenant Coulter fondly, as the one who finally stopped Hazel and her one arm.
And, who let me shoot Peter in the head.
"Thanks. At least it got the taste of zombie out of my mouth," Eric mutters, tapping the radio. My stomach sinks when it begins scanning for a station because I know what's coming. Lots of people pleading for help. Screeching. Static. The occasional live voice, hinting this is getting bigger by the second and there's nothing that can be done to stop it. "I swear, those two hadn't been infected very long and they smelled worse than the others."
"They seemed...oddly aware." I pull my feet up, watching his fingers press a few more buttons. There's a crackle as the scanner connects, and we both listen to someone in a town far, far away, scream that something is eating someone's intestines in an upscale grocery store. "In the movies, they're always slow and stupid."
"Well," Eric pauses. "They aren't brilliant, but they're definitely not as dumb as I'd like them to be."
"Did Jason think they'd be smart?" I swirl the milkshake around, and the colors blur and swish. "He seems to know a lot about them. Like a zombie expert."
"We didn't discuss it in depth, but his assumption was they'd retain some brain activity. Something is driving them to consume human flesh." Eric changes lanes, and I brace myself for another drive down the mountain, or up a winding hill. "He's not an expert, but Harrison encouraged him to pursue all his passions. Which happen to include zombies, and how to fight them off."
"I hope I can meet him. Maybe we'll find him soon." I toy with the drink, and I hope my words don't sound hollow or fake.
Despite not knowing Eric very well, I like him. I like the safety of his patrol car, I like him being armed, and trusting me enough to shoot one of his guns, and I like the idea of his friends, out in the world, fighting zombies. If things have to be this way –chaotic and filled with the undead, and their far from delightful violence –I'd rather have a partner than be on my own.
I'll take a police Lieutenant searching for his friends and a safe zone which might not exist. I can even forgive my mother, sort of, for leaving me at home with nothing more than a note. It feels fitting that I've left her a note in return, though it's unlikely she'll ever read it. The farther away Eric drives, the less likely it seems that I'll be reunited with them, but there's no way anyone could have predicted this.
Or maybe they could have.
Maybe if someone had noticed something was wrong with Hazel weeks ago.
"Yeah. Maybe. If we find him."
Eric's answer is a grunt of mild approval. I doubt he really cares if I meet Jason or not, and he hasn't even told me anything about his other officer friend. Before I can ask, a call comes in asking for all available officers to respond.
"Anyone near Route 363 please respond. I repeat, anyone near Route 363 please respond. Officers needed in the area, arrived armed and ready. Proceed with extreme caution."
"Are we near there?" I ask, relieved when Eric shakes his head no. "Is every state…"
"Infected? It's looking that way. I only know what's going on in Lakeview and Haling. I guess we'll find out," he answers evenly, and the glossy bubble of optimism bursts. Eric glances in my direction, and his mouth returns to a fine line. "Look, at the next stop, I have to show you some things. If you're going to stay alive, you need to be a step ahead. I can give you a quick training. Nothing major, but enough that if we get separated, you won't die. At least not immediately."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I joke, but my stomach tenses unpleasantly. "I'll do my best. And yeah, whatever you can show me. Maybe I'll even save your life again."
Eric shakes his head.
He tilts it, looking like he's struggling not to roll his eyes, but I don't mind.
I turn the radio off so I can finish my milkshake without anyone screaming, and Eric doesn't turn it back on.
"Okay, lean back. Keep your stance even, one leg slightly in front. One leg to the side. Power comes from the back foot. You won't have much time, but if it comes down to it, you can pick a weak point and stab."
Eric is a natural teacher, though rough and impatient, and I bet he picked it up during his time as an officer, or maybe during his own training. I try to picture him in the academy, but the one in Haling Cove is a joke. Ian always let everyone pass, unless it was proven that they were a terrible person, or he found out they only wanted the job because they got free coffee at Melly's.
"Just stab them? Should I aim for the head?"
"The temple. But once you stab them, it's going to be nearly impossible to get the knife out. You'll have to knock them down, brace with your foot, and pull hard." Eric instructs, gesturing to the rotten zombie a good distance away, and I should be insulted.
We both know it's an easy target.
For one, it looks to be about a hundred years old. It has to be on be one of the first infected, because it's mostly a pile of bones and goo. No recognizable features except for a never not moving mouth, and one eye, barely attached. The zombie lies prone on the ground, moving weakly, and every so often, he makes the sound of a dying animal. He smells like a dying animal, too. While I stand there with Eric, mentally debating how hard I'd have to stab him, the breeze grazes past. It lifts the smell of him in our direction, and it's much worse than the ones in the McDonald's.
"So…you want me to stab…that?" I eye the zombie warily, and Eric nods.
"Yes."
"You really want me to stab it? Now?" I walk toward the zombie, sizing him up. I decide he's a guy, maybe my age, and much unluckier than me. "Do you even have a knife? Eric! His stomach is oozing something. Is this sanitary?"
Eric blinks.
He stands a few feet away, hands on his hips, looking at me in disbelief.
"You want to know if stabbing a zombie is sanitary? Are you serious right now, Carlen?"
"Everly," I remind him, as if we haven't just spent countless hours in the car together where he still never said my real name. The last hour was spent with me asking him about his police work and attempting to get to know him, and him avoiding every other question by grunting as a response. "And yeah. This dress is clean. I only brought so many."
"Wonderful," he mutters, and he rakes his fingers through his hair, like it's not plastered into place. "Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. The zombie apocalypse is upon us, my friends are missing, and I have you, not wanting to get your dress dirty. You'll definitely survive without me. Our odds are great. Getting better by the minute. You better start praying a swarm of them doesn't descend upon us."
"Do you have a napkin?" I glare at him, ignoring his cocky posture and unnecessary sarcasm, and I skip reminding him I've saved his ass twice. "I'll stab him, but I don't want to get it on me. And by the way, I could have let Landon bite you. He only stopped because I was there. So, I can take care of myself just fine."
I step away from the zombie, and I whirl around to also remind Eric I'd not only shot Ian, but Landon. I'd saved his life twice.
I don't get the chance.
Eric is beside me in a second, and he hands me a knife. It's cold and heavy, much larger and sharper than expected, and he pushes me none too gently at the blob. "Here. The rest of them won't be as slow as Greg, here. You'll have a single second to decide how you're going to kill them, and less than a second to do it."
"Wait…" I start to protest, but then I decide to go with it. I approach the zombie with some trepidation because it's still flailing around. One of its hands grazes my shoe, weakly trying to grab on, and my stomach begins to burn. The smell is putrid, like garbage that's been set on fire, and the milkshake threatens to come right back up. "Eric, wait no…I…."
It does.
I gag as the zombie moves, gushy skin slipping off its bones, and Eric jumps out of the way. To my horror, I throw up everything, and then some. I gag a few more times, heavy and violent heaving, that leave me shaking, and Eric looks on with a flash of sympathy.
"You okay?"
"No!" I wipe my mouth, hating the taste of bile and the zombie, and now I know what Eric was talking about. It feels like it's seeping into my skin, and I can't get rid of it. "It smells awful."
"Well, it's a rotting corpse. Of course, it smells awful. That's why I said you have to move fast."
"Did you take the zombie training class?" I ask, and I decide I'll stab a different, less vomit inducing zombie some other time. "Can we take a break? I need…some water or something."
"I have some in the car," Eric reaches for my arm, and his fingers find my wrist. They hover there, pressing carefully to make sure I'm alive, then he pulls me along. "We'll leave this guy. I don't think he's going anywhere."
I try not to look back at Greg or at Eric. I'm horribly embarrassed at throwing up, especially considering I'd just announced I would be fine, but Eric is unfazed. We walk to the car together, and he opens up the trunk. He returns with a bottle of water, and waits while I rinse my mouth out, then drink a few sips. I lean against the car while he steps a few feet away, and he surveys the area.
"Why didn't you get sick?" I call out, and I feel marginally better. "Why did I get sick? The others didn't smell that bad?"
"I told you not to drink that milkshake," he calls back, and he puts his hands on his hips like he's in an ad for being a police officer. "The older ones smell the worst. That was one of Jason's theories and something I will say I've noticed. I'm assuming it's because they've had longer to decompose. Easy to kill, but harder to get close to. They can still cause infections even at such an advanced state of decomposition."
"So why did you tell me to stab it?" I have the sudden urge to get back in the car, and I wish he'd stomp back over here and drive us somewhere I could lie down and pretend this day is going much differently. "Why not a less…dead zombie?"
He turns lazily.
His profile is sharp and defined, more so while he chews on his cheek. He eyes me up and down like he's taking notes, and his mouth eventually settles into a smirk.
"Because. If you want to stay alive, you have to be able to kill all of them," he pauses, and his eyes narrow. "Everly."
We don't stop for a while.
Eric drives quickly, slowing down only when the road twists or turns, but otherwise, he speeds along like he's got a deadline he's trying to beat. He's quiet; his attention is split between the road, occasionally listening to the radio searching for a connection, and watching me out of the corner of his eye. The mood is easy going and amicable, despite me having thrown up after getting too close to the zombie, and I dare say he's slightly more friendly than when we first met.
Eric encourages me to drink water, and every so often, he hands me a few crackers and insists I eat them. We stop a few times, but never for long. Once for Eric to stretch his legs, once when I started to feel queasy again, and once when we both were sick of listening to the radio scan in an endless loop.
We drive deep into the day, until the sky turns from blue, to yellow, to orange and pink, and the darkness starts to creep right in, settling over us like a heavy blanket.
We don't reach the safe zone, but we do reach the Lone Butte Golden Acorn Casino and Spa.
It's a tacky monstrosity. It's gold, peeling and flaking, but nonetheless, a beacon from the road, even if it looks like it smells of cigarettes and beer. I'm right about the smell. It hits me as I follow Eric inside, curious if he really wanted to stay here, and to my surprise, he does. He checks in with his badge, and the woman at the front desk is very flustered about his arrival. She keeps looking at him, perhaps afraid he'll shoot her if he doesn't get a room, or maybe she's enamored by the weary look on his face and the way I've inched closer to him.
I stand even closer, trying to see what she's typing, and he shoots me an exasperated look.
"Carlen, move over."
"Are you getting one room again?" I peer up at him, his hair still perfect but his expression annoyed, and his uniform stiff and sharp. He shows her his badge once more, maybe for some police officer discount that doesn't involve actual money, then proceeds to ignore me while explaining where he's heading and how as far as he knows, the area is clear. There's some small talk about the safe zones –she mentions a disturbing rumor that none of them exist, and Eric looks like he might smack her –and then the conversation takes a downturn into zombies.
Between clacking the keyboard and circling a million things on a piece of a paper, she cheerfully tells Eric she's seeing more zombies and less actual live human beings. I glance back at the large casino behind us, wondering what she considers the people gambling to be.
"Really? I see a lot of people in here. They all look alive to me," I point out, but she ignores me in favor of staring at Eric.
"I'm shocked you made it this far. Bill said he saw some in Ohius. It's an only hour from here." The woman clacks away at the keyboard, typing so fast her fingers are a blur. "You and your…wife haven't been bitten, have you?"
"No."
"No."
We both answer at the same time, and he makes no move to correct her assumption that we're married. He side-eyes me again, this time harder, and I smile sweetly.
"Okay, so fourth floor, room 424. Elevators are down the hallway. We'll call if anything happens, or we hear from anyone looking for an officer. The buffet is open until ten. If you start to experience any symptoms, we ask you reach out immediately. We have limited medical staff on hand, but our gift shop is open twenty-hour hours a day. We carry a wide variety of items, including family planning. It's behind the counter, if you need it."
I tilt my head at her, and I swear Eric's jaw is so tense it must be hard for him to speak.
When he does, it's very, very, very unfriendly. "We don't."
"Oh!" The woman's eyes widen, and I notice her nametag says Lauren. "Okay, well then… you can uh, if you need chips or sunscreen or anything…"
"Great, thanks." I rise up on my toes to reach for the packet, and I'm now familiar with it. It's similar to the one at the Black Mountain Inn, though far more gold. "Eric, should we get the bags?"
"I'll grab them. I'll meet you up there." He looks at me, and his expression is unreadable. "Are you okay to go up there alone?"
I stop at his words.
He looks down, his stare holding mine, and it hits me this would be the first time we will have been apart since we met. I find I have a sudden, weird attachment to him, and not just because he has all the guns. I hesitate, until he points to the gift shop and sighs.
"Wait there. I'll be right back."
"Okay."
I agree. I watch him leave, turning to cut through the casino floor and through the people crowded around someone winning. He shoots them an annoyed look, then vanishes through the large sliding doors. I try to see how they would lock, and when I come up with nothing, I leave the front desk and wander over to the gift shop.
To my surprise, it's enormous.
I walk through several rows of every kind of snack imaginable, followed by candy, pool accessories, medicine, and dozens of kinds of sodas. I browse through gossip magazines about celebrities I don't know, shirts with the golden acorn name and logo printed across, and a few swimsuits. I linger by the sundresses, reaching up to touch a pink one, slightly fancier than the one I have on, and I jump when someone clears their throat.
I turn to see Eric holding my bag and his, and he glances around suspiciously.
There's no one in here.
Only me, the lone worker playing a game on their phone behind the check-out counter, and a whole lot of golden keychains shaped like acorns.
"You ready?"
I nod. I then follow him out of the gift shop silently, looking back at the pink dress once, and feeling the faintest hint of reality smack me in the face when I realize I truly don't have any reason to buy it.
The room smells just like the last one.
I picture the cleaning crew coming in and wiping everything down with a generic cleaner, maybe something a little stronger, just in case anyone here was sick, before they made the bed and closed the curtains. This room is large, less compact and much brighter, but it gives way to the sad state of the hotel. Everything in here feels desperate, especially the furniture. There's a large bed in the middle of the room, flanked by two nightstands. The headboard is dark and high, and the sheets are a bright, unnatural gold.
The artwork on the walls is hideous.
Bold, gold strokes of paint are framed every few feet. They are intermixed with photos of people gambling, and when I look at Eric, he merely shrugs, and walks past me to put the bags down.
"What do we do now?" I stand to the side, trying to figure out his plans are. He keeps most of them in his head, only sharing them with me when absolutely necessary. "Do you want to –"
"We'll order dinner. I don't want to eat at a buffet," he answers, sounding grossed out. He kicks a chair out of his way, then drops down into it, and undoes the top button on his jacket. "Go wash the barf off yourself. I'll wait for you to order. The plan is the same as before: we spend the night here, and leave in the morning. Unless you've got an affinity for card games."
"I don't. Dinner sounds fine with me. I'm sort of hungry." I linger for just a second, not wanting Eric to stop talking. It feels safer when he does, like the world isn't spinning out of control. "Did you ever get ahold of Harrison? Or Jason?"
Eric's eyes flash at his friend's name. He shakes his head, the action sort of forlorn and defeated, and he undoes the second button. He has a shirt on beneath it, and it's strange to see white beneath his dark uniform.
"I didn't. I got a hold of someone who thought they had seen Harrison, and they gave me directions to where they think he would have gone. Our best bet is still the safe zone. It's four hours from here. Maybe five, depending on the surrounding area. From what they told me, it's not…great."
"No?" I have little knowledge of the safe zone, only the vague idea that I would be able to stay there, and possibly be reunited with my family. "Did something happen?"
He's silent. Eric's fingers still, and he contemplates something. I have a feeling it's information he doesn't want to tell me, but he does.
"Communication is spotty at best, and all of this is a guess. The commander in charge of the safe zone has gone missing. However, the zone is the closest to where I think Harrison went, and there's a slim chance he's there. It's a gamble either way. All the towns nearby have high levels of infection. Driving through is considered a risk, but there's no other option."
I hate that he sounds unenthused, and I hate it even more, when he screws his eyes shut and then blinks them back open with a heavy exhale.
"Or, depending on the levels of infection, we wait here and see how it plays out. I'll radio someone in the morning, and maybe we'll have some good news."
"I think we should try it. He's probably there. And you can just drive fast. We don't have to stop in the towns," I suggest, like my opinion holds any value to Eric. He does nod, slowly, and watches as I walk toward the bathroom.
I make a quick stop to check the lock –one electronic, and the other a large, brass one that slides across the top –and the reassurance feels good.
I feel even better after my shower, when I hear Eric talking to someone, and he lowly tells them we're a day out. He says a few other things, like how many bullets he's fired, how many zombies we've come across, and yes, he's been eating and he's had great luck finding places to stay.
He goes on to talk about the next leg of his journey –a mere four hours into a town called Prinsway –and confirmation that he's leaving tomorrow. He hesitates for only a second, wavering over his estimated arrival time, and I hear him say my name along with a demand to mark that I'm to be associated with him.
He hangs up without a goodbye, and his shoulders rise up, tense and unhappy.
This time, there's a slight awkwardness.
I brush my teeth beside Eric, where he stands staring down his reflection like it's going to fight him. I rinse my mouth while he examines his haircut, still looking short and immaculate, but the top waves slightly. He combs it once more, then gives up and mutters that he's going to bed.
His own shower wasn't long ago; he took one after dinner, after he had thrown our trays outside the door, and wandered out shirtless and antsy. We spent a good hour sitting on the bed beside each other, but with a careful amount of space between us. He flipped through channels on the TV in hopes of finding something to watch, but the only thing on was the news. Each station had an emergency broadcast going, and a pale looking anchor would read a list of signs and symptoms. It felt like ages since the first news briefing about the zombies, and I finally got ready for bed, unable to listen to it any longer.
There wasn't anything new.
Just the same stories, the same recommendations, the same warnings.
Now, as I lie beside Eric, far enough away that I couldn't kick him if I tried, but close enough that if a zombie burst through the door, I could wake him. He lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, sighing every so often, like the weight of the world is resting on his chest.
"Are you okay?" I peer at him in the dark, from the safety of my own pillow. I'm lying on my side with my back to the window, and it feels less dangerous this way. Eric is closer to the door, and it's mildly comforting knowing if someone were to get in, he'd be bitten first. "Was it the barf? That came out of nowhere. I didn't feel sick until we saw that old zombie."
"What?" He turns to look at me, and his expression makes me think he's forgotten I'm beside him. "No, I don't care that you threw up. I've seen much worse. Trust me."
"Okay, good," I answer quietly. "Is it not knowing where your friends are? You seem…. not happy."
He doesn't answer for a minute. The hotel room hums, and if I listen hard enough, I swear I can hear the elevator doors dinging. The third time they ding, Eric turns. He's much larger this way, and when he stares down at me, he's somehow both more intimidating in the dark, and less intimidating, since I can't really see him.
"Are you afraid?"
"Of what?" I shift slightly closer; not enough that he'll notice, but enough that I can see his face better. "The zombies? Yes, I am. Aren't you?"
"No." He shrugs. "I'm not afraid of anything."
"Everyone is afraid of something," I shrug back, and hotel seems to agree with me. It's like the room darkens, doing it's best to keep the moody atmosphere. "Are you scared of heights? The dark? Small spaces?"
"No. I'm afraid of little girls asking me a million questions when they should be sleeping," he retorts, but there's no real malice behind it. "I told you, I'm not afraid. I went through the police academy at eighteen, and I learned really quickly how to turn my fears off. There's no time to be afraid when you have my job."
"Did you see a lot of things in Lakeview?" I yawn in the middle of my question, and I must be getting tired. It looks like Eric is much closer to me, and when I bring my knees up, it feels like I might hit him. "Haling is boring. We never had much crime. Maybe someone stealing groceries if they were short a paycheck, or someone getting into a fight. The worst was a dispute over who stole someone's pool noodles. It got violent when they shot them with a bb gun."
He snorts.
"Sounds exciting," Eric snickers, but he quickly turns serious. "Lakeview could be violent. There were plenty of calls the public didn't know about. We tried to keep things between us, to keep up the reputation. Daniel didn't like anyone thinking the town wasn't perfect."
"Daniel is your dad?"
My eyes close for a split second. I pry them open in time to catch him looking annoyed, and he yawns, too. "Yes."
"Did he…promote you?" I take a wild leap with this theory, though really, the idea is no different than Ian promoting up his friend's son. "You must be a good officer."
"I'm good at what I do," Eric answers evasively. "Daniel is, too. It's not brain surgery."
I nod into the darkness. I don't really have an answer, for I don't know his father, and it's fairly unlikely we'll meet, but I have the feeling he's a good man. I also have the feeling Eric is going to ask me what I was doing in Haling Cove, and the answer is embarrassing.
I'm right.
"Where did you work? At the school?" Eric finally asks, tiredly, and it's small talk that belongs in a car and not a bed. He waits for my answer while I pull at the sheets out of pure avoidance, and I hate that he's going to think less of me.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?" He repeats. "You were really doing nothing? I thought you were head of the neighborhood watch. You knew a lot about Hazel."
It's my turn to roll my eyes.
The action takes more effort since I'm tired, and I wonder if he'll want to leave early tomorrow.
"I was supposed to start school in the fall," I pause, and in the dark, it's easier to confess this than if we were in the patrol car. "My mom asked if I'd wait a semester and help her with my little brother, and I said yes. I unenrolled myself and was going to stay home. Maybe work somewhere in the town at night. I don't know. Certainly…not as a police officer."
My confession hangs between us; I wait for him to let out a bark of laughter, rich with disappointment that the girl he's chosen to save from the apocalypse is absolutely no one, but it doesn't come. He nudges my hand with his, and it's like he can tell I'm mortified.
"Well, you're a little short to be an officer. But it's kind of you to help your mom."
It's all he says.
His eyes shut and he doesn't move his hand. There's no grand goodnight, or declaration that I should go to sleep and stop bugging him. He simply falls asleep, facing me, after telling me I'm kind for agreeing to keep Zander busy while my mom worked long hours.
I fall asleep feeling way better than expected.
It's been a long time since anyone said or felt anything kindly toward me. I've always doubled as a stand in parent for my mom and dad. After Forrest left, I was the chosen one to watch Zander, or make sure Paisley and Holly did their homework. My identity was no longer my own, but a ghost of a guardian, resigned to living a life planned out for her out of sheer necessity.
I fall asleep thinking how unlike this is from anything my parents had planned for me, and I can't say I mind one bit.
"How much have you spent there, Carlen? A hundred dollars?"
"A hundred acorns. Get it straight…Coulter." I look up from the machine I'm sitting cross legged at, and the waitress drops off a soda for me. She ogles Eric for a moment, smiling at his dark shirt and dark pants, but she scampers away when he actually looks at her. "I only put in a dollar and I'm up to…ten thousand acorns. So, I'm…winning, right?"
He smirks.
It's a nice change from his scowl from earlier. Eric's plans for leaving The Lone Butte Golden Acorn fell apart when he woke up a few days ago, and it had left him pretty cranky.
After falling asleep with my hand touching his, I woke up to his phone ringing, repeatedly, and him snapping at someone. I would have thought he'd be thrilled to have a phone call, but he wasn't.
Turns out it was his mother, and he didn't really want to talk to her. He snarled at her not to bother him again, hissing her name when she protested, and I caught a few snippets of their conversation.
She sounded nice.
She told him she was worried, that someone named Ashley had contacted her looking for Eric, and the last anyone had heard, he was still in Lakeview. He corrected her just enough to say he was nowhere near Lakeview, and he was going to find Jason and Rylan. He said their names sharply, especially Rylan's. His defense of them sounded personal, like she thought he should be back in Lakeview, boarded up in his apartment, or shooting zombies from his balcony, but definitely not out on the road. He hung up when the woman protested that he should come home and stay with her, and he politely told Blythe to fuck off.
He then threw the phone aside and went back to sleep.
An hour later, we both woke up to the phone ringing again. It was an officer from Prinsway, informing Eric the safe zone had gone to shit.
He sat upright, whacking me in the face with the sheets as he thew them off, and he jumped out of bed. Whoever he spoke to must have had good intel, because Eric returned ten minutes later, and grouchily informed me we were staying here for a few days. There was a strain of something going through Prinsway, and he was advised to hold off on showing up. They were hoping to have a handle on it, hopefully within the next forty-eight hours, but they'd stay in contact.
This meant we were stuck here, in the incredibly themed casino hotel and yet to be found spa, with plenty of free time.
Eric chose to spend his time working out. He found the hotel fitness center, unused and deserted, and spent hours trying to become more fit. I chose to wander around, exploring the endless hallways and floors, until I found myself drawn toward the bright lights, dinging sounds, and rows of flashing machines. It only took me a few minutes to find an empty one, and it gleefully accepted the dollar I fed it. I tried to remember how Eric had said money would have no value, but for a few hours, I didn't care.
While Eric worked off his aggression, I killed time by gambling my way into an acorn fortune.
I had no real clue what I was doing, or if I was really winning. The numbers went up, occasionally down, but mostly up, and by the third day of staying here, I was pretty sure I was a millionaire. Before I could become a billionaire, Eric showed up, bursting my bubble by pointing out I wasn't actually old enough to be playing the slot machines, and that if things kept going the way he thought they would, I'd have no way of spending my fortune.
"It's the apocalypse," I point out, reaching around him to pick up my drink. It's gingery and sweet, and the third one I've had since I've been down here. "No one is going to ask for my ID. If they do, you can cash my ticket in for me."
"I'm not even going to waste my time pointing out how that's illegal," Eric comments dryly, leaning against another machine to watch me. "Or how you should probably take a break."
I pause, my finger over the button labeled bet, and I smile widely. "If you're jealous of my newfound wealth, you can just say so."
"Yeah, real jealous of you and your acorn fortune." Eric retorts. "Come on. Let's go eat. We're leaving in the morning and I thought you might want to experience the finest dining your wealth can buy. They have a restaurant in the back that isn't a buffet."
"Are you serious?" I push bet, and the acorns whirl across the screen, luring me in with their spinning and flashing. "I thought you only wanted to eat in the room."
Over the past few days, I've learned more about Eric. The start of our trip was chaotic and intense, and a few days off was a nice way to balance it out. During my time in the hotel, I got to observe Eric in a more natural state. He ate whatever he deemed acceptable –a salad, chicken, fruit, vegetables and never desert – worked out, drank coffee, watched the news, looked annoyed at his phone, and repeatedly tried to contact Jason. He looked put out when I was tired before he was ready to go to bed, and the unspoken rule was he stuck to his side, I stuck to mine, but we went to bed together.
We barely knew each other, but there was no issue with staying in one room. Once he turned the lights off, it was just him and I, facing one another. I got a solid one or two questions out of him. Last night, I asked if what his mom did. Through clenched teeth, he told me she was a psychologist, but her specialty was being obnoxious. I tried not to laugh, because I thought he was joking.
He wasn't.
He was dead serious, and he answered my second question –did they get along –by telling me if I didn't go to sleep, he'd let Greg come find me.
I also learned he had an endless supply of hair gel, and if he didn't use it, his hair did not stay in place.
And he didn't seem to care that every night, I'd woken up closer and closer to him.
"Yeah, well, I thought a change of scenery would be good for you. Plus, it doesn't look half bad." He cocks his head, like he's demanding I say yes, but we both know my options are limited.
I either eat at the restaurant with him, or upstairs while the news anchor yammers on about the zombies.
I press cash out on the machine, and I hand the ticket to Eric with a smile.
Turns out, I'm hardly a billionaire.
I'm not even a millionaire.
Eric does cash my ticket out for me, though no one is even watching as he feeds it into the machine, and he snorts when he hands me six dollars.
"Nice work, Carlen. I guess dinner is on you."
He snickers at the look on my face, then harder when I shoot him a dirty look. It's not very effective considering he's so smug, and my short-lived career as a professional gambler comes to a disappointing end.
The restaurant is as nice as I'm expecting.
Tacky, gold, and with a few slot machines you could play while you waited, but not godawful.
I sit across from Eric in a booth, actually enjoying my dinner. There's an absurd normalcy to tonight, and a routine in eating with Eric. Hidden away in the back of the hotel, it's like the world is not falling apart. There is no sign of the zombie apocalypse here. There are lots of other people dining, a few men and women arguing over who should pay for dinner, and dozens of waitstaff. There are no clocks, no tvs with the news blaring, and nothing that would alert anyone to the fact that flesh eating zombies were roaming the streets a single town away.
I let myself go along with it.
I eat a few bites of vanilla ice cream while Eric hands our server his card, and his gaze returns to me, sharper than before.
"What? Do you want my six dollars?" I half joke, and when his face tenses, I panic. I try to think of all the meals he's bought, and I decide maybe I should have paid. "I can go get my wallet."
"Are you sure you should be eating that?" He eyes my ice cream warily, but quickly looks at me. His stare is different this time, like he's just realized we've taken a miniature vacation together, and it must be decidedly unlike him. "Don't you think –"
"Are you sick of me?" I interrupt, and his expression stays neutral. "I'm sorry."
The panic is heavy.
It settles in my chest, awash with guilt and the reoccurring feeling of grief. I never grew up feeling unwanted, but I'm by no means Eric's responsibility. He offered to take me to a safe zone, not spend days holed up in a casino, answering my questions or paying for me to eat dessert.
"I'm really sorry. I can pay. I'll go get my purse. I have a card and I have –" I fumble to get up, realizing I've made a mistake in thinking this was fun. It might have been fun for me, but Eric has a job to do, and this isn't it. "I'll um, I'll be right back."
"Sit down. I was…." He pauses, swallowing like he'd like to bite down his own words. "I was making a joke. I already paid for the dinner. I'm not concerned about that. I know this situation is…unusual. Plus, it'll be over soon. We'll be in Prinsway tomorrow, and they'll…help locate your family."
"Oh," I sit back down, but the panic doesn't go away, not even when he looks strangely disappointed. It's fleeting; his expression immediately returns to dead serious, and while there's a strange tension in the air, it's not entirely coming from Eric. "Well, um, in that case, I'm really glad you brought me with you. I can't imagine what would happen if I was still in Haling, so, thank you."
Eric cocks his head.
His eyes lock on me, and he only looks up because the server appears, looking agitated. He stops by our table, and in the background, a man in a suit watches, looking sweaty and pale.
"Sorry, sir. There's an issue with our credit processing system. Um, they uh, it won't run the card."
"What?" Eric tears his stare from me to glare at him. "What do you mean it won't run my card? Just run it. There's more than enough to cover dinner."
"It's not just yours. Management is having us bill everything to the rooms. There's something wrong with the system. It went down and…the one in the kitchen is down, too." He pauses, and Eric and I both look up as the lights flicker. "I'm uh, supposed to tell you to enjoy your evening."
"Shit," I whisper, because the darkness comes at once.
The casino loses power, and a second later, the entire hotel is engulfed in dark.
Chapter 5: Cabin Fever
Notes:
Thank you so much to Erin for editing!
Enjoy the chapter and have a lovely weekend! :)
Chapter Text
"Don't move."
Eric commands from across the table, and it's a smart decision. Around us, the restaurant descends into chaos. Less chaos than if zombies were actually in here, roaming around and picking out their dinner, but it's still a mess. There are panicked shrieks, a few screams, and plenty of trays and glasses crashing over as people stand up and try to leave.
A second later, the lights turn back on, but they're weak. They flicker and wane, until they stay on permanently, and the dining room is dimly lit. The lights cast eerie shadows over the tables, giving everyone a haunting glow. Across from me, Eric's stare is intense. He looks calculating, but serious, and he lowly tells me we're leaving.
"Come on. We're going to get our things and get out of here." He stands first, his fingers pressing on the tabletop as he waits for me, as the table behind us resumes eating their dinner. The rest of the people in the restaurant calm down, but Eric does not. "It's emergency lighting. Something happened to the main power. We need to get out now."
"Okay," I fumble to get out of the booth, and Eric helps by yanking me up by my arm.
I hit my shin on the bar beneath the table when my foot catches, and I stumble getting out of the booth as quickly as Eric would like. When I have regained my balance, he hurries me out of the dining room, past the sweaty looking restaurant manager, and back out into the main casino. He leads us towards the elevators we took coming down here, but shakes his head and points to the stairs just to the side.
"If the power goes out while we're in it, we're stuck. We'll take the stairs. Grab your things, we're getting out of here."
"All because the power is out?" I ask, but before I can blink, he's through the stairwell and half a flight of stairs ahead. "Eric! Wait! I ate all that ice cream!"
I scramble to keep up, swearing, and muttering that maybe ordering desert wasn't such a brilliant idea, nor is wearing a sundress and untied shoes. By the time we reach the fourth floor, my hair is a mess, and Eric holds the door open so I can stumble through.
"We have to hurry. There's a generator for the property, as well as back-up generators. They're meant for short term emergencies, and who knows when the last time they were serviced," Eric explains, and room 424 suddenly seems incredibly far away. "Judging by the décor, it probably barely passed inspection. It likely won't last long."
"And you know this how?" I try to keep up with him, and we reach the door at the same time. Eric swipes his card, and it unlocks, though the sound is weak. We look at each other, and it's obvious the power won't last long. "If it locks while we're in there…"
"We'll prop it open. Come on. Grab your things. We're making a stop on the way out, I'll get gas here, and then we're heading –"
He doesn't manage to finish his sentence when an announcement screeches through the hallway. It's so loud it hurts, and the stressed out voice of from someone downstairs fills my ears.
"Attention Lone Butte Golden Acorn Casino and Spa Guests…uh, this is an emergency broadcast. We are currently experiencing um, electrical issues. We advise all guests to make their way to their rooms, and we will issue vouchers good for two dinners…three hours…. free parking, so long as you stay in your room until the issue is fixed. Wait! Wait, no! Fuck, fuck, no! No! HELP!"
The voice gives way with a shriek. There connection cuts in and out, a mechanical snap with each pause, and finally a second, blood curdling scream. Eric and I get to work as fast as we can, and within minutes, we have everything we need; our entire life is currently packed in a few bags, and he carries them both. We leave silently. His only hesitation is when he lowly asks if I have everything I need, and he waits for me to nod. When I do, he relaxes a fraction of an inch, and we head back down the hallway.
It's filled with people.
I had assumed our particular floor was deserted, but now there are tons of guests swarming each door. They swipe their key cards frantically, and the faint smell of death lingers in the air. I'm pushed forward as I walk, and there's a split second where I'm shoved between a couple arguing over who has the correct key. I'm jerked back by Eric, and he pulls me against his side, swearing when the person shoots him a dirty look and begs for him to help.
He darkly informs them he doesn't work here while his fingers curl into my ribcage.
We make it back to the stairwell relatively unscathed, and our descent is much faster. I follow on his heels, keeping up as best I can, and he bursts back onto the ground floor. He makes a beeline for the gift shop, and once inside, Eric ransacks the place. He tosses me breakfast bars, water, a few sodas, chips, a package of cookies, and whatever else he can grab. I wait for someone to yell that he has to pay for all of this, but the lone employee is nowhere to be found.
He grabs a few more things, all important: medicine, hand sanitizer, two first aid kids, rope, matches, and a bunch more items I don't see. He grabs a few t-shirts, and when I stare at him, taking a single second while the casino descends into total chaos, he rolls his eyes.
"In case you barf again. I know you only have so many dresses."
He says that part with a snicker, and the weird feeling from earlier is gone.
We hightail it to the patrol car, one gold acorn key chain and several packages of cookies richer, but alive.
We don't head to Prinsway.
I know we aren't going there, because something about Eric's posture is off. I watch him from the car while he pumps gas, then fills two extra tanks in his trunk. He does his best to hurry, but he still surveys the area with a funny look on his face.
It's probably because behind us, the parking lots is a free for all.
Turns out, most of the casino guests weren't pacified by the hotel's announcement. I watch two cars smash into each other as they fight to get out of one lane first, and another smash into a third and fourth as they try to cut around them. There's a billow of smoke, then fire, and Eric slides into the driver's seat right as one driver tries to steal the other's car.
In the distance, stumbling through the large, oversized, gold doors, are the undead.
Death comes in three; victim after victim, each one followed by the older, more rotten zombie who brought about the infection. They stumble out into the lot in droves, far more infected than I would have imagined.
Eric drives out of the hotel lot a different way, around the back and out a service exit, and onto the highway. He drives faster when the radio comes on, crackling for an officer –any available officer—to respond, and he does.
He informs the dispatcher he's just left The Lone Butte Golden Acorn Casino and Spa, and he won't be returning anytime soon.
The wide-open road seems to beckon to Eric.
Not in the traditional sense. He doesn't seem like someone who wants to drive endlessly or stop at a few Quick marts for burnt coffee while the clock on the dashboard blinks eleven pm, but in a different way. In an easy, end of world, appreciative way, because out here, there are no zombies.
At least that I can see.
"Are you tired?"
I sit beside him, handing him a donut every so often. I had taken the pack from the gift shop, feeling guilty about shoplifting, even though I knew there was no way to pay, but I also liked how rebellious it felt. The old Everly never took anything that didn't belong to her, but this Everly –the one left behind to fend off Hazel but was now doing something much more exciting –she was brave enough to take the donuts.
Plus, they were actually really good. They were sweet and powdery, and I liked it when Eric accepted one. He refused most, but his will power somewhat ended as the night stretched on, and so did the road. We come to a fork where the highway splits, and he chooses to go right.
"Yeah, we have two more hours to the next major town. We can try stopping or…" he trails off, and his grey eyes find mine. "We can pull over and sleep for a few hours, or I can drive as long as I can. Do you know how to drive?"
"Sort of," I lie, but he knows it. His stare stays on me, and he sighs. "I could try. Or…maybe you can show me when it's not pitch black."
"Yeah, maybe." He agrees, halfhearted and not at all enthused. "Do me a favor. Try Jason again. Call, text, see if he answers. If he doesn't, pull up the map and see what town we're coming up on."
"Sure."
I take his phone carefully, and it opens easily. A few clicks later, I press on Jason's name, and we wait while the phone rings. It eventually goes to a voicemail, and even I feel disappointed at the lack of answer. I send him a text –asking if he's alright and where he is, and to respond if he can. Then I sit there, and I don't look at the map right away, because, for once, Eric is distracted. Instead, I open up his photos, and I carefully angle myself away from him, buying a few precious seconds before he can snap that I should be looking at something else.
His photos are very telling.
And revealing.
The first dozen I swipe through are work related. They are all zombies. Zombie heads. Zombie bodies. Him standing by a zombie, looking disgusted. Several severed hands. A leg with a large bite mark, followed the foot that I'm assuming belong to that leg. One of his desk, without a trace of anything personal on it, mostly paperwork. Several pictures of files. More paperwork. An award, another award, and a certificate of achievement signed by his father.
I hit the jackpot after that. There are a few of him and a man I'm assuming is his father, followed by one with his mother. They're a nice looking family; a little stuck up maybe, and definitely intimidating, but nice. His mother is slender and blonde, and his father is tall, and has the same haircut as Eric. He has glasses on in this picture, and a happy, genuine smile. His mother's grin seems phony or rushed, like someone took the photo and told her to smile at the last second.
The next picture makes me scowl.
It's Eric out at a dinner with his friends. I recognize Jason, grinning with a beer in each hand, but I don't recognize the girl beside Eric. She's clinging onto him, sort of pressed against his side as she desperately tries to get in the picture, and she is, unfortunately, very pretty.
She's tall and blonde, her hair a shade lighter than Eric's, and curled in a mesmerizing way. She's older than me, dressed in a far more revealing outfit than my sundress, and it's not pink. It's red. As red as her nails, her lips, and the color I'm seeing at the way she has her claws wrapped around his arm in the next picture.
"You look mad over there, Carlen. Did you find the name of the town? Did Jason answer? Or are you mourning your lost fortune?"
Eric's voice is even, unbothered and casual, and I shake my head. I'm a little surprised at his joke, but it makes me smile. "No, he didn't. I'm looking up the town now. And…maybe if things get really bad, we'll head back there. At least we know they have donuts."
He lets out a huff of laughter. I keep going, scrolling through his photos until I find a picture of Eric shirtless, and I stop before I can decide if I think the girl took it or not. She must be Ashley, but I have no clue if she's his girlfriend or not. My assumption is she isn't, because he said he wasn't going back to see her, and if she was important, he would.
I exit out of his photos before he can answer me, and click on maps. It's not the map I have on my phone, and I stupidly realize I haven't thought to check my phone at all. I sit up straighter, because I have no idea where it is.
"What's wrong? Does it not work? The satellites where it pulls from should be functioning. Unless the zombies are in space now."
"No, I totally forgot I had a phone!" I gasp, and I look around frantically. "It was in my sweater. I don't know where it is!"
"I put the bags in the back," Eric glances at me, and the panic dulls to low roar. "Did you bring a charger?"
"No," I sink back, and my insides twist. "I don't think so."
"We'll look for one," he answers off handedly, and he points to the phone in my hands. "Is there anything coming up? Gas station? Restaurant? Motel? I know the town is two hours away, but there might be something sooner. You should be able to see the casino as a landmark."
"Um, there's…." I click on the map, and it shows me several locations. Most are a good hour away, but there's a motel at the very edge of a tiny town. "There's a motel named Venture Valley Bed and Breakfast. It's in a really small town. If you don't want to stop there, there's a major city two hours past it. Are you thinking they're all infected?"
Eric chews on the side of his cheek. He mulls this over, changing lanes for no reason, other than to stay awake, and he finally exhales heavily.
"Either option is a gamble. We can stop in the first one, and they might not have been hit by the outbreak since they're a small town, but there's a chance that others will head there, too. We can keep going in hopes that the larger city has resources. They might not have a safe zone, but there's a chance they'll have some sort of fire or police department still active." He pauses, because his phone rings, and Jason's name flashes across the screen. "Shit, answer it! Carlen!"
He roars my name, and I hit answer before he can veer off the road. I say hello hesitantly, and Jason answers with a burst of laughter.
"Eric! Eric, where the fuck are you!? Dude! I've been trying to call you! I have no reception out here!" He laughs, and it's infectious. Wherever he is, it's noisy, and someone beside him yells Eric's name, followed by some loud whooping. "Hello?"
"Hi," I answer, and Eric is torn between keeping the car on the road or yanking the phone from my hands. "Hi, is this Jason?"
I'm met with silence.
Stunned, confused silence, until he snickers.
"Um, yes. This is Jason. Who is this?"
"I'm Everly! Eric and I met in Haling Cove," I answer brightly, and Eric groans from the driver's seat. "He's driving right now. Do you want to talk to him? Oh wait, I should ask, where are you? Can I also ask how you know all that stuff about zombies? I read your blog. I found it really informative."
"Whoa, okay, hold on," Jason sounds absolutely delighted. He must have turned away because I can hear him talking to someone. "He's alive! And get this –he's with some girl. She said her name is Everly and she likes my blog!"
"Who is she? Where are they? Is she a zombie?"
Someone else begins talking, followed by several others chiming in. The questions are fast and furious, including how old I am, how tall I am, and where are we. Someone asks if Eric has finally taken a wife, and someone else jokes that it took until a zombie apocalypse for him to find love. Before I can politely inform them Eric certainly isn't in love with me, Jason tells them to shut up.
He then asks me if we're near New Mexico, and how fast Eric is driving.
I don't get to answer any of them. Eric reaches over impatiently, so I hand over the phone, and he grunts out an unimpressed hello.
"Where the fuck are you? I've been trying to get a hold of you for days. I went to Haling. The place was overrun with those dead fuckers. I went back to Lakeview but everyone was infected. Max and Linda are both dead, and no else was there. Daniel was gone. We were heading to the safe zone, but they said there was an outbreak and to wait a few days. We've been at a casino but they lost power and my guess is the infection has completely spread there by now. We left not too long ago." Eric tries to fill Jason in quickly, and it's easy to pick up on his frustration. "We're heading east. Toward…Venture Valley."
Wherever Jason is, there are a lot of people speaking all at once. I can't make much of the conversation out. I do pick up on the relief in Eric's posture; his shoulders relax, his jaw isn't so tight, and he speeds up, still heading toward the next town. He listens to whatever Jason is saying silently, and when he slows the car down, he looks at me.
For a split second, I think he's going to pull over and tell me to get out.
He doesn't.
He gestures for me to take the phone, right after he snaps a goodbye to Jason and tells him he's glad he's alive.
"Wait, let me talk to Everly!" I hear Jason's protest, tiny in the speaker, and I answer before he hangs up. "Okay, let me just say it, it's so weird to hear that you're with Eric. It's blowing my mind. Eric is the last person in the world to pick up a random girl. Do you know him?"
"No," I shake my head, and to my surprise, the sign for Venture Valley comes into view. A large, proud sign reads Population 850, and someone has crossed it out to write a 1. Then crossed that out to write a 4. Then crossed the whole thing out to write 846. It announces that it's a good twenty miles ahead still, but it feels optimistic. "I saved him from getting bitten. Then he saved me from one armed Hazel. My whole town is overrun by the zombies."
"One arm. Was she still fairly agile?" Jason's curiosity is piqued. "Were they fast in Haling? I warned Eric, they're not as slow as everyone thinks. I've killed at least fifteen since this whole thing started."
"Really?" I have to admit, it's impressive. "I've only killed two."
He lets out a low whistle. "Dang! Has Eric proposed yet? He's got a thing for girls who can kill people. I'm kidding. Swear. He's not a serial killer. You're safe with him. Mostly."
I glance at Eric out of the corner of my eye, and he's doing his best to pretend he isn't listening. "He hasn't yet. Should I call you if he does?"
Jason laughs again. I immediately like him, and I decide if I do meet him, we'll probably get along really well.
"Yes. I'm gonna try to get to Venture Valley but I'm a few states over. I told Eric to sit tight for a few days. I've got Karl and –"
The signal drops.
My disappointment is immediate, but Eric gently pries the phone from my fingers, and powers it off. He then plugs it into the charger and shakes his head.
"Don't worry. I know where he is. He's with Daniel, and some people from the military. They want us to stay here for a few days, and we'll head toward Texas. This is the first informative contact in days."
"Texas?" I'm surprised, but not entirely so. I have no real clue where we are, but for some reason, it doesn't bother me as much as I would have thought. "Okay, so we're staying…at the Venture Valley Bed and Breakfast?"
"I guess."
Eric's mood shifts. He wavers somewhere between relief at having spoken to his friend, and disappointment at being states away.
I share his sentiments.
We run out of donuts a good twenty minutes before we reach the motel, and from the looks of it, they do not have a gift shop.
In all the years of my life, I had never stayed at any sort of hotel until I met Eric.
Now I stand with him at the check in desk, and it's obvious the clerk dislikes us. His apprehension of giving us a room is understandable; we showed up in hurry, I'm so tired it's hard to stand up straight, and Eric's badge doesn't seem to reassure the clerk that he is an officer, and yes, the patrol car is his.
"We've had a lot of…interesting characters coming through over the past few days." The clerk types slowly. His name tag reads Stanford, and he's oddly uptight considering the Venture Valley Bed and Breakfast is as unappealing as the Gold Acorn was. Maybe more. I hate to shatter his opinion of this fine establishment, but I'd almost rather sleep in the car. "Do you need two rooms or—"
"One."
Eric interrupts him. His tone is firm, even when the man eyes me warily.
"I'll need an extra deposit for her. We don't normally allow…minors. They tend to destroy the rooms if left unsupervised."
I blink.
"Wait, you think I'm going to trash your hotel? I'm not a minor. And this is place is—"
Eric stops me before I can announce what I really think of the taxidermy laden hell hole. He pulls me against his side, holds on tightly, and throws Stanford one tight, mean smile. "One room. Three days max. I appreciate your help with this matter."
"And if I can't help?" Stanford looks at me, and I do my best to keep my smile even and unwavering. "Oh, I see."
It's only because Eric is armed, and this man presumably is not, that he slides us a single room key. He looks down at me, and my dismay is enough to make Eric reach for the gun. Visions of Stanford begging for his life dance through my head, and I suddenly wonder if Eric walks the line between good cop and bad cop.
In this moment, I'll take whatever kind of cop he is.
"I'll uh, be here, if you two need anything." Stanford changes his attitude, but Eric doesn't let go.
He keeps his arm around my side until we reach the room, and only then does he pull away.
This time, the night is dark and unkind.
After a week of zombies, my brain chooses to replay everything that's happened with a heightened sense of intensity. I lie facing Eric with my eyes screwed shut, trying to forget about Hazel. My avoidance of what's really happening has been fantastic; caught up in being on the road with Eric, I've chosen to ignore the trauma of watching a girl only a year older than me, lumber through my house missing a limb after my family left me behind. I've neglected to deal with shooting a zombie in the head, a man who wanted to kidnap me, or the very real reality of zombie made of bones and goo, oozing his way to infect me.
It's why this hotel takes a turn for the worse.
The ancient wallpaper is dull and torn, the carpet smells like too many artificial cleaners, and the noises from the outside slip in. There's a branch hitting the window that sounds like zombie nails scratching to get in, creaking footsteps from a nosy guest or maybe Stanford himself, and the groan of the bed when Eric shifts. He's not really asleep either, but my guess is his thoughts are far unlike mine.
Always calculating and planning, he sighs and adjusts his legs, until he realizes I'm not asleep.
"What's wrong? You waiting for the desk guy to come check on you?"
His voice is rough; it hides his exhaustion –the unspoken tiredness from knowing everything about surviving the apocalypse and being the only one who knew where to go –but it belies how quiet he really is. I open my eyes when he turns to face me, much larger and stronger, and his fingers move slowly. They nudge mine, until I really look at him.
He knows something is wrong.
In the dark, his face is sharp angles and a defined jaw, lips slightly parted.
"Everly…"
My name is funny sounding coming from him. I've grown accustomed to him barking my last name, because it sounded like someone who would be his partner. Maybe in his mind, Carlen is stronger and faster, while Everly is tripping over her shoes and trying to make small talk while he drives.
"It's not going to end anytime soon, is it?" I blink back the burn of tears I refuse to let fall. I won't cry in front of him. He's too strong and disciplined, and I've already proven to be too human for him. The memory of our last dinner together pricks at my skin, and I still feel stupid for assuming he was enjoying any of this. "The zombies…the driving…the infection. It's not stopping anytime soon, is it?"
"No," he answers gruffly, and he moves. He's suddenly closer than before, too close. "Not for a while. Not until we can get somewhere safe. They're working to fix this, but it's just the beginning. If we stay ahead of it, we'll be fine. That's all. We just have to stay ahead."
"Do you trust them? The…other officers and the government, or whoever is at the safe zone?" I pause when his fingers touch mine, and he's way warmer than I am. "What if the safe zone doesn't exist? What if we get there and Jason isn't there, or everyone is infected, and…and –"
Panic engulfs me.
It swallows me whole, forcing me right into the depths of it. Every what if scenario is worse than the last, until they're all consuming. I fumble right into darkness, until I realize Eric is right against me. He's worked his way close enough to slide an arm over me, and his leg between mine. There is nothing but good intentions on his part; he pulls me into his chest –warm, strong, and covered in a worn t shirt –and his free hand slides into my hair. He grasps a fistful between his fingers, locking around strands of hair as dark as the night, and when I sigh in pure exhaustion, he lets me stay there.
In the darkest place I've ever been, a motel in a weird town, and with a desk clerk who found me suspicious, I sink against the lone person looking out for me. Eric is not bound to me in any way. Our deal is lopsided now; he's saved my life more times than I have his, and there would be nothing wrong with him dropping me off in a town and wishing me all the best. The fear of being left behind, again, is real.
It settles in my chest, uneasy and thick, and I think I'll never fall asleep.
But I do.
Eric lowly informs me this is just for tonight. He mutters a few other things –like how he saw plenty of people break down for lesser reasons in academy, and how some of his fellow officers have thrown up at far less. His words are not meant to be soothing. He's trying to empower me, for a weak partner isn't something he can handle.
I nod against his chest, fully getting it.
He's giving me tonight to mourn the loss of my old life. Perhaps he's already done it, with the first or second or third zombie kill, or maybe it was when Landon was over him, ready to bite. Maybe it was the first hotel, the casino, or Jason's call, putting real distance and space between what we all knew from before.
I take it.
I shut my eyes as his fingers tighten, and every so often, he moves them. They scrape through my hair with a surprising gentleness, but it feels right coming from him. I fall asleep a few minutes later, waking up only when Eric's phone rings, and Jason tells him to hurry and leave as soon as we can.
"Okay, you get the first one, I'll take the second. Shoot whenever you're ready, Carlen."
I chew on my lip, nodding at him as Eric leaves my side, and I watch the zombies meander down the ravaged aisle of an AJ's Fine Grocery. The air is warmer in here, but it smells like death. It smells like decay and despair, like dead flowers and lost dreams, and like zombies have taken it over as an unofficial zombie headquarters. I barely bat at an eye at the one who slinks near me, knocking over the display of jars promising fresh, authentic salsa. He's tall and lean, though it's mostly because his body is rotting off, and he smells like a truck stop bathroom. I hold my breath when he looks at me, then I aim, and shoot without taking a single step.
His head bursts apart like an overripe watermelon. It explodes messily, landing on the few bags still on the shelves, and a can of peas and carrots. Eric's shot comes right after mine, echoing through the store with a loud bang, followed by the sickening sound of zombie juice hitting the floor.
A month ago, I would have thrown up.
To be exact, I had.
I know this because I've been keeping track.
Thirty-seven days ago, my family left me behind to go pick up my dad. I woke up to the undead walking through my own home, through Carole's yard, and through the woods. I met Eric, saved his ass twice, and joined him in what I thought would be a quick trip to a safe zone. In my head, the words safe zone conjured up images of being reunited with my family. I would be upset they'd left me behind, but happy to see them. I imagined Eric and I would part ways as amicable pals; the zombies would have been a weird, but brief kink in my routine, and things would go back to normal quickly.
Oh, how wrong was I.
Thirty days ago, I lie in a bed in the middle of nowhere. A shit hole town named Venture Valley, with a weird desk clerk who thought I was going to trash the place. Exhaustion and optimism had led us there, and we accepted it willingly, because it meant we were that much closer to finding his friend. Eric and I both went to bed with the intentions of sleeping, and then going to this elusive safe zone. With better directions, a strong idea of where to go, and contact –precious human contact with another office who knew what he was doing –things felt good.
Until reality hit.
Until the breakdown that had been threatening couldn't be held off any longer, and I felt like I might splinter apart.
Eric figured it out long before I did. I fell asleep with his hands in my hair, occasionally stroking my temples by pure accident, feeling like I was safe for a few hours. He swore it was fine for that night, and that night only. I fell asleep, knowing deep down, I wouldn't see my family any time soon, nor would this be easy. The outbreak was just beginning, and if I didn't play my cards right, I wouldn't survive.
Which is how I ended up here, in a city nowhere near Texas, having now killed over fifty zombies. I take plenty of pride in the number, for it took me a solid week to prove to Eric I was capable of having a gun on me. Another week for him to really trust me with it, and only one zombie creeping up behind him for him to agree it was a good plan.
The living dead got worse as time went on.
I had high hopes things would slow down the longer this went on. I woke up the morning after falling asleep against Eric to him shoving things in a bag and packing up. Neither of us spoke about what happened the night before; I decided I'd be fine, and Eric allowed me to act like it didn't happen. We left without saying goodbye to Stanford, and our contact with Jason left us both on edge. Our days were spent driving, weaving in and out of sudden traffic, mostly large trucks and a few SUVS, zooming past so fast they nearly ran us off the road.
The farther we drove, the less traffic there was.
Sightings of actual humans became rare. There was the occasional hitchhiker, or someone pulled off to the side, but Eric never stopped. He scowled when Jason called, and he let out a string of swear words at whatever news he got. A minute later, he dully announced Jason had been diverted halfway to the safe zone. There was a mix up in communication, an outbreak near the safe zone, too close for comfort, and Jason was now being sent elsewhere. To the safe zone on the opposite side of the country, with several check in points.
He insisted we could meet up along the way.
He gave Eric a list of options to choose from, and Eric picked the one near Utah. Jason and Karl were going there first, and should the stars align, we'd find them. The maps Eric showed me became a blur, though I did spend a few hours studying them, trying to mentally pinpoint where these still functioning safe zones were.
One is Utah.
One is Oregon.
The other is Florida.
"Did he get close?"
I look up to Eric pulling the bandana down from his face to reveal a smirk. He takes my face in his hands, then rotates my head carefully, left then right. Unsatisfied, he tilts it side to side, and brushes the hair off my neck to examine it.
"Did he bite you?"
"Please," I scoff, knocking his hands away and stomping past him to find some hopefully nonexpired Advil. "He never got close enough to touch me."
"Nice work, Carlen. Who knew you had it in you?" His snort of approval is waved off, and I traipse down the aisle, until I find what I'm looking for. A wall of mostly still good medicine. I take several boxes, tearing them open and pulling out the tiny bottles, and I combine as much as I can. I leave enough behind if anyone else comes through here they'll have some, but I've already learned the hard way that if I didn't take something when I saw it, I might never find it again. "Hey, you want to try a frozen pizza again?"
He snickers at his own hilarity, lazily walking toward me with a melted, warped box. I glare at him, because a week ago, we dared to try a pizza that still seemed frozen. We were both starving, and sick of eating things like chips and crackers, so, we took a risk. Eric heated it up over a camping stove, and an hour later, I was pretty sure I was going to throw up all over the side of the road.
I did.
I swore while Eric stood by, both holding my hair back and keeping one eye out for the undead. He helped me until I was done, gave me some water, and told me next time, we'd stick to the essentials.
I hated it.
I hated the stupid pizza, the stupid feeling of being sick, and Eric being there while I vomited up my guts. I hated the zombies. The way the world was shutting down, and the lack of an end in sight.
The apocalypse went down exactly like Eric, well, Jason, said it would.
There is no power. Running water is iffy. People fled their towns in droves, only to flee back when they realized the open road was no better. We drove past accidents and pile ups, past people being eaten, and past people screaming and throwing stuff at the patrol car. When we did stop, the cities were eerie. The stores have all been looted and ravaged as people panicked, and it was risky to go in them. Finding places to stay went from easy, Eric flashing his badge and being awarded a room, to nearly impossible.
Each motel we pass now, has a sign reading NO VACANCY, OPEN, or HELP. It's a gamble to pick from them, but our best luck was with those saying open. The zombies can't read, at least not yet, and there's usually a motel owner willing to trade something for a night of safety. The first few wanted cash. Eric didn't bother blinking as he handed it to them, even though he couldn't figure out why they wanted it. The last ones wanted food. Medicine. Toilet paper. Water. We made it part of our routine to have these things on hand, since they now spent like currency.
Frozen pizza did not.
"What else do you want?" He calls out from the men's side of the aisle, plucking body wash and hair gel in the same swoop. His hair hasn't fared well during this last month, and I know it's bugging him. He shaved whenever he could, but his hair had grown out of the precision cut, and it left him looking a little bit wild. "Want me to grab you one? You could smell like…swords and glaciers? Or bears and pine trees? Take your pick, partner."
I roll my eyes from a section promising I'd be transported to a faraway land if I took a bath with any of these. The last bath I took was horrific; it was in the shittiest motel so far, one with walls so thin I could hear the people next door either murdering each other, or having the roughest, loudest sex of their lives, and I pleaded with Eric to yell at them at them to shut up. I also made him sit outside the door and talk to me, because even though my bath smelled like roses and poppies, I wasn't sure I had enough mental stamina to make it through it.
Sometimes, I was so homesick I could barely stand it.
Other times, I was furious I'd been left behind, because it was obvious that I'd be a zombie by now.
"I want to smell like none of that. I got my own. Did you get the shampoo?"
Our eyes meet over the shaving cream, and he holds my stare.
One might think sharing a bed, brushing our teeth together, and driving for hours would have stirred up something between us. Eric is hardly unattractive, and I've never considered myself to be hideous. Every so often, I would watch him yank his shirt off by the collar and stare at how impossibly fit he is. He always noticed; he usually smirked or snickered, and occasionally, he stared back, like he was daring me to do more than look at him. His gaze would linger on the undeniably sultry collar of my t-shirt when it slipped off my shoulder, or he'd smile widely when I picked a tank top and pajama shorts.
I slept close to him, careful not to touch him in any way, and usually woke up with his arm over me, and his head bent toward mine.
It was nothing. He was protective, because without me, there was the slightest chance he'd have his neck ripped open by a rogue, fast moving zombie, and there was nothing Eric hated more than zombies.
Well, maybe sharing shampoo. Or talking about his feelings.
"Can we each pick out our own? Last time, you picked the one that smelled like citrus asshole," I pick up a heavy bottle of what was once expensive shampoo, and he dares to look insulted. "And I want real conditioner. My hair is longer than yours and you keep using all the conditioner we have."
"Fine."
He sulks away, clearly attached to whatever gross shampoo he liked, and I hear him yell to meet back up at the front. I grab whatever I can fit in the backpack, knowing there's more room in the car but he'll scowl, and I long for the days of a hot shower and Stanford behind the motel desk. Now, despite the store being looted several times, my choices are decent. I grab a few bottles of detangler, but hesitate over a conditioning hair mask. After deciding fuck it, it's the zombie apocalypse, I take the jar, and I figure I'll tell Eric he can use it, too.
When I've picked out everything I can carry, I take a final lap around the store. I grab a few odds and ends –gum, hair ties, a brush, toothpaste, and some candy bars –then I head to the front. I walk down the baby aisle, oddly still completely stocked and looking like no one has ventured anywhere near it, and I find Eric standing in front of the liquor. This area is mostly empty; all that's left is shitty, cheap wine –according to Eric, and mixers. He grabs a case of something, then gestures for me to follow him.
We leave the store silently, and close together. I've learned a few things about humanity during this dark time, and my biggest lesson so far, is that people are not nice. No one other than Eric, is looking out for me, and no one gives a shit if I'm hungry or thirsty. The apocalypse has brought out the absolute worst in people; they think only of themselves, and never of others.
We've been attacked a few times now, not by zombies, but by rabid men and women lusting after our hard work. Too afraid to go inside themselves, they wait hidden, and emerge to attack when one isn't looking.
Luckily for us, we're armed, and they rarely are.
"Hurry. There's one by the dumpster, but I don't think he's moving." Eric sticks close to me, and his stare is unfriendly. We have the advantage of having a car, but I constantly worry we'll run out of gas. "Okay, you go around first. Make sure it's clear on your side."
"Got it."
A few weeks ago, he promised me he'd do his best to make sure we always had means of transportation. He stole gas wherever he could, storing it in as many containers as he had. Only once did we come close to running out, and he was almost as stressed as I was.
"All clear," I announce, remembering the things he'd taught me.
Look left and right.
Check the backseat.
Keep my stare unapproachable and mean.
Check under the car while walking, looking for shadows or anything out of place. If there was something on the door or windshield, stop walking and draw my weapon.
His tips proved helpful, because more than once, we'd returned to find people circling the car, trying to figure out how to take it. A few begged for rides, but most scattered, afraid of getting shot.
Today, no one is out here. We load up the backseat first, then slide inside at the same time. Eric locks the doors, and I catch someone running at us, probably to demand we turn over whatever food we have. They make it near the car, so close they manage to reach out with one hand and touch the bumper, but they're immediately attacked. They go down with a loud thud, then a crunch as a lone zombie tears into their neck. It's loud and unpleasant, and unfortunately familiar.
Eric drives off before the zombie loses interest in his victim. The action is also familiar, but he no longer reaches for the radio.
It's been silent for weeks, now.
It's comforting in a way, knowing that while people are out there, everyone is in the same boat.
In other ways, it's terrifying.
I scoot closer to Eric, opening up one of the breakfast bars and hoping it's not stale, and rejoicing when it's not. I share it with him, breaking him pieces off while he drives, offering him a larger share. He reluctantly takes it, and we share our water while he passes a sign announcing we're a hundred miles from Utah.
It causes a weird pang in my chest, especially when Eric nudges me with his shoulder, and I scoot all the way over, as close as I can get.
We've driven like this for a week now. It feels safer if we're closer together, especially now.
The sun sets while he drives, weak and orange, and it's like it's given up, just like everyone else.
This time, we find a cabin to stay in.
It's a nice change from the motels we've been finding. This cabin is tall, spanning three or four stories, and sits at the very end of a dead-end street. We made it into Utah before the sky became pitch black, and Eric announced we had to stop, because we weren't anywhere near the check point. Being the only one driving was tiring; he liked it, but I knew by the end of the day, he was done. I didn't argue with his decision, since I knew I couldn't drive as well as him, and I was nearly asleep myself when he turned into what looked like an abandoned neighborhood.
These are clearly vacation homes, or residences for the wealthy. I clutch my bag by a garage door so tall I can't imagine what's parked inside, while Eric fumbles with the front door. It doesn't take him long to get it open, and I wait for him to explain how he picked this one.
"I took a chance. It's the furthest away from the street. There's no sign of activity, and from the looks of it, everyone is gone. Anyone near here isn't coming back, at least not tonight. We'll go inside and barricade the doors. We'll sleep here, and in the morning, we'll find Jason." He stands proudly at his handywork, and then flings the front door open. "If you're nice, I'll look and see if there's a back-up generator. And if I find one, it means a hot shower. And you can wash your clothes."
He sounds proud, like he's offering me the world, and sort of smug.
I know why.
Once we're both clean and warm, there's nothing for us to do but climb in bed and fall asleep.
I dare say Lieutenant Coulter likes that.
"So, did they teach you how to break into houses in the police academy?"
I face Eric, toying with the edge of clean sheets on a large bed. I'd taken my shower first. True to his word, Eric found the backup generator for this cabin; it was small and out of the way, but it didn't take long for the power to come on. While waiting, I rifled through the closets and found clean sheets for the bed, and a heavy blanket. Eric locked the door, top and bottom, shoved a chair beneath the knob, then a heavy entryway table in front of it. He checked the windows, pulling the shades down and drawing curtains, and he even went into the creepy basement.
He emerged triumphant and smug, and he let me know no one was getting in here, living or dead. He also warned me to keep the lights off, just in case someone wandered up this way.
"Aren't you funny? After all this time, you liken me to a common house intruder," Eric retorts, and opens his eyes only to narrow them in my direction. He turns on his side, and I smile sweetly from a mile away.
This is the largest bed we've slept in. Were I not so attached to Eric, I'd relish the space. I feel like I could stretch out horizontally and still not touch him, but yet, he somehow winds up close to me.
"Okay, but did you learn it there? Or is that just one of your many skills?"
"Fine, yes. You have to be able to get into residences and businesses, and we took a quick course on lock picking and the easiest way to enter a building if the need arises. Some are good at it, most are not. Happy?" He stares, the bones in face sharper against someone else's pillow, and I wonder who lives here. I wonder if they stay up at night, whispering questions someone else doesn't want to answer, but eventually does. "How about you? Are you into breaking and entering?"
"I don't…quite know how to answer that," I start to laugh, knowing it's because I'm tired that his words sound funny. "Maybe?"
He raises his eyebrows at me. "Maybe? Wow, who would have thought, Everly Carlen –"
"So, you do know my name. Maybe now you can use it. It's been…over a month," I point out, and I inch my hands closer to him. Despite the freedom to sleep with all the room in the world, I know I'll wind up close to him. Close is safe. Safe is alive. Alive is maybe not finding my family any longer, but surviving this, and not turning into a zombie. "Can I ask you something?"
"No."
"Is Ashley…your girlfriend? Or was she? I saw her picture a month ago," I confess, and murderous is a kind definition of how he looks. His expression changes so fast I have whiplash. "I was looking for the map and accidentally clicked on it."
I wait for him to call me a liar, or at least roll his eyes.
Instead, he takes my fingers in his, and examines them. For every reason in the world, I imagine he's looking to make sure there's no scratches or cuts that could potentially be infected. While we knew the zombie outbreak came from being bitten, there was a chance the infection lived on the surface of something. We've been lucky so far; our only minor illness was a lukewarm case of food poisoning, and some car sickness if we drove without stopping for a few hours, but that didn't mean much now.
He holds my hand up higher, so it catches a sliver of moonlight, and his eyes narrow in displeasure.
"No, she was not. She was…a friend of Rylan's, and he thought we'd hit it off," Eric pauses, and he matches my fingers up to his. The size difference is noticeable, almost as jarring as him holding onto my hand like this. "We did not hit it off. She was clingy and desperate, and she only wanted the bragging rights of dating the police chief's son."
"She's pretty," I offer, relieved on every level. "She has nice hair."
"It's fake," he mutters, distracted and tired. "She'd go and…get it done. Rylan got a fork stuck in it once. He was trying to recreate a scene from a movie, and it got stuck in the…extension and ripped some out. She lost her mind."
"Oh." I swallow down the announcement that I knew about hair extensions. Sophia got them once, after her mom spent months warning her not to. They tangled a few weeks in, until her hair was so knotted and matted, that she had to take them out. "She's –"
"Did you date Landon?" Eric interrupts, and his tone is less curious and more head interrogator of the Lakeview Police department. "You said you knew him."
"I went out with him once," I pause, because his fingers slip between mine, clumsily, like he's never held anyone's hand before. "He talked about his ex the whole time. Then he took me home, dropped me off, and left as soon as I was out of the car. When she dumped him, he then came back and tried to win me over."
"Did it work?" He sounds mildly curious, likes he's forcing himself not to be. "He recognized you. Even as a zombie."
"No, it didn't work. He was older and creepy. I decided I didn't want to be second best to anyone, so I told him off. I got in trouble, since his dad and mine were friends, but it was worth it." I curl my fingers against his, and he waits for me to elaborate.
I don't.
There's nothing else to say about Landon. He's dead, hopefully for good, and there's some closure in knowing I'll never have to see him again.
"Who is Rylan?" I ask, and I find myself moving closer to Eric. I'm tired, and the pillows on this bed are far nicer than anything I've slept on in the past month, and he knows it.
Eric smirks, like he's reliving some inside joke, then shakes his head. "Rylan…I can't really explain who he is. You'll just have to meet him."
"Do you think I will?" My knees hit Eric's legs. "Is he with Jason?"
"I don't know. But I'm sure you'll meet him at some point," Eric answers tiredly, and the exhaustion is inevitable. We'd made good time driving, but the stress had to weigh down on him. "He's…intense. He'll like you, though. He likes everyone."
"Oh," I hate that I sound disappointed, and Eric knows I am. His eyes open, and they land on mine. "I mean, he sounds nice..."
"I didn't mean he'll like you simply because you exist," he doesn't look away, and his fingers tighten. "He's easy to get along with. He genuinely enjoys being friends with people. If he likes you, he'll never leave you alone, or let anything happen to you or your friendship. He's…very odd that way."
"He likes having friends. How is that odd?" I try not to laugh, and he shakes his head, feigning insult. "Is it weird because you don't like friends. Wait, are they really your friends? Do you have friends? Maybe you don't."
"Go to bed, Carlen. It's late," Eric mutters, and he shuts his eyes. The cabin is silent except for the hum of the generator, but it's different than the one in the motels. This one is soothing, low and comforting in the dark.
"Okay. Goodnight, Eric."
"Night."
I expect him to turn onto his back, but he doesn't. He does let go of my hand –the act of physical separation suddenly painful –and he falls asleep a second later. I'm envious of how easy it is for him, but it proves the same for me. I fall asleep not much later, lulled into a dreamless sleep, warm and content.
He's heavy.
In my dreams, Eric is always close by, but just out of sight. A few times, we've walked together. More times than not, he appears as a secondary character, only there to stir things up or occasionally remind me to hurry the fuck up or I'll get bit. It's unfair that even in my dreams, the zombies creep in. They are just as violent and disgusting, impossibly faster and unfortunately smarter. In this one, no matter how many times I blink my eyes, I don't wake up. I get attacked over and over, furious at how my brain thinks I'm weak, and eventually, Eric tries to save me.
In the landscape of my subconscious, he's valiant. Not a white knight coming to save me, but an impatient one, pointing out that I was left behind for a reason. He slips up when he trips over a stray leg, and lands on top of me, pinning me beneath him while the undead writhe and wiggle toward me. His skin is hot. He's heavy, burning as he tries to get up, but he doesn't.
I wake up with a gasp, and to the feeling of being crushed.
In his unconsciousness, Eric is needy.
He is lonely; desperate for companionship but afraid of letting anyone get close. I feel it every time his hand brushes mine, or during his routine inspection to make sure I'm not infected. His fingers trail and linger, his gaze is heavy and possessive, and when he's not awake, he can't hide any of this.
He's thrown one heavy arm over me, pulling me back against his chest. The covers have been yanked up over us, and his legs tangle with mine, seeking out warmth and security. My head is in the middle of his chest, facing away from him, and every time he breathes, I feel it. Slow and deep, temporarily safe, just us.
I close my eyes.
There's nothing really going on between us; it's survival, the need for human touch and simple affection, and very necessary. When we reach the safe zone, he'll be ushered into his place with the other officers. He'll be fawned over –necessary law enforcement in a lawless land –and celebrated. I will be sent with the other survivors, or other unwanted, and I probably won't see him again. Our bond will be broken, just as easily as it was formed.
The idea of this makes my chest hurt, so I simply push myself closer. I give in to the warmth of his skin against my bare shoulders, the feel of his head near mine, and the steady beat of his heart. I pretend we live here, together, and this is our normal routine. We go to bed together, wake up to bright sunshine and chirping birds, and there are no zombies.
I let myself imagine this until I drift back to sleep, and this time, my dreams are much more pleasant.
Chapter 6: Viva Las Vegas
Chapter Text
Utah is a bust.
We spent a few nights at the cabin enjoying the normalcy that being there brought, but it was impossible to relax completely. Every noise pricked at my skin, and every sound made me jump. I spent most of my time wishing the cabin was truly mine; it held the promise of a normal life, even if I was nervous to open the door to the basement, or the night was so dark I could barely see my own hand. It had Eric, graciously letting me fall asleep on him, and checking whenever one of us heard a strange sound.
We left once Jason called.
It was a dark morning, day three of my head being pressed into Eric's chest and his fingers somewhere on my spine, and the mood fairly gloomy. Eric answered after what seemed like a dozen rings. His voice was heavy with sleep and thick with whatever dream he'd awoken from. The news wasn't good, and I was learning it never would be. It was the same story as before, only worse: Jason was being rerouted, the officers he was with had a possible infection, and one man had been lost. They were being called back to see if they could find him, simply because they wanted the manpower.
Despite Jason's best efforts, the distance between us widened.
We left the cabin knowing we had to keep moving: staying put made us a sitting target.
It was how we wound up here –another grocery story in another state, another day of driving, another risky mission that would allow us to survive. I examine myself in the reflection of a cooler left to rot. The vegetables inside are spoiled and sour, left abandoned because no one wanted to eat their vegetables, not even in the apocalypse. There's a particularly sketchy looking bag of broccoli, perched up on a higher shelf, just above my head.
"Do you think I'm any taller? Taller than when we first me?" I turn my stare upward to look at Eric, and his eyes turn skyward.
"No."
Eric's answer is a snort, hidden beneath dark fabric meant to filter out the smell of the dead. He and I creep along the aisle together, heads down, until he signals for me to run. "You'll never be any taller, ever, but go! Now!"
"Really?" I don't wait for his response. I take off, enjoying the feeling of cold, biting air, on my bare legs. I make it past the row of stinking, rotten meat, spilling onto the floor, and the sight of the brown and rancid juices makes me want to throw up. I hold my breath while I run, because with my luck, I'll barf the second I smell it, and I round the corner with a gasp.
"Shit."
Not one, not two, not even three or four, but five of the undead are gathered around the area I need to go. They lumber aimlessly, dead eyed and grey. They're older. Slower. Juicer. Jason's guide has come in super handy, and when Eric's phone has signal, I read the blog religiously. I've memorized the steps. I practiced stabbing the zombies with Eric, though I was too freaked out to get that close and try. But I have to. We have a finite amount of ammunition, something Eric warns me about every few days, and our main goal is always to find more.
And there is more.
Behind the counter, locked in a glass cabinet, currently guarded by the biters.
Eric and I have a lot of nicknames for them.
At night, when the stars spin round the earth and Eric can't sleep because I've asked him one too many personal questions, he sometimes adds another to our list. It was a secret list, just between us, spoken lowly, as if the world isn't ending and someone might overhear him.
Biters.
Barf Bags.
The Undead.
Gushers.
Zombies.
Zombie Fucks.
Fuckface, spoken lovingly, while Eric did stab one in the head.
Walker Stalkers.
Zbags.
Landon's family.
He loved to say that one, drawled out with a sneer, as though Landon was the sole reason for the zombie apocalypse.
He could have been.
I didn't argue. I just laughed, enjoying the way Eric's lips turned up ever so slightly, and sometimes I swore he secretly liked when he could make me smile.
Other times, I was certain he'd leave me behind, tossing me and the pile of dresses I kept a tight hold on, and waving goodbye and good luck as he drove off.
"Carlen, to your left!"
The hiss of Eric catches me off guard, and it's never good to be off guard. Off guard meant a zombie could get close, and getting close meant a bite. Or a scratch. The slow start of infection, spreading through your bloodstream and taking over until your skin rotted off, and you had the taste for human flesh. Jason had updated his blog a few days ago, announcing he believed the infection to be spread by their saliva. The thought was nauseating, but not out of the question. He also said the older ones would keep going until something pierced their brain; he posted a few pictures of bones with very few pieces of skin still left, and organs decayed and rotting, but still working.
The ones in front of me aren't that bad, and I know if I can get close enough, they'll be easy to take down.
I realize it's now or never, so I take off, joining Eric as he heads straight toward the herd. I eye the oldest, easiest one. When he looks up, and unfortunately, he looks at me, there is no recognition of what I am. There is no human left inside this zombie, only a lust for human flesh, and an agility I wish they didn't possess. He lunges for me, I lunge for him, and the blade of the knife sinks into his soft skull just a little too easily. I gag, Eric snaps that I had better not throw up right this second, and I'm thrown off balance when I try to yank the knife back out.
"I told you. Use your foot. Hold him down, stab again. We went over this already."
Eric is behind me in a flash, his own zombie friend dying and currently on the ground, snarling and gurgling. Eric's hand covers mine as he pulls the knife out, and he keeps it over mine as he pulls my arm back. "Okay, once more. Just to make sure. Remember…what did you name him? Bobby?"
"He was the worst," I gasp, leaning back against Eric as he pulls my arm up higher. He rears back, and this guy doesn't stand a chance. This stab lands right in his temple, and I shudder when my fingers touch the slimy skin. "He wouldn't die."
"The younger ones are more resilient," Eric reminds me, and we both watch as the man falls to the ground. Eric moves away to step on him, carefully, then triumphantly pulls the knife out. "There are two behind you. Better work fast."
"Fuck!" I whirl around, ignoring the dull twinge in my abdomen, and I panic when both are much larger than I expected. I stab the first one, using my foot to kick him back and jerk the knife out, and the second has the advantage of me being busy. He comes from the side, but I'm saved by Eric, who shoots him in the head. "Hey! You said no shooting this time. You said –"
"I know. But it was shoot him or let you get attacked." Eric isn't at all smug sounding, but impatient. "Come on. Grab what you can take, and let's go. We have a few hours before our next stop, and I want to get out of here before the noise attracts more."
"Alright," I agree, but it's reluctant.
Tonight, we are driving out of this small town we've been staying in. It's not an awful place. If it weren't overrun by zombies, I would actually find it charming. It has ornate buildings, large parks, a river cutting alongside the highway, and dozens of once nice stores. The motel we found is abandoned. The owner presumably split once they realized things were going south, and they left behind a safe space if you knew what you were doing.
Which, we did.
Eric grabbed the keys to our room, actual physical keys, then locked the lobby behind him. We took a quick tour of the place, making sure no one was hiding out or lurking in the shadows, and when he was convinced it was empty, we claimed the room closest to the lobby as our own. We went through the office and gift shop second; the office had nothing of use except a heavy pair of scissors, but the gift shop had water. Cheeze Its. Canned soup, crackers, chips, and packages of semi-stale Oreos. Some questionable looking fruit in a basket and several rows of melted ice cream. We replaced things we'd used up –like medicine, Eric grabbed socks, and I took a pair of sunglasses.
Our third step was to scout the property for the main generator. Much like I learned how to stab someone in the head or fight off an assailant larger than myself, I learned more about power and water than I ever wanted. Eric taught me most hotels and motels have a backup generator for emergencies, though we discovered the smaller properties rarely maintained them. This particular one was weak, probably from lack of use; it powered up enough that we could turn the lights on, but the water was lukewarm. The water heaters were temperamental, and so was the softener.
My showers were quick. It was unsettling to feel weird, slippery water coming out of the shower head, but it was quiet and private, and I could wash my hair in peace. Lukewarm was better than freezing, and clean was better than smelling like the undead.
We stayed here for three nights, falling asleep in utter darkness, my legs threaded through Eric's. It was no longer a question of how close could I sleep, it was a matter of safety. If something woke up one of us, the other was getting up, too.
Despite all that, those three nights had been enjoyable.
Soft and quiet, warm when Eric's arm was thrown over me and he mumbled into my hair the demand that I go to sleep, and I felt like I belonged on this wild ride with him. He wasn't like anyone I've known before. Eric isn't sweet or overly kind, especially at night, but it was then when we both were most vulnerable. He could relax, even if just for a few hours.
He did.
He slept like the dead, was hot enough that I barely needed covers, and clearly liked having me close to him. His hands were possessive; they covered mine, pulled me closer, yanked me against him, and insisted I stay near. In his sleep, he was someone else, and that meant for those dark hours, he wasn't on guard.
Sometimes, when he was really tired, he'd mumble my name.
My real name.
Rough and low, like I was right there in his dreams, and I would have committed several crimes to know what he dreamt of.
And commit crimes, I did.
Today, I dump a few guns into my backpack, zipping it up when it's full. My purse is long gone; I left it in a nameless motel, where a zombie burst out of the small room that held the ice maker, and I screamed when it grabbed on to the strap and pulled me back. There was a tug of war, one which I lost, because I'd rather be alive than have my purse, but I mourned it for a few minutes. There wasn't anything in it anyway –maybe some gum, a few loose dollars, and a dozen hair ties, but it felt like my old life was ripped from my hands, all while Eric roared for me to forget it.
Now, I watch as Eric browses the boxes of ammunition with great interest, and he hands me several. "You okay? Are you upset you'll never be any taller? How am I supposed to know? Maybe you'll hit a growth spurt. You still have time."
"I'm fine," I answer, but I'm suddenly not fine, not at all.
It happens out of nowhere. My insides feel like they are twisting, a familiar sensation I loathed, and I'm unexpectedly near tears. I grab a few more guns that I like, not for any reason other than they're black and lethal, and I step around the counter. "I'll be right back. I have to get…something."
"Hey, grab me another toothbrush. I think I left mine behind. Not a pink one, either." Eric yells back distractedly, and I nod. "Maybe get some razors, too."
"Okay," I agree, and my voice sounds funny. "You want toothpaste?"
"Yeah. Get whatever they have."
I head over that way, nearing the bath products cautiously. I miss the days of casual existence, where I didn't have to prepare of the undead lurking in a row of feminine hygiene products, and I wouldn't wince when I picked up the razors Eric wanted. My fingers skim the meager display, and I pick the ones I know he likes. I know a lot of things about Eric now, but at the same time, I still know almost nothing.
I sigh as slip them into a bag, still feeling a fleeting flash of guilt at taking them.
It doesn't last long. I grab a few other things, silently swearing when I grab some extra Tylenol this time.
I must really be cursed, because it's awfully rotten to have cramps while zombies loom nearby, ready to rip my head off.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
Eric's stare is heavy. It lands on me like an anvil, sticking there, despite him driving at ninety miles per hour.
"Carlen, are you –"
"I'm okay," I answer softly, practically collapsing into myself. I'm far from okay. Despite having taken two of the tiny blue Tylenols earlier, my uterus feels like someone is trying to scrape it out with a fork, and all I want to do is lie down. I have no clue where we're going, and despite adventure being out there, I'd like to be at home, curled up in bed, while my mom brought me tea. "I just…I don't feel good. That's it."
"Are you going to throw up?" There is no real panic in his voice, only mild concern that he might need to pull over. "Do you want me to stop and —"
"No!" I sound panicked now, like he might keep asking me until I confessed what was going on. I shove myself closer to the door, praying it doesn't open, and I shut my eyes and shake my head. My arms are wrapped around me, like I can squeeze the cramps away if I try hard enough. "I'm sorry. I'm just…I really…I don't…I'm tired."
I open my eyes when I stop speaking, and the look on his face is funny. There is no way I can tell him what's wrong, and my guess is he's never even heard the word cramps. If he has, he'll equate it to a muscle cramp. I bet he doesn't even get muscle cramps. He's invincible, and Carlen should be, too.
"Okay…. well…" He doesn't know what to do, so he shrugs, looking somewhat insulted. "We're stopping in an hour. You can sleep then."
"Okay," I agree, and I shut my eyes again.
Eric doesn't say anything else.
I don't, either.
I keep my eyes shut for so long, I eventually fall asleep, into a world where I don't have to tell Eric what's going on.
He figures it out when we stop at a gas station straight out of my nightmares.
Beneath a neon sign reading NACHOS, Eric wordlessly hands me a bottle of water, a slightly melty but not totally stale chocolate cupcake, and some more Tylenol. I stare up at him, in a store ravaged by people just like him and me, with bottles of soda and trash everywhere, display cases turned over and an ice machine cracked and shattered, and beneath fluorescent green lights, he shrugs.
It's not tense or tight, merely sympathetic. His fingers touch mine, lingering there as I take the chocolate from him, and on the walk out, he lowly informs me that he once worked a few shifts with a female officer.
He also informs me didn't last long.
He snorts when he says she found him too abrasive and hot headed, and I find myself irrationally jealous of someone else riding along with him.
Finding Jason is like playing a lousy game.
Every time we get close to where he is, something happens. An avalanche of the undead. A windfall of outbreaks, in which those around him become infected and he's forced to leave in the middle of the night. Add in spotty connections –a cell phone barely working and always needing to be charged –and a police radio that now only works every other day, and it seems impossible we'll ever find him. Our last contact with him was the day after fate smiled upon me and blessed me with cramps. Before falling asleep, I spent a miserable hour in the car while Eric chose to listen to the scanner, and our stop was at some crappy motel with one sketchy looking guy behind the desk.
Eric paid him in cookies.
For a minute, I panicked. I thought they were the good ones –the ones not stale, and full of chocolate chips –but they weren't. They were sugar cookies with disgusting frosting, and I knew right then and there, that Eric grabbed them purely to trade. The guy accepted them like he was starving, and we spent one single night in a room that felt like it was bugged. Eric barricaded the door, but it did little to ease my fears. There were weird red lights, things that blinked, and an unsettling feeling when the TV turned itself on. I slept so close to Eric that he must have struggled to breathe, but I was too afraid to be away from him.
I think he was uneasy, too.
We left early in the morning, and I felt mildly better as we sped away.
That was a week ago.
We've been driving ever since, managing to scrape by however we could. The last little town had been decent, but I know Eric is hoping we find his friends, a safe zone, or at least something more permanent.
"Are we close to anywhere?" I glance over at Eric, chewing on some gum like it's wronged him, and his not is curt. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
His answer is tight, so I let him be.
The wild world of Eric has been slowly unraveling before me. There's a natural discipline to him, one that greatly benefited him in his line of work, but out here, it wasn't as helpful. Plans fell apart in seconds. Our food went bad before we could eat it, and what we could find wasn't always what he wanted. In the best of times, we found a few survivors living off the land who would trade or graciously share fresh fruit and vegetables. In the worst of times, we ate whatever we could find. Eric swallowed down cold spaghettios like he'd rather starve, while I ate cold soup. We showered whenever we could, though the motel and hotels were growing sparse, and the people running them were turning sketchier and sketchier.
Those who were alive were slowly realizing they could take advantage of human weakness. I saw it at the last motel, where the guy who bartered for the room looked less interested in the water and breakfast bars and more interested in if he could get me away from Eric. He sized me up, and I got the vibe he figured I'd be an easy target if he could catch me alone. Unfortunately for him, Eric zeroed in on his creeper vibe right away. One quick flash of a gun was all it took to make the guy back down, but I left feeling uneasy. I kept checking to see if he followed us, and my nerves burned with the added fear.
Eric fared well, and probably would fare well on his own.
He enjoyed a variety of things –like silence, quiet time, falling asleep before I could find out why he didn't want to talk to his mom, and wearing dark clothes. He also enjoyed shooting things, he took great satisfaction when he could hit a zombie from far away, and was precise in everything he did. He drove, planned, plotted, and did his best to stay steps ahead of the infection.
But today, being the one in charge has lost its luster.
"Do you want me to pick the next stop?" I reach for his phone, tentative as ever, and he looks over slowly. His cheeks have the hint of a shadow to them, and I know he'd prefer to shave as soon as possible. "You found the last one. I can look for somewhere to stay."
His hesitation is a clench of his jaw. "You want to pick where we stay? Are you sure?"
"Yeah," I unlock his phone easily, having watched him do it a million times. "You've found all the places so far. Let me find one. Nothing can be worse than the last place."
He nods.
It's as sharp as his profile and telling.
"Good luck," he mutters, returning his gaze to the road right as the map appears before me. "It's slim pickings out there. I think we're only going to find worse and worse places."
"Maybe." I quickly locate where we are. The patrol car is a red dot, and it moves along the highway, until the map freezes. I don't tell Eric. It makes him cranky when the last few bits of remaining technology don't work the way he wants, and it'll be better if I don't say anything. I patiently wait until it comes back on, and Eric slows the car down. He points up ahead at a sign up ahead and tells me I have less than a minute to pick.
"Which way, Carlen?"
The map unfreezes at the sound of his voice, and I slide it over to see my options. I debate for a second, closing my eyes and thinking where would be safe, and when my fingers touch the screen, I tell him to go left.
He raises an eyebrow, but he stays silent, though his lips quirk up ever so slightly.
Our stop is productive.
At a rundown, state run truck stop, we take some time to enjoy the warm sun, empty road, and have an impromptu training lesson. After the last few motels, I've learned the real villains won't always be the zombies. There are men and women out there who would be more than happy to take me along with them, for whatever purpose they have.
Eric listed a few while he drove –to use as day labor, to clean, to be used as bait for the zombies, or worse –and it was then that he decided he'd show me how to fight them off. He said it would be helpful, but he failed to mention it would be a rough lesson.
"Get off me."
"No way. Again, Carlen. Not everyone is going to be this nice."
The weight of Eric is heavy but comforting. He pins me down in the field, tall grass tickling my bare legs, and as much as I try, I can't get him to budge. I toy with the idea of kneeing him where I know it'll hurt, but he's too quick.
His hips slam into mine and he smirks at his victory. "You'll have to try harder than that. I said, again."
"You know what? I give up. I'll just…become a zombie." I roll my eyes when he lets up, and he yanks me with him. His smug look falters to annoyance, and I glare at him. "What? You won. You're faster and stronger, and an all-around supreme cop who can fend off whoever attacks, and I can't. Is that what you want to hear?"
"No," he glares even harder, a neat skill considering he looks pretty murderous these days, and shakes his head. "I want you to be able to survive. If someone larger than you –"
"I know, I know. If someone is bigger than me, I'll have to think fast." I crane my head up at him, the warm sun making his hair look lighter, and the shadow on his cheeks appears golden, and I lunge for his throat. I knock him back in the least graceful way possible, my hands fumbling to take control, and my feet hitting his knees.
He hits the dying grass with a thud, and I straddle him before I realize what I'm doing.
"You'll have to try harder than that," I tease, the mocking tone gone when he reaches for my hips, and his expression is priceless.
A little stunned, a little frustrated, and a lot unamused.
"Cute."
He knocks me back, and I don't mean to giggle, but I do. He's petulant that I caught him off guard, and I pay when his nose touches my cheek and moves below my ear.
"They aren't as nice. They won't wait for your witty remarks before they bite," he hisses, and his teeth scrape my skin. I squirm beneath him, and without thinking, my hand reaches for the back of his head.
He rears back the minute my fingers touch his hair.
Lieutenant Coulter is everything a cop should be, including fully resistant to all forms of bribery. His grey eyes flash with awareness, and I smile up at him, enjoying the warm ground, the weight of his body over mine, and the few moments of innocent and not at all innocent attempts to teach me to fight.
If a human did come for me, I'll be prepared.
"Say it. Say I won."
"Never." He lets out a huff of exasperation, and needlessly fixes his hair. I'm still pinned beneath him, and he relishes in it for a single second before his posture changes. "You didn't win. Not even close."
"But it was better, right?" I sit up slightly, wiggling in an attempt to still win. "I could handle someone…my own size."
"Come on. It's getting late. We should get back in the car," he mutters, and it's impossible to miss the flinch in his posture. He helps me up, and his hands stay on mine. "I will admit you were way better this time around."
"Do you train all the new officers?" I brush my dress off once he lets go, still watching him carefully. I've been keeping track of our time together, as well as how many times he's said my real name.
Only a handful.
Each time was purposeful, and all too rare.
"I did not. I stepped in if needed, but I had other priorities. Training people isn't really my thing," Eric answers, and he gestures at the car. "We really should go. I want to try and find somewhere in the next few hours. According to Jason, there's quite a few officers still out there. If we see any, we'll see if they want to join forces."
I dislike this idea.
Out of nowhere, the thought of sharing Eric with anyone, especially people who held the same position as him, is wretched. I tell myself I'm being stupid and juvenile; our survival could hinge on having a group to help us get through this, and the more people on our side, the better.
Still, I like our time together, and I don't want to be pushed aside by someone who shares the same badge as Eric.
"Do you miss it?" I ask, pausing to adjust my dress. Eric has done a number on it. Being knocked to the ground in a mock attack has left it covered in grass and leaves, but we both knew the lesson was one I had to learn. "Do you miss working with your friends?"
Eric walks ahead, pausing to cock his head at me. He looks down from the slight incline where the car is parked, and it's covered in blood. There are scratches and scrapes, the smear of something neither of us want to investigate, and the logo from the Lakeview Police Department, loudly pronouncing they've been serving the community since 1933.
Eric's shoulders rise up, and his grief might as well be my own.
My words harken to a lifetime ago, a time where zombies did not take cities down, where hotels were not run by creeps who took them over, where our time was not spent looking for a place that might never exist.
He nods, oh so slightly, and extends his hand for me to follow.
Las Vegas is nothing like I'm expecting.
To be fair, from what I've seen on TV, it should be full of neon lights, flashing signs, and people. It is full of hotels, the very same ones I had seen in magazines and movies, but it looks like Godzilla has come through on a rampage. Several of the hotels appear to have caught fire at some point. Some are crumbled, revealing exposed brick and metal, or the remainder of the rooms, and the surrounding fountains and pools are full of garbage. Every so often, a zombie stumbles by, looking limp and lifeless. One is still dressed in a touristy Hawaiian print shirt, and he trips over the curb. His whole side sticks to the ground, and I watch in mild horror as he rises, then glances down in disbelief when one of his organs falls out.
Behind him, a large banner reads What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas, and Eric snorts.
"Guess his spleen is staying here."
"Do you think they're in all the hotels?" I glance over, having spent the last hour on my own side of the car. He seemed to want space, and after nearly two months together, I understood. I felt like I could now translate every jaw clench and eye twitch, and it was fine with me.
He'd quickly caught on to my moments of panic, and the sheer desire to never ever stay in another place with a creepy desk clerk again. His patience is admirable, because I am not his ideal zombie fighting partner in any way. No matter how much training I have. I like to think I'm capable of holding my own, but sometimes, doubt creeps in.
"Do you think the whole city is infected?" I ask Eric, even though I know the answer to this. I imagine the hotels crawling with a zombie infection, each wall filled with them, just waiting for us to wander in. "Do you think they're in the hotels?"
"I would say yes to both," he shrugs, blinking when I unroll the patrol car window. I'm met with an interesting smell, and he recoils as though it's horrific.
It's not that awful, but it is full of vague memories that hit me as Eric drives slower, passing a large hotel and casino with a now empty waterfall in the front. I breathe in expired chlorine, exhaust from the large truck driving past us, dust, and dry wind. It's colder than I expect; the breeze scrapes against my bare arms, bringing up the gentle reminder that we've been at this for months.
It's been months since I've seen my family, and months since Landon tried to kill me.
The truck up ahead makes a sharp left. It's a delivery truck, driven by some random person in search of shelter, and I watch as they drive away from the strip of casinos and toward the airport. We haven't seen many cars these past few days, and I found it concerning.
It didn't seem to bother Eric.
"I would guess there are plenty of people hiding out here. Not everyone could flee in time, and some probably stuck around to see if things would calm down. Have you been here before?" Eric's voice is even and far less tense than before. "Jason and Karl talked about coming here. They wanted to go see some show with tigers."
"I haven't," I keep my stare outside as he slows down, taking in all the sights from the safety of the car. "I saw it on tv a few times, but it's different now."
Vegas is unlike anything I've seen before. Most of the hotels are varying shades of white or off white, and each one is themed. The Golden Acorn is nothing compared to these: one boasts the Statue of Liberty and a rollercoaster, one is a circus, one is a pyramid, and dozens are normal hotels with fancy names. All have pools. Rooftop bars. Several have banners for shows that used to go on daily, most have buffets and happy hours. There are restaurants of every type of food imaginable, a large mall, and more fountains than I've ever seen. "I've never really left Haling. I mean…now I have. But I never thought about coming here."
When I look at him, he's watching me. He smiles, not all that happy but like he knew what I was going to say, and I turn back to watching the hotels. My fingers press over the rim of the window and I wish it was like it was before. I imagine all sorts of people wandering around, taking pictures by the Museum of Wax, or walking over the high walkways. Above the streets is a monorail with a few cars stopped in random places on the track, and dozens of signs and advertisements.
To my surprise, Eric turns into the parking lot of one of the more prominent hotels. My assumption was he'd keep going. Our last motel experience left a lot to be desired, and I assumed he'd drive until we found a housing development that he deemed safe enough. Large areas usually aren't safe because of the zombies, but small motels were becoming unsafe, as well. That left abandoned homes as our only option, and those were a risk.
"I need to make a call. You can take your pick of the ones over here. From what I'm seeing, this side is less…destroyed. It's more likely to have human survivors, so you decide who you want to deal with tonight." Eric drives around a bend in the road, and it takes me a second to realize it was once the valet. He parks by the heavy doors to the lobby, and it's surprisingly nice over here. "This one is pretty secluded. Obviously, we'll check for anyone still here, but we might be able to buy a few days before we leave."
"Really?" I watch him press on Jason's name, and he nods. "Okay, I want to stay here. Can we go into the stores? Or walk down the strip?"
"I was planning on it," he answers, then his eyes light up. Jason must pick up the phone, because he grins and informs him that we're in Las Vegas. "We're at Caesar's Palace. Where are you? Are you close by?"
I sit up straighter.
For weeks, I've been reading Jason's blog. I've gotten as far back as a year ago, and the information I've found is pretty interesting. Jason appears to enjoy many things in life, but nothing more than the paranormal. In his earlier posts, I'd occasionally catch a rare glimpse of Eric, looking sullen and not at all thrilled to be along on his adventures. There were a few photos of Jason in his police uniform, and one of him, Eric, and Eric's father. I tried to piece their life together from what I could read, but it was missing a lot. There was another friend, usually making a face in the background, and he had equally as long hair. Sometimes it was in a bun on the top of his head, and sometimes, it was down and wavy, like he was a hair model and not an officer.
He appeared incredibly charming. In some pictures, he stood behind Eric, flipping off the camera or making a face. In another, he sat at Eric's desk, reading a teen magazine and drinking a large milkshake. He was grinning from ear to ear, and I imagine Eric was not pleased when he took the picture.
His friends seem fun.
Much more amusing than Eric, though I will admit I liked his dry sense of humor.
"Okay, so a day away if you drive all night? I told her we'd stay here for a few days, maybe more. We're going to check out one of the hotels now and the stores. I need to grab a few things. Any word from Rylan?" Eric gestures for me to follow him, and I climb out of the car. I take a second to stretch, and it feels undeniably good to stand. "Want to meet us here tomorrow? I'm gonna see if I can find the power and maybe take a hot shower. It'll be nice not to be on the road."
Jason must agree.
They talk for a bit before Eric tells him he'll call in the morning, hangs up, then gestures at the large doors. His mood is greatly improved, and he points inside. "What do you think? Want to check it out? We can go around the front desk and see if there's anyone here. If not, we'll pick a room. Are you armed?"
"I am," I inform him needlessly. We both kept careful track of the weapons and ammunition, and he'd eventually agreed it was safer for us both to have a gun at all times. "After you?"
"Come on, Carlen. Watch out for spleens."
He goes inside first, and I take a single second to check out the area.
For the first time in months, after nights of dark and days of the same heaviness, the air feels alive.
"No."'
"Please."
"Carlen, it's the twenty third floor. If anything happens, and it very well could, you have to get down twenty-three flights of stairs. Hoping no one catches up to you." Eric stands in the middle of the largest hotel room I've ever been in, and he puts his hands on his hips. "There's no way you can risk taking the elevator. You almost died walking up here. Had I not caught you when you fell –"
"It has a really nice view. And I tripped over…my shoelace from the boots you made me wear." I flash him the sweetest smile I can, and I refuse to stay downstairs, in anything less than this over the top, sky high, luxury room with more than one bathroom. "Look, we both know nothing will happen here. What are the chances someone…or something…is going to come inside, walk up all those stairs, and pick this exact room to break into?"
"Very high," Eric barks, and I swear he glares harder when I walk by. "You do realize it'll take forever to get in and out of here. The kitchen is –"
"Please?" I open up the heavy curtains just enough to see outside, and the view is stunning. It spans the whole strip, giving way to the city behind it. "I've never stayed up this high, and you and I both know it's safer than the ground floor."
The room is beautiful. It's in pristine condition, untouched by the zombies or the humans desperate to survive, and clean. Reasonably safe. Twenty-three stories in the air, in a room clearly meant for someone with far more money than they knew what to do with, and only Eric here.
Before coming up here, Eric and I nosed around the lobby for a while. We still hadn't seen another person, and I was optimistically cautious everyone had left. Eric found dozens of sets of keys, an instruction manual on how to put the hotel in emergency mode, and a list of names to call. He led me into a tiny office, one with numerous electrical boxes and dials, and with one pull of an unmarked level, the power flickered back on.
He told me to grab a room key. I closed my eyes, grabbed one, and he grudgingly informed me it was on the top floor.
"I guess. It's still risky if someone comes up here." He's unenthused, though he does wander over to join me at the window. "Are you afraid of heights?"
"No. Are you?" I crane my head up to look at him, his blond hair falling to the side and his eyes on me. His shirt is black, his pants are black, and the only thing light is his eyes. "Look, there's even a balcony. Come on. Just this once. We can go find something to eat, maybe hit the slot machines…win some acorns…"
He rolls his eyes. Eric shakes his head, but it's in defeat.
"Fine. Only because Jason is heading this way, and we've agreed to meet up. And the odds of anyone with a functioning brain coming this way are pretty low."
"Thank you!"
My gasp is lost on him. I would hug him, though physical affection is not his preferred method of anything, and he wanders away before I can. He goes to look at the bathroom, and I return to looking out at the city. It spans for miles past the strip, but I like the hotels best. I read the name of each one, stopping when they get too far to see. My fingers press against the thick glass, and I'm surprised to find it's warm.
I stay there, watching the sun cast a bright glow over everything, until Eric unenthusiastically informs me it's time to walk back down all twenty-three flights of stairs and see if we can find something to eat.
The shops at Cesar's Palace might be my favorite place.
It's hard to tell them apart from the hotel. The shops are just as grand, built with sprawling wings, lots of arches and high ceilings, and everything is marble or cream colored. It's so large it appears endless, and most of the stores are in decent shape. I hesitated only because it looked a little too nice. Nothing is closed, there are no bodies lying around, and there's a suspicious lack of zombie smell.
Eric and I walk through the shops together, his arm bumping mine to remind me to stick close by, and we wander in and out of the stores without a care in the world.
Well, with some care in the world.
In the back of my mind, I stay on high alert for zombies or people hiding out. I don't doubt we'll see one or the other, so I'm not entirely at ease. But it doesn't put a damper on my shopping spree, because for once, it's pure fun.
It also gives me a chance to watch Eric in the wild.
He saunters around each store, looking less than impressed, until he finds a section that suits him. Eric picks up new boots, still black, still heavy, and smirks when I decline to take a pair. He grabs shirts and pants –all dark, but some white undershirts, and a new belt. He declines the shirt I pick out for him, one meant to look like it's been through the zombie apocalypse, and he dryly informs me he can put his own holes in his shirts.
In the largest department store, he takes the escalator steps two at a time, and I hesitate because it shakes. It sways beneath my feet, and I freeze, in the middle of a Nordstrom's, afraid I might just fall to my death.
"Come on," Eric demands, impatient as ever. He glares at me, one arm holding the bags of clothes and the other reaching for me. "It's not going to –"
It creaks.
The metal grate shifts beneath my feet, and were this not the zombie apocalypse, I know someone would close it off and come service it.
"Everly, you have move. Now. Unless you want to die."
When he says my real name, I know he's serious. I listen right as the thing makes an unusual sound. I reach out for Eric's hand, stupidly pausing a few steps away, he takes it in his. His hand is warm, and familiar as he tugs me toward him. I jump the rest of the way, then I whirl around, waiting for the whole escalator to collapse.
Nothing happens.
The thing stays there like a monstrous metal beast, and beside me, Eric snickers.
"Are you done? Or do you want to try and see if you can get it to really break? Because I accidentally hit the stop alarm but the look on your face was priceless."
"Are you serious! You tricked me!" I glare at him, but he doesn't care.
He keeps my hand in his, winding through rows of designer shoes and make up counters, until we reach the section I want.
Then he flops down on a couch and shuts his eyes, leaving me to try on whatever I pick out, while he stands guard by taking a nap.
This time, the water is hot.
I wash my hair with decent hotel shampoo and conditioner, lingering in the shower for no reason other than I can, enjoying the scalding shower and warm lighting. It's a stark change from the flickering lights and lukewarm water, but I'm not planning on it lasting.
Like the other hotels, this was conservation mode.
The main lights in the lobby are not on, nor did Eric want them to be. He informed me we shouldn't draw any attention to ourselves here, especially if there was anyone still on the strip. He wasn't so much worried about the zombies, but that someone who lived nearby might try their hand at seeing what we had, or who was in here. Before we came up here, he locked the lobby doors, warning me if we needed to get out, we were screwed, but we knew it was safer.
My night got better when Eric found a still working freezer full of steaks and chicken in the large industrial kitchen. He cooked them while I sat on the counter beside him, and I helped thaw out a few frozen vegetables. It was a risk to eat them, but an hour later, I was full and content and not throwing up, and Eric looked much happier than he had in days.
Until we walked all the way back up to the room.
It was a long walk. I pretended it was fine, Eric kept grumbling that we should have stayed on the first floor, and we both were sweaty by the time we reached the top floor. He took a shower first, and while I went through the bags to try and find clean clothes, I let myself wonder about his old life.
I wondered about Ashley, about why he was hell bent on ignoring his mother's phone calls, and even his father's. Daniel had called once, while I was getting dressed, and Eric chose not to pick up. It bugged me for a while, until I realized I didn't know enough about Eric's life to demand he talk to them, and figured he knew what he was doing.
I decide he does while I turn the water off with great reluctance. Eric had worked hard to find the hot water heater. He warned me it might not work, and if it didn't, not to blame him.
I wouldn't.
While I didn't love them, I've gotten used to cool showers with the feeling of unfiltered water. I've grown used to showering quickly, not sure if a zombie will come crashing through at any moment, or because Eric is usually waiting. Tonight's shower is a luxury I won't take for granted. Once done, I squeeze the water out of my hair, brush my teeth, and grab the nightgown I chose. I was careful with all my choices, wavering between taking everything I liked, and knowing what was practical.
The dresses were not.
I resisted grabbing any actual pants, but I knew a day would come when I needed them. Eric looked smug when I handed him a few pairs, a few more sweaters, and some long sleeve shirts. My other choices made him look at me in disbelief: a few floofy dresses I never could have afforded before, and several that I took purely because they were beautiful. In my mind, if I was going to be chased by zombies and potentially die, at least I could look nice.
I decide the nightgown was a good choice. It's a little too ruffly to be particularly seductive, the cut is clearly meant for someone in their eighties, and it's pink. It's soft against my skin, a size too big, and longer than I would hope for. But I like it, and when I walk into the bedroom, I think Eric might, too.
His stare goes right to me. He'd been flipping through something on the tv, but now, his attention turns to me. I approach the bed slowly, and I climb in figuring if he wanted me to sleep elsewhere, he'll tell me.
He doesn't.
He stares as I pull the covers up and settle against the mountain of pillows.
"What are you watching?" I look over at him, trying not to smile. He's visibly bothered by…something, but I don't know what. "Eric?"
"The news…" he grits out, answering slowly, like he's not sure he wants to tell me. "There's a channel broadcasting for anyone in public services. Jason told me to look for it if I could find somewhere to watch. It's run by the military."
"Did you find out anything?" I scoot closer to him, until my arm touches his, and he's warm. "Did they say – "
"The infection rate has reached seventy-five percent." Eric pauses to lean back, and the woman on the screen reads off some bleak statistics. "Most of the US population is gone. They've either been infected, killed, or been attacked by people trying to stay alive. There are…three new safe zones, but…"
"But what?" I settle against him, not quite lying on him, but close enough that when I fall asleep, he'll throw his arm over me. "They don't recommend going?"
"They don't know how long they'll remain stable. All six of the previous ones have collapsed so far." His voice is miles away, and it's even farther away when he slides his arm closer, pulling me back against his chest. I've slept like this for weeks now, and it's easier if he gets our positioning out of the way rather than waiting until he's half asleep. "They claim you have a higher chance for survival if you travel with a group. Plan for three months of travel. Or stay home until the military finds you."
"Should we stay here? We could write SOS on the windows. Go shopping every day," I yawn, and I feel him shake his head. "If we can find Jason, we can travel together. Maybe we'll be even safer."
"Maybe." He pulls me closer, then exhales heavily.
"What's wrong? You don't like that idea?" I stare at his hand next to mine, and this time, I examine his fingers. His hand is larger, and rough. "You want to keep going? I know you want to find the safe zone, but it's quiet here. Maybe we could stay for a while. Maybe…"
"You know nothing can happen, right?" Eric asks, and his voice takes on a frustrated tone I haven't heard before. "I know this seems like it's you and me, but…. the odds are against us. I have to look out for our safety. If I get bit, you have to shoot me. And if you get bit…or there's proof of infection…"
He trails off like he's unable to speak, but it's not that. I feel him swallow thickly, and I press my fingers to his.
"You'd have to shoot me. I know. I'm…aware of what can happen." My palm is now flat to his, and in a million years, I never would have guessed this is how things would end up. "What if I promise not to bite you if I become a zombie? Do you still have to shoot then?"
"Funny," he answers dryly, but his head drops. His nose is somewhere near my hair, and he stays still. "I've got your back, and I know you have mine. But if it comes down to it, I can't –"
"I wouldn't expect anything less, Lieutenant Coulter." My answer is quiet, though I agree with him. The odds out here are definitely not in our favor, and if one of us does get bit, the other has a responsibility to make sure to put a stop to it. It's not something I want to think about, but it's unfortunately plausible. "I hope you know that."
"It won't happen. I'll make sure it won't, but promise me you'll stay close by. You won't go wander away on your own, or leave and go downstairs, or try to do something to prove how brave you are," Eric demands, but there's a desperation in his voice I haven't heard before. "I don't care about any of that. I can get us through this. I can keep you safe. Everly…"
I slide my fingers between his.
I'm the one to hold on tightly, but tonight, it's Eric who needs the reassurance. It could be our time in the shops was a brief glimpse back at normalcy, or maybe he's just determined to prove he's a good cop. Either way, he doesn't move, and for a few minutes, there's only the sound of the woman on the tv advising everyone to head north, upwards toward Oregon. She explains that's the largest and most active safe zone, and if civilians can get there, they'll be welcomed with open arms.
Her warning that follows makes my stomach hurt.
She goes on to say the drive is not easy. The roads are overrun with both zombies and those trying to stay alive. She hints it's every family for themselves, first and foremost. Traveling in groups is preferred, but you still need to watch out for your own.
Eric shifts away after she says this, but only to turn off the tv. The room turns dark, and his hands return to mine.
When it's clear he's fine –a little less worried about one of us turning into a flesh-eating monster and a little more relaxed –I feel him fall asleep.
It happens slowly; his head falls forward, his breathing slows, and his grip loosens. I fall asleep right along with him, pushing back into his chest and tightening my grip, and I know in the morning, things will feel absolutely normal.
Mostly.
I walk along the edge of the fountain, one foot in front of the other, while Eric looks on with dismay. He has a pair of sunglasses on that obscure his expression, but I know he's scowling at me. He walks alongside on the sidewalk below, and every so often, he offers up words of encouragement.
"If you fall in there, it's going to smell like death."
I roll my eyes.
Our morning is off to a fantastic start.
I woke up to Eric shoving himself away from me so fast I thought he might be sick. He wasn't. He was just a little too relaxed after last night, and the result was him being wildly annoyed at my existence. He didn't speak for an hour, took the longest shower ever, and when I got in –figuring I'd take advantage of the still hot water, it was ice cold. He perked up once I emerged dressed for the day, and we agreed to eat breakfast and walk around to kill some time.
With Jason's imminent arrival, Eric's mood improved drastically compared to last night. I noticed this as we headed downstairs, through the hallway, and across the lobby. In one of the smaller kitchens, we found frozen bread, boxes of cereal, and fruit someone had hidden in the back of the freezer. It was the best breakfast I've had in months, and an hour later, we walked out onto the strip in search of nothing but some excitement.
For Eric, it was giving me a brief history on everything and anything we passed.
For me, it was walking along all the places I wasn't normally allowed while he warned me not to fall into the water.
This particular hotel has a pond so large it nearly spanned the whole property. There are fountains out front, and I walk along one of them, while Eric watches.
"You know, a normal person would walk on the sidewalk." He calls out, and every so often, he looks up. His head tilts when I stumble, and he snickers. "Nice underwear, Carlen. Did you grab anything not pink?"
"No," I laugh, and I enjoy his salty attitude toward anything that wasn't black, or dark black, or light black. "And Eric! Look somewhere else. Wait, no!"
I shriek when he grabs me. His hands find my waist, and he yanks me down before I can realize what he's doing. He walks us a few steps together, snickering against my cheek, and I swear his lips press there as he tells me my dress is stuck in the back.
"Oh, now you tell me!" I swat him away, but my chest is so tight it might burst. He's still laughing, not scowling, and he looks completely different. "What if –"
I stop dead in my tracks, and my back hits Eric's chest.
The smell hits me first, but the sight before me is enough to make gag.
There are dozens of them here.
Maybe upwards of fifty or so, looking much worse and far more feral than I've seen. These zombies are not the ambling, rotting creatures from before, but something far more inhumane. Several have blood dripping from their mouths. Their eyes are yellow, not opaque, but startling, dripping with hunger. Their fingers are claw like, sharp nails and paper-thin skin, primed to tear into live flesh with a single swipe. They bump into each other, drifting and snarling broken teeth at one another, and the smell of them is overwhelming.
My breakfast threatens to come back up, especially when Eric's fingers tighten on me. They dig into my ribcage, pulling me back against him, and his voice is a deathly low whisper.
"We go back the way we came. Slowly. Don't make any noise."
"What if they see us? Can they see us?" I whisper back, and the sugary moment of him teasing me is gone. I step back with him, keeping my stare on the ones milling around. "What are they doing?"
"They're listening to something," Eric says, and his voice is tight. "I don't know if they can see us, but I know they can hear a little too great. We're going back toward the front and we'll cut through the next hotel. The lobby was open."
I nod.
I chew on my lip hard enough to draw blood, but the sight before us is like nothing I've ever seen. An undulating mass of the undead. They grunt and growl, teeth snapping and snarling, mouths working and moving. I whimper when one looks in our direction, but Eric pulls me into the casino, and he clamps his hand over my mouth.
"You have to be quiet."
He walks us back three more steps, then lets go and takes hold of my hand. He points to the large bar on the other side of the room, and I nod in understanding.
There isn't a lot of time. Some days, we had all the time in the word. Hours spent in a car, minutes scrambling to siphon gas, seconds when Eric looked at me and his lips turned up instead of down.
Right now, we have maybe a minute. Eric and I sprint across the room as quietly as we can. We reach the bar just in time, right as the zombies walk past. Their gazes are skyward, their necks bent at an unnatural angle, like broken dolls. Only a few seem interested in this hotel; one looks around before he takes a step in. He tilts his head around until the bones crack loudly. The noise alerts a few others to come toward him. They stand in a half circle, scanning the room like they can see through the machines and chairs, and I try to slow my breathing down.
It's impossible.
Between Eric and me, we have a dozen bullets. No more, no less.
After a couple of agonizing minutes, one hundred and twenty seconds of pure hell, where my fingers are wound through Eric's so tightly his must be numb, the zombies leave. They join the parade heading down the strip, and we wait, both still holding our breath, until the doors are clear.
Only then do we take off out the back of the casino, cutting through the back lot, darting from casino to casino, until we reach the hotel.
The strip glitters with the promise of hope, but it's dulled by the occasional groan of the zombies.
I can hear it up this high, drifting along with the wind and dust, pressing against me like a scorned boyfriend. I stare down through one of the short glass panes lining this balcony, feeling like I'm teetering between two worlds: one safe, one not.
Somewhere in the hotel room, I can hear Eric moving things around. He slams a drawer shut, then swears loudly, twice. His anger is misplaced; it's not at this room or at me, and it's not even at the undead creatures roving the streets in search of their next meal. I'm not even so sure they eat their victims, so much as they seek to destroy. Maybe they want to tear our flesh off to make up for their own lack of skin and organs, or maybe they're just evil, violent demons, set upon this Earth for no reason at all.
Jason will probably know.
Eric is mad because for once, he does not have the upper hand. Being an officer gives him far more leeway than most; he can do whatever, say whatever, arrest whomever, and his actions are protected by his fellow officers, and most times even, the laws. Out here, it's just us. There is no force behind him other than his will to live, and no team ready to be called in for backup, or strict system of justice to rely on.
He's angry because we could have been in a bad situation, and he knows we are limited in what we can do. I understand his feelings because the frustration is becoming paramount. Each day swayed from feeling good –a warm bed, a warm meal, and a warm shower, to awful –the walking dead, cold stale food, and sleeping in someone else's bed, praying they won't come home.
I stay still when I hear the balcony door slide open, and the footsteps are Eric's. I know the way he walks, heavily and with ultimate authority, but today, there's some defeat in his steps.
"Enjoying the view?"
He stops behind me, and I lean back without thinking. My head hits the middle of his chest, and his arm slides around my waist to pull me back. His actions are dripping with irritation, because he moves me back a step, and points to the crumbling rail and the broken glass a few feet away. It appears someone had a party up here, but the cracks make me nervous.
"What were they?" I stay against him, and my hand moves to his. In a non-zombie world, Eric would have nothing to do with me. I'd be a girl he'd maybe glance at, then continue patrolling. I was no one; a person going nowhere, from a small town in the middle of nowhere. While Lakeview isn't exactly a major city, at least it was bigger than Haling. "Why did they look so much worse?"
"Maybe it's mutating?" Eric guesses, making no move to let go of me. If anything, his arm tightens, and the two of us look out over an apocalyptic Las Vegas. The hotel across the street from us has some lights on, and a few rooms are lit up. The sign blinks off and on, and several windows are shattered. "They seemed much more advanced than the others, but not. I got the feeling they couldn't see very well."
"But they were grosser," I touch his hand, and my fingers press on his wrist. "I think as soon as Jason gets here, we should leave."
"I agree."
He drops his head down so it touches mine, and we stand there in silence.
We stand there until there is a knock on the door, so loud and demanding there's no way it can be from a human.
Chapter 7: What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas. Sort of.
Notes:
Major thanks to Erin for editing these chapters! Have a fantastic weekend everyone! Thank you so much to those who have been commenting along this wild ride! :)
Chapter Text
"You get it."
"You get it."
Neither Eric nor I move. The banging is loud enough that we can hear it outside, and my heart beats unusually fast. My encounter with these mutant zombies hasn't left me hopeful, and my worst fear is that one has actually made it up here. There is a chance they've followed us, or were smart enough to wait until they thought we weren't paying attention, and my stomach hurts at knowing we're trapped on the twenty third floor.
Eric might have been right.
There could be a stairwell full of the undead, all vying for the first bite.
"It's probably…" Eric starts, but he pauses when the banging grows even louder. There's a small chance, it could be a human, but the way they're pounding on the door sounds like they're in trouble. "Anyone."
"Fine. I'll go. I'll look at see who it is." I move away from Eric, and he looks surprised. Maybe he was enjoying the banter, but whatever the case may be, he clearly wasn't expecting me to go see who's pounding on the door.
"Everly, wait…"
He jogs after me, right on my heels, until I reach the door. I stop a few feet away, unable to move. The banging is so loud, it makes the doorframe shake. The door shifts with each thud, and it seems much flimsier than before.
The panic is white hot.
We've been careful about making sure the door is always locked and barricaded. But now, the brass sliding lock seems inadequate, and I can picture a zombie bursting through the door. I rise on my toes to peer out, and Eric lets out a low warning of wait.
I don't.
I fling the door open, and there he is.
Jason is much taller than he appears in photos, but just as cheerful. His eyes widen, blue and clear, and his posture changes to extreme relief. His hair is long and tangled, pulled back from his face and up on top of his head, and his clothes are wrinkled. He's got a few bags with him, one with the logo from the Lakeview Police Department, and one in a bold, green camo print. He's dressed casually, but judging from the bruises on his face, the streaks of blood, and the wild look in his eyes, it's clear his journey hasn't been easy.
He doesn't seem to care.
Jason launches himself at me, engulfing me in a tight hug before I can utter his name, then trips when he moves to say hello to Eric. He lunges for his friend, and their reunion is surprisingly emotional. Jason holds onto Eric with a death grip, only letting go to grab him by the face, and yell how happy he is to see him alive.
"Really? You thought I'd be dead? Please." Eric scoffs mockingly, then shoves Jason away with a snicker. "You know me better than that."
"Yeah, but Eric! Zombies! Harrison only gave us one day of zombie training! That's it!" Jason answers loudly, and his stare whirls around the hotel room. "Shit, had I known you were staying somewhere this nice, I'd have hurried even more. Please tell me we're staying for a week or something."
"Where is everyone else? You told me you were still a day away!" Eric smiles turns to a scowl, but he's clearly not mad. "I thought we wouldn't see you until tomorrow."
"Yeah, some wild shit happened. I wound up on my own. Daniel went with Camille and we got split up about four hours ago. I think they went east." Jason steps away with a smug grin, and his stare flies right to me. Our eyes meet, he takes a second to stare, then his head tilts. "Hello, Eric's friend. I have to ask, Eric, what's her exact height? I'm sure you took down all her information at some point."
Eric groans. He shakes his head, and his smile turns unamused. "Jason –"
"She's much shorter than I was picturing. Also, her hair is really dark." He pauses, and he smiles widely. "Your name is really Everly? Everly what? Everly Coulter?"
"Carlen."
Eric and I both answer at the same time, though he's sort of roaring it, like he's does when there's a zombie behind me. His eyes widen when Jason steps closer, and Jason dramatically bends down, like I'm far shorter than I actually am.
"You can tell me. Height is not always an advantage in a zombie filled world. Being short might work for you."
I look up at him, and it's hard not to laugh. "It's worked for me so far. And it's really good to see you. I've read your whole blog. I liked all your tips. How did you become such a zombie expert? Who is Harrison? Where is he?"
"Really?" He straightens up, looking impressed. "You honestly liked my tips? Did you find it helpful? I tried to update more frequently but my connection has been garbage. Plus, Daniel had us looking for Rylan, and Rylan disagreed with some of my methods…"
"Where is he?" I decide I really like Jason, even though we've just met. "Was he with you? Eric hasn't told me much about him."
Jason looks at me, and he struggles not to laugh. He glances back at Eric once, and when he's able to, shakes his head.
"Rylan…it's a long story. Let's just say, he's immersed himself deep into pirate culture these days. He's really enjoying the apocalypse, and the freedom it's brought him. He doesn't like being kept in line."
"What?" I blink, and behind him, Eric looks pained. Unsurprised, but pained. "What is pirate culture?"
"It's probably safer if you don't know. I'll explain everything, I promise. But first…" Jason pauses with a grin. "Can I take a shower? I'd like to wash the death off my clothes and my hair."
"Sure. I'll show you where you can stay. Maybe we can stay here for a few days," I suggest, completely going against my earlier statement. We should leave. I know this. I know the longer we remain in one spot, the higher the chance of someone will finding us is, zombie or not. Eric throws me a dark look, but Jason and I ignore him.
There's no way we can anywhere now.
In front of us, his friend looks rough. Disheveled hair, dirty clothes, and ready to fall asleep standing there. There's no time to focus on anything but Jason finally showing up, and the strange, hopeful feeling his arrival brings.
"I'll show where you can put your stuff, Jason." I announce.
Eric follows while I lead Jason to the other bedroom, and cheerfully announce we'll wash his clothes with ours. His protest dies down completely, especially when Jason hands him something, a small package from one of his bags, and Eric smiles.
While Jason showers, Eric and I head down to the laundry to throw the clothes in the wash.
We take the stairwell carefully, making sure no one is in it, and he leads the way. The lobby holds the memory of cigarette smoke. It's burned into the brushed metals and marbled floors, and I swear you can hear the machines coming to life, whirling and blinking, to announce someone has won.
I hesitate in front of one; it's powered off and dark, but Eric catches me by the elbow with his free hand and insists we hurry.
We both carry the bags of dirty clothes, and I thank my lucky stars we've been able to find a way to wash them. Some places were trickier than others; in the motels with minimal running water or no laundry facilities, I washed them in the sink or the bathtub. I scrubbed them with whatever I could find, and Eric was always appreciative. He never once complained, and most of the time, he'd help me.
He liked to smirk when I held up his boxers, and every so often, he'd really smirk when he held up the pink underwear I brought.
Today is no exception. We take Jason's clothes, surprisingly bloody and heavy, and head farther into a darker part of the hotel. There's a large industrial laundry room hidden this way, with a wall of washers and dryers. Eric surveys the room quickly, dumps our clothes in a few of the washers, and I leave his side to look for some laundry detergent.
Luckily for us, there's a ton left behind.
I add it to Jason's clothes first, wishing I had a way to scrub the blood out, then mine and Eric's. I notice he's kept ours together; they're a swirl of black and pink, and he slams the lid with a bang.
"We'll come back in an hour to put them in the dryer. Anything else you want to grab before we go back upstairs?" He raises an eyebrow at me, but I've found something else to keep my attention.
A smaller laundry facility for guests who wanted someone else to do their laundry.
There's a room just off to the side of the washers, and it's full of shelves of clothes. Each shelf is labeled with a guest name and room number, and the visitors must have left before their clothes were delivered to them. I pull out a few shirts and pants, then skirts and shorts. My favorite must be from a husband and wife who wanted to match: there's an exceptionally tacky, brightly printed dress, and an equally hideous, identical shirt. I hold it up for Eric, and the expression on his face is enough to make me start laughing.
If looks could kill, the shirt and dress would officially be dead, more dead even, than the zombies outside.
"If you take that, I'm not taking you with me. It's me or the shirt," Eric threatens, but I shake my head, and there's no way we're leaving Vegas without a souvenir. "Carlen…"
"One second. I just wanted to see what was in here," I ignore him, but I do smile brightly, and he turns on his heel to go check on the machines.
Once he's gone, I grab a laundry bag, and I shove the clothes inside. I take the dress and shirt with me, and we head back into the casino to find the stairwell, where I ignore the heavy stare of Eric, and the looming feeling of dread as our footsteps echo up the stairs.
Jason shows me picture after picture, and each swipe is a little more insight into the world of Eric.
Their life in Lakeview is far more interesting than mine. I'm given a glimpse into a world I never knew existed, one where Eric wasn't always in his uniform and sometimes looked like he was almost smiling, and one where Rylan often had a mischievous smirk on his face. Seeing him in the pictures is cool. He looks nothing like I thought, but somehow more interesting.
Rylan's hair is epic; it's nearly as long as mine, sometimes pulled up in a bun, sometimes braided, sometimes covering his face. The pictures of him in his uniform make me laugh, because it's never buttoned, he sometimes has skate shoes on, and in one, a non-zombie version of Max is in the background, running at Rylan while he balanced on the top of the police car, preparing to back flip off.
The next picture is him midair, and the next is him landing while Max looks furious, despite a crowd of impressed stares.
Jason sits close to me, not as close as Eric who has suddenly decided our knees should touch and his arm should be pressed against mine, and he swipes through dozens more. Jason has a girlfriend, or had a girlfriend, and he laments that he's pretty sure she's a zombie now.
"I left her in Lakeview. Her dad said he was taking her to Florida. She's a really big fan of this cat rescue out there. I said I'd meet her if I could, but her dad's sort of an idiot, so there's a high chance she's turned by now." He shakes his hair, damp and smelling like the hotel shampoo, and he looks a little down. He perks up when he swipes to the next photo, and it's Rylan with an armful of kittens. One is in his hair, clawing its way up to his shoulder. "We rescued these guys right before the outbreak. Some old lady called and said she was being attacked by demons. Turned out, she had stray kittens under her porch. Rylan kept the black one because it was the weirdest. He named it Theo."
"Do you know where he is?" I lean back against Eric, and his fingers touch my forearm. He's warm, dressed in a dark shirt and dark pants, and solid. I scoot back until I'm against his side, and my foot hits leg. "Do you think he's been bit?"
"Nah. Rylan is quick. Way too fast for those fuckers. If anyone is gonna get bit, it would be Karl. Dude's a moron." Jason laughs. "Not really. He's just…. really nice. He's very popular with the old ladies. Sometimes, they'd call just to have him sent over for absolutely nothing. Old Betty used to call and say there was an intruder in her house every other day. She'd ask for Karl, and he'd come back full of cookies and tea, and with lunch for tomorrow."
"You all worked together?" I look up at Eric to find a serious expression crossing his face. "You and Rylan and Karl?"
"Yeah," he nods. "For a few years now. We had a good crew. It's weird not knowing where everyone is." He tenses, and I'd miss it were I not sitting so close. "We stuck together as long as we could, but we started to get called to cover different territories. Not to mention, Rylan never charges his cell phone."
"And Daniel…." I trail off when Jason looks at me, and he looks suddenly nervous. "He's alive?"
Jason looks at Eric.
They appear to communicate telepathically, and it takes Jason a minute to answer.
"As far as I know, he is. He and Rylan were trying to get to Oregon, but Camille wasn't feeling well, and they tried to find a doctor. Then Rylan took it personally when Daniel insisted that he ditch the kitten, Karl got lost, and when he found him, he told us some girl proposed and he accepted. I don't know. I'm really lucky I found you guys. You two have just been…. driving?"
"Yeah, until we can find somewhere safe." Eric answers slowly, like he doesn't really want to tell Jason where we've been. For a minute, I think he might be embarrassed, but when he looks at me, his expression changes. He looks hesitant, like he's realized our alone time is over, and telling Jason about it makes it less private. "We met in Haling Cove. She saved my life, I saved hers, and we split before things got bad. We've managed to find places to stay, but it's getting dangerous out there. And not just the zombies. We started to run into trouble with the motels."
"Yeah, Daniel said they're a gamble now," Jason agrees immediately. "People are crazy. One lady offered to let Rylan stay with her if he'd take care of her farm animals. He thought about it, but she was a little odd. Pretty sure she'd have killed him in his sleep. The last place I stayed was overrun by squirrels."
"We've found people to be pretty questionable. A few motel clerks have wanted weird shit or the rooms were set up in a way that made me think they'd get in if they wanted. I don't know how safe they are anymore." Eric says, and his fingers dig into my skin. "The last one was bad. This place has been fine. But we can't stay here. The city is infected with a different breed of zombies."
"What do you mean?" Jason blinks, tilting his head curiously. "You think it's mutating? Are they faster? Can they climb walls?"
"We didn't stick around to find out. But you'll see. They're less zombie like, more…" Eric pauses, searching for a word. "Aware? They seem like they'd be harder to kill. They have a hive mentality; where one went, the others followed."
I find myself suddenly uncomfortable, and the idea of these zombies downstairs doesn't feel good. Eric and I hadn't killed any of them, or even tried. We'd gone back to the hotel because we knew we were outnumbered. But thinking about them gives me the chills, and Eric must feel the same way.
"Well…. we can stay here if you want some time to rest, but just know…whatever they are, it's not good. I didn't kill any. We didn't get very close, but there's probably fifty of them. Maybe more." Eric shifts, and I know he doesn't want to stay for long. But Jason looks worn out, and probably would like a day to catch up. "Is Florida the best option?"
"I know what you're thinking. It's on the other side of the country. It'll take over a week to drive there, and who knows what we'll encounter." Jason pauses, and he stretches his head from side to side. "But yeah, according to whatever General Daniel talked to, that's where the strongest safe zone is. Or we stay here. I could enjoy a few days in Sin City. Even with the megazombies."
He snickers when he says that last part. Eric shakes his head, but he smiles tightly when Jason cheerfully tells him this is the best day he's had in forever.
It's hard to ignore his pure glee at being somewhere safe, but in the back of my mind, I can't help but think this is a risk, even for just a few days.
We decide it's worth it.
"Thanks for letting me use your toothpaste."
Jason grins, having come by to say goodnight. I look up at him, now dressed in clean pajamas and looking much more relaxed, minus the dark bruises, and it's hard not to like him.
"Of course. It's Eric's favorite kind. He's um…," I trail off, turning around to see if Eric is in here.
He is.
Somewhere.
I thought Eric would be thrilled to see Jason, and he was, but ever since we decided to stay, Eric has been on edge. After discussing how long we'd stay, he turned sulky, hinting he was tired, and should go grab dinner and throw the clothes in the dryer. The two of them disappeared downstairs, both armed and wary of whatever might have followed Jason inside, and his attitude disappeared when they returned. The two of them joked and laughed while we ate –sandwiches, vegetables, chips, and some still frozen ice cream Eric deemed safe to eat –and both were pretty relaxed.
Dinner was quiet. Jason ate like he was starving, and Eric ate like he was furious at his food. They again left to go get the laundry, giving me another few panicky minutes alone, and when they came back, Jason thanked me for doing his wash. He looked a little embarrassed, but I promised him it was no big deal.
We then spent the rest of the evening on the balcony. Eric and Jason caught up further while the sun set, and they each had a few beers. I was surprised Eric found them, but Jason winked and told me he was the one who insisted they stop at the bar. To his delight, it was well stocked, and that meant they could celebrate being reunited with drinks.
I sat by Eric, sipping on a surprisingly not flat soda, basking in the faint warmth from the remaining sunlight.
I listed to Jason talk, though it was mostly police chatter. Officers I didn't know, places I've never been, and arguments and fights and betrayal. Jason did hint that Eric's father was beside himself not knowing where Eric was, but he had faith he'd be just fine.
Eric made a face at that.
He made a worse face when Jason said Camille said to send her regards.
By the time it was dark, and I learned Jason was a single rank below Eric, and he did help train the newer officers, the zombies became more active. From twenty-three stories in the air, we watched them emerge into the darkness, joining the others in an ever growing swarm. They roamed the streets with more awareness than the previous ones; sometimes they broke off into smaller groups, sometimes they stayed together, but they always formed a sea of the dead as they walked, and it would be impossible to get through them.
Every so often, there was a much more human scream mixed in. I chewed on my lip as someone in the hotel across from us blinked their lights off and on, and Eric chose not to investigate, shaking his head and muttering that it wasn't safe for us to go over there. He pointed out they'd clearly seen us, and it was wiser to stay put.
Jason agreed.
He cheerfully told me to trust no one –except for him, of course –and we decided to call it a night.
Now, as the darkness creeps back into the hotel room until it reaches every corner, Jason's exhaustion mirrored ours the first day we stayed here. He sways on his feet, woozily saying goodnight, and Eric yells from the bathroom to make sure the door is locked. He then yells for me to get in bed, thinking Jason has gone.
"He's uh…you guys are close, aren't you? Really close?" Jason's eyes narrow, his curiosity on full display. "Are you sharing the same bed? Is there only one bed? Doesn't this room have multiple beds?"
"It's safer," I answer, somewhat defensively and I cross my arms. "Why would I sleep far away, if someone or something could potentially get in and kill me?"
"Does he let you sleep close to him?" Jason pries, and I suddenly wonder a whole lot about Eric's life before me. "Really close?"
"Um…yes?" I sound unsure of myself, but it's more at why Jason is asking. "Why? Did you sleep by him?"
He bursts out laughing. He laughs so hard he struggles to catch his breath, then shakes his head furiously. "God, no. I just…wanted to know. He didn't even let Ashley into his apartment, so…you know." Jason rubs at his neck, and his face is red. "I didn't think he was seriously attached to you. We talked a few times, and he just mentioned he was with you…but…it's way different than what I thought."
I suddenly wonder what Eric has said about me.
Or about us being together.
"It's not like that. It's for our safety," I tilt my head, and Jason shrugs. He looks like he doesn't believe me, and my protest makes him laugh. "That's it! If a zombie comes in, we'll be safer!"
"Okay, well…goodnight. You two enjoy your…platonic sleeping together, purely so a zombie can't bite you."
He leaves with a wave, stumbling off toward a bedroom I haven't really gone in. I know this hotel room has several rooms; we even have a small kitchen and a large dining area, and it's nice that Jason has his own space. I watch him from the doorway, disappearing into the dimly lit room, and I can't help but wonder if things will be completely different now.
They are.
While I pull the covers up over me, Eric yanks his shirt off by the collar.
His grumpy mood intensifies, swinging back around to make him scowl and snap as he sits down on the bed. I had thought having Jason here would make him happy. The two of them appeared not only be friends, but partners at work. They must have some sort of bond, or at least a friendship from there.
But Eric's mood tells me he's not as happy as one would think. His shoulders rise when he stretches his head left, then right, and he sighs. I stare unabashedly, though it's hardly the first time I've seen him with his shirt off.
He's an impressive sight.
His shoulders are well defined, and so are his arms. He hasn't lost any of the intimidation factor to him, and I dare say he might be more so now. He isn't afraid of much, and other than being irritated by the zombies appearing when neither of us wanted them to, he was thriving in this atmosphere. There are no laws, no rules to follow –other than Jason's guide to surviving the zombie apocalypse, and he's on top. Eric has ammunition, guns, probably a few other weapons I don't know about, some knives, a drivable vehicle, and for now, shelter.
Compared to everyone else out there, he's doing okay.
"Are you alright? Do you want Jason to stay in another room?" I ask when Eric looks at me, and his lips press together.
The hotel is huge, and it wouldn't be farfetched to run downstairs and grab another key. Jason might be insulted; he'd looked exhausted when I said goodnight, but he might want his own space. Maybe it was rude we didn't offer to help him find another room to stay in on his own.
Eric stands and his stare is tight. "It's fine."
"Well, I think it's good that he's here. It's safer this way."
"Jason can stay wherever he wants," Eric answers lowly, and this time, his eyes look dark. "He's…look, he and Rylan can be a lot. You'll see. But I'm not mad. I'm glad he's here and not a zombie."
The king of sharing his feelings glares at me, then climbs into bed with a huff. He throws the covers back, a tad bit dramatic, given I'm only a few feet away, then he looks at me.
Pointedly.
"What?" I toy with the strap of my nightgown, fixing it so it won't slip down. "Are you okay over there? You look mad."
"I'm not," he answers, his voice dripping with the exact same anger he claimed otherwise. "It's just…"
"It's what?"
For a brief second, I remember that really, I'm as much of a stranger to Eric as he is to me. I scoot closer because even knowing this, I trust him. I've spent several nights sleeping so close I can hear his heartbeat, and by now, I know that whatever has him all worked up can be fixed.
"Are you worried about finding Rylan?" I stop when I'm on his side of the bed, and he kicks off the pajama pants he'd thrown on. I haven't seen them before, and something about them bugs me, before it dawns on me why he's so worked up.
Jason is intruding in his territory.
Even though they are friends, for two months, Eric has had my full attention. It's clear he likes it, and perhaps his mom never made him share as a child, because he doesn't seem to like someone else being here, even his friend. We've existed in our own world, and Jason is a stark disruption to that dynamic.
"It's not Rylan," Eric exhales heavily, then reaches over to turn the lamp off. The room is now lit only by the glow from outside; it's weak. Moonlight trickles in the best it can, but the heavy curtains filter most of it. "I'm sure he's fine. He's mostly capable of surviving on his own."
"I think once we do find Rylan, then we should focus on finding the safe zone. I think if we can get there…it'll be okay, right? Maybe they have a cure or something." I lie on my side to face him, and he lies facing me. His eyes lock on mine, dark and grey. "Maybe things will be normal again."
"Maybe."
His answer is low, spoken quietly. Out of nowhere, he reaches over to touch my face, and his fingers trace from my cheek, into my hair.
"What happens then? Do you go back to work?" I scoot closer, and so does he. His jaw moves, the sharp angles softening as he goes to speak, then he stops. "Do you go back to Lakeview?"
"I don't think Lakeview exists anymore. Not the way it was," Eric swallows, and I'm now so close I can feel his chest. This is how I will sleep tonight, and he knows it. It's why his fingers are still in my hair, slipping and tugging on a few pieces. "My assumption is, if we find this safe zone, and we can stay there, they'll restructure from within. They'll help find housing, assign jobs to those who want to help, establish a connection with the rest of the world, and see if the infection went elsewhere. There are lots of steps before things are normal again. It'll be a while. Maybe a year. Maybe more. I don't know how prepared anyone is for such an event."
"I don't want you to go back to Lakeview," I confess, and one of my hands reaches up to touch his collarbone. He tenses at my touch, but he lets me keep going. The thought of Jason tagging along with us fades as I press along the bone carefully, over to his shoulder, where it disappears into muscle. His workout routine is different these days, but not much has changed. "I don't know what I'd do. Maybe work…somewhere."
I try to conjure up something I can do in a post-apocalyptic world. Maybe I can simply tell them I'm an officer, and at least I'll stay somewhere close to Eric.
"I'll make sure you're taken care of," he grits out, and when I look up, his eyes are shut. He keeps them closed, and I trace my fingers down his arm, over the dip of his bicep. "I'll tell them you survived along with me. They won't send you away or make you do anything you don't want to do. If they try…."
"We could go back to the cabin," I suggest. "It was quiet there. It was –"
He opens his eyes, and when they find mine, I know we can't.
But he wants to.
For a second, there is a burning desire to go find the cabin and stay there, if only because we've done it once before. Our memory of staying there is highly appealing: a secluded cabin, some power, hot water, and a bed where I slept against him, letting myself pretend the world wasn't ending.
The unfair reality is we can't go back.
Not to Lakeview.
Not to Haling Cove.
Not even to the last shitty motel, where the man would have taken me the second Eric turned his back.
"We can't. You know that. We can only go forward."
His answer is warm, and I focus on the fact that he said we. I accept this with a slight smile, and then I close my eyes. I let my head fall forward to touch Eric's chest, and I fall asleep with my hand on his arm, making sure there is no distance between us.
In the morning, I hear Jason before I even open my eyes.
He's singing something, off key and terrible, but he sounds happy. There's a lot of crashing, a few fucks shouted, and then him yelling that he's already gone and gotten us breakfast. A moment of silence, then Eric's name, then mine, then a second shout announcing he'll just wait until we wake up but we should really get up in the next five minutes or the food will be cold.
I push my head into Eric's chest, and his own muttered fuck is completely understandable.
"What about this one? Have you ever been engaged Everly? Or…are you married?"
Jason peers at me from across the counter. Behind him, there are several larger counters holding all sorts of sparkling jewelry. Eric peruses one, grumbling that none of us have any real use for jewelry, and while the displays are pretty, Eric isn't wrong.
Even if we took everything in here, there's nothing to do with it. My fingers graze over the slick polished metal, and I stop in front of a larger display, this one full of wedding rings.
Jason begged us to come in here.
The store sits just off the shops, a tiny corner building with two stories. It's abandoned, but someone took great pains to close it up. There was an alarm set –one Jason quickly shut off by ripping the box off the wall –and security cameras still blinking. Jason also turned those off. Eric didn't really care one way or the other. He pointed out that even if they were on, there was little chance they were being watched. It was more likely a battery was still powering them, and by the time anyone did realize we were here, we'd be long gone.
Jason claimed he was looking for something for his girlfriend. He had plans of proposing to her once we reached Florida. When he told us this, over a breakfast of waffles and frozen sausage, Eric and I looked at each other. Eric raised one eyebrow, but a few hours later, we were here.
Walking beneath a huge chandelier, while Eric dryly pointed out the problem with taking anything. A necklace was a great way for a zombie to grab hold of you, and the dangly, oversized earrings were just begging to be ripped out of someone's earlobe. The bracelets were the same; they were noisy, as he purposely clinked them and announced it would be like signaling to the zombies your exact location.
I half listen while he and Jason argue over whether or not Jason's girlfriend would even say yes. I learn her name is Meghan, and she doesn't seem to be Eric's favorite. When I look up from the row of wedding rings, each one bigger and brighter than the last, Eric is right there, pointing to a hideous ring with a giant green stone in the center.
"There. That one. She has green hair. It'll match."
"Is her hair entirely green?" I ask, curious over this mystery girl, and trying to remember if I saw a picture of her. "All of it or just part or –"
"All of it!" Jason announces proudly. He slides over the top of the counter and lands with a thud. "It's probably less green now, but I like it. Green is my favorite color."
"Then maybe you should take that one," I point to it, and Eric smirks. "Or…what does she like? Do you know what size?"
"How about this one?" Eric snickers, and he shoves a large oval shaped diamond at me. Jason tilts his head, and his expression turns panicked. "What? No? Or did you get cold feet?"
"No way, I'm marrying her. I just don't know what size ring she wears." He stares at me, and I can see his mind whirling. "Everly, can you try it on. Maybe that'll help."
"Sure." I slide it on my finger, wondering if Meghan is close to my size. "Here, this one fits pretty good."
"Okay, wait. Try this one."
The next ten minutes are a blur. Jason hands me what seems like every ring in the store. He critiques them as if he's actually paying, while Eric observes silently. He stands there with his eyes on me, and every so often, they move back to the case. He toys with a few darker bands, but eventually turns impatient.
"Jason, the longer we are, the longer we risk becoming zombie food. Pick a ring and let's go."
"Fine," Jason calls out, and he takes six of them. "I like these best. I'll decide at the hotel."
"Wonderful," Eric rolls his eyes, and he glances around. "Are you ready? You want anything else?"
There's still a weirdness to taking things that don't belong to me, but according to Eric, it'll be years before the US is back to doing things like process credit cards or have fancy jewelry stores. I pick up a bracelet, toying with it while Jason exclaims that he might take a few more rings, and Eric waits.
I feel his stare on me, so much that I look up.
"What? Should we go? I've been listening for them. I haven't heard anything."
"Me either. Which is almost worse." Eric walks over to me, and he picks up a ring with a large setting. It's shaped like a flower, one large diamond in the middle, with several stones surrounding it, and he slides it on my finger. He then holds up my hand, shakes his head, and declares it's hideous. "Are we done here?"
"I like it," I laugh at the look on his face, and I slide it off, handing it back to him. "Hey, have you met Meghan? Is she nice?"
"Define nice."
"Eric..." Once again, I struggle not to laugh. Today, he looks like the officer I met months ago. His hair is slicked back completely, his shirt is white, and his pants are black. He's armed; there is a gun on his hip, and another in my bag. His boots are scuffed and worn, and his attitude is very much the impatient air of someone making a routine traffic stop. "Is she –"
"She's annoying," he answers, leaning against the display case. There is no kindness in his words, only pure dislike for this poor girl. "She's…ditzy and uninteresting, and not doing much with her life."
"Is anyone these days?" I push down the wave of insult, because Meghan doesn't sound too different than me. When I met Eric, I wasn't exactly working for NASA. "What do you want her to be doing? Saving the world?"
"I didn't mean it like that," Eric's expression turns unreadable. He knows he's said something I don't like, but he can't figure out how to fix it. "She's just…Meghan. I don't know. She can't hold her liquor, and she spends most of her days texting Jason."
"The horrors," I half joke, and he steps closer. "Imagine someone wanting to talk to you when you aren't together during the day."
Eric's face tightens, and I know I sound bitter.
Because, in this moment, I am.
My family left me behind, the only person who ever took an active interest in me considered me his backup, and I would give my left arm –well, maybe not my entire left arm after seeing Hazel –to have someone like me enough to want to text me. Hell, I'd like anyone to know me well enough to know I can't hold my liquor. Hearing him talk about Meghan like that makes me think this is purely survival and nothing more. It reaffirms my theory that once we do reach safety, things between us will end.
"Look, she's really young," Eric mutters, stepping toward me. He's so close I'm nearly bumping into him, and he takes hold of my hand and slides the ring back on it. "They met because he broke up her house party. I don't hate her, she's just…loud."
"Oh," I answer dumbly, because his fingers are still on mine, and the way he's looking at me hints that he might be okay with me texting him a few times a day. Maybe three, but no more. If he was an officer, and I was somewhere else, and we were possibly more than just apocalypse friends. "Um, well, do you think –"
I don't finish my sentence.
His fingers push the ring around until it's centered, and the second it is, the world explodes.
The zombies show up in droves, snaping jaws and drooling blood as they head right toward the store. They appear to have a plan. One scratches at the windows; others claw at the large panes. Jason is quick; he locks the doors, shoves anything he can find in front of them, and gestures at us to follow him. We disappear into the back of the store, locking the door to the sales floor, and we're left with two options.
Wait it out here and defend ourselves if they find us, or try and find another exit.
We choose the back exit.
We find it easily. There's some quick fumbling, a lot of swearing, and one sliced finger as Jason breaks through the fire exit. Sunlight bursts into view, and I stumble into the back of Eric as my visions adjusts. He catches me by the arm, and the last thing I hear is him yelling at me to run.
Behind me, passels of zombies pour in from around the alleyways, coming right toward us. I run as fast as I can to keep up with Eric and Jason, but they're much faster; both run easily, and they turn several sharp corners, until we wind up at a dead end. There's a dumpster against it, and I can see their plan before either can say it.
"Up there. We can hope the fence." Eric gestures at the dumpster, and he shoves me a step ahead of him. "Go!"
We head straight toward it, and once there, Eric slams the lid shut and hisses for me to follow him. The dumper is large and disgusting, and the smell is almost as overpowering as the zombies. It doesn't appear to bother Jason or Eric. They climb up easily, but I do not. I stumble on the ledge when my shoe slips and the lid rocks under their weight.
"Shit, shit, shit!" My panic comes in waves, until it's so intense I nearly drown beneath it.
The zombies are close now, and a few have figured out I'm trapped. My fingers slip on the greasy lid and I struggle to hold on. When I pull myself up, one grabs hold of my leg, and I kick him as hard as I can, the action sloppy and desperate. It dawns on me just how dangerous they are. The threat of them is real, but the fear fuels me, and my adrenaline kicks in right as Eric roars my name.
I kick the zombie again, this time in the skull, with everything I have. It buys me some time. He stumbles back, and I hoist myself up, onto the lid. I stumble, slipping when the lid is nowhere near as stable as one would think, and I nearly fall to my death. Right as I lose my balance, Eric grabs hold of my arm, yanking me up and shoving me toward the fence. The lid beneath my feet wobbles when I step off, and I force myself not to look back at the noise. My feet slip, and I scrape everything on the climb up –my shin, my knee, and my elbow, but it's a rush when I hover right over the edge, and freedom teeters within my grasp.
The descent is much father down than I had imagined, but it's a rush.
I jump right after Jason, and fate shines down upon us. We land on a pile of discarded mattresses, dirty and disgusting and tossed out some time ago, but at least they won't bite my throat out. Eric lands a second later, knocking me down and to the side, and I gasp when he steadies the both of us.
"Are you okay? Everly…are you…"
"I'm fine!" I blurt out, wincing when he hits my knee with his. He doesn't believe me, but I can't give him a single reason to leave me behind. I can tell he thinks death by zombie would be death without honor, and I need him to know I do, too. "I'm totally fine. It's just a scratch. It's…"
I stand, blood dripping down my leg, until Eric nods. He jumps up when one of the zombies makes a decent attempt at climbing the wall, and it's clear we don't have much time. He demands to know if Jason is okay, but it's silent as we tell him we have to go now. There's a chance one of them will climb onto the dumpster, and go over the wall.
"Jason? Are you…alive?" When I peer in his direction, he's lying there as though he's unable to move, and his groan tells me he's regretting his decision to go pick out an engagement ring.
I wonder if it's an omen.
Either way, Eric and I wait until Jason stands up slowly, and when he does, he utters one very low, very achy fuck.
The three of us take off running.
We don't stop until we reach Caesar's Palace, and Eric darkly informs us he knew staying here was a bad idea.
As the sun sets, I discover it's Sunday.
This bothers me.
In a world overrun by the dead, where time's only real meaning is to tell us how long we've been driving or what point of the day it is, it shouldn't matter. Our days have no real agenda, and time is a useless concept when your main worry is if you'll be attacked or not.
But learning that the week is coming to a slow, all too dramatic end, catches me off guard.
In my time with Eric, I've never been truly concerned with what particular day it was. I measured how fast things were moving by how well our survival was going; it might have been a coping mechanism, but it was easier to remember things by places and events, more so than by actual days.
Haling Cove was a day, Lakeview was a few hours, the first motel was a night. The casino was a week, of flashing lights and whirling acorns. The cabin was three days. There were weeks squished somewhere in between and after. It was a timeless span of travel, when our nights were nothing more than the count of days until the next stop. Vegas has been two days, going on three, and it seemed like it wouldn't be much more than that.
Despite the horde of the undead, I wish we could stay here. I saw the date on Eric's watch, carefully ticking away and keeping track of time like it still mattered, and I sort of wish I hadn't.
"You're going to fall."
I glance up from the edge of the balcony, where I'm seated atop of a wide ledge. In front of the ledge are panes of plexiglass, presumably to stop people from drunkenly plummeting off the balcony. I'm in no real danger of falling, but Eric's words make me smile.
"I'm being careful. Where's Jason? Are you guys hungry?" I extend my hand out to him so he can help me climb down, but instead, he sits behind me.
Eric is quiet as he reaches forward to pull me back, closer to him, though not that close. He keeps some space between us, until I scoot back the rest of the way.
Then, and only then, does he pull me against his chest.
Our return to the hotel was intense. Eric was not at all happy about the zombies, and Jason was disappointed that we'd had to run before he got a good look at them. He agreed they were faster and more violent; the last ones he saw were like Bob, slow and mindless, posing a minimal threat at best.
These were nothing like that. He and Eric talked while I took a shower to wash off the blood, and the two of them argued quietly. At some point, Jason went to wash up, and Eric took a shower after me, slamming things, and continuing to be pissed off.
I came out here to let my hair air dry. I pulled it up in a loose bun, and sat, staring at the horizon until Eric showed up.
"He said he's very sorry about the zombies. He hopes you aren't mad, and he'd like to talk to you about being quoted on his blog. And he hopes your leg is okay. Oh, and he said we should visit the Luxor if we have time," Eric mutters.
He keeps his arms loose; one slides around my waist, and the other points in the distance, where a large hotel shaped like a pyramid looms in the distance. Its black tiles reflect the setting sun, and for a few blissful minutes, everything is normal. Then, just like before, there is a hiss and snarl from somewhere along the strip, and the rumble and groan of zombies lurching their way past the hotels. My guess is they're scavenged not for food, but for someone to bite.
"He also wanted to tell you he's making tacos," Eric mutters, unimpressed as ever. "Before he went down to the kitchens, I told him to be careful. It won't be long before they figure out that we're in here. I think he's back already."
"It's not his fault the zombies showed up. But I appreciate that. And I'm fine. A little sore, but definitely fine." I swing one foot down, and there's enough space between the ledge and glass that I could probably stand there. I examine my leg, pale and hidden beneath clean pink fabric, and Eric pulls me closer. "Hey, did you know today is Sunday? I saw it on your watch. It doesn't seem right. It feels like everything is off."
"I know what you mean," he answers, and his fingers are antsy. They fidget, tighten, and tense, pulling me back further. "In Lakeview, I worked Thursday through Sunday, so Sunday nights were the end of my week. I knew I had a few days off, and it always felt like the calm before the storm. Now, there's no point in keeping track. It could be December for all it matters."
"It could be. It's getting cooler." I lean against him, and my foot kicks his leg. "Where do you want to go next? Do you have any ideas?"
"Our original plan was Florida. Jason was in a rush, but he suddenly claims he doesn't need to be. Maybe it'll take Meghan longer than planned to get to her cat rescue."
"See, she's interesting. She likes cats." I joke, and Eric's nod is quick. He mumbles something I don't quite catch, but it sounds like he doesn't find cats an appropriate interest. "Maybe she'll tell us how it is there."
"Maybe."
"You don't want to go?" I ask, and I wait patiently for his answer.
He doesn't say anything.
He sits there with me leaning back against him and stares out over the strip. If you ignore the screams of the zombies, perhaps biting at each other out of frustration or maybe just boredom, it's pretty pleasant. Eric is solid behind me, warm and safe, and clearly content. Every so often, he exhales heavily, but for the most part, he's relaxed.
Until Jason yells that dinner is ready, and we need to hurry up. Eric slowly lets me go, untangling himself as though the physical separation is painful, and he'd rather stay here. He catches my stare before we head inside, and he smiles.
It's a rare, real smile.
"You know, I had a plan. When this all started, I had an idea of how it would play out. But now, I don't care where we go, so long as we stay alive."
"Me either." I answer honestly, and I smile back.
The idea of a safe zone, while fine, seems like an impossible dream. All we really can do it try and fight for our survival, no matter what comes our way.
"Good."
We walk inside together, to Jason yelling that the tacos are ready, and he's only burnt half of them. Every so often, Eric's fingers brush against mine, each time longer than the last.
If I had to imagine my life in the wild world of the zombie apocalypse, I would think I'd be un-showered, with dirty hair and dirty clothes, eating forest creatures out of pure desperation. Unarmed, except for a knife or maybe some rocks, and on my own. I once watched a show about surviving in the wilderness, while Forest sat there and loudly critiqued it, and I tried to put myself in those situations.
I don't know how to build a tent or find shelter in the woods. I could probably follow a stream or figure out how to tell which direction I was going, but more than likely, I'd succumb to the elements after a few days.
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I'd be sitting on the counter of an eat in kitchen, in a hotel room high above the strip, while Jason talks to his girlfriend, so loudly we can hear every word they're saying from a room away.
So far, I've learned she's somewhere in Georgia, she and her dad found a still functioning CiCi's pizza, and oh my goshhhh doesn't Jason miss eating pizza and breadsticks?
"So, did you date him or what?"
I look up from reading the paper in my hand. I found an advertisement for the shows that used to be here, and these abandoned attractions were wild. Months ago, there were dozens of pop stars performing, all presumably zombies now, and several magic shows. An exhibit about the Titanic, and another featuring wax figures. One that let you ride a rollercoaster through a makeshift New York City, and one that flung you off the top of a hotel tower.
They all held my attention. My fingers are paused over one offering gondola rides on a man-made canal, when Eric speaks. I blink when he steps closer, and his stare is not friendly.
"Who? Landon?" I ask in surprise, and I toss the paper aside. It lands near the sink, where Jason had cheerfully washed the dishes before dramatically announcing he needed to call Meghan or he might die. Over dinner, Eric brought up Landon while explaining how we met. It sparked an interesting discussion that ultimately died when Jason couldn't figure out why Eric disliked him so much more than the other zombies. "No, I told you. I was his second option. His first was someone else. We went out once, and I knew it would never work." I pause, and he steps ever closer. "Did you date her?"
"Who?" He feigns ignorance, and I tilt my head at his change in attitude. An hour ago, he was close to holding my hand. Now, he's acting like I had an entire relationship with Landon and didn't tell him. "Are you asking about Ashley?"
"Yes."
We both stare at each other, a silent standoff as his phone rings. It's as if fate is tempting us, because when he pulls the phone out of his pocket, her name flashes across the screen. It makes me feel better there is no picture for her, but I'm annoyed that she's still thinking of him.
"Are you going to answer it?" I tilt my head up to really look at him; he's still taller, even with me sitting on the counter, and he's so close my head nearly knocks into the cabinet. "She's calling you."
"Sure." He answers me with a knowing smirk, then her with a rather blunt hello. It's barked, and were I the caller, I'd had up. "What the fuck do you want?"
"Eric!"
Hearing her voice is strange. It's not at all what I thought it be, but shrill and grating. His name is a screech of annoyance; Ashley shrieks loudly, and what follows is a long rambling string of profanity, her begging for him to not hang up, then demanding to know his location. I notice she doesn't ask if he's okay, simply who he's with, and why he hasn't responded to any of her numerous texts.
He pays her no attention.
His stare is glued to me, and his lips part when she screams his name, sobbing that she's in Oklahoma with someone named Jeanine and things are bad.
He doesn't appear bothered.
He doesn't even answer her, but he grimaces when she insists that he come and find her.
"She sounds…upset." I reach for Eric without thinking. My brain stops forming any logic in this moment, and my instinct is to slip my arms around his neck and pull him down closer. Maybe it's the tacos, maybe Jason cooked them in alcohol and didn't tell us, but I feel wildly brave.
It pays off.
Eric reaches for me, shoving a few stray pieces of hair off my face and pressing his hands there. I stay perfectly still while he undoes the bun, and my hair spills out, still damp from the shower. "She's always upset. That's nothing new."
"Who's Jeanine?"
"An absolute nightmare," Eric answers, and Ashley can hear him. She swears again, calling him a fucking asshole who never cared about her, and he shrugs when she screams at him to tell her who he's with. "Do you want to hear more?"
"No," I shake my head as his drops down, and it's pretty clear he's about to kiss me. His nose grazes along the side of mine, and before I can suggest he hang up, he does kiss me. I nearly fall off the counter when his lips touch mine without an ounce of hesitation; his kiss is rough and demanding, and my head does hit the cabinet.
Several times.
"Fuck, Eric!"
I shouldn't be surprised at this, because he's been hinting for days that he has no plans on us being apart.
He kisses me viciously, lips and teeth colliding, and his hand grasps the back of my head. He pulls a few sections, eliciting a whimper when he moves to my throat, and I swear the world turns fuzzy when he presses his mouth to my neck. Unlike our zombie counterparts, he doesn't tear my flesh apart. He does sink his teeth in, until I squirm, saying his name loudly. My hands claw at his hair, until something catches my eye.
"Eric! Eric….Eric!"
He pulls away, eyes wild and hands still in my hair, and he looks up with a malicious glare. His lips are wet, his hair is slightly less perfect, and his chest rises and falls just a little faster than before. He scowls darkly, hissing a low what as our moment is broken, and Jason looks horrified that he's interrupted us.
Well, maybe not horrified.
More smug, and just the tiniest bit guilty.
"I am…I'm uh, you know what? I was right and I'm so sorry! I just wanted to tell you Meghan isn't a zombie and uh, she had cheese pizza for dinner. I'd also like to tell you that…you said Everly was…you claimed nothing was going on and you're clearly a liar. Meghan said to tell you hello, by the way."
"Great." Eric grits out, and I pull him back to me.
As invasive as Jason is, I don't want Eric to stop. My fingers dig into his neck, warm and safe, and I chew on my lip. "Hi Jason. We're uh, just… we're gonna go to bed."
"Yeah….yeah…sure you are."
"Goodnight Jason." Eric pointedly announces, and his friend gets the hint. He leaves quickly, mumbling for the second time that he was right, and Eric is a terrible liar. Eric then looks at me, and his eyes are dark. They swim with a million emotions, and all of them are heavy with lust. "We should go to bed, too. We should –"
He doesn't finish his sentence. He kisses me again, like he can't really stop himself and doesn't have any plans to. His hands are everywhere; they grasp fistfuls of hair, touch my face, my back, and pull me closer. He's aggressively charming in how uncontrolled he is; at one point, he does bite my neck, and he pushes me back farther on the counter.
"You should tell me to stop," he grits out, still unbothered, but bordering on losing the last grip on sanity he has. "Everly…"
I pull back when he says my name, because it sounds so different than any of the other times that he's said it before. It sounds like the name of someone he truly likes, far beyond just keeping alive them because it was better than being alone. My hands are still on his face, his hair skin soft and warm, and we lock eyes.
Something passes between us, so intense it's hard to speak.
"I don't want you to stop," I finally manage to answer, and I can't even begin to think about how alive I feel.
My head swims with the high of how good he feels, and every cell in my body begs for me to resume kissing him. After months on the road and days of making sure the other stayed alive, a little fun is much needed. I grow lightheaded when he presses his lips to mine once more –warmer and softer than I would have guessed –and he nods.
"Not here."
I smile against his mouth, happy and dizzy, and fully ready to continue right where we left off.
Chapter 8: The House Always Wins
Notes:
After the most eventful and traumatizing week of my life, I am so happy it's the weekend and time to update!
Just a head's up: the following chapter lives up to the M rating. I don't think it's over the top or extremely graphic, but I want to make sure no one is caught off guard.
One of the reviews brought up an interesting question, and I want to get everyone's thoughts on it: In this story, will Harrison be revealed as Everly's father? Honestly, I can write either way. Him being her father is revealed in the other stories, but it doesn't have to be revealed in this one. Let me know which way you're leaning.
That being said, thank you oh so much to Erin for editing!
Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!
Chapter Text
"What the actual fuck are you doing? You bastard!"
I find it impossible not to laugh.
Ashley's voice is so loud, I bet every still-living cat in Las Vegas can hear her. She screams a string of profanities at Eric, though most of it is incomprehensible. When Eric presses his lips to my cheek, quickly, before he slides his nose beneath my ear, she calls him every name in the book, almost like she's here, watching him.
"You dick! Jason swore you were different!"
He snorts against my neck, and his hands move to my waist. "Guess I forgot to hang up."
"You did that on purpose," I laugh, and decide Ashley has listened long enough. I reach over to pick up the phone, right beside me where he'd tossed it, once things went a little further than planned, and she demands to know my name.
She's awfully bossy considering she's thousands of miles away.
"Should I tell her?" My voice sounds different suddenly, even to me. There's a wan appreciation for what Eric is doing, which is pulling me off the counter and sliding me toward him, and a hint of lust when his fingers find the exposed skin on my back. "Does she know what you're doing?"
"Probably."
His answer is uninterested. He toys with the straps on the dress, twisting and moving to untie it, when Ashley screams at me to tell her my name. She begins hyperventilating when Eric laughs, snickering at her outrage.
"Eric…" I start to say something, but his hands move lower. He undoes one of the straps –previously neatly tied in a bow –and it's obvious he's in no mood to stop. I smile when he presses his hand flat over my shoulder blade, and my finger hovers over the end button. "We should –"
"I said, who the fuck are you with? Who is she?"
"My name is Everly. It's so nice to meet you."
I smile as I answer her with as much kindness as I can, and she self-destructs into a rant about what a terrible person he is not to come get her. I hang up when she starts insulting me, and my timing is perfect.
Eric pulls away from my neck with an unhurried smirk, and in the distance, from the other bedroom, Jason loudly announces he likes me much better than Ashley, and for Eric not to ever forget that.
"Now you should tell me to stop."
I open my eyes to a blur of blond hair, bent down toward my collarbone. Eric's teeth dig into my skin, but without the intent to kill. His mouth trails down lower, to the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and he pauses only when I reach for the collar of his shirt.
"Everly…that's not…" He stops before he can say it's a bad idea, because in the apocalypse, there are no bad ideas. Every idea is a good idea, especially when you're trying to survive.
Rob a bank. Steal a car. Stay in the largest suite a hotel in Vegas has to offer. Eat ice cream for dinner, because it's still frozen, somehow not expired, and the best thing you've had to eat in days. Take the clothes, because yours are dirty, rumpled from days in the car or coated in a fine layer of zombie dust. Take the guns, too, because at some point, someone will try to kill you –and they'll probably be human. If you're lucky. If you're not lucky, they'll be a flesh-eating zombie, coming for you when you least expect it. So, take the gun, the knife, and maybe some scissors. Take whatever you need, including this moment.
Which currently consists of me taking Eric's shirt off. I think it's a good idea. Maybe the best one I've had since leaving home.
"It's not what? Aren't you hot?" I blink when he pulls away, but it's merely to give me the space to take his shirt off. I help him pull it over his head, and it's gone. Tossed aside onto the floor, where millions have gone to bed after celebrating their new fortunes. "I thought you said you were warm."
"Compared to you, yes."
He reaches for the still done up strap of my dress, and his eyes are dark. I let him toy with it, busying my own hands by touching his hair. He doesn't stop me this time; in fact, he leans into my fingers. He tilts his head when my hands still, and his hair is surprisingly soft.
It should be.
He's been using the fancy conditioner.
"You're always cold."
I smile, and he returns to kissing me. His lips touch mine softly, then not softly at all. His kiss is controlled but sloppy, and I know he's impatient.
He's a lot of things. In the world of before, he's the one who's cold. He's impatient and authoritative, demanding vigilance to stay alive, and a refusal to let anyone have the upper hand. I can read each grimace when he doesn't like our stop, and each shrug when his phone rings. I know he's spoken to his father a few times –each call tenser than the last, and sometimes I have the vaguest inkling that he calls him once I've fallen asleep. He keeps his life a secret, except when I ask one more question than he's willing to answer, but he still does.
In the world of before, I was the warmer one. I'd tell him anything, and I had. I fed him my brothers and sister's names, told him how my dad taught me to bake, and confessed how boring my life was before he showed up.
In this world, he's still my opposite. His skin has stayed tan, his hair has stayed nearly perfect, even when he's the one slicking it back or trying to trim it, and his bravery never wavers.
He must be rubbing off on me, because I touch his hand with my own, pressing his fingers into the fabric until he gets the hint. He slides the strap to the side, his eyes following the exposed skin inch by inch, and I decide, fuck it.
We could die tomorrow.
We could die tonight.
I might die if Eric really does stop, having decided this isn't smart.
"Well, you wouldn't let me put the extra blanket on the bed. You said there were enough blankets," I remind him, trailing my fingers across his collarbone. I press my palms flat against his chest, and he his hands grasp me by the waist to pull my closer. His stare fixes right on me, and his smirk is quick.
"No way, Carlen. It's bad enough you take up half the bed –"
I kiss him before he can finish his sentence. I press my lips to his, still soft and still warm, and his hand move to the top of my dress. He fumbles with the fabric, and a minute later, his hands move to grasp the hem. He pulls it up to my waist, then breaks away to pull it over my head.
"Um, I have to tell you, I don't have anything. I'm not…I should have grabbed something from the store." I blurt out, burning under his stare. His lips have parted and were I not nervous previously about where this is going, I am now. "I'm not on –"
"I can take care of you." He cuts me off, and I'm pushed back onto the bed. My head hits the oversized pillow, and he's over me before I can blink. When I look up, he smiles lazily, and I get the chance to really look at him. There's a barely visible scar above his eyebrow, like at some point he was either in a bar fight maybe, or went through a rebellious stage and pierced his eyebrow. His cheeks are sharp, his jaw is warm beneath my fingers, but my perusal ends there. Eric reaches for the button on his pants, and his eyes are wild. "I wouldn't normally approve of this. I don't usually fuck my partners."
"Oh," I answer without thinking, but I'm impressed he thought of me that way. I assumed he'd considered me some random girl tagging along with him, or just someone he let stay to keep him entertained. "Um, well…I don't work with you. I'm not your partner. Not officially."
Eric pauses. His fingers still on the zipper of his pants, and his eyes roam over me. Over the exposed skin, the pink underwear, and the bent angle of my legs, closing near around him.
Then he smiles, smugly, and shakes his head.
"No, you aren't."
"This was a good idea."
I mumble the words against Eric's neck, slick and sweaty and salty, while his fingers dig into my hip. His answer is a grunt of approval, low in his throat, while his free hand grasps the back of my head. He has a fistful of my hair between his fingers, and he holds me upright. I'm pretty delirious; I hover somewhere between a consciousness of what we are doing, and the faint, dreamlike reminder of how we got here.
It happened once both of us could decide it should.
One minute he was over me, shoving his pants down and kicking them away, and the next thing I knew, my underwear was off. I dimly remember telling him not to lose them because they were my favorite pair, and him snorting with amusement. I remember him snickering as he pulled his own underwear off, and I was in for a world of surprise to find him already hard.
In my limited world of experience, I'd never once seen anyone with an erection, or with a metal piercing slid through what I would imagine was sensitive skin. He smirked even wider when my head tilted, and I sat up and demanded he explain how and why and who. Once Eric answered my questions –it was done in tattoo shop by a professional piercer, it was a dare from Rylan that no one thought he'd go through with, and the guy's name really and truly was Bob –I reached out and touched him.
I wanted to take my time and touch every inch of him, but the minute my hand touched his erection, his eyes closed. It only took a few seconds for me to figure out what he liked, and by the fifth stroke, he was hissing my name and pushing me into the pillows.
Were this not the zombie apocalypse, I might have second guessed myself. I might have suggested we wait, until we were sure we'd both live, or we knew each other better. But was there any knowing him better? He'd held my hair while I threw up after eating rotten pizza, and he'd given me chocolate and Tylenol when I couldn't tell him I had cramps. I know he doesn't get along with his father, I know how he sleeps –needy and clingy, and so unlike his waking persona – and I know he's only afraid of dying by zombie because he deems it an unfair death.
Cowardly.
Pointless.
Certainly not honorable.
I decided all of this was enough.
I held on tightly when his mouth found my neck again, the same spot he seemed hell bent on marking, and his fingers moved down my side. They skimmed over my hips, pressing and grazing where they pleased, until his fingers were between my legs, and I was whimpering his name. In a moment of pure ecstasy, where I debated between shoving his fingers harder so I could get off, I realized his hips were moving against mine. I could feel his erection pressing against my leg, dripping and impatient, and there was no turning back.
Especially not after I came.
He was clearly skilled at what he was doing; his fingers rubbed just a little harder, stroking in circles until my vision went blurry, and he was pulling me on top of him. I hovered there, the head of his cock poised to enter me, when he kissed me. It was forceful, powerful and intoxicating, then he pulled me down, until he was buried deep inside.
My inexperience left me floundering. The feeling of him inside me was overwhelming, but in the best way possible. It only took me a few thrusts to figure out what he liked, and a few more before my own eyes closed.
Eric was rougher than I was prepared for, but I understood why. He impatiently dug his fingers into my hip bones, growled his approval at how good it felt, and in a rare moment of vulnerability, let his eyes close.
Now, I keep mine open, watching his face tense as his thighs tighten, and I like the sight of him like this. His head tilts back, exposing his throat to the faintest hint of scratches from my nails, and his entire body slams against mine. One of my hands is on his chest, the ring he slid on my finger still there, and the other is behind his neck.
His lips are parted, every so often grunting my name, or swearing. His eyes are dark when I can see them, hazy with lust and affection, and a hint of possessiveness. He presses his fingerprints into my skin, first my hips, then my side, then my face, never fully satisfied.
After months of running, I understand.
This feels good. Safe but electrifying, satisfying, but also not. I want him to keep going. I want him to consume me whole, because it feels good, he feels good, and his arms are tightening around me. His skin is slick and hot, and every few minutes, he touches me somewhere else. It's not adolescent fumbling, but skilled, appreciative touching. His hands are everywhere they can find, and yet it's not enough.
I whimper when he squeezes my ass, pulling me closer and closer.
"Everly…" He drawls my name out, sounding slightly drunk. He opens his eyes to find mine, and his smile is sated. "So pretty."
His confession, and his fingers returning between my legs, are enough for me. I come again, this time feeling like every nerve is on fire, and he follows a minute later. Eric's hands tighten in a way that should leave a mark, and he thrusts his hips sloppily. He loses the controlled pattern from earlier, and the feeling is indescribable.
On the third or fourth thrust, I feel him come, and he hisses my name with all the approval in the world.
I say his, too.
Eric, a little softer, gasped drowsily when I realize he's lying on his back now, and I'm against his chest. He doesn't pull away past reaching up to brush the hair off my face, and he asks if I'm okay.
I answer quietly, sated and lusty and all too ready to do it again, that I'm fine.
Just fine.
A little tired, a little exposed feeling, given my naked body and legs tangled against his, but absolutely fine.
I fall asleep a minute later, when his fingers touch my cheek, and he contentedly says my name, clear and even.
My real name.
In the earliest part of the morning, I wake up to Eric's head against mine.
I don't blink away the sleep because I'm warm and unwilling to move. I scoot closer, listening to the faintest sound of sirens in the distance, and I wait for them to get louder. My brain sleepily points out this is impossible: we've seen few officers, and it's assumed most have been turned into zombies after attending to a call. Anyone in a police car has probably stolen it, or worse, is an actual officer, on their way to try and stop something bad from happening.
Too bad that's impossible.
I don't dwell on it for more than a few seconds. I fall back asleep once Eric mumbles my name, and it sounds like a threat.
His arm tightens on me, keeping me against his chest, right where he wants me.
In the later part of the morning, I awake to the sound of Jason gleefully yelling he's made breakfast burritos. He yells for us to hurry up, because they'll be cold if we don't get up, then he also yells he'd come in there, but he's sure we're busy and oh, his phone is ringing so he'll be back.
He wasn't wrong with his assumptions.
Sometime very early this morning, I climbed on top of Eric and kissed his cheek. It wasn't at all innocent on my part. He immediately pushed himself back inside me, and everything grew fuzzy and warm, until it became too much. I gasped his name over and over, while the sun began to rise.
I had assumed things would be awkward in the morning. I'd never slept with anyone before, and I wasn't sure how Eric would feel. It was unlikely he'd tell me, but to my surprise, he woke up a second after I did, pressed his fingers over the mark on my neck, and let them stay there. He stayed there until his phone rang, and he lowly informed someone that yes, he was still in Vegas, and yes, he was fine.
Now, we sit at the table together, slowly eating the breakfast burritos Jason has made.
It's a nice gesture on his part. He looks well rested, and unfortunately chipper. He eyes us both intently, his stare feels presumptuous and knowing, and I try to keep my attention on the plate in front of me. The room is quiet, at least until Jason can't stand it any longer, and he clears his throat.
"So, did you both…sleep…well?" He none to subtly looks at Eric, then me, then back at Eric, and his smile is quick. "Or was it hard?"
"Was what hard?" I ask, taking a bite of the burrito. Next to me, Eric glowers at his friend, and he drinks a long sip of coffee instead of answering.
"You tell me," Jason's stare flicks to Eric, heavy with accusation. "You both look tired. This isn't hard to figure out."
"Jason, shut the hell up." Eric barks, and he looks both murderous and mildly amused. "We went to bed. End of story."
"Oh, I bet you went to bed," Jason retorts, and I watch the two of them glare at each other. "I bet you went to bed so hard. Actually, wait. I bet it was literally hard."
I choke on the bite I'm chewing when he winks and waves his burrito at us. I cough a few times, trying not to die, and Eric hits my back. I mutter than I'm fine, then reach for my water. "Are you serious?"
"Sorry, Everly. I didn't mean to make you cough so hard," Jason snickers, clearly unable to help himself.
"Jason, stop saying the word hard!" Eric demands, and I burst out laughing.
Unfortunately, I laugh while drinking my water, and it goes into my lungs. It becomes obvious I'm not going to survive this breakfast, no matter how hard I try. I contemplate telling Jason this, but the thought makes me laugh even harder, and I know I probably look insane.
"Everly, are you alright?" Eric demands, and across from us, Jason is busy laughing. He holds up his phone and snaps a picture of Eric's angry face, then tells Eric to make an angrier face.
"Jason, what the hell are you doing with that?"
"I'm sending it to Rylan. Motivation to keep him going. He told me he misses seeing your face." Jason waves him off, unafraid of Eric's pissed off glare. He types a slew of text beneath the picture, then sends it off with a grin. "Besides, back to you two. What's the plan for today? More jewelry shopping?"
"Fuck no." Eric swears, and he stands up and throws his napkin down. "We need –"
The knock on the door interrupts him. We all turn to look at it, and Jason freezes with his own breakfast burrito halfway to his mouth. The knock is not frantic or panicky, but normal.
Like someone is casually dropping by to see what we're doing.
"Jason, did you lock the lobby doors?" Eric asks, and he steps away from the table slowly. I cough one more time, earning a murderous look from both of them, but I can't help it. "Jason?"
"Um…I swear I did. You said the ones in front and the security door in the back. I only went to the kitchen. I never left the hotel!"
My blood turns to ice when someone knocks again, and this time, Eric is the first one to the door. He peers out the peephole carefully, and Jason stands up. He looks at me, then at Eric, then forlornly at his burrito.
"I didn't even get to finish it."
"Jason, shut up." Eric hisses, and I wait for him to open the door.
He doesn't.
He turns to look at us, and when his stare locks on mine, he has a funny look on his face.
It's one I haven't seen before and one that makes him look like an entirely different person.
Panic.
"Okay, so we head out down the other set of stairs. Cut across the lobby. We head around to the cars, get inside, and we're free."
Jason speaks quickly, packing his things with impressive speed. He loads his bag up with his clothes, unplugs his phone, yanks the charger from the wall, then gestures at me to take the instant coffee. I reluctantly pick it up, and once I do, he shoos me to go tell Eric he's ready. His posture drops slightly, and when his shoulders dip, I know he blames himself.
"Everly, I'm really sorry. I didn't think anyone saw me come in here. I know this place was pretty safe. I was hoping we'd stay for a few days." His disappointment is all over his face. "I heard there's a wax museum."
"It's okay. It was bound to happen sooner or later. I don't think it's your fault," I shrug, but inside, I'm so nervous I might throw up.
Twenty minutes ago, Eric had backed away from the door. He held up one finger for us to be quiet, and once he retreated back far enough, he lowly informed us there were people in the hallway. His assumption was they were the ones in the hotel from last night, and they'd come looking for us, and met a different fate. A few looked like they'd been attacked; he said that some of the wounds looked fresh, but his view was limited.
What he didn't say –that they were on their way to becoming infected –wasn't all that farfetched.
His new theory made me stare at him in pure horror: as freshly attacked pre-zombies, they were still cognitive enough to remember why they were in this hotel and what they wanted. They had little to live for; we all knew once you'd been bitten, it was only a matter of time before the infection hit your bloodstream.
Eric went on to say most looked normal. Like maybe they weren't infected, and were simply looking for help. All I could think of is how screwed we would be if they got in here. We had some meager medical supplies, but not many. Eric and I often replenished whatever we had, but there certainly was no zombie medicine in there.
But that didn't matter.
I was learning people were desperate these days, and my life, and Eric's and Jason's, might be worth an extra bottle of mild painkillers or the weapons we had.
Eric warned us they knew we were in here, and while they'd retreated once no one answered the door, we couldn't stay. If they did get in, we'd be armed, but they wouldn't be the last.
He's right.
Every step I take sounds heavy, and the blood is pumping fast through my veins. I head into the room to find Eric waiting for me, having packed the things we'd brought inside. His lips are pressed together, and as he hands me my bag, his eyes are dark. Not like last night. Not dark like when he groaned my name, but dark like he knows the next few hours will be unpleasant.
"Well?" He looks at me without blinking, and his voice is sharp. "Is he okay?"
"He's really sorry."
"It's not his fault. Sooner or later, someone would realize we were here." Eric looks at me, and my dreams of a repeat of last night are dashed. "If we can get downstairs unharmed, we'll be fine. Our chances are better if we stay away from the main part of the hotel."
"What if they're waiting for us?" I tilt my head up, and suddenly, Vegas takes a dark turn. "What if they're in the stairwell?"
"If they're in the stairwell, we shoot on sight. We know at least one has an open wound, and we can't risk anything. If they come near you and you have a clean shot, don't hesitate. We don't want to waste our ammunition, but if it comes down to it, you shoot." His words are even but detached, like he's talking to someone else.
This is what our roadside training really should have been on.
A zombie is one thing, but a live person with a weapon and a will to live, is something else.
"Okay, got it. Should we go now?"
I swallow down the urge to lose it. My sanity wavers between knowing we are temporarily safe, but only until they come back, and knowing we could be killed. Neither option is great. We don't have enough food in here for more than today, and they know we have to leave at some point. Even if only one of them remains, they'll be waiting for us.
For whatever reason.
"Yeah. I put everything back in your bag. Did you have anything else?"
Our fingers touch when I don't let go of the bag, and I shake my head. The look on Eric's face is impressive; I imagine it's what he looks like when he briefs his officers, or perhaps before he plans a takedown in whatever situation he's been sent to deal with. I don't imagine it ever involved zombies or a group of survivors with the potential to kill.
"We'll be fine. We'll be in the car in less than thirty minutes, and once we're there, we'll…. find somewhere else to stay. We'll be okay. This won't be the last time we encounter this situation."
Eric pulls his hand back to grab his own bag, and a second later, he hands me the heavy gun from a few days ago, and makes me promise to stick close by. He looks down at me once, grey eyes heavy with grief, and I have the horrible feeling he regrets everything.
The numbers on the wall descend quickly.
I stay near Eric as he takes the stairs two at a time, and Jason is a single step behind us. The air in here is sticky and warm, and the cement walls are much less pleasant than the other staircase.
So far, our mission to leave the hotel has been smooth, but tense. Eric led us out of the room with his weapon drawn. I held my breath until he gestured for us to follow him, and only stopped because it was trickier to move quickly with the bags. I remained on high alert as we passed the elevators, the main stairwell, and then down a long hallway that follows the shape of the hotel. We passed by a few other doors, although not many, considering this level held suites and penthouses, and I stared at the patterns in the ugly carpeting as we walked.
My palms were sweaty by the time we reached the stairwell marked 'employees only'. Eric and Jason argued briefly; Jason thought they may be hiding out here, or thinking we'd come this way, but Eric thought otherwise. A second passed before Jason gave in, and our descent was fast. They both are prepared to shoot, and the assumption is that I am, too.
My shoes hit the metal stairs with a thud, and it echoes. I try not to give into the nerves, and I refuse to give up on our plan. I'm prepared to encounter either –zombie or human –but my brain goes over Eric's plan until I force myself to think of something else.
"Shit! Sorry!"
I bump into him as we near the ground floor exit as he pauses. There is no peephole or window, so his only choice is to open it up, and be ready for whatever is outside.
I count to three. The seconds are tense, and it feels like ages before he gestures that the coast is clear, heads through the door.
I follow him into the lobby, and the smell of the hotel hits me. It's pleasant; there is no scent of death, and no one appears to be out here. He and I walk together, and Jason walks behind, commenting how he wishes he could have come here when it was busy. When we reach the main lobby, it's hard to miss the large doors. They've been pried open and almost all have been shattered. My stomach drops at the visible proof that someone has gotten in. We all stay silent, and at the last second, Eric decides we're going a different route. It's the opposite way I think we should be going, but I know why.
Through the lobby doors, I can see the patrol car. It's parked where the valet once sat, waiting like a wild animal.
Except one that's been attacked.
Someone has tried to get into it. The windshield is cracked bad enough it would be impossible to see out of, the doors are dented, and there's a trail of blood leading away from the driver's side. The hood has some scratches and scrapes, deep ones that run horizontally, and intense enough that I don't want to know what did it. I try to see if anyone's out there, but Jason makes a noise of surprise, then immediately whispers he's parked around back.
Eric says nothing.
He keeps walking, lips pressed tightly together, until we reach another exit.
The lights are on in the kitchen.
The florescent glare reflects off the stainless-steel prep tables, making it hard to see. I blink a few times, and it's strange to think I sat down here with Eric while he rifled through the large walk-in refrigerators to find something for dinner.
It feels like forever ago since we first showed up here, looking for respite and a few zombie free days. I bare the guilt of being the one who picked this place, though really, this could have happened anywhere. I have a forbidding sense of doom hanging over me, and it worsens with each step. When I nearly cave beneath the tension, Eric looks around suspiciously, and cocks his head to the side.
"Jason, did you leave these on?" Eric speaks quietly, glancing around with a sharp look. "When you came and got breakfast?"
"Pretty sure I turned everything off and shut all the doors." Jason points to the wide-open freezer, and we all stop by the corner of one large prep table. "You think they came this way? Maybe they took the food and left. Honestly, these hotels are pretty well stocked. There's a deep freezer a few rooms down that's completely untouched."
"Do you think they're still inside? Maybe they just wanted food and they left when they found it." I look to Eric, wondering if his police training has prepared him for this. I notice his eyes are trained on the door, and his hands are balled into fists. "Eric?"
"Stay here."
He leaves me with Jason and walks slowly, trying to see what's going on. He makes it to the freezer, then glances down the hallway beside it. This kitchen is immense; it's meant to serve several restaurants that are open all hours of the night, and there are plenty of places to hide. There are doors down the hallway, maybe offices or more storage, and another room where there are additional ovens and dishwashers. The freezer Eric is in front of is insanely large; I went in once, and I know how far back it goes.
The skin of my neck prickles when Eric slowly steps away from it. My grip on the bag tightens when he nods his head, and very, very quietly tells us there's someone inside, down toward the end of the freezer. My stomach drops like I'm on a rollercoaster, but Jason nudges my arm and whispers to head toward one of the doors. There's a chance we can get outside without them knowing we're in here, but only if we're careful.
"It's like five steps. Come on." Jason encourages me after Eric glares at him, and we all move carefully across the greasy floors. I'm two steps away when the ringing starts, and everyone freezes.
"Shit."
The ringing is coming from deep inside my bag, and Eric's eyes widen. I don't know if it's his or mine, but he must have shoved it in there when he packed, thinking he'd grab it later.
He hisses at me to turn it off, but it's too late. The sound is so loud it echoes off the metal, off the floors, and right into whomever is currently raiding the freezer. I fumble to try and find it, and when my fingers do find the phone, I silence it a second too late.
The person in the freezer emerges, and they're hardly a person.
They're one of them: the yellow eyed, open mouthed, razor sharp teeth gnashing zombies.
It heads straight toward us, and I barely have time to push the phone back into the bag before I'm shoved into the table. There's a wave of pain when my shoulder hits the corner, and it scratches my skin as I fall. I knock into Jason on the way down, and when he yelps, I hear Eric yelling. It's drowned out by the sound of gunshots flying over my head. The zombie falls to the side with a grunt; sickness spills from the wound in its head, pouring out onto the floor in a gush, so much more than one would think possible.
My moment of relief is short lived.
My stomach revolts.
I gag; he's so close it's all I can smell, and though I manage not to throw up, it doesn't matter. The kitchen fills with the undead. They pour in from the other rooms, filling up every free inch of space. I get back on my feet to find one right in front of me, eyes roving and lips covered in dried, cracked blood, and I scream. The sight is horrific, more so up close, and the smell is overwhelming. Before I can throw up in its face, Eric shoots him, and the zombie's head explodes onto me. I'm instantly covered in vile zombie blood. It drips down the side of my face, my neck, and my hair.
I gag again, but only until I see Eric.
His eyes are on me, burning with panic and a bit of adrenaline, but it's a mistake. The zombies behind him are quick, and he's knocked forward, right into the side of the freezer. His head hits the door handle with a sickening thud, and he slumps to the floor.
"No! No! Eric!"
This time, my scream is of pure anger.
I like Eric.
I maybe more than like him and were I not about to drown in a sea of corpses, I'd probably profess my love right then and there. Not just because we slept together, or because he's the only person who would ever understand what we've been through, but because I get him, and he gets me. He seems to like me, at least he did last night, and we both want to live.
Which is going to be impossible if he's gets bit.
The pulse of fear is white hot when the zombie looms over him, eyeing him like dinner. The zombie's jaw practically unhinges, and he rears back, preparing to bite.
It's then that Eric's eyes open. He groans, raising one hand to rub where he hit his head, and he looks confused. His stare turns skyward, but it's unfocused. He doesn't seem in any real hurry to get up, and I swear he mutters an irritated what when the zombie roars.
There is no time to figure out what's wrong with him. I scream his name over and over, trying to get him to move, and he doesn't.
A few feet away, Jason is easily hacking his way through zombies like some sort of zombie warrior. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him grab a long, sharp knife, and he impales it in the head of his next victim. He barely grimaces when he pulls it out, coated in a mixture of slime and blood, then he's onto the next one. He shoots several, maybe three or four, and I have the same gun in my hands by the time he's onto the fifth one.
I aim, right as the zombie nears Eric's head, and there's an explosion of both blood and guts. Much like earlier, I'm shoved back a step, right as the blood flies everywhere. It hits Eric in the face, sticking to his hair and cheeks, and he looks at me in pure disgust.
"What the hell are you doing? That just got on me!"
"Move! Eric! You have to get up! You have to hurry!" I panic when he doesn't move past sneering, but there really is no time to panic.
The room is now filled with the stench of death. I can barely breathe, and even Jason covers his nose, trying to shoot with one hand. He rounds the table to get to Eric, but he's cut off by a group of women, all with their appetites set on him.
"No!" I steady myself. My dress is yanked on by a slower moving zombie, a rare creature given his companions, and I kick her as hard as I can. I shoot the two closest to Jason, then I realize I'll have to reload. "Holy shit…Eric, I'm running out of ammunition. Do you have any?"
"What? Who are you? Why do you have a gun?"
"Jesus, Eric. Now is not the time for some memory loss plot bullshit. Give Everly your gun!" Jason yells, sounding hysterical. "Do you want to die?"
"Why the fuck are you yelling? I'm right here," Eric snaps, and he presses on his head with his fingers. "I'm also covered in this shit. It's –"
He ducks when one comes near him, fresh and violent. The zombie sprints in a way that makes me want to cry, and Eric's only saving grace is I have one bullet left. The zombie goes down in a spectacular fashion, but unfortunately, it's not enough. He has friends with him, six or seven, and they all are eager to get in on the fun.
"Okay, Everly, grab…whatever. Whatever you can. Go for the head first. As hard as you possibly can stab. You'll have to get really close." Jason slides across the table like he's in an action movie, shooting the lone zombie by the double sinks. He lands on his feet, and he grins. "Did Eric show you how to stab them?"
"He did. I can…but…"
"I know, you barfed. He told me. He said you're either sleeping or about to throw up. I heard all about it." Jason grins, and he hands me a barbeque skewer. "Here. Start with the ones on the left. I'll go right. Also, has he proposed yet? He seems oddly fond of you and he's not fond of anyone. I'm not even sure he likes me."
"What!" I shriek, but my attention turns from Jason, to the zombies, to Eric, fixing his hair in the middle of the kitchen. He's unbothered by the chaos around him. He merely shoves one zombie back, then attempts to re-part his hair so it lies flat. "Eric! Look out! It's going to bite you!"
"Fuck!"
My words catch his attention. He looks left and right, and there's some slow recognition that kicks in. I give him the benefit of possibly having a concussion, because he suddenly reaches for his gun, and it's knocked right out of his hands.
"Motherfucker!" He roars, but there's no point.
"Eric! Keep fighting! Everly and I will get to you!" Jason insists, and it's a wild attempt to keep Eric alive.
The zombies close in on him, and the gun is kicked near me. I fumble to grab it, and as soon as the cold metal touches my fingers, I aim at the first one. The shot is loud, and so is the hit. I loathe the way their heads seem to suck the bullet right in. Their skin is too soft, decaying at a rapid pace, and sticky.
But it works. The first one goes down, then the second.
The third does too, but the fourth doesn't. The gun makes a clicking sound, and I realize this gun is out of ammunition. I haven't been keeping track of how many shots Eric took, and there's really no time to fumble for more ammunition.
"Fuck!"
Somewhere in the distance, Jason takes on his own part of the herd. The air whooshes with slices and knicks. His knife clinks against the table, and there's a grunt of frustration when he stabs a zombie, then smashes his head into the floor to make sure it's dead. I take a cue from him and I toss the gun onto the counter. I head right for an unarmed Eric, looking alternately stressed and pissed off. He's surrounded by a semicircle, back against the freezer, and he knows his chance of getting bit are high. He punches one of the faster zombies in the face, but grimaces when his fist sinks into the head.
I figure it's now or never.
I reach the one on the end, and I stab him right in the temple with the skewer. It makes a squishing sound, and I dry heave when I pull it out. The second is harder. This zombie looks right at me, and my knife goes deep into his eye, as far as I can. There's a wail of disapproval from him –sort of a mixture of roared and screamed –and he lands with a heavy thud.
The next ones are even harder.
My fingers are covered in blood and guts, and they slip when I stab the third. It takes all my effort to get the skewer out. At one point, I'm pressed right up against the rotting walking dead monster, and I whimper when I feel its blood ooze onto my dress. I whimper again when I pull it out, and there's a thud as one finally gets the upper hand on Eric.
I hear him roar for the thing to get the fuck off him, then roar again when it doesn't. He yells my name too, dark and frantic, but I can't get there just yet. I stab one of the remaining ones in the head, well, as much of his head is left, then turn to finish the job.
All around us is pure chaos. The freezer door is covered in streaks of blood and guts and whatever else zombies are made of. Eric is relatively unscathed, minus the head wound, but he's losing ground. He kicks in an attempt to get the zombie away, but there's the snapping teeth of the undead near his neck, and I know I have mere seconds.
I lunge with everything I have. I manage to knock the zombie into the freezer door, and to my horror, his head dents inward. He pushes back, forcing me on top of Eric, and the zombie lands atop me. Having no real traction, I give him a second to think he's got the upper hand, then I stab him as hard as I can, right in the side of his head. My hand touches cold, papery skin, and my stomach burns when his mouth opens, and it's full of black blood.
Watching him die is disgusting.
The weird, reanimated life drains from his eyes, and his throat gurgles with fluid. I shove him away before it can get on me, but it wouldn't even matter. I'm covered in blood, my hair is sticky, and my fingers are numb. I turn to Eric, scrambling to help him up, and my stomach protests everything.
"Eric…Eric…oh my God, are you okay? Are you?" I can barely get the words out. I'm nauseated beyond belief, my leg is bleeding again, but Eric is alive and so am I. On the other side of the room, Jason triumphantly announces he's got the last one, and he's going to lock the doors the second he can. "Eric, did he bite you? Can you hear me? Eric!"
He looks up at me. His gaze is sharper now, focused and clear. His temporary amnesia is gone and he reaches up to take my face in his hands. He yanks me closer to him, so close my nose is nearly touching his, and in the background, Jason celebrates his final victory by informing us he just touched zombie brain and it's just as gross as he thought.
"Everly…" Eric starts, and his stare locks on mine.
"Wait…" I blurt out, and he smiles in amusement when I lean over, and I do throw up, right onto the zombie beside us. When I'm done, I wipe my mouth with my hand, feeling my eyes burn and my head hurt, and I know we need to get out of here, and get cleaned up quick. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. Eric, are you okay? I tried to get to you sooner but it was nearly impossible to get the skewer out. I think it got stuck in his brain."
He blinks.
His eyes search mine, and there's some strange recognition behind them.
At least, I think there is.
"Eric…say something!"
His expression changes. He touches my cheek with one bloody, zombie guts covered finger. He pushes my hair off my face, then arrogantly smirks, like he hadn't nearly just died. His fingers slide across my cheekbone, into my hair, and he curls them there, before he smiles even wider.
He holds my stare until I half smile back, and his eyes are clear.
"Marry me."
"Is it a real proposal, or a sort of make-up proposal because you're already married, and Eric didn't tell you?"
Jason, the voice of logic, whispers loudly while we hurry down a hallway. I have no clue where we're going, but he informed us he parked out back, and it's not far from here. I try to keep up with the both of them; Eric walks quickly, his weapon now reloaded and in his hand, and every so often, he glances back at me.
I had thought Jason was joking about the proposal but Eric's posture hints otherwise.
His eyes swam with a lot of things, but mostly head trauma. I sat atop him, covered in zombie blood, zombie guts, dirt, and probably some barf. It was in no way an opportune time for him to propose, but Jason's words make me curious, especially now.
Eric grunts at him to shut up, and we hurry down another hallway, this one simply marked BACK OF HOUSE.
"Wait. Are we married?" I look up at Eric, still handsome even with the bruise on his face and the blood in his hair, and he does a fantastic job of ignoring me. "Eric?"
"Look." He points up ahead, to the large docking bay doors. "It's the delivery loading zone. Are you sure you parked back here?"
"No." Jason's answer is cheerful, but ultimately, unhelpful. "I think I parked by the pool."
"Is that why you said my name should be associated with yours? Have we been married this whole time?" I interrupt the both of them, and they turn to me at the same time. "Jason, did you know this?"
He looks at me, and then Jason hesitates, and looks over my head at Eric. He shrugs, and I dare say, he looks guilty.
"Look, I want you to know, I really cherish our friendship. I think you're good for Eric. I think this has been a very exciting time for all of us, and the fact that I got to meet Everly first, before Rylan, is amazing. I'd like to continue being friends and I'd also like to point out the paperwork is practically pointless by now, because there isn't even a government office that exists, or anyone to file said paperwork, unless Eric filed it while we had a government and –"
"Jason, we don't have time. There's someone over there." Eric snaps, his voice tense and unhappy. "This isn't good. We have to either open up the doors or find another way out. We risk zombies if we head back to the lobby, or death by whoever that is if they shoot first."
"I don't see anyone," Jason counters. "Are you sure you're okay? You hit your head pretty hard there…oh fuck."
I've heard a few people talk about Las Vegas, and what stuck out to me was how their luck always ran out. Even when things were good, at some point, the strip had the upper hand. The casinos didn't want you to leave, the restaurants didn't want you to walk by without stopping in for dinner, and the dealers were betting on the visitors who were gambling away their days in a windowless room.
Our luck runs out right here.
In the very back of Caesar's Palace, where an entire army of survivors is currently on the hunt for anything they can use to survive.
Including us.
The standoff is intense, but sort of a strange relief.
The person Eric saw is a man, a few years younger than Eric, who looks just as annoyed at our presence as we are with theirs. He's surrounded by others, a rag tag group made up of men and women of all ages. They are unfriendly, dressed in dirty, torn clothes, and armed. I spy a few guns, several knives, and a gleam in their eye, that tells me they're willing to fight.
The man eyes us up and down, and there's a terse exchange of greetings. Eric grits out an unfriendly hello, and the guy answers back evenly. He has green eyes and dark hair, and his nose looks like it's been broken and healed crooked. There's a weird pallor to his skin, but I chalk it up to staying inside, hidden away from the zombies.
"Stay there! Don't come any closer." He stands up straight, taking a few cautious steps, and he demands to know what we're doing here.
"We're leaving." Eric barks, and his intimidation tactic makes the guy nervous. "What are you doing?"
"I'm looking for my sister," the guy calls back, and he looks at me. "I saw you from across the street. I'm Caleb. This is Tori. Molly and Zeke. Will. We thought maybe you had her."
"We don't," Eric retorts. "Did you knock on the door earlier?"
"Yeah, yeah we did." Caleb puffs his chest out, trying to look tough, but it's lost in the effort. "I thought maybe the girl with you was her. We've been here for a few weeks now and you guys are new. I thought maybe she met you walking or something."
"Did you destroy the police car?" I ask, and Eric glances down in surprise. My fingers graze his, and I mourn the thought of driving with him, and only him, because it's clear we aren't taking it. "Why would you do that?"
"We took what we could use," Caleb calls back. "Survival of the fittest. By now, I'm sure you've figured out that it's every man for himself."
Eric tilts his head, and his fingers twitch. "You fucked with police property. That car doesn't belong to you."
Caleb snorts. "Oh, I see. You're a cop. That would be impressive, but there are no laws anymore. What are you going to do? Arrest me? Shoot me? Take me to your jail?"
"Maybe." Eric stares him down, and his postures tenses. "I could cuff you and leave you in the car. You'd make a nice dessert for the next zombie who comes by."
"Fuck you, man. You're in our town. I don't care who you are or what your job is," Caleb spits, and he steps closer. He's even unfriendlier now, and it's hard to miss the deep scratches on his neck, and the dark, open wound on the side. I notice they're on his arms, too, and he's done his best to cover them.
I reach for Eric's hand, and he looks down immediately.
"Eric, I think he was attacked." I half whisper, and his fingers tighten on mine.
"Are you hurt?" Eric demands, and it's obvious he's unafraid. "Show us your neck. It looks like you're bleeding."
"Fuck you. I don't have to show you anything." Caleb immediately pulls his collar higher, and Jason steps forward.
"Are you hurt? If you need medical attention…."
"I'm fine," Caleb snaps. "You need to get lost."
"We're trying. We're heading out. This place is infected with zombies. You guys should get out while you can," Jason informs them, trying to help. "It's not looking good. These zombies are different."
"What are you, some sort of zombie expert?" Caleb scoffs, and I decide I don't like him.
"Actually, he is," I interrupt, and Eric's grip turns painful. He pulls me back a step, and I glare at him. "What's wrong?"
"Stay right here. Hey, Caleb. Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Eric asks, and his eyes don't leave Caleb. They're glued to his neck, and he lets go to reach for his gun. "Were you bitten?"
"I said, you need to get lost." Caleb glances back at his group, and they all nod. The girls are tough looking, tall and fit, and the one beside him glares at me. The guy behind him has a baseball bat, and he stares down Jason like he's sizing him up. "I'll give you two minutes to leave. But before you go, are you sure you haven't seen my sister?"
"No," I shake my head, answering before anyone. It's obvious that despite his tough guy persona, Caleb is worried. He's on a mission to find someone he cares about, and the frustration of another dead end is weighing on him. "We were upstairs in the hotel room, the kitchens, and the laundry. There wasn't anyone else in the hotel that we knew of. If there is, we didn't see them."
"Are you sure?" Caleb looks heartbroken, and he steps away from the group. "She's close to your age. A little taller, blonde hair…. she had her phone up until a few days ago. She said she was somewhere near Vegas. Her name's –"
"Tris."
The woman with dark hair blurts this out, and her eyes are wide with panic. From the side of the docking bay emerges a girl who isn't much older than me, despite her gray skin and missing chunks of hair. Her eyes are wild, not yellow, but definitely not normal. Her arms are covered in scratches and scrapes, and her neck as the tell-tale sign of being ripped apart. She walks more gracefully than Hazel, but with the same gait they all do.
Her eyes flash, and she heads right toward her brother.
"No!" His scream is quick, as is the turning of his friends.
Tori realizes Tris is no longer worth being found. She shoves Caleb forward, and the fight is immediate. His friends let him stumble, right into her. Tris looks at him, her head turned at an impossible angle, and when her mouth opens, I wait for her to say his name. She looks almost human when he shakily tells her he's so sorry, and he did his best to keep her safe, and lowly informs her their parents are long gone.
Tris tilts her head, so hard it sounds like the bones in her neck have popped, and she frowns.
Then she lunges at him. She knocks him onto the ground without much effort. His head hits with a thud, and she pins him down with an impressive display of strength. Before he can scream, her teeth sink into his throat, roaring something incomprehensible and angry, and when she pulls back, her mouth is full of skin. She spits it out in wild triumph, then leaps up and heads toward Tori.
"Fuck, go."
Jason grabs my other arm, and Eric and I take off running. We don't wait to see the bloodbath that we know is coming, nor do we want to waste the ammunition we have. Eric tries the door beside the docking bay grates, and it opens. He pulls me along with him, and the sunlight hurts as we rush out into it.
Jason glances around furiously, then swears. "My truck is not here. I swear I parked it right –"
The roar of the zombies starts up. It echoes from the docking bay, from inside the hotel, from the streets. I realize we are fucked if we don't get out of here, and fast. There is no time to figure out where Jason's truck went, or if the patrol car is drivable. Before I can suggest we try one of the hotel vehicles, thinking maybe the keys have been left inside, Jason starts waving his hands, yelling as loud as possible.
"Hey! Hey! Over here!"
It takes me a second to realize what he's waving at. Someone drives through recklessly, making a sharp u-turn. The RV screeches to a halt, and it's quite the sight. There is a Lakeview Police Department logo taped to the side, and the front has been modified with several sharp prongs meant to impale someone. There are satellite dishes on top, the windows have bars over them, and the tires are large and impressive. When the RV comes to a complete stop, the man inside yells for us to hurry.
"Do you know that person?" I panic, but it only lasts a second. He hops out, and is around to the side in a second. He's older than Eric and Jason but dressed in similar dark clothes. He has sunglasses on, and he throws the door open, yelling for Eric to move his ass. He looks at me curiously, then smiles and welcomes me aboard.
"Fuck. Did you know he was close by?" Eric asks Jason, shoving me forward. Eric grows impatient when I stop at the step to ask who this guy is. His hands fly to my waist, and he practically tosses me inside, then throws the bags in after me. "Everly, unless you want to die, I suggest you move."
"Wait!" I look up at him, and the guy urges them to get inside. Jason is a second behind Eric. He slams the door shut and locks it, and he lurches forward when the RV takes off. I'm thrown off balance as the man drives way too fast, but he's smart.
The zombies emerge out of everywhere. They appear in the docking bay, from doors exiting the hotel, and the lobby. The guy drives around, passing the now useless patrol car, and over the curb. He takes out the fence at the end of the valet drive, driving through without stopping. Eric helps steady me, and I lose my balance again, when we run someone, or something over.
Eric looks up front, and with a heavy sigh, he shakes his head.
Jason grins, and he grins even harder when Eric roars for Harrison to try and not hit anyone else on the way out.
Harrison tells him to sit down and shut up, and behind us, the strip becomes a distant but not entirely unpleasant memory.
Chapter 9: The Getaway
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading along! :)
Major thanks to Erin for editing!
Chapter Text
"Is this Esperanza?"
Harrison glances back at Eric and me, but his eyes immediately return to the street. He drives through city without any hesitation, and as we head away from the hotels, the landscaping changes. The sprawling casinos and pools disappear, turning to lush desert landscaping, and large, planned communities spanning for miles.
"Well, is she Esperanza or not? You should answer me before we get too far away. I have no plans of going back there, Lieutenant," Harrison calls out, and he swerves wildly to avoid someone in the road. I'm thrown to the side, and I regain my balance once Eric catches my elbow. "Eric? Jason? Is anyone going to answer me? If she's not Esperanza..."
I look up at Eric, and his expression is interesting. Pained, and he shuts his eyes for a moment, then shakes his head like he's having a weird case of déjà vu.
"Harrison…" he grits out,
"Who is Esperanza? My name is Everly," I answer him, and I steady myself. "Are you… Harrison?"
"The one and only."
His answer is dry and amused. He's taller and older than I pictured, but I'm not really sure who I pictured. He reminds me of Eric, but less serious, and with a zest for running people over.
"Welcome aboard. Now that I know she's the one you've been looking for, Coulter, why don't you have her go wash up? We've got about twenty hours until our destination, give or take a few stops, and I'm assuming she doesn't want to sit here drenched in blood."
"Twenty hours!" Jason groans. "Shit, how fast can you go?"
"Do you want the RV to explode, or do you want to get there alive? Because I thought we agreed on arriving with all of our limbs intact." Harrison is unfazed, and he dismisses Jason completely. "I'm hoping we can minimize our stops, but we'll see. This piece of shit doesn't get great gas milage."
"Is it yours?" I glance around, and I have to say, the inside is…interesting.
It's certainly not the hotel room from Caesar's palace, but it's zombie free and reasonably clean.
"It is now. Eric, go get the blood out of her hair. We'll stop somewhere scenic for dinner. If it's safe. Jason, grab a towel and come tell me what the fuck happened to you three." Harrison insists, and Jason nods.
He leaves to go sit with Harrison, but he catches my eye, and probably the uncertain look on my face, and snickers. "Enjoy your shower. And don't worry, Harrison is harmless. Mostly helpful. Slightly…insane, but hey, who isn't these days?"
"Where am I supposed to wash up? And why does he keep asking if you found me?" I ask, and Eric pulls my arm. He tugs me closer to him, and he points a few feet away.
"I'll explain later. Just…let's get cleaned up."
"Okay," I step away to let go of the bag, and I glance back at Harrison and Jason. Both are now deep in conversation about the zombies, and I hear Harrison say they reminded him of fruit gushers. Jason laughs, and the normalcy of their conversation –so appropriate for now, but so strange a few months ago –makes me smile.
This morning might have gone absolutely nuts, but there's an odd feeling of safety being here, even if Harrison is driving eighty miles an hour.
The water is hot.
I bask under the warm spray of weird RV water, and I'm embarrassed to admit I know very little about how this is even possible. On the three second tour Eric gave me, he pointed out the RV had a lot of amenities, and these sorts of vehicles were commonly used by people touring through the states. This particular one is equipped so someone could live in it: there's a kitchen, a combination dining and seating area with several weird animal skulls mounted to the walls, and a small area with bunk beds. Eric led me to a bathroom with a decent sized shower, then explained there was a bedroom a few steps away, behind another door.
It's by no means a ton of space, but considering the threat of the zombies outside, I found it a fantastically smart option.
I idly wonder if it's from the police department. The outside has been altered so Harrison can run over whomever he pleases, and the inside has guns and ammunition strewn around. There are a few phones, some laptops, police files, and several boxes labeled 'medical'. The bathroom is clean and warm, and it has all kinds of things inside the cabinet, including several bottles of antibiotics and dozens of bottles of rubbing alcohol.
It also has some interesting shampoo. I use one of the larger bottles to wash the blood and guts out of my hair while Eric yells something to Jason, and I condition it as he returns. Through the door, he asks if I'm okay, and I tell him I'm fine.
It's not a total lie.
I am mostly alright. My shoulder hurts where I hit it, and the water burns when it hits raw skin. I wash it with soap the best I can, and when my fingers touch the sorest spot, I grit my teeth together.
"Fuck," I swear, and I teeter back and forth between being grateful I'm alive, and being absolutely fucking horrified by what has happened.
The fragility of our situation weighs on me, because as invincible as Eric believes he is, and as brave as I think I am, we are vulnerable. Even armed, even hidden twenty-three floors in the sky, even barreling down the freeway in an RV meant to kill, does not make us immune to what's going on.
All it would take is a single bite for one of us to turn, and it would be over.
"Everly?"
I can hear Eric calling my name as I reach for the bottle on the shelf, and he sounds worried. I wash my face slowly, imagining myself as a zombie while Eric announces he has my bag of clothes. His tone is defensive, like he blames himself for the attack, and he demands to know if I'm alright.
After months with him, I know his concern is heavy, and nowhere near as hidden as he thinks.
"I'm okay, I promise!" I call out, but the words are wobbly. "I'm just…I'm almost done. Sorry for taking so long."
"I don't care. I just wanted to make sure you weren't sick again," he answers, and I close my eyes. There's the faintest muffle of Jason shouting that he'll take a shower when everyone is done, and I realize I should hurry.
"I'm not. Everything is…fine."
I say this as evenly as I can, but it's drowned beneath the rush of still warm water. A second later, the RV sways. There is a moment of vertigo; the RV drives nicely, but Harrison is clearly in a hurry to get out of here, and the sensation of standing upright while he speeds, is weird. He changes lanes again, right as I reach to turn the water off, and I crash into the wall, swearing when I hit my elbow.
"Great. That's awesome," I mumble to no one, stepping of the shower to grab a towel. It's bright and colorful, a stark contrast to the plain bathroom, and I use it to dry my hair. This bathroom isn't huge, but there's a vanity and sink, and enough space for two people. When my hair is no longer soaking wet, I wrap the towel around me, and open the door to see if my bag is there.
Instead, I find Eric waiting.
His eyes go right to mine. They don't stay there, and I smile when his stare drops to my neck, moves to my shoulder, and down my arms. There's nothing accusatory about it, but pure concern, and maybe a hint of worry that I'd been bitten or scratched.
"Are you sure you're okay?" He quirks one eyebrow up, and he crosses his arms when I nod. "Harrison is going to drive for the next nine hours. He's got some extra gas, has apparently drank enough espresso to kill a horse, and claims he's been waiting for this day for a week now."
"Did you talk to him while we were in Vegas?" I pull the towel tighter, and his stare moves to my fingers. He reaches out to touch them, skimming my skin for the briefest second. "I didn't hear him call."
"You were sleeping. I would…" Eric pauses, and his gaze holds a hint of guilt. "I would sometimes call him after you fell asleep. I kept him alerted of our position in case something happened. I figured when he got here, we'd drive out together, but I had a hard time believing we'd really see him."
"He seems nice," I shrug, and Eric snorts.
"Yeah, well… he's very excited to meet you." His eyes find mine, and I know right then and there, that there's more to Harrison than he's letting on. "He's been asking about you since Haling."
"Has he? Or was he asking about Esperanza?" I smile again, because despite the head wound, the blood covered shirt, and the tense posture, Eric looks relieved. He almost looks content, though I bet it's bugging him that he's not driving. "Who is Esperanza? Your other wife?"
"Trust me, one wife is all I can handle," he mutters, and he averts his stare. "I'll let you get dressed then I'll shower. He said throw your clothes in the bag outside. Apparently, he has a knowledge of still working laundry mats. Or we'll wash them in the sink."
"Okay." I wait for him to leave, and he lingers when I reach for the bag. "Eric, wait. I wanted to thank you –"
"You don't have to thank me. I didn't do anything," Eric insists, but he did.
Even if he doesn't think so.
"Um…" I pause when he looks at me, and I lose my nerve completely. "Never mind. I'll um, I'll just get dressed now."
He leaves with a nod, and it takes him all of six steps to be back in the kitchen. I stare at the back of his head for a second, and scowl at myself for being chicken shit.
I was so close to asking him what he meant about one wife being all he can handle, or if he was truly serious when he proposed, but I can't bring myself to physically speak the words.
I close the bathroom door slowly, and I figure I'll ask him later, right before he goes to sleep.
The bed is larger than expected.
I lie back with my head on Eric's chest, watching some terrible movie. Once I'd gotten dressed in a sundress and a pair of painfully pink underwear, Eric went to take a shower. I stood there woozily, feeling the RV move at a speed that felt way too fast, and Jason cheerfully told me I should lie down. He found my stare in the rear-view mirror, said he knew I hadn't gotten much sleep, then winked.
He wasn't wrong.
I didn't want to tell him he was right, and since I was too tired to pretend that he didn't know what had happened last night, I went to sit on the bed. I was shocked to find clean sheets, numerous pillows, and a selection of movies. It took me three minutes to figure out how to turn the tv on, a small console hidden above the built-in dresser, and three more minutes to pick a movie. Having had my fill of zombie and monsters, I picked out a comedy about four friends who had a bachelor party in Vegas, and turned it on. By the time Eric was done, I was half asleep, but still trying to figure out if the movie was based off a real-life situation.
He appeared a few minutes later, toweling off his hair, dressed like he was going out on patrol. He stared at me, tossed the towel aside, and climbed onto the bed.
"Hey, how does it have a shower?"
I ask as I find Eric's hand. I pick it up, examining his fingers for cuts or scratches, relieved when I find none. The way the infection spread seemed to be through their bite, but Jason had mentioned something about saliva. I wondered if it could get into a cut or scratch, and the thought makes me nervous.
Beside me, Eric shifts, and when he answers, he sounds just as tired as I am. "The RV? It has a water tank. The water gets recycled, filtered, and heated. Knowing Harrison, it's got some crazy large tank not meant for it that he rigged. Have you never seen one before?"
"No," I shake my head, and my life experience seems pretty bleak, right down to the types of cars I've been in. "Have you?"
I can feel him looking down at the top of my head. He shifts ever so slightly, and his exhale is heavy. "Yeah. I've worked in several of them. Driven to a few different states, taken it camping. I'd say this is safer than a motel room right now."
"Is this his RV?" I hold my fingers up to his, pressing my palm flat. It's oddly intimate to hold his hand, especially now. This feels way more intense than last night, especially when Eric slips his fingers through mine and folds them over.
"Yeah. It used to belong to the police station. They use them as DUI checkpoints," Eric answers. "I think he won it at an auction, but rumor has it, he threatened everyone else not to bid on it. I think he takes it camping and hunting. He's been working on it for a few years instead of working. Every time Rylan went to find him with actual work, he was outside, doing something to it. He'd always convince Rylan to help, and then I'd have everyone on my ass, wondering why nothing got done."
"He sounds fun," I yawn, hating how tired I am. "What if we fall asleep? Is that okay?"
"Yeah, I don't think there's much to do now. It'll take a while to get to Oregon, and Harrison is only half convinced the safe zone is still operating. So, I wouldn't worry. You can sleep if you want. I'm not tired."
Jason was right.
Eric is a terrible liar.
I know, because he pushes the ring around my finger, then drops our hands and settles back against the pillows. My eyes start to feel heavy, so I turn off the movie, and he doesn't ask why. I never do find out if the guys find their friend, or what happens past them realizing he's gone, or what Eric's thoughts are on marriage, because I fall asleep, and I don't wake up until Harrison loudly announces we're stopping soon.
We don't.
We eat lunch in the RV, while Jason updates his blog. He types quickly on Harrison's laptop, and every so often, he stands up to check on him.
Each time, Harrison tells him to go sit down.
I find myself adjusted to the feeling of walking while the RV moves, and it helps to eat dinner. Jason heats everything on the stove –pulled pork tacos and rice –and I find it surprisingly edible. I don't ask where it's from, but Jason hints that Harrison is very resourceful, and that it's fresher than I'm imagining.
He makes us promise not to leave the table, even though both of us are done. He serves us dessert, clearly still harboring some guilt over Vegas, and when he sets down the giant bowl of ice cream, Eric's knee hits mine.
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, and I glance back at him with a grin.
Eric eats a single bite, swallowed down like it's poison, and he lets me have the rest.
"So, who left you behind? Mom? Dad? Brother? Weird neighbor who lives next door?"
Harrison glances over at me, and I look up at him. The front seat of the RV is oddly spacious, very comfortable, and way higher than it looks. I pull my feet up beneath me, and in the background, Jason frantically tries to get ahold of Meghan. The frustration is easy to see on his face, and even Harrison pointing out her phone might have died and she might not have a way to charge it, does little to ease his worry.
"Or did you find Eric so appealing, you just ran off with him as soon as you saw his perfectly parted hair?"
I start cracking up before I can stop myself. When I look over in Harrison's direction, it looks like he's trying not to laugh, too.
"My mom left me behind. She went to go meet my dad. He called and said he was coming home from work early, and asked her to meet him. She took my younger brothers and sisters, but I was still sleeping and I guess she didn't want to wake me up. I was upset at first, but…" I pause my confession, watching Harrison careen down an endless stretch of highway. "I'm not a child. I would have been fine if this wasn't the zombie apocalypse. And anyway, this has proven to be way more exciting."
"Oh yeah, I can imagine. Life on the road with Eric as opposed to getting stuck in whatever bullshit CDC approved zone they assign you." He shakes his head. "You're from Haling? The nearest one to you would have been Meadow Brooke. It's a good thing you didn't stick around. The whole thing went down in a matter of days. The got it up and running, ushered everyone in, and it went to shit when someone became infected. One guy ate nineteen people before someone realized."
"I never even saw a safe zone," I tilt my head curiously, watching him roll his eyes. "Did you?"
"I ran two of them. One I was asked to run, the other I took over. No time for morons in charge, you know what I mean?" He waves his hand dismissively. "I took off when I realized things were getting bad, and their research had conflicting results. I've been bouncing back and forth, trying to find Daniel and Camille, trying to make sure Rylan is alive, looking for Eric and Jason. Last I heard, Daniel was heading to Oregon. This safe zone is supposedly one of the best, according to him. He thinks they're trying to restructure once they get the infection under control."
"Is Daniel nice?" I sink back further into the seat, and Jason quietly shrieks when Meghan finally answers her phone. "Eric hasn't told me much about him."
"He's nice enough. A little ridiculous about the hair, but Eric's the same way. He's excellent at this job and has a great reputation with the other agencies. He's always swilling to let FBI and CIA help whenever their interest is piqued, but he's smart about it. He knows what'll get them on his side, and what's for their benefit. He's also pretty good to the people who know him. I like Camille much better than Blythe, bet Eric won't tell you that. He doesn't like either of them."
"Is Camile…Daniel's girlfriend?" I guess, and before us, the road turns sharply. "Eric doesn't seem to love her."
Harrison snickers. "Eric doesn't love anyone. Best he can do is minimally tolerate someone. Except for you. He seems pretty hung up on keeping you with him. The first thing he said when we talked, was that he has a survivor and if we do reach safety, she stays with him. I thought it was a little strange, but I didn't push the issue. Every time we talked, I learned a little more. He tries to act like he doesn't have feelings, but he was very firm in his declaration that you were to go with him, and you were to be protected as well as any other officer."
I let this sink in.
Eric asking for my protection, demanding the same treatment as if I were a fellow officer, is pretty interesting.
So is Harrison bringing it up.
"Yeah, he's pretty…quiet. He didn't tell me much about his parents," I answer. "He seems very…standoffish, when he does talk about his dad."
Harrison nods.
"He should be. For a while, it was all anyone would talk about. They went through a very public, very messy divorce. Blythe did her best to ruin his reputation and paint Camille as a homewrecker, but it's far from the truth. Daniel gave up when Blythe couldn't be bothered to put any effort in. Eric blames Camile, but he also hates Blythe after she told everyone he got the job only because of his father. He spent all his time and energy proving her wrong. It was a rough, few years for all of them."
"She said that?" I blink in surprise. "Eric seems really good at his job. When we found each other, he was very professional. He was still acting like everything was normal."
"I'm sure. They were told to conduct themselves as though the states weren't slowly becoming overrun by the undead. Eric had to lead an example for his staff, but it also gave off a sense of normalcy. If you're still arresting people and tending to traffic accidents, it's easy to ignore the walkers."
"Yeah, that makes sense." I agree, and the RV falls silent.
I decide I like him.
He's smart and interesting, a little eccentric, but clearly knowledgeable. He handles the RV well, and in a lot of ways, he reminds me of my dad. Calm, unrattled by pretty much anything, and easy going. The thought of my father makes my chest hurt, but not in the gut-wrenching way I would expect. It's not a deep sorrow, like I'm mourning the loss of him or I know he's dead, but something else.
Like, I know he's alright, but odds are, I'll never see him again.
Not even if the apocalypse ends, or Eric dropped me back off in Haling Cove.
I let myself feel sad, while Harrison carefully drives around a curve. The grief of losing my family, even temporarily, is heavy, but understandable. When I remind myself that logically, the odds of seeing them again are almost none, it's easier to accept our separation. I exhale slowly, earning a slight and quick stare from Harrison, and he throws me a sympathetic smile.
He reaches over, pats my arm once, and nods his head.
"It'll get easier. I promise. I've spent a lot of time on the road, and the drive can bring up all kinds of things. If your family is out there, they'll be alright. They aren't your responsibility to worry about."
My lips part to say something –perhaps to ask if he's a mind reader –but he turns back to the road, and the pain in my chest lessens just a little. I sit there with him, silently, as he drives for so long that eventually, Eric wakes up. Jason quits talking to Meghan, promising he'll see her soon, and Harrison loudly informs him they're going in opposite directions.
Jason doesn't care.
He does come up front to talk to us, and eventually, so does Eric. Eric's fingers skim my shoulder, down my shoulder blade, and they press gently near where I hit it.
They stay there, careful and warm, curling into my skin when Harrison announces we're pulling over soon.
Denio has a population of less than a hundred people.
Someone has taken the time to cross out the current population and write fifty-six over it. They've also crossed out the name of the city, and in its place, is a warning to go back while you still can.
Harrison seems to take it as a challenge. He poses near the sign, pointing at it with a smirk, and insists I take his picture. I snap a few on his phone –one very similar to Eric's –and he informs me he approves. Jason asks if I'll take a few of him, and to the side of me, Eric sighs in exasperation.
He nudges my arm with his, and darkly points out that we should get moving.
I agree.
The RV feels safe.
Being outside has a sudden unsafe feeling, one that I don't like.
"Not until I get a picture of the both of you. Jason said he wants one for his blog." Harrison informs us, and in the distance, Jason wanders a few feet away to examine the run-down post office. It looms in the background ominously, boarded up and streaked with blood. "I read his blog a few times. I found his weapon choice and odds of survival incorrect, but he didn't care about my feedback."
"Wonderful," Eric grits out, and he slides his arm around my waist. "Take your picture and let's go. This place is a shit hole, which means it's likely crawling with the infected."
"Smile. Smile, Eric. I said smile, not make that terrible face!" Harrison scowls, and only then does Eric grin. It's wry and mean, and I laugh when he rolls his eyes. "Fine. Ruin Jason's blog. See if I care."
"I care!" Jason announces, and he hops down from a lone boulder and jogs over to us. "This place is a goldmine. Are you sure we can't stay for a few days? There's a hot spring and an abandoned mine…an empty hotel…there's even a wildlife refuge!"
"Sounds exciting. Also sounds like a great way to die," Harrison retorts, glancing down at his watch. "Alright, I thought we'd check out the gas pumps. If we don't find anything, we'll try the next town."
"Sure. How much gas do you need? I thought you had extra?" Eric walks away from sign, and he looks around. "Twenty gallons?"
"Whatever we can take. I have enough to drive for a few weeks. The trade-off is that it makes the RV highly flammable." Harrison is seemingly unbothered by this piece of information, and he insists we hurry. "Come on. We don't have all day."
"Wait, are you saying if the RV catches fires…" Jason starts, concern all over his face, but Harrison cuts him off.
"That's right. It explodes. Now hurry, and let's get a move on."
He leads us toward the gas pumps, away from the sign and the post office, and I take a look around while the three of them see if there's anything left. They come up not entirely emptyhanded; a few minutes pass before Jason cheers with success, and Eric tells him to shut up.
Harrison tells both of them to shut up, and the three of them argue over who should shut up first.
"Hey, we should go," I call out, fear creeping up my spine.
From the post office, in between shards of shattered glass and dirt-stained wood, someone is watching. Their eyes follow Jason, Eric, and Harrison, and then they turn to me. They blink once, and I step away, taking off like the ground is on fire.
Harrison must have seen it, too.
He instructs everyone back into the RV, and we leave as fast as we can. Jason and Eric carry the gas cannisters, and I beat them to the door. Once everyone is inside, Harrison locks the doors, and we take off with a screech. I watch from the window, balanced on the tiny bench in the tiny kitchen, and this time, there is a face. It's grey and sunken in, and its mouth moves oddly, chewing absolutely nothing.
I turn away when Jason asks me what's wrong, and when I tell him, he looks woefully uneasy.
As the sun begins to sink, we stop at a look out point full of people.
It's a strange sight from the road, and an even stranger sight to see up close. Days of motel hopping and trying to stay alive have made human life seem rare. The only person I knew then was Eric, and most of the time, it was just him and me, carving out another section of highway. If we encountered someone else –a sketchy motel owner, or an arrogant hotel clerk –I immediately found them suspicious.
Eric understood.
I think in a lot of ways, he liked our world being just us, so the sight of people –especially in such a larger number –is almost scarier than the zombies.
I step out behind Eric, into a sharp cold evening, and I wrap my arms around myself. The cars here are numerous, and there are dozens of people milling around, some frantic, but most determined. I catch the stares of several mothers, all clutching their children and murmuring that things will be fine, but their gaze is hungry. They watch as Eric takes hold of my hand, and he pulls me through the crowd, toward the vending machines.
Their voices drift over to us, carried by the breeze. Each one holds concern, grief over their old lives, and fear over how things will turn out. One mentions she's afraid her husband won't be able to keep them safe, and it's confessed softly, but honestly. She berates not his cowardice over the living dead, but that the one who attacked him was his brother.
I try to listen, but Eric's fingers skim down to my lower back, then he presses his palm flat. He guides me away from them, over to an area off to the side.
It sits nestled between trees and gravel, darker than the building for the restrooms. There are six machines beneath a crumbling roof, all still stocked and ready to go, but there is no power coming to them. A group of teenage boys stand a few feet away, near the other entrance. They look nervously at Eric, but he pays them no mind. He strolls past, and points at the one with chips and candy.
"Do you want anything?"
He looks at me, grey eyes fixed on my bare arms, and I smile when he starts to scowl. "I'll have some pretzels. And I'm fine. It's not that cold out here."
"Uh huh."
He looks pointedly when I shiver, then reaches into his pocket to pull something out. I wonder if perhaps he has a universal key to these machines, or he knows something I don't, but I'm wrong on both counts. He pulls out a knife, then uses the end to shatter the protective glass. It breaks with a loud crack, much easier than I would have assumed, and the boys watch with rapt fascination as Eric clears away as much of the glass as he can. He then reaches in to pull out several bags of pretzels, and he takes some M&Ms, before handing me a few bags of skittles.
"They're Harrison's favorite. If you give them to him, maybe he'll let you drive the RV." Eric half jokes, taking a few more. "Anything else?"
"Surprise me."
He obliges.
He grabs several bags of candy, tossing them once he's sure I'll catch them, and smirks when he hands me several more bags of skittles. I smile back, and when my hands can't hold any more, I announce I think we have enough.
"Do you want to meet me at the RV? I'm going to go give these to Harrison."
"Sure. I'll grab you a drink."
I take a single step before more glass shatters, and there is a cheerful gasp as the boys ask if they can help.
I leave him there with his adoring fans, and I overhear him tell them to take whatever they want. One begs for him to do the other vending machine, and to my surprise, he does. I hear one ask where he got a knife, and he hotly informs them he's a police officer, and they all should be armed if they want to stay alive.
"His thievery is so charming, is it not?"
I look up to see Jason watching, and he yells for Eric to grab him a Coke.
"Did you learn that in your police training?" I ask, watching him snicker when Eric emerges, arms full of snacks and a few sodas. "Or is this a skill he learned on his own?"
"You know, I did miss a day of training, so maybe it was the day they went over vandalizing vending machines. Kinda bummed if it was." He pauses when Eric arrives, and he takes the can and salutes him mockingly. "Nice. You left your fan club behind."
"Yeah, well, something tells me no one's coming by to fill the machines. Might as well take it before it goes bad," Eric mutters. He hands Jason most of what he's taken, and Jason grins in pure delight. "Speaking of things gone bad, where's Harrison?"
"Talking to some lady. One of her kids is very interested in his RV, and he's trying to figure out how to keep him from touching anything." Jason laughs, and we all turn to look where he's parked. He's standing there talking with someone, and every so often, one of the kids tries to touch the metal spikes. "You guys doing good? I got a text from Rylan. He said he's looking forward to seeing everyone."
"That's all he said? That's so…" Eric pauses, and a family walks by with tense smiles. "Tame. I'm shocked he didn't say something like he's elected himself the new president of the US."
"Give him time. You know it's coming."
Jason's answer is washed away in the sounds of the lookout point. The crowd here seems to be heading the same way we are: it appears most know of the safe zone, and most are convinced it's up and running. The woman talking with Harrison beams when her husband comes by, and he picks up the kids, taking him around to peer inside the RV. For a few minutes, everything is normal. No one is infected. No one is screaming. And the only unease is that Harrison is now showing one of the older kids how to impale a zombie, while a small group watches him.
"We should go. He's dangerous when he's teaching people…things. Someone is going to lose an eye."
Eric's fingers touch mine.
They graze against my skin carefully, until he takes my hand in his. I hold on tightly, and the woman from earlier stares. I smile as we walk by, her kids jumping up and down and wiggling in every direction, and I bet they stopped because the kids were sick of being in the car.
Eric does not smile.
He ignores them as we walk, his shoulders back and head held high, and his arrogance is amusing. A few of the younger boys whisper in awe, pointing at him and excitedly announcing how they heard he's a police officer, and one whispers that he has a gun. Eric barely blinks in their direction, but Jason waves.
"This happens often. All the little kids love Eric, especially in uniform. So do the ladies," Jason snorts. He smiles even wider when Eric glances down at the little kids, and they're thrilled.
The bravest one waves. He waits patiently for Eric to notice him, stepping forward slowly, like he wants to say hello. He's clearly nervous, but his hero worship is on full display, especially when Eric stops. "Hi!"
Eric smiles in faux friendliness, pauses, and offers a very simple hello.
"Are you really a cop?"
The little boy is wild with excitement. He looks at Eric's hair, his dark blue shirt, his black pants, and the gun on his hip, and it's obvious he's hopeful Eric will be the hero he's thinking of. When Eric nods, the little kids face lights up.
"Can you write tickets? Because my mom said cops are assholes, and the last time she got pulled over, the fucker gave her a ticket!"
"Henry!" The mom blurts his name out, and she looks horrified. She stares at Eric with wide eyes, and she looks like she knows he might kill her. "I am so, so sorry. I didn't say all cops are assholes! I wasn't even speeding. It's just that this cop sits by the school and we were late, and he claimed I was going ten over and…um…" She pauses, and her stare finds me, pleadingly. "I'm sure you're an excellent officer, and very fair."
He glares at her.
I do my best not to laugh, because she looks like she might throw up.
"Eric…"
"You know, I can write tickets. Should I give your mom one? Was she speeding now?" Eric glances back at me, and to my relief, he looks amused. "How fast was she going? Seventy?"
"A hundred," the kid emphasizes. "Because I said I was gonna barf. But I wasn't. I just wanted to get out of the car. Hey, can I go with you? I can shoot a Nerf gun."
"Yeah, come on. Let him come with us. Eric, you can train him." Jason joins us, and he looks wildly entertained. "Hey, kid. Do you know Eric here is a police Lieutenant? He ranks way high up there!"
"Whoa!"
"Maybe someday you'll have his job," Jason offers, and Eric throws him a dirty look. "Calm down, Coulter. He's got a few years. He's like, three."
"I'm six!" Henry protests, but he looks at me. "Is that your wife? My mom said you look too mean to have a wife. She said all cops should –"
"Henry, I think we should go!" His mom interrupts, and to her credit, her face is bright red. "I'm sure uh, this police Lieutenant is very nice. And so is his girlfriend."
"His wife," Jason corrects, and Eric snorts. "Don't lie to the kid, Eric."
"It was nice meeting you. Enjoy your drive," Eric sneers at the mom, and he stands up straight. "I won't ticket anyone this time. But next time –"
"Are you going to the coast? We have a beach house! You guys can come, too." Henry interrupts, hopeful as ever, and Eric looks like he'd rather die than go anywhere this kid is. "We have lots of beach toys, and we're hoping there aren't any of the zombies there. My dad says they aren't smart enough to have a beach house."
"Nah, zombies don't have beach front property. He's not wrong," Jason encourages Henry. "Sounds lovely, but we're going to Oregon. Eric and his wife are, too."
"Jason," I start to crack up, because Eric looks like he's had his fill of everyone around him, and a few feet away, it looks like Harrison might have accidentally stabbed someone. "We should get going. Henry, it was nice to meet you."
"Okay."
His disappointment is heavy, but understandable. Jason gives him a sticker shaped like a police badge and tells him to have fun, and Eric grits out a forced goodbye. His grip on my hand tightens, and we walk silently toward Harrison, watching him discuss the proper way to dispose of a zombie. He explains how the brain has to be punctured in order to stop them, or they'll reanimate before you can blink.
The world returns to the apocalypse, quick and forceful. I throw Harrison a weak grin as we walk by, and a few in the crowd ask if they can tag along.
I don't hear Harrison's response.
The mood turns tense a minute later, when Jason spills his soda on Eric and Harrison yells at him not to make a mess, then even tenser when Meghan does not answer her phone.
Any of the thirty-six times Jason calls.
When the clock reads eleven thirty, I find myself in an existential crisis.
The RV is quiet. It speeds down the highway on a mission; Harrison has let Eric drive so he can sleep –his espresso having finally worn off –and Jason crashed on one of the bunks after eating his weight in Twix bars. Eric drives down a road so dark it's impossible to see very far head, and the sides are thick with darkness. I try to make out trees, or dirt, or anything, but it seems ominous, like a nightmare pressing in on us.
I sit beside Eric with my feet pulled beneath me, contemplating what's next. My brain runs wild with ideas about what life will be like post zombies, and if that day will ever come. I try to picture where I'll be, perhaps with Eric, or maybe at least somewhere near him, or trying to explain to someone how my lone marriage proposal occurred after vomiting from the stench of zombies.
I exhale wearily at the thought; Jason is slightly more tolerant of the smell of death, and Eric seems mostly unfazed.
He's unfazed by a lot. Even now, he sips on the hours old coffee Jason made him as an apology for spilling his drink all over him. Eric looks over at me out of the corner of his eyes, and when I stay quiet, he reaches over and knocks my hand with his.
"You okay? You look…nervous."
"Yeah, I was just…thinking about things," I nod, but really, I'm starting to feel panicky.
The thought of the safe zone is no longer as appealing as it once was. Harrison hinted they aren't as safe as they claim to be, nor are they well managed. It sounds like the whole thing is a disaster; no one really knows what to do, and each attempt to keep them zombie free has failed. There's also the concern that despite Eric's insistence that we stay together, we'll be separated. I have no clue who is running this place or what it's like, but I imagine tents set up, and families torn apart, as those who could help were sent to work. My limited experience of watching Zander will no doubt land me in a daycare, or worse, a zombie daycare.
"What is the safe zone like?" I ask, and I pull my feet down. "Have you been to one?"
Eric shrugs. "I've seen them setting up. I'm assuming they're all the same. Most utilize a rec center or hotel. According to what Harrison told me, they check you for infection, assign housing, and if you can be of assistance, then you help. It's mostly military, but any and all civilians are encouraged to head there. Harrison thinks they're building an army. He claims the president is dead, though he's big on conspiracy theories, so who knows? The military are working with the CDC to help get things under control."
He pauses to take a sip, and makes a face.
"At least that's what I heard a few weeks ago."
"Do you think the president is dead?" I haven't thought about this, but it somehow makes the situation seem more intense. "Are there still news stations working? Or anything on the radio?"
"The president isn't dead. He's a reptilian!" Jason mumbles, still half asleep, but awake enough to hear what Eric is saying. "I like marshmallows. Do you have any Lucky Charms?"
Eric and I look at each other. I lose my attempt at not giggling, and Eric shakes his head.
"Tell him no. The last thing he needs is more sugar."
"Will we be split up? You and Harrison and Jason are all police. Your dad is, too. But I'm –"
"No, we will not be split up." Eric answers firmly, and Jason drowsily asks if Eric can pass him a brick. Eric yells back sure, and Jason thanks him in Spanish. "Look, I'm not even sure this place exists. Harrison has concerns that…"
He pauses when his phone rings. We both look at the console, and his father's name is lit up on the screen. It vibrates toward the edge, close to falling.
"Can you grab that?" Eric slows the RV down, because up ahead are glittering lights. It looks like a barricade, and it spans across the lanes. In the distance, there is someone standing, and they wave for Eric to come to a stop. "I think we've reached a checkpoint."
"Sure."
I grab the phone before it falls, and I press answer. There's a moment of crackling static, then Eric's father speaks.
"…. Eric?"
It cuts in and out.
I flash back to the radio in the patrol car, and the uncomfortable way the voices would stop and start. It was often when someone needed help, or we were close to connecting with a still functioning police department.
I say hello as the RV comes to a stop, and Eric unrolls the window. The man waiting there greets us; he's dressed in black, holding a flashlight, and Daniel's voice cuts in and out when the man asks if we're okay. There's a robotic screech as the call drops, and when I look at Eric, the man looks at me.
I'm of no interest to him.
His stare goes back to Eric, and he runs a hand through his messy hair, shifting nervously as he shines the flashlight on us.
"Are you headed into Oregon for any reason other than the safe zone?" I catch a glimpse of his nametag, taped to his jacket like he was in a hurry. Below his name, Chad, it reads Oregon State Police Task Force. "We're advising all travelers to head to safety. We are advising against trying to make it on your own, or taking up residence in a home that does not belong to you. We have no officers available to help."
"Is your police department still active?" Eric asks, and Chad nods.
"Are you an officer?" His nose is crooked, like someone broke it and it healed just to the side. "We have roughly thirty-six officers covering the state right now."
"The entire state?" Eric raises an eyebrow. "That's impossible."
"It's all we have left. There is some military help further in." Chad's gaze slides over to me, and he points. "Who's the girl? Is she infected?"
"She's with me," Eric snaps, and his patience for this overgrown dude bro runs out. "Do you need anything else? We're with the Lake View Police Department. We can be of assistance once we reach the safe zone, and none of us are infected. If you're done here, I'd like to get going."
"Sorry," Chad mutters. "These are required questions. We've had lots coming through here, thinking they'll be fine on their own, so this is a precautionary measure. Any fevers? Cuts? Scratches? Coughing up blood, or vomiting?"
"No." Eric is impatient, and I get the feeling he doesn't like Chad very much.
"Any dizziness or fatigue?"
"It's nearly midnight," Eric points out dryly. "Aren't you feeling tired?"
Chad glares at him. I can tell he'd like to tell him off, but he eases up, shrugging and rolling his eyes.
"Fine. Keep to the left up ahead. The mountains can be tricky, so make sure you keep to the posted speed. Three hours from here is a second check point. Give them your names, and they'll get you started with housing and medical."
"Great. Is the safe zone full? Have you a had a lot coming through here?" Eric asks, and I notice Chad's expression turns uncomfortable. "Is there something I should know?"
"No," Chad shakes his head, and he steps away from the RV. "You'll be fine. Enjoy your drive. If you can, avoid stopping. The rest areas aren't being monitored like they were before."
He holds Eric's stare for a moment, then averts his off to the side. He waves us through, and Eric takes off without answering.
"Well, that was weird," I turn back to look at him, but he disappears from my sight. "It sounds like he knows way more than he's letting on."
"He definitely knows something," Eric answers tightly, and my chest tightens. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be fine. He's got a crap job, standing out here, checking to see who's showing up. He doesn't even have backup. I wouldn't worry."
"Okay."
We lapse into silence, forgetting about Chad and Daniel's phone call, as the night presses in around us.
Eventually, it's so dark it's impossible to see, and I can't tell if my eyes are open or closed.
"Everly."
I open my eyes to Eric mumbling my name. It takes me a second to wake up, and to my surprise, we're in bed, buried beneath a heavy blanket. The last thing I remember is Eric driving, and the lights on the street ceasing to work. It was so dark I couldn't tell where were going, so I shut my eyes, and must have fallen asleep.
Now, Eric is sound asleep facing me, and up front, I can hear Jason and Harrison laughing. Their voices filter back, lighthearted and happy, and sunlight trickles in from the open door.
Or maybe it's interior lighting.
It's accompanied by a familiar, faint ringing. It goes on long enough that I wake up more than I like, but Eric doesn't. I lift my head away from his chest, rubbing my eyes as he lets out of grunt of protest and one arm tightens on me, trying to pull me back. I wiggle away carefully, whispering I'll be right back. I climb out of the bed when he mumbles something, and my stare lands on his phone.
It's atop the small dresser, ringing endlessly.
For half a second, I contemplate answering it. There is no name on the screen, and when I pick it up, the call ends. I stand there debating my next move, and the RV sways as I decide I have nothing left to lose.
I take the phone with me. I head through the door, taking two steps into the hallway, and I freeze. In the front, Jason asks Harrison how close we are to the safe zone, and I miss the answer. Harrison says something that makes him laugh, then asks him about Meghan. Jason turns slightly, so he can look at Harrison, and Harrison glances at him.
Neither notice me.
Even if they did, they wouldn't think much of it.
Still, my heart races as I step into the bathroom, and I shut the door as carefully and quietly as I can. I wait a second, and when I'm sure Eric is still asleep, I sink to the floor.
Having no clue where my own phone is, I figure this is my only chance. I could always ask Eric to use his phone; I don't think he'd say no, but there's something embarrassingly juvenile about asking if I can call my mom. The unspoken assumption is that they are dead. There is no real reason to reach out, and even if they answer, odds are, they are nowhere near where I am.
Still, I want to try. I swipe the lock screen away, having grown familiar with Eric's phone, and I hold my breath while I dial my mom's number. I press the phone to my ear, and I stay totally still.
It rings.
And rings.
I exhale unevenly with each ring that follows, and each one seems louder than the previous one. I try to think of what I'll say if she does pick up. I want to ask her why she left without saying goodbye, or if she ever came back for me. I want to ask if she's alright, if my brothers and sisters are alright, and where they are. I wrangle with the idea of my brothers and sisters being attacked the same way Tris attacked Caleb, and it's an overwhelming thought.
I don't have to worry, though.
The phone goes to her voicemail.
My mother's voice is foreign in my ear, small and cheerful, as she brightly tells me to leave a message. I cling to a few flickers of hope, mostly because her phone is still on and charged enough for it to be active.
Most of all, I hope she's okay. I hope she's somewhere safe, away from the zombies, and with my dad. When the voicemail beeps, I try to gasp out that I'm alive, that I'm okay, and I'm heading to Oregon, but I can't. The words never leave my lips, and instead, they stick in the back of my throat, unwilling to come out.
I find myself unable to croak out a single syllable, and it grows impossible as the seconds tick by.
Eventually, I press end on the phone without looking, then inhale shakily. Eric's phone returns to the way it was before: a dark black background of nothingness, dozens of apps and icons he rarely used, and absolutely nothing else. No one calls back. No one texts. The phone remains dark, only dimly lit because I'm still touching the screen.
My eyes sting hard enough that I close them. I try to imagine myself in my mother's situation, corralling nearly half a dozen children through hordes of zombies. I try to imagine myself with kids trailing behind me, their lives placed in my hands, and their survival dependent solely on me. Maybe they ate up every single moment of her day, or maybe they wore her down to the point where I was a distant memory.
Or maybe she was simply trying to stay alive.
It still sucks.
I open my eyes to stare at the blank screen, and I open up his text messages on accident. I don't mean to; I'm not normally one to pry through someone's private business, although I did once willingly go through his photos, just so I could catch of a glimpse of who he was. Eric's life is still a mystery to me, and each tiny clue I find gets me that much closer to knowing him.
But I don't need to read his messages. I move to click out of them when Rylan's message pops up, and to my surprise, he keeps typing. I read the words carefully, noting he uses far more exclamation marks then necessary, and he sends a few photos. One is of him atop a cow, grinning widely. One is of him and Theo, scowling into the sunset while Rylan ate chicken nuggets and Theo tried to steal one. Another is him standing beside a giant rotting dinosaur sculpture, his long hair blowing in the wind, and his pants rolled up to two different lengths while he holds up the angry looking kitten.
He texts Eric endlessly, as though he's talking to him. He types out a tale of how he nearly fell down a hill, and another of how he found a playground with a giant pirate ship. He texts in sporadic bursts –as if one text is good, a dozen is better – and he talks about how he found a diner that reminded him of the time he and Eric went to a bar called Clyde's, and Eric refused to eat the onion rings after he swore the waitress dropped a few on the ground, then put them back on the plate.
His messages make me smile, until he calls.
I nearly drop the phone.
I fumble to catch it before it hits the ground, and I hit the answer button without meaning to. I gasp out NO, but he hears me.
There's a moment of heavy pause, and then he says my name slowly, drawing out each syllable on purpose.
"Oh shiiiiit. Is this…Evvverrrrrleeeeeee?!" His level of excitement rivals Zander's when he somehow managed to get two cookies. "Please tell me this is Everly! Please! I've been waiting for days!"
His voice is nothing like I expect. Hearing him speak directly to me is strange, like I'm dreaming, and I'll wake up right as he reveals something important.
"Hi," I answer slowly, completely thrown off by him. "Um, yes this is Everly."
"Oh, thank God. I thought maybe Eric had kidnapped someone else," Rylan exclaims, and wherever he is, it's windy. "You sound much shorter than I imagined."
I laugh. It's sort of insane sounding; gasping, and mixed with a sob, but he doesn't seem worried.
"Okay, so I'm Rylan, and it's nice to meet you. Listen, I know Jason already met you. Eric told me you guys are all together, and fine, whatever, I can't be there. Not yet. But anyway, I'm much better friends with Eric, and I'm much closer to him, and if anyone should have met you first, it should have been me. This isn't how this is supposed to go."
I stay silent for a second. I listen to the sounds of the RV, and Harrison and Jason yelling about something. "It's nice to hear from you. Eric told me…well, he told me almost nothing about you. Where are you now?"
"California," he answers, and there's a tiny meow beside him. "Shut up, Theo. You can't talk to her. She doesn't even know you, and you don't know how to use the phone. Sorry, Everly. Theo is the worst. I thought I could make him a cool cat, but instead, he never shuts up and he steals all my food."
"He sounds…really annoying," I try to remember he's talking about a kitten, and it's hard not to laugh. "Why did you bring him?"
"Good question. An excellent question, really. I, too, thought I'd be rid of him but…" Rylan pauses, and there's a hiss. "I can tolerate him. For a few more weeks."
"Rylan, are you coming to Oregon?" I sit up straighter, blinking away the feeling of loss from before. "We're with Harrison and Jason. That's where we're going. To the safe zone."
"The safe zone?" He repeats. "Ah yes, the mystical safe zone. I would be jealous, except one time, Harrison got mad at me for not filing my reports on time, and he made me clean the RV as punishment," Rylan says this cheerfully, then he clears this throat. "And yes. I'm on my way to Oregon. I've been trying to get there, but I wound up in Mexico for a while. I'm fluent in Spanish now."
"Are you really?"
I find myself suddenly less bummed. Rylan speaks quickly –so fast it's almost hard to understand him –and he's ecstatic over everything. Given the chance, he talks about everywhere he's been, the cars he's stolen, how he even stole Eric and me matching t-shirts from an alien themed diner he found, and how he's been wanting to see me in person. He lets it slip that Eric has sent him a single photo, and he sounds sheepish when I ask him which one.
To my knowledge, Eric has taken zero photos of me.
"Um, hold on. I'll send it back. Since you have his phone, just delete it after you look at it. I'm guessing he doesn't know you have his phone, because he never talks to anyone for this long." Rylan pauses, and the phone dings. "There you go. I talked to Jason, and he said you're shockingly short. So…the picture doesn't really tell me much. Can you confirm this?"
I can't.
I've pulled the phone away to look at the message, feeling the RV move steadily, and to my surprise, there is a photo of me.
Well, me sleeping on Eric.
He must have taken it in one of the motels, because I don't recognize much of it. It's mostly him and me, in bed, with the tableside light dimmed. I'm sound asleep on Eric, my face pushed into his chest and my fingers curling into his shirt, and the size difference between us is striking. He's not smiling in the photo, more staring down the camera, but his hand is in my hair. His fingers are curled in possessively, probably at a time where this was as physical as things got. I always chalked it up to safety, but at some point, it became more than that.
I blink to make sure I'm really seeing what I think I am, and Rylan yells my name.
"Sorry, I have to go soon. I'm meeting up with an old friend near Hollywood. You want a souvenir?" He waits, and I can practically feel him beaming. "I know when I meet you, you'll like me way better than Jason. I'm also a better officer. I've arrested more people than him and I've never once gotten in trouble for suggesting the suspect was from outer space. Jason always thinks everyone is an alien. Or a ghost. It drives Eric nuts."
"Yeah, I don't think he believes in ghosts. He hasn't mentioned it. Should I ask him?" I hear movement in the hallway, but it's Jason asking how much coffee Harrison really wants. "I should go, too. Eric is sleeping, and I took his phone to try and call my mom."
"Did she answer?" Rylan asks, and he sounds oddly hesitant. "Everly? Eric told me they left you behind."
I shake my head no, even though he can't see me. "She didn't. I'm hoping she's alive but…I doubt I'll see her again."
I wait for Rylan to announce there's no need to be sad. He seems like the type to appreciate whoever is around him, and a family split apart wouldn't be a life altering trauma for him.
"I know. I'm sorry. I'm sure she's doing her best." Rylan finally says, and the tiny meow beside him sounds angry. "Alright, Theo and I gotta go. I only stopped because Theo's a little bitch in the car. He sulks if I don't pay enough attention to him while driving."
"Rylan –" I crack up because the kitten meows angrily, and it does sound pretty sulky.
"Wait till you see his fur. It's hideous." Rylan insists, and then he laughs. "Actually, don't look him directly in the eye. He's a shady little fucker."
"I won't," I promise, bummed that he has to go. "When will you meet us?"
"Soon," Rylan is vague, but optimistic. "Hey, how about this? I'll call you tomorrow. We can call every few days to make sure the other party is alive. Now that I know you, I can talk to you instead of Eric. He doesn't like to talk on the phone, and I do."
"Will he care?" I sit up straighter, thinking Eric will very much care. Not only did I take his phone, but I've also answered his friends call. "He's –"
"Nah, he really likes you. If he didn't, you wouldn't be with him right now. As his, and now your best friend, you'll learn this soon. I'll call tomorrow. Have a good day, BFF."
The phone disconnects abruptly. It clicks in my ear, and I take a second to stare at it. I slowly delete the picture of Eric and me, wishing I didn't have to, and a text pops up right below it.
Hey, it's Rylan. Delete this text after you read it. Otherwise, the phone will self-destruct in ten seconds.
Okay, actually, no.
It won't.
But I'll send another text after you delete this one, and then Eric won't know you had his phone. Genius. You can thank me later. Tell Harrison I said hello, and he owes me. I ran over a possum the other day and it wasn't too happy, and it was also really fucking hard to get off my car, and he said it would be easy.
It was nice talking to you, even if you are really short.
Bye.
Delete these.
You have five seconds.
Okay, bye for real.
All my love- Rylan and Theo
I finish deleting his messages just in time. I smile at how ridiculous they are, and I click the side of the phone so it goes back to the home screen. A second later, another one of his messages arrives, and it's one to Eric. It says nothing about me or our conversation, and I know he's assuming I've put the phone away.
I do.
I stand up carefully, and glancing down at it one more time, and I decide I'm going back to bed.
This time, his mouth is hungry.
Eric's teeth skim my neck, dangerously close to what I'm assuming is an artery. He hums to himself, content with his work, and my back slams against the tree. He lifts me up higher, his whole body pressed against mine, and if I listen hard enough, I can make out of the quietest hint of people talking.
We stopped a half hour ago.
Harrison had driven into the morning, only to be routed and rerouted through the winding highways of the state. Our journey led us from the harsh, unending desert, into violent looking forests. These were not like the woods in Haling, but giant beasts of black space and dark greenery. They made me nervous; the fog hid their secrets as we drove, but every so often, it parted enough for me to catch a glimpse of something moving.
Eric swore it was my imagination.
He swears now, fumbling with the button on his jeans, while simultaneously tugging my underwear down.
"Fuck," he mutters, his erection hard and straining against his jeans, and he hisses when I whimper. While it was much better to have Harrison and Jason with us, being with them led to a frustrating lack of privacy. The bedroom is not ours, and it would be incredibly noticeable for us to both disappear into the bathroom. We'd placated ourselves by pretending it was fine; the most we did was fall asleep with his arms around me, or his hand touching mine while we drove.
It had only been a few nights since we slept together, but it's clearly become too much for Eric.
When Harrison cheerfully parked at an RV turn out, one with ample spaces, large restrooms, and a still open gift shop he ducked into, Eric's eyes darkened. He practically dragged me away from everyone, his fingers wound tightly through mine, into the woods. We didn't go far; we went down a slight incline, to a small area hidden from sight, and when he was sure we were alone, he attacked. His mouth crashed into mine, his body knocked me into a tree, and his hands were everywhere.
The skimmed over any exposed skin they could find, and some unexposed skin. He brushed and teased his fingers down my sides, until they slid beneath the hem of my dress. They crept up my bare legs, stroking and squeezing wherever he could touch, until I groaned his name.
It was blissful.
After realizing I truly had been abandoned, a rotten feeling that spread through me like venom, I spent the morning feeling pretty crappy. I tried to cheer up. I listened to Harrison's story about attempting to find the Loch Ness Monster, and I played cards with Jason and Eric. I helped make lunch –macaroni and cheese and chicken –and I helped wash the dishes. Right as I was about to ask if Eric wanted to watch a movie, we stopped, and it was perhaps the best distraction ever.
It gave us a chance to be together, away from everyone, after nearly dying.
"I missed you," Eric growls, and his words are not at all sweet or sugary. His hands move quickly, triumphantly pulling my underwear down, just enough, and I know what he means.
Even though we are together in the RV, it was nothing like it was before. We aren't as tired nor as weak on our own, but I got the feeling Eric would gladly take driving separately and being exhausted, over being stuck with his friends.
"I know. I missed you, too." I answer, my head tilting back as his mouth moves to the column of my throat. Eric fumbles with something else, and I'm dimly aware of him pulling his pants down.
There's no time to fully undress.
It takes him only a few seconds to pull me closer, then he's buried deep inside me. He thrusts a few times, making sure I'm okay before he keeps going, and I bask in the feeling of not only how good this feels, but how close we are to someone wandering by.
It's a thrilling feeling.
I've never experienced it before, but there's a spark of excitement in knowing someone could spot us.
It wouldn't be entirely out of the question. The RV park is fairly full. A few families were out walking, sick of being cooped up, and there are kids shrieking. I had thought Harrison might want to join forces with anyone alive, but he didn't. He appeared content with keeping it just us, and when Jason asked if we should partner up with someone, Harrison loudly announced he refused to risk any of us getting infected.
"Fuck, you feel good," Eric grunts, tilting my head down so he can kiss me. It's an impressive feat; he's strong enough to keep me upright and balanced, and daring enough not to care that someone could hear him. "I hate them being with us. I hate them being around. I hate not being able to touch you."
"Oh."
My skin burns with this confession, dragged out from somewhere deep inside him. While I have gotten close to him, he's careful. Careful in his appearance, careful with his words, careful with his actions. He hadn't exactly declared his love for me after we slept together, or maybe he had.
Maybe proposing after I puked my guts up beside him was a hint of how he really felt.
"I just want you…" he mumbles, drunk on lust and excitement. When his eyes find mine, they are dark and wild, and his hips slam into me. "I just want –"
He doesn't finish his sentence. The sight of him all worked up and frantic is enough to push me over the edge. His fingers graze between my legs, and I tense up, giving into the feeling building in my stomach. It hits me before I can draw this out, but I don't need to. Eric comes a few seconds later, groaning my name once more, catching my lower lip between his teeth. He stills after a bit, leaving me against the tree with my hands in his hair, and I kiss him as he pulls away.
It's a harsh disconnect.
Eric feels it, too.
His stare is on me while he pulls up his jeans, fixes his hair, and reaches to help me. He holds onto me while I pull my underwear back up –a pair he'd mocked while we did our laundry –and he fixes my hair, too. He brushes it off my faces, smooths down a few pieces, and touches my cheek.
It's burning.
Both his hand and my skin.
I lunge for him, kissing him again, though I have to stay on my toes, and he's caught off guard. He laughs when I throw my arms around his neck, and I break away to kiss his cheek, then I rest my head on his chest and try to catch my breath. We stay there, in a field of green and black, with rays of light filtering down around us, and his hands stay on my back.
They press up my spine, until they reach my neck, and Eric doesn't let go.
He doesn't say anything.
Not until Jason yells our names, demanding to know if we're out this way, then announcing we need to leave, because Harrison has had his fill of people asking how to zombie proof their own cars.
"I guess we should go," Eric bends his head down. His hand grasps the back of my head, and his fingers wind through my hair, unmoving. "Are you okay? Is your back okay?"
Okay is a relative term these days, so I give myself a minute to answer.
I let myself enjoy this moment, sunlight still holding onto the last bit of warmth, Eric's heart beating beneath his shirt and his arms around me, keeping me against his chest.
He wouldn't leave me behind.
I can tell.
I finally nod when Jason yells that he's coming to find us, and we better be dressed, and I lift my head away from Eric with a smile.
Chapter 10: World War Z
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
His hand is much larger than mine.
Eric holds his up to mine, palm to palm, flexing his fingers every so often. His is warm, safe, and firm as he debates folding his fingers over. He struggles with wanting to hold my hand, a bold display of affection considering there is really no one else out here, and I feel for him. I've learned that while he can be affectionate when he wants to, he'd much prefer to keep things private.
Even now.
He exhales sharply, and his unhappiness is hard to miss.
Maybe it's because this morning is gloomy. Overcast and grey, colder than the day before. Maybe it's because Harrison has spent the morning trying to log into some still functioning security system, and asked Eric to help every three minutes. Or maybe it's because Rylan has called multiple times, always asking to speak to me instead of Eric.
He took it with mild amusement. Eric always handed the phone over in faux exasperation, doing his best to look annoyed, but failing to hide his lips turning up. Rylan did speak to him first –always filling him in on where he was and what he was doing – but he kept his word from our very first conversation, and always asked if I was nearby.
I was.
I learned a lot during our phone calls; I learned Eric will scowl when he's not the center of my attention, and he'll glare as Rylan reveals all the fun facts Eric refuses to tell me. He took great joy in telling me how when Eric was sixteen, he and Rylan borrowed a few patrol cars to drive around town, and his father was the one to pull them over.
I also learned that Eric ranked first in their police academy, Rylan and Jason ranked second and third –technically tied, but Jason missed more days than Rylan, so they placed him third, and Daniel was incredibly proud of all of them. Blythe showed up to the commencement ceremony at the last minute, heavily insinuating that Daniel had adjusted the scores to rank their son higher, and Rylan accidentally spilled an entire cup of fruit punch on her.
My favorite part might have been when Rylan mentioned that Eric had talked about me, a lot. During our early days together, when Rylan had to pry the information out of him, Eric would occasionally bring me up on his own, when he thought Rylan wasn't listening. He revealed the smallest amounts of information –I was sleeping, I didn't seem happy on our grocery run, my hair was in his eye –and Rylan encouraged this and more.
He talked endlessly, never running out of things to say. Theo was being annoying; he'd barfed in the car, chewed on Rylan's hair while he drove, and scared off the hitchhiking girl Rylan was thinking of picking up. He talked about the things he saw while he drove –a sign offering free donuts if you signed up at a now closed gym, a cartoon themed roadside attraction, a clown themed motel, and dozens of zombies missing their heads –and he ranked them from most impressive, to least.
Hearing Rylan's stories was entertaining. It broke up the monotony of the days, especially considering we were currently stuck with nowhere to go.
It's been nearly two weeks since we arrived in Oregon. Days of driving aimlessly, routes twisting and turning, weaving through mountains and forests, by the coast, then away from the coast, only to end up parked in a restricted, walled off campsite.
I didn't really know how to feel about our current state, but there was some major disappointment upon discovering Oregon was far from the happy place I thought it would be. Oregon is dismal, cold, and rainy, and wet, but active. There are live, non-zombie people here. The safe zone is functioning, but we won't be granted access until we have quarantined for two weeks.
The poor soul who told Harrison this nearly got stabbed.
It was raining that night, and after hours in the RV, hours on the road, and several hours of Jason asking if anyone else was bored, we arrived at the entrance of the safe zone. After months on the road, it was hard to believe it existed. Held in a gigantic, abandoned mall, it rose up out of nowhere, concrete and marble and glass, hidden behind thick walls topped with barbed wire, and inside, nearly every inch of the parking lot was being used. Tents, medical centers, police vehicles, military tanks, and trucks were parked where people used to come to shop. There were plenty of people walking around, all in dark uniforms and heavily armed, and there should have been a sense of relief.
There wasn't.
Only great disquiet when they stopped us and explained that we couldn't just show up and head inside.
The signs might have told us that we'd reached the safe zone, a sanctuary for those looking for one, but it came with strict rules. We had to prove we were healthy, we had to submit regularly scheduled, routine blood work once we were approved, and we had to agree not to leave once we went inside.
I watched Eric chew the inside of his cheek, so hard that I wouldn't be surprised if it drew blood, and I knew what he was thinking: going inside was a risk, one that might not be worth it.
The man assigned to talk with anyone who arrived at the safe zone was apologetic. He told us he understood our anger and frustration, but after hearing about the other safe zones, and how the infection had run wild through them, they could take no chances. We were to park with the others waiting to be approved, and once our two weeks was up, we would be taken inside. He then asked for our names, ages, ranks, and if we had any pets.
There was a silent standoff.
For a solid three minutes, no one spoke.
Eventually, Harrison agreed with this logic, but he struck up a deal.
He would give them his name only. He would include a headcount, and when we came back, he wanted to speak to whoever was in charge. The man blinked at him, but when Harrison gave his name and badge number, an agreement was reached.
We would spend two weeks in a state mandated waiting zone, and we would stay with our group only. Once our two weeks were up, we'd return, and we would meet with someone named Jack. If everything went the way Harrison liked it, we would officially join the sanctuary.
Eric did not look impressed, and he was right to be pissed off.
While a step in the right direction, it meant we were stuck along with everyone else, waiting. We were given coordinates to a safe zone waiting area; a camp site with makeshift tents and trailers, being used as a dedicated waiting room. We were given the option to stay in our own RV, or sign up for a tent or mobile home. Harrison made the decision for us. We parked as far away from everyone else as we could, spoke to almost no one around us, and stayed inside most of the days.
It was fine.
A little tight on space, a lot of reading and watching terrible movies, and far too much time to sit and think about the zombies roaming the streets.
When it got too cramped inside –Jason insisting we play Clue for the fifteenth time, or Harrison showing me his battle strategery plans he used to create for police standoffs –Eric and I would go for a walk.
The outside was fair game. The fresh air was cold and safe. There were plenty of woods to explore, trails to walk, and playgrounds for children. It all gave way to a thick forest, so dense you could barely see through it. Harrison warned us all to stay close, and he went as far as making me promise not to walk away without someone with me. I was insulted at first, thinking back to the zombies I'd killed and how I'd saved Eric's life, until I realized he was worried.
His green eyes held mine, unblinking, and his brow furrowed.
"Everly, promise me you won't wander off on your own. I don't know these people, but I know what most are capable of."
I think of him now, as Eric lets go of my hand and sits up straighter. We're seated atop a park table, cold concrete, cracked and crumbling, and he rolls his eyes. In the distance, someone calls for him, and they are frantic.
"I'll be back. I think Jason finally got a hold of Meghan. You want a drink?"
Eric's eyes find mine, and unlike Harrison's they are light. They flash with the intense desire to get out of here, and I know he hates being stuck. All around us, but not all that close, are families, strangers, and people occasionally threatening each other. The tension in the air is heavy; some families have lost it over being confined together, and others are struggling with the accusation of being sick.
A dozen feet away, two men argue loudly over someone's brother gone missing, and it's nothing new.
In the past two days, I overheard some guys talking about how three people have vanished. All were believed to be infected, and it's highly possible they were taken out in the middle of the night, once people realized what was going on. There is no protocol listed other than alerting someone back at the safe zone, and my guess is most are handling this on their own, so they still have a shot at being accepted.
"I'm good. If you want to share something, I'll drink whatever you want."
I touch Eric's fingers, disliking the separation.
He is all I have.
After speaking with Rylan, I realized the odds of seeing my parents was beyond low. I had to accept this, sit with it, and move on. I let myself mourn the assumed loss of them, because I had no choice. I had to keep pushing, because the only other option is to give up and let myself get attacked. Being a zombie isn't my idea of a good time, but it was my only other choice if I stopped fighting.
"Okay," he shrugs, and I can see the defeat creeping up into his shoulders. Eric dislikes lots of things, but being held hostage by an invisible zombie virus has to rank at the top of his list. "I'll be back in a minute."
"Good."
I watch him walk onto the worn, dirt path, eventually disappearing into the RV, and I frown when he shuts the door. It slams with a bang, and a few people turn to look in my direction. Beside me, the fight grows louder. The swears and insults reach a feverish pitch, so loud that I turn to look at what's going on.
My assumption is the two men are maybe brothers, but maybe not. One is tall and large, imposing in an aggressive way. He punches his friend in the face, hard enough that I hear a crack, and when I jump, his stare lands on me. It rakes over me quickly; his judgment is that I'm no real threat to him, but he doesn't like me.
He likes something, though.
His eyes light up, and he punches his friend once more, hard enough that the man doesn't fight back past groaning the name Colton. He waits to see if I'm watching, a sickly joyous smile creeping over his face, and I downplay the nervous feeling that rushes through me.
I'm not afraid of him. Harrison often spoke of how humanity is worse than the zombies, and I know I need to be on guard.
I remember the things he told me about distracting someone attacking you: make eye contact, ask them questions, show you're unafraid, and make a lot of noise. They didn't want someone loud or brave, they wanted someone weak and quiet, easy to hurt.
Despite knowing all these rules, it's hard not to feel the burning of my nerves.
"Is your friend okay?" I ask, waiting for the body to move. It doesn't. There's a fine trail of blood coming from the man's ear, dark and wet. It pools beside him, and every so often, his fingers twitch. "Does he need a medic? There's a tent up front."
"No need. He was infected. Tried to bite me last night," the guy declares. "It had to be done."
"I thought he was mad someone went missing," I tilt my head, and it's a moment too late when I realize I've said more than I should. The man's eyes darken, and he knows I've overheard what he said. "How do you know you're not infected? You're awfully close."
"Do you know how it happens? How it spreads?" He tilts his head in a way that shows he doesn't like me. He takes another step, nearing the table at an alarming rate. Out of the corner of my eye, I try to see if Eric is on his way back, but he isn't. "It is highly contagious. Easily spread. You want to be a zombie?"
"If I did, I wouldn't be here," I point out, sitting up straighter. "Do you want to be a zombie?"
He smiles.
"I'd like you to be a zombie."
It's telling –crooked and unfriendly –and I jump down from the table.
"Stay away from me." I hiss the words at him, and I take off in the direction of the RV. He laughs when I reach the pathway, snickering at how stupid I am.
I make it to the door in record time, and throw it open quickly. I join Eric, Jason, and Harrison, all in deep discussion about whether or not Meghan will survive the drive to Oregon, and I completely forget about the creep outside when Jason changes the subject to announce Rylan is only a few days away.
Day ten of quarantine is unimpressive.
I wake up to Eric arguing with someone on the phone, and there's a demand that they do something to hurry this up. I listen as best I can, trying to figure out who he's talking to, but it's clear Eric doesn't want me to hear. He rises from the edge of the bed, snarls that Daniel could help if he wanted, then hangs up viciously.
He leaves the room in a fit of rage.
His boots thud down the hallway, into the kitchen, then they stop.
I fall back asleep when I hear Harrison calling for him to calm down, and when I wake up again later, nothing is any better.
"What did he say to you?"
Eric chews his sandwich angrily, and beside him, Jason raises one eyebrow. They both glance at each other, but it's not out of concern. Eric is annoyed, and Jason looks nervous, like he knows Eric's mood is anything but pleasant.
"What did who say?" Jason asks, looking upset when Eric snaps at him to move over. "Did something happen?"
"Yesterday. There was this guy outside. He was fighting with someone really close to where I was sitting. He said the man was infected. I'm pretty sure he killed him," I answer, suddenly regretting that I brought him up. I mentioned him in case Eric found him suspicious, but to my surprise, Eric looked more exasperated than anything.
"Why were you talking to him?" Eric looks at me sharply. "He's probably the reason people have gone missing."
"I don't know. He beat up that guy until he stopped moving and I thought…" I pause, and for the first time in months, I get the feeling Eric does not like me. I know it's not true; last night, he kissed me until he broke away furiously, hotly announcing we had no time for this when Harrison and Jason were sitting in the kitchen. He liked me then, but right now, he does not. "He asked if I wanted to be a zombie. Then he said he'd like me to be a zombie."
"Well, he's a dick, so maybe don't talk to strangers. Unless you want to be a zombie."
Eric's answer is impatient.
It's tense and snappy, spoken while he looks irritated at the world around him. Jason looks up in surprise, and Harrison looks at Eric in extreme displeasure.
"Don't be rude. I know you're sick of being cooped up here, but maybe we should investigate the gentleman who asked if Everly was interested in becoming the undead," Harrison interrupts, and his tone is not nice. "If you're mad that your father –"
"This has nothing to do with my father," Eric snaps, and it clearly has everything to do with him. "I'm fine with his decision not to help us."
Harrison rolls his eyes.
It would be a daring move for anyone else, but Harrison is unafraid of Eric.
"You and I both know he has no authority over Kang, and no real connection past working in the same field. Being the Chief of Police doesn't guarantee automatic authority over everyone, especially in the apocalypse." Harrison's words are pointed, and Jason watches with wide eyes, chewing slowly. "We only have a few more days. And if we get inside and the safe zone isn't what we think it is, then we leave. All of us. We take a few days to figure out where to go, and –"
"And what? Drive aimlessly? Keep going, from motel to motel, hoping no one kills us?" Eric's expression darkens, turning malicious in a way I haven't seen before. "Hope that someday, the zombies die off? Or what? Count the days down until we accidentally get bit and turn into the walking dead?"
"Well, that's a tad dramatic, don't you think?" Harrison stares him down. Jason snickers, and Harrison must kick him, because he quickly stops. "Like you'd ever get bit. You need to chill. Everly, you need to stay away from that guy, and when we get inside, I'll report him. Or kill him. Whatever needs to be done first."
"Can I kill him? Or do you have dibs?" Jason asks, missing the look on Eric's face. "No? You want him Coulter?"
"No."
Eric slams his drink down, a coke with too little ice, and he leaves. He nearly knocks Jason over climbing out of the small booth, and he heads out the door. He's gone before anyone can say his name, the door slamming behind him with a loud bang.
Everyone is silent.
Jason finally drags his stare up from his plate, and he shrugs apologetically.
"Well…. uh, I guess he really is tired of being in quarantine. Maybe I shouldn't have asked him to play dungeons and dragons again."
Harrison and I nod, but the rest of dinner is silent, tense and awkward, especially when Eric doesn't return until much, much later.
Day Eleven is the worst.
In the morning, I get ready like something is going to happen. I take a shower, pick out a slightly warmer dress, and brush my teeth. I eat breakfast with Jason and Harrison, and they both inform me that Eric has gone for a run. Once he returned last night, he spent the evening being pissed off at his father; Harrison let it slip that Daniel would normally have some pull with the head of the safe zone, given his rank and potential to help. If he called and spoke to Kang, there was a chance we'd be ushered inside that very minute. Jason agreed that if there was ever a time to call in a favor, it was now.
Unfortunately, Daniel couldn't.
Or is unwilling to.
I didn't understand why. Harrison shrugged and said it there were a million reasons, including the chance that Daniel knew something we didn't, and there was a reason he wanted us to wait. Harrison believed Daniel might have already tried, but with the strict requirements on the waiting period, it might not be something he could get around.
I left after breakfast to go find Eric.
I promised Harrison I'd be back in a few minutes. I figured Eric would be close by, maybe at the same table we'd sat at, or just a little farther. He liked to run in the mornings, and sometimes, he boldly assumed I wanted to go with him. I declined every time, preferring to sleep over going jogging, and he always left snickering and not at all mad.
I'm fairly confident I'll bump into him.
I walk along through the clearing, keeping my stare straight ahead. I stay alert to everything around me, knowing most people are on edge, and most aren't happy. I pass a few families sitting outside large tents, and a couple walking a dog. I head by the empty playground, pausing at the trail leading into the woods, and when I don't see Eric, I know I'll have to go into the forest.
I work up the nerve to keep going.
It's not that I'm scared.
Not much scares me these days, though a lot makes me wish for days where I wasn't covered in zombie juice. I've grown accustomed to the sight of blood and guts, but the smell is still something else. I toy with the thought of potentially running into a zombie while trying to find Eric, but I know it's unlikely I will. Like the safe zone, this area has a fence surrounding the entryway, and there are a few guards. It's out of the way, and given the density of the woods, it wouldn't be a fantastic spot for a zombie looking for a meal.
With a sigh, I follow the trail, going much further than I had originally planned. I'm immediately hit with the smell of damp earth and a cool breeze. The woods are welcoming, but quickly turn dim and dark. The leaves form a canopy overhead, and my eyes are slow to adjust.
Too slow.
By the time I'm a good distance down the trail, I know I've made a mistake. Up ahead, the man from a day ago is here, watching me from the side. He's sweaty and red faced, and in his hands is a shovel. He steps away from whatever he was digging – a large hole deep into the earth –and my stomach flips over.
He's on the trail in a flash, teeth bared in a nasty grin at me.
He still has the shovel in his hands, and his eyes are wild with excitement.
I take off back in the direction I came. I run as fast as I can, but I should have taken Eric up on the offer to go jogging. I make it to right before the trail opens up to the playground before something hits the back of my head. Everything turns dark, a lovely bold black swimming before my eyes, and when they become focused again, I am somewhere else entirely.
"Vincent, what did you do to her?"
The woman holds my face in her hands, and it takes everything in me not to push her hands away. She touches my cheek, then my forehead –pressing her palm flat to check for a fever –then she moves them to the back of my head. I wince when she reaches the bump, and the wave of pain is hot. I swear she presses harder, just for a moment, then exhales.
"This sort of violence is unnecessary. My apologies if he hurt you." She speaks elegantly, long fingers sliding away so she can clasp them in front of her. "Vincent, you are dismissed. I'll speak with her, and when I'm done, we'll discuss the next steps."
"You said –"
"I said unharmed. It does us no good if she's hurt." She watches him with a sharp stare, similar to Eric's but somehow colder, and Vincent throws me a dirty look. He stomps away with a final glare, mean and violent, into a dark corridor. Her gaze turns to me, and her lips press together. "Are you alright?"
"No."
I'm far from alright.
Not long ago, I awoke in some sort of makeshift infirmary, on a dingy and blood-stained bed. I sat up in pure horror, and the action made my head swim. The room spun until someone came by and insisted that I lie back down. I was given something to eat and drink, overly sweet apple juice and a muffin, and I choked down a few bites. I swallowed the drink with great hesitation, but I didn't have a choice. I knew something was wrong, and I needed to gain enough strength to get the fuck out of here.
It didn't matter that I had no clue where I was. I'd find a way out; a road, a path, a clearing, and I'd find my way back to Eric.
The thought of him made my chest hurt –so painful and sharp I nearly couldn't breathe. I hadn't listened to Harrison's words, I hadn't stayed safe, and the only way I was going to get back to them, was if I fought my way back. I had lost my parents, my brothers and sisters, and I wasn't going to lose myself.
Which meant playing along with whatever they asked until I could come up with a plan.
I took in the room, the walls a drab gray and riddled with cracks, and before I could figure out where I was, someone informed me we were at a ranger's station. I listened as they spoke, explaining Vincent had found me in the woods, unconscious, and brought me here for help. I tried to explain I was unconscious because he'd hit me in the head, but they pressed on that I was mistaken, and Evelyn would be in to see me soon.
I had no clue who Evelyn was, or why she'd help me.
I was unsurprised to find she wasn't a forest ranger or anyone working for parks and rec. She was a woman close to my mother's age, with dark curly hair, an unsympathetic smile, and an entire army of men and women working for her. My assumption was that we were in some sort of compound, and she was in charge.
Her arrival confirmed this.
"Your head must be killing you. Vincent was a little too aggressive in his desire to help you."
"He didn't help me. He hit me in the head with a shovel. After he killed someone," I answer, stepping back and away from her. I don't trust this woman, nor do I believe anyone here wants to help me. "Why did he bring me to you? Why would he take me here? Who are you?"
Evelyn stares at me, her eyes so dark they nearly look black, and she smiles.
"I'll show you."
The zombies are numerous.
Almost too many to count, but contained in a large, gaping pit, dug deep into the Earth. They roam in endless agitation, snapping and growling at each other, all in various degrees of decay. Some are fresh; with clearer skin, a hint of awareness when their eyes flick skyward, and their mouths turn down. These zombies have all of their limbs intact. Others are older; chunks of gray skin missing, exposed bones, and yellow fluid dripping from their lips. They limp and stumble, occasionally bending back a limb in an impossible direction.
They all share the same hunger: they bite at each other, desperate to tear the flesh off anything.
Or anyone.
Evelyn watches them calmly, unfazed when a few begin to fight, and the noise is ear piercing.
"When the outbreak first started, I was working in the hospital. I was just about to leave when they announced we had a patient exhibiting signs of extreme agitation. Unconscious movement. Uncontrollable urges to tear into the flesh of others. A thirst for blood. I was given the bloodwork to examine, and our first thought was we were dealing with a strain of flu or infection. Some believed it came from animals, others believed it was manmade. My guess was some sort of mercury poisoning, or chemical in the water." Evelyn looks at me, and her stare is patient.
"You worked in a hospital?"
"For years. I studied infectious disease in the lab, working to isolate new strains of infection. It took us a few days to agree we'd never seen this one before, but by then, it was too late. The man died after attacking several nurses, and someone miscalculated the amount of sedation needed. I assumed it was over. We turned our samples in to the CDC, went back to researching the flu, and life went on." She pauses, and I know this story doesn't have a happy ending.
"A week later, my husband fell ill. At first, I thought it was the flu. He was pale, had a fever, and couldn't say my name. I told him we'd do bloodwork when I got home and I'd look at it the next day. That afternoon, his whole demeanor changed. He attacked our son when he got home from school and broke his arm." Evelyn points to someone in the corner, standing motionless. "Marcus has always been…aggressive in nature, but this was something else. I took Tobias to have his arm set, and when I returned, Marcus was showing signs of the same infection I'd witnessed. I took him to the hospital and left him with a nurse I trusted. He returned a few hours later, covered in blood."
"Is that him?" I follow her gaze as he moves, wandering around as though he can't see. He bumps into several other zombies, then stumbles. "What happened to him?"
"It is him. I called to find out what happened, they informed me they couldn't help. He'd killed two of the intake nurses, injured a third, and ripped the throat out of the security guard. They declared a state of emergency. I discovered that while Marcus was infected, he was cognitive. He had moments of lucidity in which he asked me to kill him. He said he could feel the infection spreading, and I needed to leave him. I didn't. I brought him here. I figured there must be a way to break down the infection, a way to fight it."
"How would you know how to do that?" I back away, not wanting to be so close to the edge. The pit is deep, a good twelve feet into the ground, and there appears to be no way out. "How can you possibly –"
Everly stare turns cloudy. It's fleeting, like she's reliving a distant memory. "I worked in the labs for Infectious Disease Control for years. This outbreak isn't anything new. Zombies have existed for years, just out of the public eye. They had taken my report, and sent us some drugs to try if we had more of the same cases. I took them with me. I partnered with a man who claimed he could help me, and for a while, he did. He showed me how to watch for the mutations and see what cells they latched onto. We looked for proof of reduced infection or correction. We performed tests and trials. Some of the men and women recovered. Others didn't."
"Wait…you and…someone, were messing with the medicine? Where is he?" I glance around, disliking the fact that we are in the middle of nowhere. The pit is surrounded by a thick blanket of trees, and if I squint, I swear there's a lake. "Where is this guy?"
Evelyn points to the pit, to a faceless, rotting corpse staring at the wall. "At a certain point in our research, Jeremy graciously volunteered to further the experiment. Our goal was to create a vaccine that would do both: build immunity to the infection, as well as treat it. He allowed himself to be infected as part of the trial."
"Did it work?" I stare down at her former husband, clawing at his neck and snarling when another zombie comes too close. Unlike the ones in Vegas, these appear calmer, but maybe it's the lack of available victims.
Evelyn tilts her head, pressing her lips together. "Unfortunately, Jeremy became sick much faster than the others, and our end result was unfavorable. I've been working daily to correct it. I think I've gotten it to where it needs to be. Once I can prove it works, then I'll contact whomever out there can mass produce it. It'll greatly reduce the transmission."
"And until then?" I look up at her, and there is a line of people being led to the pit. Vincent walks alongside, and he pokes and prods them. Most look pretty out of it. I recognize none, but each one is either bleeding or injured in some way, and a few stumble. The noise catches the attention of the zombies, and there is a soul crushing wail of anguish. "Are you… feeding them?"
Her nod makes me flinch.
"In order to test out my theory, I need to keep the zombies alive. Each zombie is tagged. I monitor and track what they do, how they react, their vital signs –if any, and how long infection takes to set in, and how it's progressing. So far, my best results have been giving the vaccine within five days of infection." Evelyn pauses, right as Vincent shoves a few people into the Pit. They land with a sickening thud, causing mass chaos as the zombies fight to reach then. "This newest group became sick within twenty-four hours. I had high hopes for them."
"What if you're wrong? What if this vaccine doesn't work?" I stare as Vincent shoves a few more people into the swarm of zombies. Bile rises into my throat, and I struggle not to throw up. One girl is wide eyed, realization dawning as her feet leave the edge, and her cry is hard to ignore.
"Well then, they join the zombie army."
Evelyn gestures for me to follow her, and I do. Reluctantly, but I have no choice. Across the way, Vincent smiles, and his eyes follow us. Evelyn leads me away from the feeding frenzy, and the men and women working here are unbothered. They scurry around quickly, carrying things like boxes marked sterile, crates of food, and medical supplies. Up ahead, there is a man a few years older than me, watching with a dark, uneasy stare.
"Whenever we have new guests, we have them checked out. You'll be given a quick medical exam, dinner, and if you meet the criteria, you'll be taken to have the infection administered. Vincent has asked that if you are cured from the virus, that he be allowed to keep you afterwards." Evelyn keeps talking, and this time, I choke on my own fear. "I told him that won't be a problem."
"I have a family. I have a –"
"Not anymore." Evelyn cuts me off, and a second later, I am shoved into a building near the edge of the woods. She stands in the doorway, gaze quick and spiteful, and when she looks at me, it's with some pity. "You belong here now."
She ignores my scream, my attempt to knock her away, because the man from outside is there, pulling me away from her, and begging for me to be quiet.
"Did she hurt you?"
The man before me is a ghost of Evelyn. He works quickly and speaks minimally. He asks my name, scrawling it illegibly on a piece paper, then how tall I am. He hesitantly questions how much I weigh, followed by my age, and if I have any medical issues. When I don't answer him, he thinly informs me the less cooperative I am, the harder this will be.
His eyes blink at me, dark blue and curious, and I recoil when his hand touches mine.
"You have to wear it. It's how we keep track," he mumbles, and he tries to get the bracelet on me. It's one like the kind you'd find in a hospital, and I refuse again. I shove away from him, ignoring his look of insult, but then he frowns, and asks if Evelyn had become violent.
"No."
"Oh…. good. Sometimes, she gets frustrated with the lack of progress and takes it out on us." He mutters, and he holds the bracelet near my face. "I just have to put this on you. I'm sorry. It's my job."
"Who are you?" I ask, watching his gaze drop. "Do you work for her?"
"Yeah, everyone here does," he mutters, and he sulks back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Look, if you cooperate –"
"Then I'll be a zombie," I stare at him, and up close, he's maybe the same age as Eric. Smaller, sort of underfed and uncared for, and sort of skittish. "Did she do it to you? Have you been infected?"
"Yes," he answers, the word catching like he doesn't want to admit it. "Look, I'll be honest. It hurts. They inject you with the saliva, and when you start to exhibit symptoms, they'll give you the vaccine. Mine took four days. It was the fastest infection and recovery so far."
"You let them?" I blink in horror, and his wince is unexpected. "You let them inject you with…"
"No." His answer is sharp. "I didn't let anyone do anything. I had no choice. Neither do you. Now put the bracelet on and I'll take you to your room. They'll bring you something to eat, and in the morning, you'll be brought back here to start the process."
"You can't do this to me," I shake my head, and the panic is all consuming. "You can't…this isn't right. This isn't…I have a husband –"
He shrugs.
It's dismissively uninterested, but not entirely. His mouth turns downward, and he makes a face like he's eaten something sour.
"It doesn't matter. If your husband comes to find you, they'll tell him you're sick and they're helping you. If he won't leave, they'll shoot." He stops and tosses me the bracelet. His stare finds mine, invasive but helpless. "You don't look old enough to be married."
I throw the bracelet back at him.
"That's none of your business." I swallow thickly, and when he looks at me, he's conflicted. "Please. Help me get out of here. I can get you to safety. You don't have to do this. There's a safe zone. It's not far from here. It's –"
"Don't be stupid," he snaps, and there's a shuffle coming from outside. He glances back once, then takes hold of my arm. "Put this on. If she thinks you aren't cooperating, she'll inject you right now."
"Fine," I jerk away from him, hating the sting of his fingers. Before I can tell him he's ludicrous for going along with this, someone knocks on the door.
"Don't you dare move. Don't even think about running," the man insists, stepping away slowly. "Who is it?"
"Four, open the door. It's Kacie."
The voice is high and snippy. He doesn't open the door right away, and she demands he hurry the fuck up. Once he opens it –slowly and suspiciously –a blonde girl walks in and looks right at me. She's mean looking; her stare is icy, her blonde hair has been sharply lopped off above her shoulders, and her nose is turned up. She glances over at Four in disdain and throws him a biting smile.
"After you're done with her, Vincent would like her brought to his room."
"Why?" Four's spine straightens, and he's visibly bothered by this request. "He doesn't have any say in what happens to her."
"No shit. He doesn't care what happens to her. He told Evelyn since he found her, he wants her for a few days. He thinks the husband is coming for her and you know he likes that sort of thing." Kacie announces, and I hate that she sounds happy about this. "Evelyn told him fine. We're running low on the latest batch of vaccine, anyway. Evelyn wants her to have the new one, so we have a few days before she's scheduled to be tested."
Four is silent.
He stares, jaw tensed and clenched down, and he finally grits out a very flat fine.
No one asks me.
Kacie throws me a nasty smirk, and Four returns once she leaves. He mutters a needless apology on her part, and in turn, I wordlessly let him put the bracelet on my wrist.
"You should eat more."
Vincent, seated across from me, has the audacity to look insulted by my lack of appetite. I sit perfectly still, one scratchy paper bracelet rubbing a raw mark on my wrist, and I force myself to eat. It's mechanical on every level: stab food, raise fork, bite into pasta, chew. It takes everything in me to swallow, and my fear is I'm being poisoned. Or the meat is bad. Or made of zombies.
He watches every move, but he doesn't approve.
"The food is fine. There's nothing in it," he says, and his voice is like nails on a chalkboard.
"I'm not really hungry. My head hurts," I point out, watching his expression change. There's a flash of exasperation, but no guilt. "Probably from where you hit it with a shovel."
"You're sort of mouthy. Your cop husband likes that?" Vincent fights dirty. He smirks when I don't answer, and the fork in my hand shakes. I steady it, refusing to appear weak in front of him. "I saw him running in the mornings. Nothing too impressive. But then again, most assholes on the force aren't."
I say nothing.
I take another bite, chewing slowly, and his eyes never leave me.
"Are you really married to him? How long? Is he gonna cry when he realizes you aren't coming back?" His eyes bore into me, and I stare right back. I take a minute to choke down another bite, and I make him wait.
"Yes, we're married. And he's probably almost here."
"Good," Vincent leans back, and he takes a swig of whatever no name drink someone has dropped off. "I'd like to fight him. I'd like to fight you, too. Especially after you've…turned."
My jaw hurts suddenly, like I'm about to throw up all over him, so I close my eyes.
After letting Four put the bracelet on my wrist, he finished the exam. It was nothing; simple questions asking if I've ever been bitten, was I exposed at any time, had I been near a live zombie in the past twenty-four hours. He stared at me in an unnerving way, like he hadn't seen anyone close to his age in a long time, or at least someone who didn't think what was happening was brilliant. When the silence became too much, he let it slip that he was forced to work with Evelyn, and she had promised him he'd be immune to the outbreak.
He then handed me a change of clothes and two towels, then walked me to a different building. It was dark and concrete, a few rooms off a single hallway, and he told me this is where the rangers used to stay. I was given a room, told to shower and change, and when Vincent was ready, I'd be brought to him.
To my extreme horror, there appeared to be no escape. I scoped out the room quickly, but the windows on the walls had bars on them, and the bathroom window didn't open. The only way out of the main building had a few men lingering in front of it. Defeated as ever, I took the fastest shower I could, washing my hair in lukewarm water, shivering by the time I was done, and got dressed. I hated the borrowed clothing –pajamas meant for someone taller –and I reluctantly combed out my hair with someone else's brush.
Right as I was close to collapsing beneath the wave of fear, Four returned. He stared intensely before escorting me to a room across the hallway, where Vincent was waiting. There was a meal set for us, but it wasn't a grand gesture. It was part of whatever plan he had, and I was forced to go along with it.
"Have you been infected?" I ask carefully, stabbing a piece of lettuce with a vengeance. "Did you let Evelyn try it out on you?"
"Fuck no," he shakes his head, and were he not a fucking creep, he would be mildly attractive. He rubs his jaw for a moment, then looks at me. "Evelyn asked a few times. The other guy volunteered. Jeremy, he was an idiot. He fucking volunteered to become a zombie. But not me. I'm not letting her inject me with anything until she's certain it works."
"Would you believe her if she told you?" I ask innocently, knowing Evelyn could say whatever she wanted.
He opens his mouth to say something, then snaps it shut. A minute passes before he tilts his head, and his stare is malicious enough to make me shiver.
"Don't try to fuck with me. I'll know if she's lying. I'm not an idiot. She told me Four wasn't her kid, but guess what, the little shit is. She's not that slick. She'll get what's coming to her."
"He's her son?"
"Yeah, she hates him, though. He refused to help when all this shit started. Tried to run off, somewhere zombie free. She got him to come back because she said he needed to be there for his dad, then made him work for her. He hates it. Too bad, though. The outside isn't much better. At least in here, his mommy can keep him safe." Vincent laughs, loud and mean, and I nod.
There isn't much else I can do.
If I piss him off, he'll either kill me or have me injected, and that's the last thing I need.
So, I stay quiet. I eat my dinner, slowly and carefully, and I wait until he's had his fill of telling me how he's the one who's really in charge here, and Four is the one who keeps track of every single zombie. Vincent finds this hilarious. He sniggers at the thought of Four being in charge of anything, and hints that he'll run the second he can.
The dinner ends on an exceptionally low note: Vincent reminds me he's asked for me to stay alive for a reason, and he's very much looking forward to the next few days.
I give myself five minutes.
Beneath the cold spray of icy water and the moments of warm water, I let myself lose it. I cry so hard my shoulders hurt, heaving and bowing in beneath the pressure of staying alive, and the agony of being ripped away from the only person who might actually have cared about me. I regret not asking him if we really were married. The idea is absurd; it's unlikely he filed any official paperwork when the government barely existed these days, but maybe it was metaphorical. Maybe we were apocalypse married, having stuck together all this time, and it was a natural progression.
It hurts.
I screw my eyes shut and I see him, hovering over me, groaning my name. I see him with sunlight pouring around him, my back against the tree and his hands holding me against him. I see him in Vegas, sprinting down the street, the ring still on my finger and panic coursing through my veins, as we tried to get back to the hotel without getting bit.
I let myself feel all of this. It stings and burns, piercing my skin when I think of Eric and the hours we spent driving or stealing shampoo or crashing at whatever motel we could find, and it consumes me whole. I give myself only these few minutes, because that's all I have.
Any longer will suck me down into a place of dark acceptance, and I refuse.
So, while my brain points out how utterly ridiculous this all is, I know I have little choice but to fight.
Eric would.
He's slimy.
Vincent smells like death. Sweat and alcohol, burnt rubber, and dirty cigarettes. He touches my hair only to move to the strap of my dress, and I sit perfectly still. My brain reminds me of what day it is –day fourteen –and it's the only way I know how long I've been here.
Each night has been the same.
The pattern of my time here was an unappealing one. So far, I've spent the mornings with Evelyn. Sometimes, she drags me into her makeshift lab, and I try to memorize the layout and supplies. I look for the boxes marked fragile, or sterile, or anything related to her vaccine. Sometimes, the morning stretches into the afternoon and we watch the zombies. In my head, I silently give them names, and I observe how they deteriorate at a surprisingly rapid rate.
Evelyn doesn't seem surprised.
She barely blinks when a limb is torn from a body, or someone's leg turns as dark as the Earth. If anything, she watches with a critical eye, mentally cataloging how long her husband has been attacking others and how he's still alive. He, like most, is in poor shape.
She tells me he looks several inches shorter, and his jaw no longer closes properly.
I try to tell them apart, but it's hard. They appear to be weakening faster than the ones in Vegas. When I told her this, Evelyn hesitated, but her gaze bore into me. She seemed thrilled I'd noticed such a detail, but it wasn't enough to convince her to keep Vincent away from me. Each night she walked me back to the ranger housing, coolly instructing me to shower and get ready for dinner.
I then spent two or three hours listening to Vincent.
Tonight, it's too much.
He's more than rough, his fingers press a dark bruise onto my upper arm, and he presses even harder when I try to move away. He likes it when I wince, and I have the sick feeling I won't make it until Evelyn injects me.
"Can I…uh, can I grab something? Four brought me some medicine to take. I haven't felt very good today." I shut my eyes when his hands touch my throat. He enjoys routinely seeing how much pressure it takes before I grow woozy, and it's a pointed reminder that he is in charge. If Evelyn's vaccine works, then I have this to look forward to. "Please."
"Did you fuck him?"
"Who?" I try to ignore the wave of nausea. My words aren't a total lie. I haven't been eating, and I've been doing my best to get by with the bare minimum.
Not to mention that him being so close, is vomit inducing.
"You know who," Vincent answers irritably, and his grip tightens. "That…cop. The blonde one."
"Can I please get some water…" I open my eyes, and he's right there, hovering in front of me. Black dots spot my vision, until the room threatens to fade away. "I'll be right back. I promise. Please. I don't want to get sick on you."
"Fine."
He lets go of me unceremoniously.
"Two minutes."
I tear away from him like I am going to vomit. I'm not. I make it to the bathroom as he snaps that he'll tear the door off the wall if I don't hurry, and I know he's not lying. Yesterday, he knocked me into the doorframe, and the day before, he shoved me into the nightstand, hard enough to bruise my leg. There was no reason for it. He claimed it was an accident, but it felt like he was building up to the grand finale of killing me.
"Shit, shit, shit."
I scramble to lock the door as softly as I can. The sound is loud; it echoes in the tiny room, but he says nothing. I hear him mutter about what a dumb bitch I am, and I use the opportunity to swear that I will never ever leave Harrison or Eric's side again. If I can just get through this, out of this ranger station, and back toward the main road, I will find them. I will find Eric, and Harrison, and Jason, and I will beg them to let me rejoin them. I'll stay in the RV for the rest of my life, if it means never being in this position again, especially now.
I try to come up with a plan. I think of Harrison's battle plans, of Eric's fighting techniques, and Jason's zest for staying alive. I think of Eric's grey eyes stuck on mine, urging me on, reminding me that humans were sometimes the worst monsters of all, but he could show me how to stand my ground.
He also reminded me that I could stay alive. I didn't need to hide behind him. He taught me how to fight because he believed in me, and if he were in my situation, he'd fight to the death.
No matter what.
"Okay, you can do this. He's not that…big."
He is.
Vincent is roughly the same size as Eric, though that may come in handy. Eric had shown me how to fight against him, and odds are, Vincent wouldn't be too different.
This is what I tell myself while I rifle through his medicine cabinet. My fingers fumble over everything; medicine bottles, syringes, razors, and toothpaste. While some of it is sharp, it's not quite what I'm looking for. I keep going, moving as quickly and quietly as I can, and when he roars my name, I smile in triumph, but also in pure, gut wrenching horror.
"I'm assuming you slept with him, since you're married."
Vincent's obsession with Eric reaches fever pitch when I open the bathroom door. I walk slowly, hating that he's gesturing for me to join him on the bed. I hesitate, knowing I'll have mere seconds, and he notices.
"Are you sick?" He eyes me suspiciously, and his mouth turns downward. "No? Then answer me. Did you sleep with him?"
"Why do you want to talk about him?" I step closer slowly, one arm loose at my side, and the other in my hair. His eyes go there –fixated on me twirling the hair around my finger –and I force a smile. Thinking about Eric hurts, so I try to focus on escaping. "Don't you want to talk about something else?"
"Like what?"
I stop directly in front of him. His knee hits my leg, and when his stare locks on mine, I smile.
"Well, I haven't told you this, but you might like it. Eric and I were together for a while. One day, we were driving, and Eric stopped. We took a break, and I was so sick of being in the car." I stop when Vincent's hands touch my waist, his fingers digging in to drag me forward. "He…"
"He what?" He snaps, and turn slightly, giving him the impression that I'm nervous. I try not to lose my nerve, but it's hard when he's clawing at my side. "What? Did he hurt you? You can tell me. What did he do? Cops are the fucking worst."
"He brought me to this field…and even though it seemed stupid," I pause, and Vincent waits. "He taught me how to fight."
Vincent's eyes squint, but there's no time for him to figure out why I'm telling him this. I rear back and he realizes what's happening a second too late.
I stab him right in the neck. It's harder than I imagined, especially when he reacts. The blade sticks in his skin, probably not deep enough, and I stare in horror when he stands up, knocking me away from him, and his hands move to grasp the scissors.
I found them in the cabinet.
Heavy, sharp kitchen shears, presumably from a ranger's kit.
"You little –"
I'm on my feet before he can finish his sentence, and I shove him backwards. He hits the bed with a thud, and he's completely caught off guard when I punch him in the face as hard I can.
He should be.
His medicine cabinet is full of things from the girls before me. Hair ties, rings, necklaces, even a few bottles of nail polish. The scissors were sitting atop a lock of blonde hair, dirty and stained with blood, and I knew what he had in store for me wasn't pleasant.
"Fuck. You." I wrench the scissors out of his neck, stabbing him again. His scream is valid; I impale them deep into the soft tissue of his throat, again and again. There is nothing therapeutic or analgesic about my actions. His screams wax and wane, my hands are covered in blood, and a particularly generous gush lands on my cheek. I don't feel any better or worse when it all stops, only victorious that he can't hurt me.
I wait for him to reanimate. It's second nature to assume he'll come back to life, but luckily, Vincent doesn't. He slumps onto the bed gracelessly, after a few minutes of struggling, and the blood is everywhere, and his eyes slide shut.
I step back away from the mess, and I close my eyes.
Killing a zombie is one thing. They are brutal and unstoppable, monsters that will kill simply because they can.
Killing a human is another thing all together, even if Vincent is no better. If I compare them, he's worse. He has an active conscience, one that could easily prevent him from killing, and his motives are nothing but pure evil.
I open my eyes to a room of red, and I know I have little time to get away.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Hazel pops into my head as I creep along the hallway, trying to be as silent as I can. Each step is shaky. I am covered in blood, my hands are trembling, and the surge of fear and adrenaline is not helping. My whole body is screaming for me to run, to get out of here as fast as I can, but I can't.
Despite it being later in the evening, there's presumably people working. Or at least walking around outside. I don't know where Evelyn is, and it's a risk to assume I can make it out without running into anyone. There's a chance she has someone patrolling the area, and I won't go unnoticed, especially not while covered in blood.
I grit my teeth together as I reach the end of the hallway, and it's a quick trip. I hover near the end, listening for voices, and my stomach sinks when I hear someone speaking. They are far away, not even in this building, but it drifts in my direction, until it's so faint, I can barely hear it. I peer around the corner, and I panic.
Outside, a man and woman are marching a girl toward the pit. She's not much older than me, and her hair is matted with blood. There is a minor scuffle as she screams and struggles to get away, and when they near this building, one comments that she became infected much slower than the rest. They do their best to wrangle her toward the pit of zombies, and just as they pass the building, one announces the girl's name is Britney.
I wait silently, fingers pressing into the wall until they hurt, and when I can't see them anymore, I take off. I leave the building without looking back, running as quickly as I can. I emerge into cold air, a foggy night, and the palest moonlight I've ever seen.
The area is mostly deserted, except for the people taking the zombie to join the others. There are six buildings set up around the pit, and only one has any sort of lights on. I give myself a single second to decide to go to the right, and I wind up smacking directly into someone. Horror washes over me when arms grasp my shoulders, but it dies when I realize it's Four.
"What happened?" His eyes are wide. He's dressed casually, like from a time before zombies ruled the Earth, and his hair is a mess. He stares at me until I shake my head, and my answer is a jumble of rushed truth. "Everly! Did you get attacked?"
"Vincent…. he was going to hurt me. I found…I found stuff from other girls in the bathroom. He was going to kill me."
"Yeah, probably at some point." Four blinks, and his cavalier attitude toward my death makes me irate.
"What do you mean, yeah at some point?!" I half shriek, half whisper, jerking away from him. He frowns at the blood on my hands and dress, then mutters a low apology. "What did he do to those girls? There was a lock of hair. Nail polish. Other stuff that clearly wasn't his."
"I don't… I don't know. Evelyn told me she doesn't let him hurt anyone and he's just lonely. I don't believe her, though. She likes him. She says he's been a huge help."
"You're insane," I back away, and he looks at me pleadingly. "All of you. I have to get out of here. I have to –"
"I can help you," he blurts out, stepping closer even though I have my hands up. I try to back away further, but my feet hit concrete, and I'm back in front of the building I just left. "Everly, look, I'm sorry. I know this is wrong. I've told Evelyn she shouldn't be doing this. She won't let me leave. She keeps promising that we're so close to the cure. And if I stay, she can fix Marcus and things will be fine."
"They won't be fine. She's going to kill you all!" I debate trying to just flee, but he's blocking my way. He looks a little panicky and a whole lot desperate, and I figure he might be able to help me. "Fine, just…come with me. I have to get to the road."
"Wait! You don't know where you're going!"
He's not wrong.
I'm making a wild assumption that we are near a street, and an even wilder assumption that someone will be there to help me.
"You have to go around. She has guards up front!" Four's protest is loud enough that I fear he might draw attention to us, but no one is out here. "Everly, wait!"
I hurry to the right of him, and he follows behind, muttering that I'm going to get us killed. The irony of the situation is that he could get us killed. He practically signed my death certificate by letting his crazy mother experiment of people, even if he once thought she could find a cure.
He stays quiet as we round the pit, and halfway there, my heart sinks. The lone figure in the distance is watching us, and their posture is primed to attack. Four follows my stare, then grabs hold of my arm and pulls me back.
"No! No!"
"Stop! Let me do the talking. You have to be quiet!" He hisses, and when the person steps into the light, it's Evelyn. She heads right for us, and her hands ball into fists. "I can fix this. She'll listen to me."
"She will not!"
It's a losing battle, not only because Evelyn is in front of us before I can get away from Four, but because she knows what's going on. She looks incredibly displeased, and her eyes widen at the sight of my nightgown.
"What on Earth is going on? Tobias, did you do something to her?"
"No, she…wait. You think I did this?" Four lets go of my arm, and his tone is incredulous. "You think I hurt her? I told you, I'm not like him. I don't approve of any of this."
"Tobias, step aside. Everly, what happened? Are you hurt?" She pauses, and her eyes rake over me. Something dawns on her, because her lips part and her head tilts. "Or did you hurt Vincent? Where is he? Why aren't you with him?"
"Do you know what he's doing?" I ask, and my voice is loud in my own ears. "Do you know what he –"
Four interrupts me. He steps forward, and points at her. "Evelyn, we're leaving. I'm done helping you. You told me you were working for a greater good. Not letting Vincent do whatever he pleases."
Her expression is similar to Eric's, when Jason asked if he wanted to be Colonel Mustard or Mr. Green: pure and utter exasperation.
"Enough. This is disappointing behavior, especially from you, Tobias. You know better than to try and interfere with our work. And Everly, you are being offered a gift. The chance to be saved. I would have made sure you survived this trial. Especially if there is a chance your family would have followed. I could have offered them the same vaccine." Evelyn's eyes are dark, and I know she truly believes every word she's speaking. "Everly, you are to come with me. We'll get you cleaned up. I'm starting your trial tonight."
"You're crazy," I step back, and Tobias does, too. "You're absolutely fucking insane. You can't experiment on people. It's not right. None of this is right."
"Please," Evelyn sneers. "Then call the police. Your husband isn't going to do much. He's not going to be able to help you when –"
Her words are cut off when Four pushes her. He knocks her to the ground, screaming and yelling that I'm right, and everything else is a blur. There's a moment of fear when she appears to gain some ground, but he knocks her right back down, into damp, cold dirt.
There's a loud, harsh crack as his fist connects with her jaw, then a look of pure horror when he glances back at me. His eyes are wide as she reaches up and grasps him by the head, and the two of them struggle to gain control over the other. They end up near the edge of the pit, and neither seem to be aware.
"He…asshole…you lied!"
I only catch bits and pieces as they struggle, and Evelyn gasps when Four elbows her in the stomach. She manages to stand up, wavering and gasping for air, and he readies himself to hit her again.
"You promised me you'd make this right," he lowly reminds her, and his shoulders rise up. "You promised me –"
She slips.
She takes a step back too far, teetering on the edge of pit, and her eyes grow as wide as the moon. She hovers there with a frantic look on her face, and when the edge gives way, she reaches for her son. Her hands grasp onto his arm, and once he loses his balance, he falls right down with her.
"No!"
There is a low roar from the pit, agitated and feral, and it echoes into the night. I don't go any closer out of fear of falling in, but judging from the sounds, I don't need to.
Four screams in anguish. There's a lot of shuffling and pushing, several seconds of pure agony, and the zombies must have bitten him. I can hear him pleading for help, until he finally doesn't yell out anymore, and the noise of the zombies eating becomes too much.
I take off quickly, ignoring the weak pleas rising up alongside Evelyn's total and complete silence.
The panic does not subside.
I blindly head toward what I believe is the front of the ranger station, and I reach a small check in point. There is no one here that I can see, so I fling the door open, and the tiny room is crowded. There's an ancient computer, a darkened and cracked cell phone beside a rotting landline, and plenty of paperwork. A set of controls to work the drive-up gate, and outdated surveillance cameras.
I push everything.
I touch every button, flip every switch, and I pray for something to happen. Nothing lights ups or beeps, and the silence becomes overwhelming. I look beneath the desk, hastily tearing through a first aid kid and old magazines, and I groan when there is nothing.
"Come on. There has to be something that'll help. Anything."
I keep looking. I rifle through a few boxes hidden far beneath the desk, freezing when my hands touch cold and metal. I pull it out carefully, still thinking I can hear people, but when I look out the window, no one is there. I summon every ounce of bravery I have, then I leave the check point as quietly as I can. The world is eerily silent as I run along the worn, crumbling street until I'm halfway to the main road. I hurry, sprinting into cold, dark wind, and I stop in my tracks when I hear a car.
"Oh, God. Please. Please, please, please!"
I take off, ignoring the pain of my bare feet on uneven pavement and the cold air whipping around me. I run faster as the sound of the car grows louder, and I scream when I see the headlights. It drives past the street I'm on, careening by before I can make out a face, and my moment of freedom is gone. The crushing reality of my situation hits me like a ton of bricks, but rather than go back and try to find another way out, I refuse to give up.
I make it to the end of the street and I step onto the main highway. All around me are trees, dark dense forest sprawling in every direction, and darkness. The car is far ahead now, but I can still see the taillights. I aim the flare gun high into the sky, and I pull the trigger to a surprising crack. The flare sails high into the night sky, then explodes into a burst of red and pink.
I watch it stay in the sky, streaks of pink dust and smoke burning, and I fire the flare gun again. The second one follows suit, and the third gives the sky a hazy pink color.
It's other worldly.
In the depths of the forest, where a madwoman has been running her own makeshift zombie experiment, the sky burns with my last chance at staying alive. It flits between red and pink, sometimes white, and the foggy clouds add a particularly ominous effect.
I stare up at the sky for so long, I nearly miss the person yelling.
The wind carries it over to me, their voice loud and frantic, and it takes me far too long to realize what they're yelling.
My name.
Notes:
Major thanks to Eric for editing this chapter!
Chapter 11: The Dead Don't Die
Notes:
Thank you so much to Erin for editing!
Thanks to everyone for your patience. I had my father in law's funeral, Easter, and my daughter's birthday all over the last few days and in turn, had no time to update. There won't be an update this Friday, but I will do my best to get one up this weekend.
Thanks for reading and reviewing 💛
Chapter Text
Everything is still.
The leaves stop moving, the forest creatures pause to watch the scene unfolding before them, and the footsteps following on the street I've run down come to a halt. The sky holds a blush of pink from before, and lazy streaks of smoke fall down to the treetops, illuminating the road just enough for me to see.
I don't move.
It's like my bones have fused together and my body has lost the ability to take a single step, despite the shouting coming from the direction I just came. The fear from earlier is paramount; it crashes down around me, coaxing me beneath its heavy wave, until I realize the person running at me is Eric.
I'm so relieved I could burst into tears.
I don't.
I want to. My entire nervous system is firing in every direction. The urge to flee, to fight, to hurt, to break down, and to keep moving all crash into one another. My hands shake as he sprints toward me, tearing over the pavement like this is nothing, and my mouth opens to say something back.
I can't.
Eric is armed, and perhaps it's the array of violence I just left, but I can't look away.
He has the gun aimed not at me, but at someone or something off to the side, and he fires a shot while his stare stays glued in my direction. There is an immediate scream, and he fires again, all while someone yells his name.
Eric reaches me in the blink of an eye. He's pale and frantic, hair slicked back, dark jacket with a dark collar, and dark pants, and around me before I can utter his name. There is nothing but pure, angry relief when he crushes me against his chest tightly, one hand grasping the back of my head. He has a fistful of my hair between his fingers, and the tension in him lessens when I let my head drop and bury my face in his neck.
He's warm.
He smells like the Eric I was taken from, like clean soap and familiar sheets, but he breathes unevenly. His chest heaves with each inhale and exhale, shock stemming from his disbelief that I am alive. I can feel it. The odds were never in our favor, yet this moment is.
For once, luck is on my side.
But it's not enough to dampen his fury over our separation, nor is it enough to pacify him. His fingers flex and tense, his shoulders rise up, and he steps back, finally speaking my name in the lowest voice possible.
"Everly…" Eric says my name sharply, but I don't want to lift my head up. It takes everything in me to move away from him, and when I do, his lips part. His expression is torn, both stunned and furious, and his eyes are greyer than I've seen them. They hold the weight of this –my kidnapping, the possibility of us never seeing each other again, and our reunion –especially when he swallows. "What happened? Did they hurt you? Did he…"
It's hard to answer. I can hear what he's saying, but everything feels like I'm a second behind. I blink when his eyes narrow. He tenses when I move my hand to rest on his chest, and I can feel the frantic beat of his heart pulsing beneath my fingers. I leave it there, proof that he's alive, and I'm alive, and we can both be alive together.
"Everly, say something. I know who took you. When you didn't come back… I knew who…I should have killed him. I should have listened to you," Eric pauses, and his grip tightens even further, and the fear is right here, choking me into silence. "Everly, are you okay?"
"No."
I answer honestly, the words croaky and close to shattering, and he gets it. He nods, then steps back and moves one hand. He sets me down as gently as he can, and lowly instructs me not to move. Eric reaches down to his side, and when he raises his arm back up, his gun is in his hand.
"Close your eyes," he instructs, using one arm to keep me pressed impossibly close to him. I follow his orders, and the minute I do, he fires the gun again. He fires repeatedly, more out of reflex than necessity, and this time, the woman's gasp is loud. I open my eyes when he announces it's time to go, but he's got me back in his arms, heading toward the RV.
Neither of us say anything. Not even as Harrison turns the RV around, and not even when Kacie weakly begs for her life, warning us there are others who will find us. She's right. They arrive after she collapses. They threaten us, shouting and screaming for us to get back and explain what's going on, but their words hold no weight. Eric keeps walking until I see Jason waiting at the door, yelling for us to hurry, and the warm glow from the inside lighting.
I don't say anything more than thank you, even when I stumble into the RV, crashing into the couch as Harrison takes off into the night, leaving Evelyn's world behind like a bad dream.
"How old are you?"
The nurse stares at me from behind thick black glasses. Her royal blue scrubs are a bold contrast to the plain room, and the clipboard in her hands is much more official than Four's was. There's a moment of disconnect as she waits for my answer, but it's hard to explain to her that my last visit of anything medical related was on the orders of Evelyn, so that's why I'm reluctant to answer.
"Everly? How old are you? I only have your intake form. It says…Everly…Coulter needs to be examined immediately. Possible trauma, kidnapping, attempted murder. Actual murder. Patient declined immediate treatment but is showing signs of stress. Patient was able to fend off attacker, but sustained a few injuries, including…" she pauses, and her stare is unhappy. "…head trauma."
I nod.
It's unsatisfying to her on every level. She glances over her shoulder into the hallway, where Jason is currently arguing that he has every right to know what's in the medical files and he knows HIPPA still exists, but he'd like a copy of my records, and she sighs.
"Okay, let's start at the beginning. How old are you? According to Eric, you are old enough to be his wife so I'm guessing…the same age as him? Do you have any proof of ID?"
"I'm…eighteen."
My words are woozy, and I'm not even sure if they're true. I've lost track of how long this outbreak has been, what month it is, and how long we've been driving. I'm not even sure how old Eric is, though he told me. There's a horrific moment where I can't remember anything, but it's fleeting. "I'm eighteen. I don't have any ID on me because it was in my purse and a zombie got it. I…"
I pause at her unimpressed stare, but she's not a threat.
Evelyn was a threat.
Vincent was a threat.
Four wasn't so much of a threat, as just a simple pawn in his mother's game.
The only threat this woman poses is keeping me down here longer than necessary.
"You're eighteen and you're married to…Eric. Great. Wonderful. We're making progress."
"Is Eric here?"
"No." She pauses again, giving me a chance to look at her. Her hair is short, spiked up all over her head, and her glasses magnify her look of dismay. She's older than Eric, maybe older than Harrison, and incredibly professional.
I was brought to her what seemed like hours ago. Once Eric and I were inside the RV, Harrison drove like a bat out of hell to the safe zone. I swear it was mere minutes before it came into view, and seconds before I realized he wasn't stopping. He drove past the man furiously waving his arms, right through the flimsy looking barricade, and parked near the entrance. He demanded Eric get me inside, and I have to admit, I was fairly out of it.
I tried to tell Eric what happened. On the drive over, he sat by me, ignoring the blood on my hands, the blood on the nightgown, and the way my fingers wouldn't warm up no matter how long he held them. He snapped for Harrison to hurry, because he thought I was in shock. When Harrison did stop, Eric helped me out of the RV, grasping me by the waist and pulling me down gracelessly, and we were immediately escorted inside.
The safe zone exploded before us like a weird dream. The lush and upscale mall had been completely renovated to become a makeshift military base. What was once a Bath and Bodyworks was now an office. The bookstore had people gathered around tables, pouring over what appeared to be large sheets of tactical plans. There was a lounge where the Forever 21 used to be, and a small general store set up in the Hot Topic. The middle sections were used as meeting areas, and several stores were roped off completely.
There was the faint murmur of surprise as we followed Harrison deeper into the mall. We took an escalator to the third floor, passed by a room full of brightly lit computers, and walked around a fountain. There was the lingering smell of cinnamon rolls in the air, bright lights blinking overhead, and miles of slick tile, right until we hit the infirmary.
Things darkened here, but the space was huge.
Set in an abandoned department store, there was room after room, divided either by new walls, heavy sheets of plastic, or dividers. The staff was numerous and appeared efficient. The first nurse was dressed like I was about to announce I was a zombie, while the second had on a few less masks. She took my temperature, wiped my face off, and gently asked some personal questions while Eric stood to the side, and I declined their initial request to detail what happened.
Eric stood there, watching with one hell an in intense stare.
There was no awkwardness to him being there. He listened to a few answers, his eyes glued to me when I answered that no, I was not pregnant and yes, I had had sex, and okay sure, maybe there was a small chance I could be pregnant. I was escorted to a bathroom to take a pregnancy test, while Eric was told he had to fill out my paperwork, and was eventually taken to a room to wait for someone named Arlene.
They explained she oversaw the infirmary, and with a smile, Molly told me I should fear for my life.
I knew why the minute I met her.
I wouldn't say Arlene disliked me. She seemed suspicious of Eric, but mostly because he refused to let go of me and he filled out the paperwork with his own information. She finally shooed him away long enough to ask if I was taking any medication, before proceeding down her checklist of questions, and I had my doubts he'd return.
"He's being seen by a doctor. They're starting all of your intake paperwork. Now, I have to ask, did they administer any of their…serums? I was told you were with a woman trying to create a vaccine, and you were scheduled to be tested," Arlene reads the words incredulously, and her gaze returns to me. "And someone hit your head? Are you lightheaded? Nauseous? Seeing spots."
"No. I'm not lightheaded. I'm just really tired," I wait for her to write this down, but she doesn't. She looks unconvinced, so I keep talking. "Someone named Vincent hit my head. He attacked me while I was looking for Eric, and…" I pause when she starts to mark a few things down, and she nods encouragingly. "They were creating zombies and testing their vaccine to see if it cured the infection."
"Did it?" Arlene sounds bored, and she marks a few more notes down. "You were not injected, were you? Were you bitten or scratched? Within close range of one of them?"
"No," I shake my head, wishing Eric was here. "I wasn't injected with anything, and no one bit me. I don't know if her vaccine worked. I think she said she had some success, but not always."
"I see," Arlene tilts her head, and her gaze is as sharp as can be. "And her name is?"
"Evelyn," I pause, thinking of her dark hair and the way she'd stayed silent as death drew near. "Someone should go check that place out. They're probably all still there. She's dead, but she had a pit of –"
"They're on it. A team has been sent to investigate. But don't you worry about that. I'm going to have someone come in and we'll start the required inoculations, get you cleaned up, and when we're done, you'll be assigned housing. I'm going to suggest two weeks, at minimum, for a follow up, and if you're cleared then, you can be assigned a position. If you develop any new symptoms, you'll come see me personally. No one else. Is that understood?"
"Okay," I glance down at my bare feet, and I can feel her staring at me. "Um, do you know…if Eric is almost done? Can he come back in here?"
She presses her lips together, gaze as curious as ever, and shakes her head no.
"Everly –"
"Is this almost over?" I glance in her direction, knowing she's not exactly the manager of the zombie outbreak, but I'm hopeful she knows something. "The zombies? I just want it to be over."
Arlene stares at me, silently, and she makes one final mark on the file. In the hallway, Jason loudly tells someone his friend is here and he doesn't need to be examined but he's willing to speak on record about Area 51. Arlene slowly inhales, and her nod is curt.
"Almost."
Half an hour later, I leave the infirmary with Harrison.
Eric is not done with his exam, and judging from the shrieks and bargaining coming from the nurses, his cooperation is minimal at best. Harrison smirks while we walk, winding through the maze-like layout of the infirmary, and back into the mall. He asks if I'm alright, and when I force myself to say yes, he knows I'm lying.
The shots and bloodwork were rough. I forgot how sharp the needles were, and it took them a few times to actually draw blood. I watched vial after vial of blood fill, and the nurse seemed unfazed. She did give me a pink band aid, but by the time they finished, I felt depleted on every level.
"Eric knows you're with me. I told him to meet us downstairs. It shouldn't be long before he's done."
Harrison guides me to the escalators, and I follow along, with his jacket carefully zipped up. He'd given it to me when the nurses stares got too heavy, stuck to the blood with a look of horror. I was grateful. He told one to get back to work, asked another for some water, and we left after they scattered, fearful of who he was and his demands. He kept his hand on my elbow, and when we reach the second floor, Harrison pauses in front of a shoe store.
"Everly," he starts, watching my face intently. "I just want you to know, Eric was…beside himself that you were gone. He fully believes you were taken because of him, and he's spent days agonizing over your disappearance. We tried several times to get close to where we thought you were, and it was by sheer luck that we saw you. We had scoured the area a few times, hoping to see something."
"It's okay. I should have listened to you," I confess, beneath warm mall lighting and the faint sounds of soothing, non-descript music. "I shouldn't have gone looking for him. I'm not mad. It was my fault that I went into the woods."
Harrison's stare is far from judgmental. He simply nods, glances to the side of me, and waits until an armed soldier passes us.
"Regardless of how it happened, when you see him, just know he's taking full responsibility for what happened, and asked that you stay inside, or with one of us. He doesn't want you alone, nor is he willing to risk anything happening again." Harrison hesitates, and his faint smile is hard to miss. "They've been told who you are, and I doubt you'll find anyone willing to let you outside anytime soon."
"Are we staying here?"
I have to crane my head up to look at him, and for a moment, he could be my actual father.
He's not.
I don't know him other than him being the man who showed up in an RV, right when we needed a way out of Vegas. I do know that he's brilliant, far more intelligent than he lets on, and wildly interesting. He looks out for Eric and Jason like they're his own, and I wonder if he was this way when they were on the force together.
"Yes," Harrison smiles, relieved for this second, but slightly reluctant. "Daniel is here. So is Karl. According to Jason, Rylan will be here tomorrow. Or he's here now, I haven't checked. Even if this place sucks, we're going to hang tight for a few days. Or at least, until you feel better."
I immediately feel a rush of gratitude toward him. It's far different than the wave of fear, and so unlike the homesickness I felt when I thought of Eric. This is pure acceptance, in front of a shoe store now moonlighting as a place to pick up your uniform boots, without any hesitation. Harrison does not know me, and I could not even be worth his time.
But he's decided I am, and that's more than enough.
"Thank you."
I have a hard time ignoring the burning feeling in my eyes, but he's not Eric. Harrison hugs me first, sort of jamming me against his side and holding onto my head like one might hold onto a small child, and he lets go only when there is a loud crash coming from the infirmary.
He glances down at me, and this time, his smile is amused.
"Come on. Before they remember Eric is with us and they ask us to leave."
He returns like a tornado.
I stand in the large and spacious bathroom, poised to turn the water on. We weren't actually staying inside the mall, but at the hotel directly behind it. It was a quick walk: three minutes from the mall exit to the heavily guarded lobby doors. Once upon a time, the hotel was a beacon for shoppers coming to spend a few days exploring this grand space, but now, it had been taken over by the military. A few guards nodded on my walk in, and several were working behind the check in desk. I was given a card with my name on it, Everly Coulter, and I didn't bother to point out this wasn't my real name.
A friendly woman informed me I was assigned room 5308. She gave me directions to the elevators, greeted Harrison, and he stayed behind to talk to her.
I went upstairs alone, but not the least bit worried. The hotel seemed be locked down. The safe zone was as safe as safe could be, and surprisingly quiet. I found the room easily, and when I opened the door, I was pleasantly surprised.
It wasn't as big as the suite in Vegas, but it was more than enough space for me. I assumed Eric would show up at some point. His bags were next to mine, and the woman downstairs had given me an extra room key, but I learned to assume I was wrong. I figured I'd take a shower, get dressed, and see if anyone knew where he was.
I felt disgusting. Vincent's blood had dried in my hair, it was stuck to my skin, and if I tried hard enough, I swore I could still smell the zombies.
I didn't even care what I was about to wash my hair with. I was so focused on washing away the blood of Vincent that I jumped when Eric crashed into the bathroom like a freight train.
"Everly –"
"Eric –"
He lunges for me, not bothering to say another word. He takes my face in his hands, examining it intently, and his jaw is tight. His stare rakes over every inch of exposed skin, and when he's satisfied that I'm alive and not bleeding, his fingers relax.
"They told me they gave you a room. I tried to get back to you after the exam, but they wanted to talk about where we found you, and who was there. I got stuck talking to Jack and Karl." His words are quick and to the point. "Harrison said…he said you were alright. That they didn't inject you."
"I'm sorry I didn't listen to him," I interrupt, suddenly desperate for Eric to know I didn't blame him. His posture is riddled with defeat, and the tension hangs in the air between us. "I knew better than to go that far. I should have gone back to the RV and waited."
"No." This time, Eric grits the words out, and his stare darkens. "You told me what he said, and I was too caught up in being pissed off at Daniel that I didn't listen at all. I assumed you'd be fine, and the guy would fuck off. I could have prevented this. I said I'd keep you safe, and I didn't." He swallows thickly, averting his stare. It finds the ground, faux marble tile beneath my bloody feet, and stays there. "Everly, I'm sorry."
His apology catches me off guard.
He's definitely not one for apologies, but really, he has nothing to apologize for. If anything, I'm the one to blame. I'm the one who left. I'm the one who willingly went into the woods, knowing it wasn't safe. Harrison had warned me to stay close by, and there must have been a reason. He probably didn't know that Vincent was out there. He was making an assumption about what could happen, and unfortunately, he was more than right.
"You don't have to apologize to me. These past few weeks have been…rough," I admit, watching him drag his stare back to me. He looks uncomfortable, and I'm guessing it's rare for him to be wrong about something. "I just wanted to find you."
He holds my stare for several seconds, and I'm fairly confident that in a world without zombies, I would still have met him. Somewhere, in a coffee shop, a bar I'd snuck into with Sophia and Courtney, or the grocery store. Maybe he'd have pulled me over, lingering to talk, even though he had no plans of ticketing me, only leaving because he got another call.
I can't be certain of much these days, but I am certain Eric is pretty attached to me, especially when he bends his head down, and I reach up to touch his face. He's cold, like he's been outside, and he stands there with his head against mine.
"I really should take a shower," I mumble, yet both of us are unwilling to move. His hands slide into my hair, and he only breaks away to nod. "Eric, wait. I have to tell you something."
Vincent pops into my head, unpleasant as ever. I close my eyes, willing the image to go away, but I open them again when I feel Eric's hands on my skin. He touches the strap of the nightgown gingerly, and his gaze is determined.
"I killed him."
"You did?" Eric cocks his head, and his eyes flick to mine. "The guy you told me about?"
"Yeah. His name was Vincent. I found all sorts of stuff in his bathroom cabinet. Hair. Nail polish. Jewelry. He must have hung around there, taking whomever he could. I knew I had to get out of there, so when I found these scissors in with the other things, I took them. When he let his guard down, I stabbed him in the throat until he stopped moving."
Eric's eyes narrow, only for a moment.
"It was…not like killing the zombies. It was something else." I shake away the memory of Vincent slumped over on the bed, but I know if I had to do it again, I would. "I didn't want to die there."
It takes Eric a long time to answer.
I make up all kinds of reasons, like he's hovering between being horrified that he taught me to kill, and grateful that I was able to summon the will to live. I wait as the seconds tick by, until his eyes lock on mine, and his lips turn up ever so slightly.
"I'm proud of you."
I smile when he smiles, in both relief and exhaustion, and he pulls me back against him until my head is against his chest, and both of his hands are in my hair. He stays there until I remind him that I should take a shower, and if I don't, I'm going to fall asleep standing here.
This water is way too hot.
I stand beneath it, while behind me, Eric works to detangle my hair. There's only the mildest unease at standing before him completely naked, because in the warm lighting of the bathroom, things feel different. I've slept with him, but this is something else. There are no sheets or blankets, no darkened lighting, and no hurried pace that someone will walk by.
His hands touch my shoulders, and he turns me around to examine the front of my arm. There's a small mark where Arlene took blood, and a few scrapes and scratches. There is no major physical trauma other than a sore spot on the back of my head, and the deep fear of knowing Vincent would have killed me. Eric grabs whatever body wash is in here –something that's not ours, not thieved from an abandoned grocery store or plucked from a motel gift shop –and dumps it into his palm. He carefully scrubs away the remaining blood, the dirt and sweat, and the lingering unease of my disappearance.
He then helps me wash my hair, and I use the time to stare at him.
Eric doesn't say much. Every so often, he asks if I'm okay, or if something hurts. I smile and shake my head, trying not to laugh when his fingers press against my side, or he nearly knocks me over trying to reach the conditioner. He appears larger when he's undressed, and more tanned than I remember. His hair is wet and slicked back, so dark is appears nearly black, and his shoulders eventually relax.
He stiffens when I offer to help him wash his hair, but he quickly relents. He ducks down, smirking when I press myself close to his chest, and one arm wraps around me. His hair is no different than I remember, but I take my time, examining the longer part while I work the shampoo through.
We stay there until the air is so thick with steam it's hard to see, and he snickers when I trace my hands down the muscles of his arms, going back up to his shoulders. He finally says my name when I touch his chest, but it's strangled.
"Everly, are you done here?"
The dry amusement in his voice belies the way his body is reacting. When I loop my arms around his neck, he groans, and I know he's had enough of being in the shower, naked, without anything but soap in his eyes.
"Fuck, it's dripping down my face!"
"Sorry," I laugh, and he swings us around to rinse his hair. I watch fascinated, not sure how I lived my life without ever knowing him, until he glares at me. "I was trying to be fair. You washed my hair."
"Yes, without blinding you," he retorts, and he steps closer, knocking me back into the wall as kindly as he can. "Fuck, please tell me you're okay. The first time Jason killed someone, he cried. Rylan threw up. Please tell me you aren't going to barf."
"I'm okay now," I reach for his neck, and he reaches for my waist. "I wasn't, and I might not be tomorrow, but it was him or me. And I didn't want to die, not like that."
His nod is as quick as his kiss. Luckily for me, his lips press firmly, until mine part and the world fades around us. Much like the time against the tree, his next few actions are frantic. He shuts the water off, grabs towels, and drags me out of the bathroom.
I have to admit, after days away from Eric, I realize just how much I don't want to be apart from him.
"I missed you."
In the world of Eric, each confession is a gift, only given to me under the direst of circumstances. A whispered confession late at night, when he was feeling unsettled and needed reassurance that the two of us were fine, together. Words of endearment, groaned when the lust became too much and he couldn't help himself. A cheerful bark of affectionate encouragement, as a zombie snarled at my heels and their teeth skimmed the hem of my dress.
Now, spoken over me, while he thrusts in and out in a frustratingly slow pace, one arm pinning mine above my head. After our shower, it was clear his intentions were to celebrate our reunion, barring my willingness.
I was fully on board, despite wavering between being so tired I could shut my eyes and fall asleep, and so desperate to feel him that the tiredness didn't matter. The night was so late that I swear it was morning when he slammed his hips into mine, and the only urgency was so I'd say his name.
It's a far cry from the frantic Eric outside, or the impatient Eric in the hotel.
It's slow and dreamy, drawn out while he hisses other secrets –he's glad I'm alive, he looked for me everywhere, and he vowed never to let anyone touch me again –and a warm feeling burns in my thighs. He's everywhere: over me, arms and legs tangled through mine, and his hair damp against my cheek. He says my name a lot, speeding up when I utter his, and my nails dig into his scalp.
At one point, he's feels almost suffocating, but in the best way possible. I scramble to knock him off me, but only so I can be on top of him. He's fine with this position; Eric's stare never leaves mine, and his hands roam over every free inch of skin. He keeps thrusting into me, the pace now sloppy and uneven, and I lean back, balancing carefully atop him.
Our reunion is exactly what I need.
My eyes close when his fingers skim down my thighs, and they close even further when he keeps going, until his name is a mantra keeping me alive.
The feeling of bliss takes over –pink fireworks are all I can see, and my body gives into his fingers touching me, and his thighs tensing beneath mine. I collapse at a certain point, damp hair crashing onto his cheek as he grunts my name, and his fingers claw at my back, drawing this out for a few more seconds.
Things eventually slow down, and if Eric were ever to fall in love with anyone –especially during the zombie apocalypse –I would arrogantly assume that person is me.
The days pass slowly.
They blur together with the nights, and the only reminder of time is when Eric asks what I want to eat. He gives me the chance to recover at my own pace, and interspersed between eating whatever he's ordered from a still functioning restaurant downstairs, I find myself lost in existing with him. At night, when my head is on his chest and his fingers lazily rake through my hair, he tells me what went on while I was gone. The details are gritty and gory, but necessary.
If my fear of Vincent came from the need to survive, Eric's fear came from losing perhaps the only person he cared about, other than his friends.
It's easy to read between the lines of his clinical recap: Harrison lost his shit on Eric when Eric returned from his run and I did not, Jason tried to stay between them, and their fight was inevitable, but quick. They immediate left to find me. They scoured the campsite, tore through the woods, and Jason nearly vomited upon seeing the freshly dug up earth. When they realized it was not me buried beneath tree leaves and dirt, they went to the security at the front. They then went further than that, demanding action from the safe zone, but ultimately, it was on them.
Our meeting on the road was sheer fate.
Someone mentioned they saw Vincent head in the direction of Evelyn's compound, and they decided to see if it was worth investigating.
It was.
Eric explained they'd finally found someone willing to talk – a terrified guy named Will, who begged for them to take him away from Evelyn –and things turned tense. After a day or two of driving by and figuring out how to get inside, they drove right by me.
It was hard to miss the sheer anguish in his tone, and the heavy responsibility he took for what happened. Harrison had been furious at him for failing to realize what was going on, and his lecture was twofold: not only had he lost me –the lone person he enjoyed being around, he blindly ignored evidence thanks to his own rage.
I promised Eric I didn't blame him, not one bit. He would have no way of knowing what Vincent was doing in the woods, and no way of finding me any earlier than he did.
Several seconds of silence passed, ticked away by the hum of the hotel lighting and the creaking of someone else's door shutting, before Eric thanked me. His sigh was still heavy, and even worse, he seemed to think at some point, I would blame him. He shifted, pulling me closer and closer, then went off on a tangent about lingering trauma thanks to what I had experienced.
He only stopped when his phone rang.
I lie in the bed we shared, watching his expression turn thunderous. He spoke for a few terse minutes –his tone as sharp as a knife, and his expression even more violent –then hung up with a sneer. He climbed back into bed, threw his arm over me, and a few minutes later, Eric lowly informed me that in two days, we would have dinner with his father.
"Did you really get kidnapped?"
My next-door neighbor is a total, but welcome, surprise. Eric left early in the morning, giving me strict instructions to stay put. Right as I was about to die of sheer boredom watching whatever crappy movie I could find, someone knocked on the door. I hesitated only out of fear for my life, but when it died down, I went to peer out the peep hole.
To my surprise, there was a girl close to my age. She had the same build as me, but was slightly taller. Her dark hair was cut to her jaw, and her skin was clear and flawless. Christina wasted no time in introducing herself, offering several romance novels as a gift, and then made herself at home. I quickly learned that she was brought here by her father at the start of the outbreak, and things had been fine.
Well, up until last week.
He left with a group on a run for rations. Christina explained that while the mall and hotel were doing well, soldiers frequently raided nearby towns for supplies. It was low level work, but still considered dangerous. There was always a chance of running into a zombie and becoming infected, or the threat of coming across another group with the same idea. She explained that her father liked the challenge; he found it to be a rush, and the thrill of returning with supplies was worth the risk. He usually led the team on their hunt, but now, he has yet to return from his last outing.
It had been nearly nine days.
She smiled when she spoke, but each word was heavy with frustration. I quickly learned that being here without an actual job was rife with sheer boredom, and not a soul could give her an answer on his whereabouts. She quickly turned the conversation to me, and her questions about Evelyn and the kidnapping left me feeling pretty raw.
I knew what she was thinking. There might be a chance her father had been taken by the same man I was, and even though I assured her Vincent was dead, I had no real clue what was going on in Evelyn's land of the undead.
"I did get kidnapped. I uh, yeah, I was there for…" I pause, leaning further back into the chair. We shoved them over the window to sit in the sunlight, and our view of the mall lets us watch people come in and out. "Four days, maybe? I don't really remember."
"Shit. Did they try to kill you? There's a girl a few rooms down who was kidnapped, and she had the same story. But they straight up tried to kill her. She said…" Christina pauses to sip the oversized coffee she's brought and smiles brightly. "Oh yeah, she said there was a mopey dude assigned to inject her and he kept missing. She thought he was afraid of being there, or maybe forced to work. My dad said...well, when he was here, he said he thought the same thing is happening all over."
She trails off, suddenly looking defeated, and I'm immediately sympathetic.
I like her.
After months on the road with Eric, and weeks spent with Jason and Harrison, it's nice to have another friend who isn't interested in who can do the most pull ups, or how many bullets you can reload in thirty seconds. Christina is a bright spot in my week, aside from waking up to Eric still in bed with me, and him grudgingly letting me pick a movie to watch on the crappy hotel tv.
"You really haven't heard anything?" I take a sip of the coffee as well, and it's good. It's sweet and warm, and surprisingly decent, considering things were at an all-time low. "I could ask Harrison. He might have some information. He seems to know everything."
"Is he your dad?" Christina asks, but she shakes her head immediately when my shoulders rise up. "I'm sorry. That's…very personal. I know Eric is your husband, and I assumed Harrison is your father. He was yelling at someone to make sure you didn't go outside when I last saw him."
"He's…. not my dad," I shrug, not really sure how to explain everything. My words feel like a lie, but the reality is, he's not. "He works on the same police squad as Eric and Jason, and I think he sort of looks out for everyone. I don't even know what rank he is, but he has some pull. He saved Eric and Jason and me in Vegas. But right now, he's the closest thing to a dad that I have."
"Yeah, I get that."
Christina sounds jealous.
She forces a smile, one that doesn't reach her eyes, then asks if Eric has any single friends. "I know the red haired one has girlfriend, but Eric is…well, he's hot. And he's huge. I saw him stomping down the hallway the other day, and someone said he was going to get his uniform and meet up with someone. Was he assigned a position?"
"You saw him with a uniform?"
My stomach turns over unpleasantly.
For every selfish reason in the world, I don't want Eric out there. I like having him here with me, though I'm sure he'd enjoy working with his friends again. He doesn't seem made for hotel living, especially when there's an entire army ready to go. He'd been vocal in his lack of enthusiasm about the Hallmark movies, and he only watched the one about Godzilla because there wasn't much to choose from.
"Don't quote me on that. I just saw him walking, and most of the soldiers have black uniforms. Did you hear anything?" Christina blinks, large eyes fixed on me, and she looks sheepish. "I sound like I'm spying, but I swear, I wasn't. I just went looking for bananas."
"I haven't heard anything, but I'll tell you if I do," I answer, and I hope she doesn't have to leave. She makes me miss Sophia and Courtney terribly, and I feel a flash of guilt when I wonder if they're still alive. "He probably doesn't want to tell me because I have to stay here. I haven't been approved for anything other than sitting in this hotel room."
"Me either!" Christina rolls her eyes. "Hey, maybe I can find a boyfriend with some intel on this place. Then we'll know everything," Christina laughs, and I must admit, knowing what's happening would be nice. "I did meet a few people. Noelle is awful. You'll probably hate her. Um, there's another girl our age, and she was really nice. Super shy, but she seemed normal. Some of the others are definitely not normal."
"Really?" I find myself intrigued, especially when Christina's eyes light up. "You mean like, they're…aliens?"
"Well, I wouldn't say aliens," Christina pretends to think this over, and I wonder if she's met Jason. "They were super boring. One said they were enjoying the zombies. One spent all day knitting. The other…she told me she didn't believe the zombies were real. I'm pretty sure she got bit a day later and she still didn't believe it."
"Interesting," I pull my feet beneath me, right as the door clicks. We both turn to look as Eric strolls in, immediately suspicious. His arms are full of bags, and it's hard to miss the black clothing spilling over the top. "Hi, Eric."
"Hello." He answers disinterestedly, even though his gaze sweeps over Christina. When he deems her a nonthreat, he sets the bags down, and stands by the bed. "What are you two doing? Who…is your guest? I thought you were taking a nap."
"I'm Christina," she answers before I can, staring at Eric like she'll be quizzed on him later. "I'm staying next door. I came over when I heard Everly is close to my age, and I thought we could be friends. It can be pretty lonely here."
Eric stares.
His eyes eventually search mine, and he presses his lips together. There's a beat of silence, then he exhales as though Christina suggested we have a sleepover.
"Wonderful."
"It's nice to meet you, too." She snickers as he turns, and he rolls his eyes. "I heard a lot about you from Arlene."
"You did?" I answer first, watching Christina struggle not to laugh. "What did she say?"
"Like I care what Arlene thought of me," Eric retorts, but he sounds mildly curious. "How old are you? Are you here with someone? I heard there was another girl who was with Evelyn. Was that you?"
"No, that's Tori. She'll tell you about it if you ask. But she doesn't, like, bring it up regularly. Maybe you guys should talk," Christina suggests. "She's a floor above here. She works in intelligence, but really, it's just security detail. You watch these ancient monitors, and nothing exciting ever happens."
"Good. The last thing we need is excitement," Eric counters, but his interest is piqued. "Did you say her name is Tori?"
"Yeah," Christina is happy to contribute, and even happier when Eric slinks off to take a shower. He loudly informs us not to bother him, and grudgingly tells her he'll order us dinner when he's done. She listens to the whole exchange with wide eyes, and when she looks at me, she looks a little lovesick. "Are you sure he doesn't have a brother?"
I shake my head, though at this point, nothing would surprise me. "Not that I know of."
We got back to watching the people head in and out of the mall. They are an army of ants, spilling into the large entryway with purpose, and leaving with papers in their hands. Most are in uniform, some are not.
I swear someone runs through the middle of the group with wild abandon, yelling and shrieking and knocking everyone out of the way.
Christina sees him, too.
We both watch silently as he leaps over a planter, into a fountain, and beats everyone into the mall without ever looking back.
It starts raining on Thursday.
I only know this because Jason comes by, and his enthusiasm over water falling from the sky is next level. He sits by the window with me for a while, drinking something that looks less like coffee and more like a milkshake, and he tells me how he's pretty sure he's about to be granted clearance to the long dead Area 51. The storm has already knocked down the bare bones system to a barely working state; the wind toppled over a tower meant to hold their signals, and the computers have been off and on for hours.
Inside the hotel, things remain steady, including Jason's zest for life on another planet.
He leaves when Eric returns with a scowl on his face, and he grouchily announces that Daniel is here.
In the world of police rankings, Eric's father is impressive.
The Chief of Police oversees all, and according to Jason, Daniel is highly respected. He says he's helped him out several times, he mentions that Rylan and Daniel are very close, and almost everyone who works with Daniel considers him very knowledgeable and fair. Some go as far as to claim he's a friend, others just like being able to say they know him. Jason admits Daniel can be harsh when disciplining his officers, but it's made almost everyone on the force better for it.
Eric has a different opinion. While he confirms his father is the chief of police and does an adequate job at directing an entire department, he warns me not to trust him. He seems hesitant to actually go to dinner with him, like this is more out of obligation than anything, and he slams the closet door shut harder than necessary.
"Are you okay?"
I look up I look up from the bed, where I'd been watching a fascinating documentary about a popstar's very public demise in the public eye, and when he steps closer, he looks exactly like the Eric I first met.
His hair has been cut, somehow even shorter, slicked back and parted slightly to the side. He has his police uniform on –one that's dark, more black than blue, and his boots are shiny. His badge, unnecessary in most ways except in announcing his rank, is pinned to the chest pocket. He exudes an air of extreme authority, including when he walks over to me, and thinly asks if I'm going to get dressed.
He doesn't smile, not even when I do get dressed –choosing a black dress that's passable for something more formal and less casual, until we are ready to leave the hotel room.
Eric stops me at the door, and his stare is torn.
"Eric, are you sure you're okay?" I toy with my hair, trying to braid it quickly. It was longer and messier since I had limited options here, and I'd already braided most of it. "We don't have to go."
"No."
He reaches over me, destroying my work in a second. He fixes my sweater, something he insisted I bring because he claimed I would be cold, and his frown hurts my soul.
"Just…don't tell him too much about yourself. He's very…." Eric pauses, and in the hallway, there are the muffled sounds of Christina shrieking a hello to someone. "Arrogant."
"Okay. Sure. I don't have to tell him anything." I smile at Eric, tilting my head up to see him better. "Are you sure you want me to go with you? I could stay here if you want me to."
The look on Eric's face is intense: it wavers between wanting to take me up on the offer, and rolling his eyes at the idea. I have a feeling Eric's father knows I am here, has probably heard what happened, and wants nothing more than to meet me.
Or maybe I'm the arrogant one.
Maybe this is simply a formality, and Eric has every reason for hesitating.
"Nice try. But if I have to eat dinner with him, so do you."
I smile, but we wind up walking in silence, with Eric's hand placed firmly on my lower back.
The restaurant is exactly what one would imagine a still functioning in a post-apocalyptic, zombie laden world restaurant would look like. Held in a deserted Cheesecake Factory, the space is dripping with charming tackiness. Gold columns are placed every few feet, the gold print wallpaper hurts my eyes, and there are matching gold flakes in the tile. Eric stomps over the tile like it's wronged him, and the host is a young man, maybe a few years younger than me. I imagine he's someone's son, forced to work here so he doesn't get into trouble.
His nametag reads CJ. He smiles brightly at us, and when he asks for our name, his eyes light up. "I know who you are. Yes, so Daniel is already here! He's waiting for you. Follow me!"
"Are we late?" I glance around, slightly confused, and the restaurant is surprisingly busy. It's nowhere near as busy as it once was, but even the lessened conditions haven't deterred the soldiers. "Eric?"
"No, he's just always incredibly early," Eric grits out, and he looks like he's regretting his decision to come here. "He can't stand to be late. He probably brought his work with him and sat here all day."
"Really?"
I follow Eric through the restaurant, wondering what work Daniel could possibly have. CJ leads us up a ramp, then down a different ramp, and Eric reaches for my hand.
I take it.
I fumble to slide my fingers through his, hanging on for dear life as we are led into the main dining room, where Eric's grip turns painfully tight. It takes me only a second to spy his father, seated in a booth off to the side, and he sees me at that exact same moment.
He is impressive.
Daniel stands up, and he's much taller than I expected. He's dressed just as official as Eric; his uniform is an impossibly sharper version, and the only difference between them is his glasses. Daniel takes them off to wipe at his eye, then slides them back on, and steps toward us.
"Remember, he's –"
Eric starts to warn me about his father, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what he could possibly be upset over. Daniel is in front of us before Eric can finish his sentence, and he reaches to hug him. I hang back, watching the world's most awkward father and son encounter, and it makes me smile. Despite having been reunited with his dad in the middle of the apocalypse, Eric looks like he'd rather die.
He shrugs away with a sneer of annoyance, needlessly fixes the cuff on his sleeve, then glances at me. I start to introduce myself, desperately trying to think of a better way of explaining who I am other than girl Eric met in the woods, when Daniel reaches for me.
There is no uncertainty on his part.
He crushes me against a stiff uniform that smells like antiseptic, holding on tightly, and he only lets me go once Eric clears his throat, and loudly announces we're blocking the aisle. When he steps back, it's a funny feeling, sort of like I've known him for much longer than a few seconds.
He smiles in sheer disbelief at seeing us, and not even the waiter crashing into him makes him stop.
"Were you ever going to tell me you got married? You never brought that up on any of our calls."
Daniel's inquisition reminds me a lot of my own. He stares at Eric intently, his eyes glued to his son, and a look of amusement on his face.
"No."
"Eric," I laugh at the look on his face, and he shrugs, staring up at the ornate, faux gold arch above us.
"Well then…" Daniel raises an eyebrow, and for the most part, this dinner is off to a decent start.
Two seconds ago, we sat down at the table and someone dropped off large glasses of water. They plunked down paper menus with an interesting array of items available for dinner, and then nervously went on to say they weren't positive everything was available, but they'd do their best to accommodate us.
Eric and I took the seats opposite Daniel, and his stare immediately went to the ring on my finger. I had forgotten it was even there. Vincent never had the chance to take it off, but eventually, he would have. Had I not stabbed him, he would have likely kept it as a souvenir.
Now, it feels like it's burning on my finger. I glance at Eric out of the corner of my eye, but he's busied himself with examining the silverware. I debate telling Daniel that Eric slid it on my finger right before the zombies attacked, but I don't want to. I want to say that I'm also curious about this question, and perhaps Eric can clear it up for everyone.
"Was it a big wedding? Did it happen before or after…the outbreak?"
"Define big," Eric mutters, and his petulant attitude makes me smile. His father looks at me, doing his best to figure out what's going on, and I look back at him.
"Um, actually, we –"
"Why didn't you get us into here sooner?" Eric interrupts, and he sits up straighter. "You pulled some Blythe bullshit. Saying you couldn't help, and we could wait it out."
Oh shit.
Eric wastes no time asking the hard questions, staring his father down with an unhappy scowl.
"I asked for your help and you refused."
"I did try." Daniel is surprised, and his stare returns to Eric. "I spoke with Jack several times. I even called all the way up to the General overseeing the entire operation. Unfortunately, with the risk of infection and the other sites going down at such a rapid rate, they made no exceptions. Jack apologized and offered both of you onsite accommodations, as well as positions within. He assured me you'd be well taken care of."
"Yeah, the Holiday Inn is great," Eric mutters, and I kick him. He throws me a dirty look, and I shake my head.
"It's very nice. Thank you. It beats being in the RV."
"Don't tell Harrison that. He'll be crushed," Eric retorts, and he sounds downright sulky. He perks up when his father looks mildly defeated, but it's fleeting. "Everly almost died at the campsite. She was taken by someone working for a woman named Evelyn. They were experimenting on zombies to see if they could cure the infection."
"I heard," Daniel answers, and for the first time since meeting him, there's some weariness to his voice. "I got the call once Harrison let Jack know what was going on. As far as I know, the team they sent brought back several people working for her, and one survivor."
"Who survived?" I ask, sitting up straighter. The panic is white hot, and I nearly knock over my water. "Was it Vincent?"
"No," Daniel waits as a waiter drops off bread and butter, and when he looks back at me, it's with the same concern Harrison had. "They were able to ID some of the bodies. Vincent happened to have a wallet on him, and I can happily report he was pronounced dead. He was the one who took you?" His worry is plain as day. It creeps up around the corners of his eyes, and for a moment, he looks visibly ill. "I heard he was a collector of sorts. We saw the collection of…things he took from his victims."
"Were you there?" Eric interrupts, glaring when the waiter dare asks if we're ready to order. "Did you go to the site?"
"I did. I was there this morning," Daniel says sharply, pausing to order a steak and salad. Eric follows suit, slamming the menu shut and hissing for them not to burn it. I order something with noodles and chicken, then I hand my menu over Eric as his knee hits mine. "Jack asked for all her vaccines and serums to be brought here. The labs are going to take a look and see if there is anything viable from her work. According to the survivor, she had some success."
"Yeah, she told me it worked a few times. She was injecting people with zombie saliva, then her vaccine." I relax back in my seat, and Eric's foot knocks into mine. He leaves it there, and his fingers flex as he reaches for a piece of bread. "One guy said it took him four days to get over it."
"Really? Four days? And he was completely cured?" Daniel questions, but it's not mean. He's clearly interested, and he smiles encouragingly. "Are you doing okay since your time there? Jason told me he was worried they'd hurt you."
"Well, now that you mention it, the guy was a little weird, so maybe not completely cured." I think back to Four, clumsily trying to put the bracelet on me and then lashing out as his mother and ultimately winding up in the pit. "I'm…alright. I keep thinking I'm lucky I got away."
"You aren't lucky," Eric interjects, sounding pissed off. "You're smart. You figured out what he was doing and thought of a way out. It's at the unfortunate expense of your sanity that you were subject to what Evelyn was doing, but you got away. That's all that matters. The fear will go away eventually."
I look at Eric in surprise. I haven't confessed to still being afraid, but it must be more obvious than I'm thinking.
Daniel nods in agreement. He rests his elbows on the table, smiling politely as someone drops off his salad. "It will. From what I heard, you handled it as well as any of the officers would have. And that's saying something."
There's approval in his voice, and while I don't need it, I appreciate it. I know he could easily dismiss me as absolutely no one, but he seems to like me.
"Are you going to stay here for a while?" A salad is set in front of me, and Eric grumbles that he doesn't want any cheese. "In this hotel?"
"I'm –"
"Daniel! Eric! EVERLY!"
Daniel's answer is lost in a blur of black clothes, a tiny meow, and a whirl of long, brown hair. I look up in surprise as I realize Rylan is here, and in person, he is better than ever. He's much taller than he looked in the photos, his hair is everywhere but especially in his face. His shirt is a band-t with a few rips in the sleeves, and his boots are only halfway tied. I notice Theo is hidden on his shoulder, buried beneath the long, messy hair, and he hisses when Rylan dips down to throw his arms around Eric.
"Fuck, it's good to see you! I thought for sure we'd never meet again!" He dramatically squeezes Eric, then his stare finds me.
He's wild with excitement.
I can see it all over his face, as he sizes me up, then lunges for me. "Holy shit, I knew you were real, but this is so weird! The mother of my God children, in person!"
"Rylan," Eric says his name warningly, and I snicker into Rylan's hug.
He smells sugary, and he lets go when Theo swipes at his cheek.
"Come on, Coulter. Don't rob me of this moment," Rylan announces, sliding into the booth beside Daniel. He winks, and nearly knocks Daniel's water over. "How are you, old man? Been bit yet?"
"No," Daniel scoffs, clearly used to Rylan, and not at all surprised to see him. "Not even close. And I'm fine. I was just asking Eric about his marriage."
"Oh, good. I'm just in time. So, is this a real marriage or an apocalypse marriage? I'm good with either. I just need to know for my own personal reasons." Rylan waits impatiently, only looking away when the waiter arrives with a drink for him. "Great, thanks. Can I have a beer? Or something stronger than water? Anything to make me forget about my perilous journey here. I'd also like to celebrate the holy union of Eric Coulter and the love of his life."
"Rylan, does it really matter?" Eric answers him evenly, avoiding my stare like the plague. Daniel is watching everything, but he takes it all in stride. "Look, what about you and—"
"Dead. Decapitated. Couldn't have happened to a nicer person," Rylan shrugs. "However, Theo didn't like her anyway, and he screens all my dates these days."
"Where on Earth are you finding dates?" Daniel looks more than curious, in fact, he looks a little horrified. "How do you know they aren't infected?"
"Hey, speaking of infected, where is Camille?"
"Oh, is Camille infected? What a shame," Eric dryly snickers, but he stops laughing when someone –presumably Camille –joins the table. She's pretty and happy looking. Her hair is shiny and bouncy, and she's dressed in an unfairly nice outfit. If I didn't know the outside is overrun with zombies, I'd think she's just come from work.
She lingers by Rylan, then slides into the seat next to Daniel when he moves. Daniel pulls her closer, kissing her cheek affectionately, then insists she have his water.
"Thank you. And unfortunately, Eric, you'll be sad to know that I am just fine. I'm not infected, and will live to see another day," Camille's answer is just as wry as Eric's, but she smiles at me. "Hi. I'm Daniel's wife, Camille."
"She's also Eric's stepmother," Rylan half whispers, barely able to contain his glee. "They love each other. It went surprisingly well when they got married, and Eric suddenly had someone who cared about him. She even yells at him when he declines an invite to their family dinners."
Eric is silent.
Camille looks entertained, but she must know Eric's limits. She throws him a winning smile, drinks some of Daniel's water, and looks at me. "Well, someone has to keep track of him. I guess that's Everly's job now."
Everyone looks at me, and I freeze.
It's pretty obvious Eric has shared far more about me than I thought, or maybe it was Rylan. Our relationship must have been a topic of interest, especially when it was just Eric and me, doing our best to stay alive. I wait for Eric to snap something at Camille, but he merely shrugs, and then glares at Rylan.
"Hey! I didn't say it!" Rylan lowly informs him. "But I agree with it. And I like Everly. She's just as short as she sounds."
Everyone turns to me, and I try to come up with a great answer. Admitting I have no clue if what is going on between us is official seems dumb, because given Eric's actions, this isn't going to stop. My last name is listed as his on the keycard, and the infirmary paperwork. He's been vocal about us not being separated, more so now than ever.
Telling them any of this is way too personal.
"Oh, um…well…."
My response is brilliant, but ultimately, needlessly. The waiter returns with our food, and he takes Rylan's order off the kid's menu. He promises the chicken nuggets and fries will be right out, and cheerfully informs us that they found a frozen shipment at another cheesecake factory, still sealed and safe to eat. Rylan tells him this is unnecessary information; he will eat them regardless, because he's starving and so is Theo.
Our waiter leaves looking confused, but no one bothers to explain who Rylan is talking about.
"Well, Camille and I are looking forward to getting to know Everly, and we're incredibly relieved everyone has made it. I think it's fantastic that we're all here for the foreseeable future. We should be celebrating tonight," Daniel beams, and in the distance, someone yells. "Who is that? Is that Jason?"
"No," Eric sounds pained, and he presses his fingers to his temples. He looks at me, and his sigh is expected. "It's –"
"Rylan, you are not the Godfather! No one appointed you Godfather! We both agreed I was going to be the Godfather!"
"No, we never agreed. You kept talking and I chose to ignore you," Rylan yells out, ignoring everyone in the entire restaurant turning in our direction. "Stay over there, Eric Jr."
"I saved your life!" Whoever is yelling reminds him, but it sounds like a threat. "I even went with Harrison when you refused to stay in a tent for more than two days." There is a loud crash, then a mumbled apology and a few swears words. "Fuck, I said sorry!"
"Listen, my life is so full already that trying biodegradable toilet paper might have pushed it to the limit," Rylan calls back, but he smiles. "There was no way I was going camping. And hey, Karl. It's really good to see you again."
"Rylan, admit it. You are not the Godfather!" Karl appears out of nowhere, red faced and sweaty. He does resemble Eric, but a smaller version. His hair is the same, his uniform is the same, and he's nearly as fit. "You said –"
"Wait, are you two arguing over who gets to be the Godfather of Eric's child?" Camille is confused, but almost as confused as me. Her eyes fall to the table, like she can see through it. "Everly, are you –"
"This dinner is officially over." Eric throws his napkin down, and when he looks at me, it's oddly pleading. "Look, Everly, I did marry you. I know I didn't tell you, but someday, when zombies don't rule the land and Karl isn't hyperventilating next to the table, I'll make it right. If I didn't put that you were my wife, you'd end like your friend. Not being told anything, and lost in the system. So, I did it. I said we were married and I'm not taking it back and I'm not divorcing you. I was going to tell you at some point."
"Wait, she didn't know you guys were married? And she's pregnant? Am I missing something?" Camille continues to be confused, and Eric continues to ignore her.
"Yeah, how did you not know all this?" Rylan waves his drink in the air, then holds it up for Theo to drink. "This is his thing. Marriage without telling anyone. You should know this by now, Camille."
"Rylan, shut the hell up. This involves none of you. Also, no one here is going to be a Godfather unless one of you knows something I don't. Including Everly." Eric stares at me, so intensely that I don't really know how to answer him. "Everly…"
"Um…"
"Everly!" He says my name threateningly, and for once, it is a threat. He growls it again, but so does someone else. They wave, and I nearly fall out of my chair.
"Wait! WAIT!" I shove my chair back, ignoring Eric's pointed stare and Daniel's look of pure joy, because behind Karl is someone familiar, with messy brown hair and a pleased look on their face. They wait for me to stand up, and once I do, they head right toward me, cheerfully saying they missed me.
Forrest hugs me, so tightly it's hard to breathe, until Eric mutters a very low what the fuck.
Chapter 12: Warm Bodies
Notes:
Thank you so much to Erin for your help with this chapter + editing!
Chapter Text
Eric's hand catches my wrist.
His fingers are warm, and they circle quickly, pulling me toward him. When I glance down, he's got a funny look on his face, and his expression turns stormy when Forrest says my name again. There's some disbelief in his tone, and I understand it.
It's hard for me to believe he's here, standing in an aisle of marbled gold.
But it is him.
His hair is even longer than the last time I saw him, his beard is unkempt, and his plaid, button down shirt was once our dad's. Forrest grins as Karl continues to argue with Rylan over who can be the godfather of my and Eric's nonexistent child, and I instantly forget about the scene behind me.
I untangle myself from Eric with a promise that I'll be right back, and I head toward Forrest as the argument between Rylan and Karl reaches a fever pitch. Rylan hotly informs Karl that he can't sit by him, Daniel points out that they both, or heck, even all three, can be the godfather, and Eric swears loudly. Forrest grins even wider, and I hug him before he can begin to ask what's going on.
"Hi Forrest."
"Hey Squirt."
Forrest holds tightly on as Eric angrily announces that no one is having a baby, and again, when Camille asks him if he's really sure. I ignore all of them, even when Theo jumps off Rylan's shoulder and knocks over a glass of water, and the following shrieks are mostly from Rylan insisting that someone grab the kitten.
The strange, longing feeling of home washes over me. Forrest was never a beacon for our family; he was often gone, hanging out with friends or sneaking out to meet a date, but he's a startling reminder of the life I once had.
He lets go with a snicker when Rylan demands we hurry up, and behind him, waiting by a faraway booth, Jason loudly asks why no invited him to dinner.
The rest of dinner is an event.
The waiter returns to check on us, and the surprise additions to our table have him scurrying to grab more menus. He drops off extra waters, a few more baskets of bread, and several sets of silverware. He hovers nearby to ask if we're doing okay, but his question is mostly directed at Daniel.
Which is fine.
I sit beside Eric, not really sure what to say.
After Forrest let go, I was introduced to his wife. She had since walked in with Harrison, looking overwhelmed and reasonably nervous, and Forrest quickly explained why he hadn't been around before the outbreak. I blinked a few times in surprise, noticing Forrest looked pretty happy and slightly lovesick, but I was stunned when he announced who she was.
Hazel's sister, Willow.
Willow and I had never once crossed paths in Haling Cove. I knew of her, the way I knew Landon's girlfriend existed. Vaguely. I'd only seen Willow around a few times, always from a distance, always looking like her head was lost in the clouds. I never thought anything bad about her; Willow was known for being kind, but sort of spacey. Slight of frame and taller than me, with long blonde hair braided around her head, Willow drew a lot of attention. She had a lot of admirers, but dated almost no one, and spent most of her time working in the local art store.
She was quieter than Hazel, rarely home, and apparently, desperate to leave our small town. My brother met her at a farmer's market on a cold weekend, and they bonded over a love of organic vegetables and overpriced flowers. She and Forrest started dating shortly after, and when my parents learned of their plans to move from Haling, my mom and dad put pressure on Forrest to dump her so he could stay in town. It was one of the few rare arguments I overheard, and my parents refused to back down on their theory that Forrest was better off focusing on anything else other than dating.
Her family agreed.
As it turned out, they relied on Willow to make sure Hazel got to school, attended school, and generally survived. Much like myself, Willow was expected to keep tabs on her sister, and worse, was often held accountable for her. Hazel got away with literal murder –presumably, since zombie Hazel was pretty unstoppable - and eventually, Willow had enough of being in charge of someone who shouldn't have been her responsibility.
Three months before the outbreak, they kicked Willow out of their home, demanding that she go back to school, and quit messing around with my brother.
When Forrest explained this –awkwardly, while Willow looked at me with a pleading, yet forced, smile –I suddenly understood why he left. He'd fallen in love, saw a way out of Haling Cove, and unwilling to be apart from Willow, they split town to get married elsewhere.
I could empathize with her.
I, too, had the unfair expectation of overseeing my siblings placed upon me. While my parents didn't outright insist that I watch Zander, he often wound up by my side, looking for someone to pay attention to him. I knew what it felt like to be thought of only as a babysitter, like my own life was meant purely to help out my parents.
Willow smiled but didn't say much past practically whispering her name. She stuck by Forrest's side, safely away from the roar of the restaurant. Forrest added that her family had called numerous times, begging for her to come back prior to the outbreak, but neither of them wanted to. When the outbreak started, he and Willow decided they should go back and try to find her family, but upon arriving, they found Haling Cove in shambles. They've been on the road ever since then, and fate had led them here.
That was all that was explained before Harrison pointed out that if we didn't return to the table soon, Daniel would come over here to see what was going on.
They walked with me, Forrest doing his best to catch my eye, and Willow doing everything in her power not to look at me, back to the table I'd just left. I pretended I didn't notice the look on Eric's face, or the way Willow seemed anxious. Her large eyes lingered over Eric and me, skated quickly over Daniel and Camille, and blinked a few times at Rylan, who was cheerfully letting Theo lick the butter off of a knife. Everyone made room for them, and it took a minute to rearrange the table. Harrison grabbed a few more chairs, Daniel and Camille moved down, and Jason gleefully told Karl to move the fuck over.
Now, Forrest and Willow sit at the end, graciously ordering dinner from the waiter, while everyone tries to figure out what's going on. Forrest's arrival is a huge surprise; I'm not the only one who is thrown off, and it's pretty obvious that Eric isn't thrilled. The server waits to take their order, trying to get their food out as fast as possible. There's a moment of scurrying to pick something out, while everyone watches.
"I'll have the chicken salad, please," Forrest orders, pointing to something on the menu. When Willow orders, so quietly I'm not sure how they waiter can hear her, he glances in my direction and stares until he catches my attention.
He smiles, brightly, but in that moment, I find myself angry at him.
Really angry.
I'm angry that he left Haling Cove without even telling me where he was going, and I'm angry that he showed up here, as if nothing had ever happened. I'm angry that he has a wife, a marriage I would have supported and understood, and angry that the two of them appear unbothered by what's been going on in the world.
In all fairness, my brother apparently had an entire life I didn't know about.
In a lot of ways, I am incredibly jealous. There is something appealing about his freedom, his carefree spirit, and his ability to simply pack up and leave. He'd taken few possessions with him, mostly things like warm flannel shirts and work boots, and left the rest. My mom left his room the same, maybe in hope that he'd return. His bed was perfectly made, his closet was full of his belongings, and his dresser still held old journals and mismatched socks.
His absence was considered temporary, but it had a permanent feeling to it, even back then.
But now, he looks alive.
He's fit and happy looking. His clothes are clean, his hair is longer than ever, and he introduces himself to everyone around the table with ease.
I don't share that ease.
Forrest had let go of me with a whisper that we'd talk later, and he'd explain everything. I returned to the table to find Eric looking vicious, his father doing his best to calm him down, and Rylan trying to convince them that the hotel was a perfectly safe place to raise a child.
"So, uh, Forrest, you said? You're Everly's brother?" Daniel pushes his glasses up higher, and his confusion over his sudden appearance is understandable. "But you didn't come here with her?"
"No, sir. I am Everly's brother, but I had left home before all this started. Willow and I left Haling months ago, and I took a job with a trucking company. I was on the road when the outbreak began. We saw a lot of questionable things happening, and eventually, we thought we should return to Haling to try and find our parents. When we went back, the place was destroyed."
"Yeah, the zombie really did a number on it," Rylan confirms. "Did you find her parents? What about yours?"
"Nope," Forrest answers, and Willow presses herself closer to him. She smiles, sadly, and silently thanks the waiter when he drops off two soft drinks. "The whole town was destroyed. Willow's house was in in rough shape, and none of the neighbors were home. Or maybe they just didn't want to answer the door. We left pretty quickly. We'd been driving for some time when we heard a story about this place, and thought we'd check it out." Forrest pauses, and his next words are heavy with guilt. "I feel partially responsible for taking Willow from her family. We both left without saying goodbye to our parents, and I was sort of hoping I'd find them."
"You won't. It would be impossible to find them, and stupid to assume they're still alive."
Eric's answer is as sharp as his steak knife, and as lethal. His glare at Forrest is unapproving; he tilts his head to the side, and bites down on his cheek. When Forrest looks at him, there is a weird look on his face, but he eventually shrugs off Eric's dislike.
"Yeah, I know.," Forrest answers defensively. "Believe me, I'm not going into this blind. I've learned a lot about the zombies. We have a truck, we're safe, and I know how to take care of myself and Willow. The last time we had any sort of contact with Willow's parents was a few days ago. I thought we'd head out that way in a few days, but uh, we met Rylan at a taco stand, and he told us about his best friend and his new wife. When he said her name is Everly, I thought it was an awfully big coincidence. I don't know many Everly's."
"We both got sick from the queso dip. Lesson learned, do not order roadside chips and salsa," Rylan interrupts, and he pries Theo away from Camille. "Forrest told me he had a sister named Everly, and I thought, what are the odds?"
"Yeah, what are the odds?" Eric repeats, and his tone is pretty unhappy. Maybe more unhappy than when his father was asking him about our wedding. "And now you're here. Good. So, now you know Everly is alive, and we can all get on with our lives."
"Well, yeah," Forrest grins, but he's the only one. A few seats down, Daniel looks panicked, and even Camille is staring at me with a worried look. Eric's hand takes hold of mine, and his grip is like iron. "We left our families on bad terms. I wasn't thinking of anyone but Willow, and I want to make this up to her. So…if I can find her mom and dad, apologize for what we did, then I will. Knowing Everly is alive makes this even better."
"You want to find them so you can apologize?" Jason looks at Eric, and he, too, looks at me. Something dawns on him, and he throws Eric a pointed stare. "Okay, well, I'm sure they'll be happy to see you. And you'll be happy, because now you know Everly is alive and well. And safe. Here. Not on the road."
Forrest's smile wavers.
It no longer reaches his eyes, and when he opens his mouth to say something, he immediately shuts it. There's a beat of heavy silence, and it hangs over us until he looks at Daniel. "Well, uh, Willow and I thought we might ask Everly to come with us."
The table falls silent.
Camille knocks her fork off the table, and Daniel wordlessly hands her his.
"You want to go back out there? On your own?" Daniel looks like he's thinking this over, but even Forrest can tell he's merely humoring him. "Do you know for sure where her family is?"
"No, but I have a good idea. I have the general coordinates. I figure I can go from there." Forrest looks at Willow, but she stays silent. She looks scared, like everyone is going to think this is her idea, and I have a feeling it isn't. "I've driven through all kinds of stuff. We should be fine."
"Well, all the travel advisories are asking people stay put, unless absolutely necessary. It's not safe out there," Daniel looks at me out of the corner of his eye, and he sits up straighter. "It's an avoidable risk. You can help reduce exposure by staying in one place, waiting this out. Everly –"
"I'm not worried about the risk. We've been on the road for months. This is a necessity. I have to find Willow's mom and dad, maybe even my own, and I…I wanted to ask if Everly if she would come with us." Forrest announces, and when our eyes meet, I can feel Eric doing his best not to leap across the table. "I thought maybe she'd like to see her family again."
His words are a mistake.
Eric's jaw clenches down, and Rylan and Jason realize a second too late that this isn't going in the direction they were hoping. Both are frantically trying to get my attention, and even Theo hisses before ducking beneath Rylan's hair.
"She…has a family," Rylan's expression turns annoyed, like he's been tricked. "You told me you couldn't wait to see her. You didn't tell me you were taking her away from us."
"Look, I know you guys have kept her alive," Forrest's eyes search the table, and beside him, Willow watches with a horrified stare. "Or…whatever this is. But you aren't her real family. Her real family is out there. They could need our help. It's selfish of us to stay here when they might be in trouble."
"It's selfish to rip your sister away from the people who care about her. You never told me any of this!" Rylan is irritated now, and he looks at Daniel for help. "I swear he never told me this. I would have left him at the taco stand if had I known."
"Rylan, it's fine. Forrest has…" Daniel hesitates, his stare returning to Eric. "he has every right to want to find his and Willow's family, and every right to ask Everly to join him. However, I think we all know that after what Everly has been through, it's better if she stays here."
"She is staying here," Eric snarls, ignoring the way Forrest blinks in surprise. "Your sister was nearly murdered. She doesn't need to get back on the road, chasing some dream of yours, because you pissed off your parents and left."
"It's not a dream –"
Forrest starts to defend himself, and there's a moment of disconnect. I can see myself sitting at this table, surrounded by everyone arguing. Even Willow quietly tells Forrest she's sorry and Daniel has a point. She mumbles that being inside is much safer, and maybe they can wait a few weeks. Eric snarls that the idea is ridiculous, and only Jason tries to dull his rage. His suggestions of perhaps sending out a team to find them goes unnoticed, and across from me, Camille smiles tightly, and she reaches out and touches my hand.
"Everly, are you okay?"
Her words mirror Eric's, taking me right back to when he found me, standing on a road, covered in blood, having narrowly escaped death. It's like I'm right there, my face pressed into his neck and his arm around me, and the panic makes it hard to breathe.
I nod when Eric's fingers tighten, and everything returns to focus.
"Yeah, sorry. I'm alright."
"You don't have to go," Camille speaks lowly, watching everyone argue. Jason is now so livid he can barely sit still, and Daniel is still insisting Forrest is taking a calculated risk that won't end well. "You don't owe anyone, anything. Not even your family."
Her words make me take pause, and my nod comes after several seconds of silence.
The noise starts up again when Theo jumps down from Rylan's shoulder, and slinks over and around a plate of fries, before he attacks Forrest with a vengeance.
Forrest and I sit at the roof top bar.
Jutting out from one wing of the hotel, it overlooks a lower section of the mall, while rising high into the sky. There's a large walk-up bar, though it's unattended, and dozens of tables and chairs filling the space. We pick one away from the main entrance, because every so often, someone wanders by. The area appears to be utilized by guests of the military; there are no soldiers up here, only men and women looking lost when they realize there is no staff working this section.
I lean back in the way too high chair, hoping it doesn't tip over, and I wait patiently for Forrest to speak first.
Seeing him is great, but the rest our dinner was not.
After it became abundantly clear that Forrest did not intend to stay in the safe zone, the dinner became a snappy, miserable experience. Eric forced Rylan to control Theo, and Rylan's retort that Theo was untrainable made him roar Rylan's name. Eventually, Rylan sulkily pulled the kitten off Forrest, but he offered no apology.
Things quickly went downhill.
Daniel continued to insist that leaving the safe zone for frivolous reasons wasn't smart; he revealed he'd been outside and gone to several smaller sites, and even things in the immediate surrounding areas were not great. Not only was there the high chance you'd get bitten and turned into the undead, but there are also other issues. Lack of food and water, shitty road conditions, people out there willing to do anything to survive. I'd personally witnessed the turn of humanity, and it wouldn't be farfetched to think Forrest would experience the same. Daniel firmly insisted that Forrest should think about what he'd be giving up if he turned around and left, and while Forrest agreed it was a risk, he wasn't convinced.
Neither was anyone else.
Over the rest of the dinner, Jason stared, Rylan glared, and Eric ate his food like it wronged him. Every so often, he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and his jaw would snap shut. His posture was defensive. I knew he did not like Forrest, and not just because Forrest asked to speak with me privately when we were done. I could feel the anger radiating from Eric, all over the thought that I could leave with Forrest and never come back.
I could.
There's a very small part of me that wants to see my family. I imagine it's like anyone else whose been separated all this time, and was now being given the chance to see if their loved ones are alive. On a small level, the offer to go with Willow and Forrest is appealing. I have plenty of questions, a few lingering hurt feelings over being left behind, and an intense desire to move on from this whole apocalypse.
The larger part of me disagrees.
For the first time in months, I am truly safe. I'm not at risk of being bitten, I'm not being asked for go on a run for supplies, and my only job is to feel better after being taken by Vincent. I have Eric, I have his friends who have basically claimed me as their friend, and I have Harrison. We have shelter and food, we aren't stuck outside, and the security here is more promising than being in the RV, or driving from motel to motel. Leaving all of this behind on the slim hope that I might possibly find my parents would be insane.
Which is why when Forrest smiles pleadingly, my stomach sinks.
"I'm sorry. I know that's a lot for one night. I was going to tell you I got married the next time I saw you," Forrest begins, settling back against the chair. "I hope you'll give Willow a chance. She's very sweet."
"Yeah, she seems really nice," I pause, and I figure I might as ask what I want, or I'll be out here all night. "Forrest, why didn't you tell mom and dad you had plans to leave town? We were all really worried about you. Leif thought you joined the mafia."
He cracks the barest of grins.
He stalls by kicking the table, until he knows he has to answer.
"I don't know, Everly. They were always busy. Dad was gone, mom was looking after everyone. I thought I was helping her by giving her a break. Plus, you know, Zander is a handful and everyone else…I just thought it was time for a change." Forrest looks over at me, and I know exactly what he means. "I was sick of Haling. There's more to life than a small town. I met Willow, and mom and dad didn't approve of our relationship. I wanted to do something for me. I didn't want to be apart from Willow, so we decided we'd try it on our own. I let mom know I was okay, but I should have told her where I was."
"Do you really think they're alive?" I sit up straighter, thinking of our mom and dad, trying to fight off zombies. "How can you be so sure? It's not…easy to survive out there. Even if they are alive, they might not have everyone with them."
"I know," Forrest answers dejectedly. "I just…I can feel that they're out there. I talked to mom right before she went to find dad, and he told her he needed help. I know she got to him. She wouldn't abandon him when he needed her."
"And if she didn't? Then what? Do you really think you'll find them, or Willow's family? You're driving…to where exactly?" I look away from him, dropping my stare to the table.
"I tracked Willow's father's phone," Forrest speaks loudly, and I can tell this isn't going in the direction he assumed it would. "A few hours ago, it showed he's in New York. I know it's far, maybe six or seven days if we take turns driving, but I have to try and find him. I'm guessing he's staying somewhere in the city, somewhere near where the phone showed him."
"Did you call him?" I ask, not sure if I want to know the answer. "Did you speak to him? A week of driving in hopes of finding him is –"
"Yeah. I did call, but he didn't answer. The signal dropped and then my phone died. But once I charge it, I'll have a location, and I can get there. And…I think you should come with me. I think it would say a lot if we both go and do find them. After we find Willow's parents, we can look for ours."
I blink.
I think of New York, at least what I've seen on TV, and I try to imagine the city overrun by zombies. I know there are plenty of high-rise apartments and large parks, but I'm sure none of that is the way it once was. If it's anything like Haling Cove, everything has been destroyed, abandoned, or taken over. If there are people there, they won't be welcoming to visitors, nor will the risk be any less.
I then think of Eric, watching me leave him with his father to come up here with Forrest, looking visibly ill.
"You're really going to drive across the country to find a family you aren't even sure is there?" I look at my brother, and his shrug pisses me off. "Forrest, this is incredibly irresponsible! You could die. I could die. There's no guarantee you'll even make it."
"It's worth the risk! You don't care what happened to them?" Forrest's anger is sudden, but misplaced; his eyes flash, heavy with frustration, or maybe a bit of sorrow at being reunited with someone from his family, but not the way he imagined. "Everly, can you seriously tell me you really don't care –"
"Mom and dad left me," I interrupt, and for the first time since I realized Vincent was going to kill me, I am beyond angry. "Mom left me behind because I was asleep. She took everyone else and went to find dad. Do you have any idea how that feels? To wake up and find out everyone I know is gone, and everyone around me was turning into a zombie. Do you remember Hazel? Willow's sister?"
"No," Forrest averts his stare, and I know he does.
"Yes, you do. She was a zombie. She was missing her freaking arm. She walked around like that for months and no one could help her. Ian and Landon, they both turned into zombies. They tried to kill me. And you know who saved me?"
"Oh, let me guess? Eric?" Forrest retorts. "Come on. The dude is obnoxious. I had to listen to Rylan talk about him for hours about what a wonderful Lieutenant he is, and how great of a cop he is. He barely looked up during the dinner. So, spare me the whole, Eric is a knight in shining armor speech. I don't want to hear how he saved your life."
"No, Forrest. He didn't save me. I saved myself. I also saved Eric, and I managed to not to get killed by someone who had more than a chance to hurt me." I watch Forrest struggle to look at me, and it makes me furious. "Like him or not, Eric is the one person who didn't leave me behind. He could have. He didn't have to take me with him. I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for him."
"Everly," Forrest sighs my name, rubbing at his temple. "Just because some cop drove you here –"
"He's not just a cop. He's my husband," I remind him, but it makes things worse.
"Right, your husband. I'm sure the guy really wants to be married. It sounds like an excuse to keep you here," Forrest huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know, I always thought you were really smart. I figured if anyone were going to survive, it would be you. And yet, here you are, hell bent on staying with some low-ranking officer and his weird friends."
"I'm done with this conversation." I stand up, so angry that it's hard to see straight. "I'm not going with you. If you want to drive to New York in hopes of finding Willow's family, then so be it. Tell them I said hello. Tell them I'm glad they're okay. But I'm not leaving here."
Much like Eric, Forrest scowls. He slumps in his chair, glaring at me as our reunion sours. "You're making a mistake," Forrest tries one more time, but I don't listen. His words are quick and unfair, but impossible to miss. "You're being incredibly selfish."
I ignore him.
I hurry past the bar, in through the large double doors, and head into the hotel before he can say anything else.
While it hurts –the thought of my family possibly being out there, perhaps alive, but presumably dead –I can't bring myself to give everything up for them. I shake my head at no one, press my palms to my eyes, and when I regain my composure, I head to the hotel room before Forrest can come find me.
"I'll kill him."
Eric's declaration is spoken both loudly and chivalrously. His fingers curl into my shoulders, coaxing me further into the hotel room, and his eyes are locked on mine.
"Everly…"
"You don't have to kill him," I smile up at Eric and his ridiculous threat, glancing at his sharp haircut, and even sharper stare. I feel a wave of gratitude toward him, even with his dislike of my brother. I'd shown up back up at our hotel room sort of wobbly and pissed off, and it took him a single second to figure out that I was upset. "He doesn't mean any harm. He just asked if I would go to New York because that's the last place he saw Willow's father's location on his phone. I told him no. It's not worth it. He doesn't even know if they're alive."
"Rylan swears he didn't know Forrest wanted to find you just to drag you away," Eric says, and his voice is low. "He's very sorry. He was so mad, he even yelled at Camille, and he loves Camille. Maybe more than Daniel."
"Eric," I struggle not to laugh or cry, although I'm not really sure which, and feeling so emotional makes me feel off balance. "I'm fine. I don't…I don't want to leave. I just found you, and I'm not leaving here. If Forrest wants to risk his life, then so be it."
"I can still kill him," he offers easily, unfazed by the thought of ending my brother's life. "No one will miss him. He has a lot of nerve showing up and demanding you go with him. It's safe here. Maybe not entirely safe, but safer than outside."
"I agree," I try to pacify my apocalypse or maybe real husband, and my palms rest on his chest. He inhales angrily, ready to argue, even though I share his sentiments. "He means well. He wants to find our parents, which is honorable, but I have no desire to drive to New York."
"New York?" Eric cocks an eyebrow, and his frown is mean. "He thinks he's going to make it to New York?"
"I guess," I loop my arms around his neck, sliding my fingers up to touch his hair. "He said I'm selfish for not wanting to go. Oh, and my low-ranking officer husband is just keeping me here with his weird friends."
"Low ranking officer, huh? I can handle the weird friends, but I draw the line at insulting my rank," Eric mutters, closing the distance between us. "You deserve to be selfish. The world is crawling with the undead. It's not really the time for selflessness."
I nod, waiting for him to say more, and when he doesn't, I take advantage of the moment.
"So, we really aren't married, are we?" I tilt my head, oh so close to Eric's, so my nose touches his. I have to stay on my toes to balance, but I smile when he grunts out a nonsense answer. "I know you said you did it just so I could stay with you, but…"
I trail off when he smiles, and I dare say he looks pretty pleased with himself.
"I've spent months sleeping beside you. If you thought I was going to let us be separated here, you were wrong." He presses his lips to mine, quickly, much firmer than I'm expecting. "As far as anyone is concerned, you're my wife, and I'm not letting you leave. I'll have them deactivate your room card and post your picture on every wall if I have to."
"I'm not leaving," I agree, head dizzy with this knowledge, or perhaps it's because he takes my lower lip between his teeth, and his hands move to my back. "And what about after the zombies?"
"Even then."
It's the last thing he says.
Eric slides the bar shut to really lock the door, and in the distance, I hear the muffled voice of Christina excitedly greet Rylan. There's a hiss, not from Eric but from Theo, a shriek, and then laughter.
A few minutes later, there's some gasping –mostly on my part –and the groan of my name when Eric has my dress up around my waist. I forget about Forrest, my parents, his desire to go find them, and how I barely said goodbye to Eric's father before Forrest dragged me away, and I give into the frantic, desperate affection of my real but also apocalypse husband.
His fingers are cold.
Daniel sits on the couch beside me, and he carefully presses his fingers to my scalp. Camille stands next to him, patiently waiting for him to announce whatever brilliant conclusion he's about to come to, while Eric watches from the counter.
The whole scene feels like a dream.
This room is much larger than the other. Out of fear that Forrest might have followed me to my original room and would show up in the middle of the night to take me away with him, Eric had us moved. The new suite isn't overly extravagant, but it has multiple rooms, a kitchen, our own private laundry, a balcony, and a living room.
After a quick tour, Eric announced he liked the kitchen, having examined the appliances like he planned on cooking dinner, and I announced that I liked the view. It was clear he'd moved us here in hopes of smoothing things over, and if I was happy, I was less likely to want to leave.
Which is ridiculous.
I have no intention of leaving, not even if Forrest demands I go with him.
With Eric pacified by the new room, we spent some time hanging our clothes up. I had a limited but decent wardrobe, though the pinks where a stark contrast to Eric's dark shirts and pants. I frowned when I realized some of the dresses weren't as nice as they once were. Despite being able to wash them, fighting off zombies has taken its toll. A few looked worse for the wear, and one had a few snags where it was caught as I tried to flee. I scowled at the dress I wore the day Eric found me, and I scowled even harder when he hung up his jacket. I disliked that he had multiple new uniforms now, some darker than dark, some a print made for camouflage.
I especially disliked those.
He put his boots by my shoes, hung up my sweaters, and smugly pointed out it might snow soon.
I ignored him.
I spent my time flipping through one of the books Christina had given me –a riveting collection of dark Disney stories where the villains won, and I only stopped when Daniel and Camille showed up. It was late afternoon when they knocked on the door, and once inside, Daniel asked to see my head.
"Why? It's not like you know anything about head trauma," Eric rolled his eyes, but he stopped when Camille handed him a basket of things. It seems our time here will be permanent, perhaps until the zombies die off completely. "It's not like you –"
"Yes, I think we are all aware I am not a brain surgeon. However, Arlene asked me to check her head and report back if there was still a bump. She said she called you, but you didn't answer, nor did you call back."
"Like I report to her," Eric scoffs, but he stares intently. "Well? Are you going to tell us if you found anything, or should we wait for your official report?"
Daniel lets go. He moves his hand away, flashing me a bright smile, and his uniform is the same as the first day I met him. Dark, precise, and intimidating. "She's fine. There doesn't seem to be anything there, so Arlene should be happy."
"Have you gone back to see her?" Camille asks, stepping aside to hand Daniel his phone. He slips it into his pocket, and the two of them look at me. "Do you have a follow up appointment?"
"No," I shake my head, smiling when Eric makes a face. "In fact, she said I never have to go back."
"Oh, did she?" Daniel is confused, even more so when Eric snickers. "She seemed very thorough when we saw her. Even we have to go back next week. Something about making sure we're immunized before joining the force."
"I'm sure Everly knows if her head hurts or not. She doesn't need some bored nurse in her business," Eric declares, and he shoves the basket far onto the counter. "Why are you here again?"
"Eric," Daniel says his patiently, but the look on his face is exasperated. "I came to see how Everly is doing. When I went to turn in some paperwork, I saw a few of the nurses treating one of the survivors. I spoke with Arlene for a few minutes, and she admitted to being worried about Everly. I told her I'd check and see how things were going. Am I not allowed to be concerned over what happened?"
"Survivors? I thought you said there was only one," Eric focuses in on exactly what I'm thinking, and I find myself incredibly nervous at the thought of someone from Evelyn's experiments being here. "Who was down there?"
"Well, Everly survived, so that counts. But there was a young man brought in, and they seemed confident in their ability to treat him." Daniel's pause is telling. "I also came by because I wanted to talk to you about your plans here. I was curious if you two are sticking around, or if this is temporary."
"Are we allowed to stay here?" I ask before Eric can say anything. "I know this isn't long term, but…do they need help?"
"Yes," Daniel answers firmly. "Everyone, especially Jack, is hoping that you'll stay here. This is the safest place for anyone to be. Tomorrow, Evelyn's camp will be completely dismantled, and the security here has been increased to prevent anyone they missed from coming to retaliate. There are a few positions open, and both of you will have the opportunity to look for something you like."
"Are you asking this because Forrest asked me to leave?" I look at Camille first, watching her smile tightly. "Are you here to make sure I don't leave?"
"I'm here to make sure the both of you don't leave. Because if you leave," Daniel pauses, ignoring the ringing of his phone. "Eric will go after you. We barely got the chance to know you, and if you stay, we can."
"Yeah, we should definitely stay and hang out. Because you were so willing to help us get in here," Eric snaps, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. "And you met Everly. You're talking to her now. That's enough interaction for the week."
"Eric!" Camille says his name scoldingly, like he's a small child, and I wonder how long she's been marred to Daniel. "Can I talk to you for a second? Outside?"
"No."
"Eric!" This time, everyone says his name.
"Fine." He juts his chin out, and I wish Camille all the luck in the world. "One minute. Nothing more. I have shit to do."
"Perfect. Just the amount of time I need," Camille grins, ushering him away. "Daniel, I'll be right back."
"Okay," Daniel waves her away, and he waits until the door closes. He exhales heavily, like Eric is a difficult child, even now. "I'm sorry. I know this must be strange, but I swear he tolerates her. Most of the time."
"I think he's worried I'm going to leave," I confess, pulling my feet up beneath me. Daniel stares at my shoes, the ones Eric hated because they wouldn't stay tied, and eventually, he nods. "I'm not. We've been on the road for months. And Evelyn…that wasn't great. I'd like to stay in one place, for at least a few weeks. Maybe a month or two?"
"I think we can arrange that," Daniel agrees quickly, his expression relieved as ever. "Jack is looking forward to meeting you, and I think Eric will find working for him to be enjoyable. He's a great commander, and they should work well together. At least, in theory."
"And Jason and Rylan? And…Karl?" I think back to the blond guy who looked like he could be Eric's younger brother, and I hope I have his name right. "Will they stay?"
"Yes, all three of them will work here. Anyone is free to leave, but I think we can be a big help here." He smiles, and I decide I like him. He and Eric have the same hair, and some of the same mannerisms. "Um, if you don't mind me asking, are you sure you're okay? Really? Eric said he found you in the woods."
I wait to answer, because that sounds far better than admitting my family ditched me, and Eric only ran into me when I saved his life after Ian and Landon tried to kill me. I don't want to come across as some damsel in distress, because technically, I saved Eric's life. "Yeah, we met in Haling. I was lucky to run into him. I was being attacked by a zombie and he was there. He brought me along with him, and we left Haling not much later."
"I heard," Daniel beams. It's hard to miss the look of pride on his face, and for a split second, I wonder if Eric is a bad cop, and him bringing me along with him was the first good thing he's ever done. He doesn't seem like the type to take bribes, but maybe he let certain things slide or turns the other cheek if it works out in his favor. I like him regardless, and it wouldn't matter if he had some spotty history.
Since the apocalypse, he's shown who he really is.
"You know, really, I think Eric is the lucky one," Daniel answers. "He wouldn't be acting the same way if you were anyone else."
I smile, but before I can ask him if he knew the girl who had called asking Eric to come find her, or perhaps some other personal information that Eric won't tell me, Daniel asks if we can have dinner again.
"I was thinking in a few days. I promise no one will interrupt and ask you to leave, or demand to be the Godfather of anyone's baby. There's another restaurant, over on the other side of the mall. We can go there. Or…uh, we could make something here. If Eric lets anyone touch the stove."
Daniel does his best to keep a straight face, and his sense of humor reminds me of Eric's; it's dry and amused, and I agree to dinner without any hesitation.
Eric might not think highly of his father, but I'm more than willing to give him a chance.
He stands up when Eric roars his name from the hallway, demanding Daniel come and get his wife.
Quinten is the size of a giant.
He stands before me, dressed in a white t-shirt and white pants, with an apron slung over his shoulder. He has a few papers in his hands, and several folders. He doesn't exactly smile; he squints down at me while I peer up at him, and I swear he's even taller than Eric.
He's also about as friendly.
Quinten stared Eric down when we walked in, crossed his arms over his chest, and announced that only I could stay.
In a fit of fantastic decision making, I had decided I was bored. I could only watch so many on demand movies before my brain rotted, and while sitting and talking with Christina was fun, I was starting to feel a little unproductive. I had been putting off seeing my brother again, knowing he'd ask if I changed my mind, and it was unlikely that conversation would go any better than our first.
So, I went to see Arlene.
It was a quick follow up, filled with unpleasantries. She didn't believe I was fine, did her best to make me promise to come back in three more weeks, and practically demanded I inform her of Eric's whereabouts. I didn't even know where Eric was; he'd left that morning with his uniform on, and I was half asleep when he promised he'd be back in time for us to eat dinner. Arlene also did her best to figure out our relationship beyond what was written on the paperwork. She couldn't quite believe we were married, she tried to think of a slick way to ask if I felt obligated to stay with him, and her eyes widened when I stood up and announced I was done speaking with her, and that I wouldn't be back.
The wave of defensiveness I felt burned.
My relationship with Eric was none of her business, even if she was the head nurse here.
She must have realized this, or maybe Daniel had yelled at her for being in my business, because a few hours later, she came upstairs to apologize. She explained that she'd seen a lot since this outbreak had started, and had only my best interest at heart; her concern stemmed from several things, but she wanted to make sure I had someone to talk to if the need arose. I listened without saying a word. I was still annoyed she'd think otherwise, but after several terse minutes of my silence, she apologized again, and offered to let me work with Quinten.
I should have been insulted.
Jason and Rylan had been assigned a security detail with the military. Karl's uniform changed from his Lakeview Police Department one, to a more militant, all back one. Eric's did, too. They seemed to be having a contest over who could appear more threatening, right down to how short they could cut their hair. Daniel's uniform changed, too. Every so often, I saw him walking with Eric, one looking more irritated than the other, off to spend the day working with whoever was in charge here.
Harrison wore no uniform.
He could usually be found wearing a plaid shirt, dark pants, and a rifle in his hands. He prowled the property on some sort of detail that made no sense to me, but whenever he saw me, he'd smile and wave. He seemed to come and go freely, occasionally taking a truck instead of the RV, and sometimes dragging Karl along with him.
So, when Arlene handed me the papers I needed to be assigned an area to work, I was expecting to be told I needed to pick up a uniform. I figured I could maybe get away with wearing only the jacket, but when I read the paper, I couldn't quite believe it.
The kitchens.
I scowled and immediately asked if she thought this was all I was capable of. My insult was immediate, but valid.
I had no idea how to cook.
While driving, Eric normally took charge of finding dinner. I ate things that were safe: vegetables, fruits, whatever meats we could find that were either frozen or fresh, or muffins that had an expiration date years from now. I wasn't exactly cooking dinner over a makeshift fire or creating meals out of nothing. Eric didn't seem to mind my lack of culinary talents, and he hadn't even asked if I could cook.
But here, I was horrified to be reduced to someone who simply had no other skills than in the kitchen.
Arlene dryly informed me to calm down, that this was the only job Eric had okayed. He had rejected the others: front of house security, border security, restaurant server, control room peon –well, control room personnel, store clerk, military solider, Daniel's assistant, Jason's assistant, Rylan's assistant –this one had several lines through it, as though Eric knew I'd for sure wind up dead or perhaps with my own kitten, and infirmary trainee. Arlene told me Quinten asked for someone to help him bake in the mornings, and while I didn't love being up early, the job came with free coffee, flexible days, and I was unlikely to die while making cupcakes.
I grudgingly took the paper along with me, and hours later, asked Eric is this was true.
It was.
His answer of –fuck no was his wife working some shit job, and also fuck no was his wife getting murdered by a rogue zombie or someone trying to break in –was absolute. He refused to discuss it any farther, and his only response was a smirk when I informed him this could be disastrous.
A few days later, he walked me downstairs to go meet Quinten, then left with a sneer when he was kicked out. I started to panic at being down here by myself, but pretty soon, I realized Quinten was sort of funny.
He was rough and brutal; he bitched about the other workers not wanting to work any extra shifts, and he swore whenever he found something misplaced. He showed me everything I would need to know –ovens, the stove, mixers, storage, refrigerators, a deep walk-in freezer which gave me flashbacks to the last time a zombie came out of the freezer at Caesar's Palace, along with several rooms full of dry storage.
While we continued on my tour, Quinten made me laugh by telling me that while he liked to cook, he found everyone here to have shitty taste. There were lots of request for things he had no interest in cooking, like macaroni and cheese or dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets, and plenty of complaints about the lack of desserts. My job, should I choose to accept it, would be to help him bake desserts for the day. I could make whatever I wanted, so long as it fit into a few categories: it had to be sweet, have frosting or some sort of sweet topping, and be able to make large amounts.
We weren't cooking for the entire army, but I would need recipes that could stretch the ingredients he had.
He announced that he thought I could do it, threw the apron at me, and waited for my answer. When I didn't respond immediately, he decided to try and convince me with his unflinching honesty.
"Look, I'll be frank with you. Harrison came and said this would be the safest job they could come up with for you, and if I didn't have you help me, he's going to tell my wife to divorce me," Quinten says, his eyes boring into mine. "And there's nothing I like more than my wife. So, I'm offering you the job. You can come help me a few days a week, make shit the soldiers like, and we'll call it even. I won't even make you clock in."
"Harrison really said that?" I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified when he nods. "Wait, would she divorce you? Just because he said so?"
"Maybe," Quinten squints. "The guy's pretty convincing. We're having pork chops for dinner tonight at his request."
"Can I ask you something else? I touch the counter, metal and cold, and just like the one a zombie knocked my head into, and I hope Quinten is right. "Has anyone here gotten infected? Have you seen the zombies?"
"Nah. The waiting period weeds them out. A few have tried to push it, or come in showing symptoms. Arlene deals with them really quick." Quinten eases up, pausing only to grab me a keycard and some papers. "You'll be fine. It's safe. No one can get in or out. And yeah, I've seen a bunch of them. I used to work for one of the theme parks in California. It went down faster than you can imagine. One minute, it was all good, smiling kids and parents taking pictures, and the next, it was a zombie mouse tearing people's heads off."
"Whoa," I stare in shock, and Quinten laughs.
"It was overpriced anyway. But hey, look, you don't have to worry I know your…husband is some high-ranking asshole, I mean…officer, but I think you'd do well here. It's quiet. No one has ever been kidnapped from here, and I allow as many breaks as you want, so long as you finish the baking by noon. That's usually when someone starts looking for cookies." Quinten stares, his blonde hair slicked back completely, giving him the air of someone who could murder me if I pissed him off. "Also, let's not forget what Harrison said. He'll tell my wife to leave me if you don't want to work here, so I'm willing to even let you have Friday's off. Unless I really need your help."
"Have you met Eric?" I hold onto the apron tightly, feeling the weirdest sense of normalcy rise up. The kitchen is warm with whatever he's cooking, and it smells like rosemary and pasta. "Did he talk to you?"
"Yeah," Quinten shrugs, clearly not impressed. "He said a lot in a few words. Mostly that his wife needs to work here, and I'm not to let you take your breaks outside."
"I can go outside!" I try not to laugh, but I give Eric credit for trying. "Okay, well, actually…I'd like to work with you. I know how to bake pretty well, and this will be far better than watching people go in and out of the mall all day."
"Yeah, well the mall isn't as fun as it once was. Unless you like wandering around with nothing to do," Quinten huffs, but he's pleased. "Great. You can start tomorrow. I get here around four thirty."
"Four thirty…in the morning?" I repeat, horror welling up before I can take back my agreement to help him. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, but you can get here at eight. That gives you four hours to bake. You should be fine." Quinten nods dismissively, and our meeting comes to an abrupt end. "I gotta get back to work. I'll see you tomorrow. If you have any questions, I'll answer them then."
"Okay…sure. Thanks."
I leave him alone in his vast kitchen, feeling much better at the thought of having something to contribute. I even like the idea of working with Quinten, and I think I might learn a lot from him. Maybe even enough to make Eric dinner.
Pleased with this idea, I head down the long hallway, making my way back toward the hotel. On my way out, I pass a few members of Quinten's staff. They pay almost no attention to me, and their whispers are more or less about the guy waiting at the end of the hallway.
I turn a corner to find Forrest standing there, arms crossed, chewing on a coffee stirrer, waiting for me.
"I'd like to apologize. I was incredibly rude to you."
In the world of Forrest, this is huge. As the oldest child, he'd worked the hardest to pave the way for the rest of us. He did all the hard stuff first: he got in trouble at school, broke his curfew, snuck out, and hung out with friends my parents didn't like. To balance this out, he got good grades, adored his brothers and sisters, and often acted as buffer when things got tense.
Once my parents had enough children to outnumber them, Forrest was bumped up in the ranks. Any help he gave was considered a gift, and in turn, he was never wrong. He was always right with his actions, right with his thinking, and ultimately, the one they trusted the most.
So, for him to stand there by the doors, looking glum after not getting his way, is pretty unusual.
Almost as unusual as him begging me to stop and listen.
"Everly, wait! I'm sorry! I've spent the past three days getting yelled at!" He protests, running to catch up when I walk by him. I don't really have any intention of stopping. He's going to beg for forgiveness, knowing I can't possibly stay mad at him when zombies are currently ruling the Earth, and I'll be forced to forgive him because I always have. "Can't you talk for a minute?"
"Why?" I whirl around to find him right on my heels, panic stricken. "I think you said everything that needs to be said."
"Please! Willow and I have been fighting for days over this!"
"Really? Willow yelled at you? I find that hard to believe," I answer, but I do stop. "Forrest, I'm not in the mood to hear about how horrible I am for not wanting to go to New York. I don't even know Willow. I don't even know you, anymore. But I do know that I don't want to spend a week driving anywhere with you two. Nothing you can say will make me want to go with you. In my opinion, you deserve to get yelled at."
"Yeah, I get that now," Forrest announces. "Promise. I just…I'm glad you're alive. I uh, I ran into Eric on the way down here and we got to talk for a bit. It sounds like you guys had a wild ride getting here. He's…very invested in you."
"You talked to Eric?" I sound skeptical, because I am. "You said –"
"I was wrong. He's not that bad. He does have a huge ego, but I guess, if I was the lieutenant of a police department, I would, too." Forrest hesitates, and his next words make it hard to stay mad at him. "Look, I know what it feels like to get lost in the crowd. I get why you want to stay with him. Honestly, being out on the road with your…your…" He trails off, unwilling to say the word. "…Eric."
"My husband?" I glare at him, and he shrugs.
"Whatever he is," Forrest looks like he doesn't want to admit I could be married to anyone, though it might be because he's decided to be annoyingly overprotective. "Being with him was good for you. You're a lot stronger than when I saw you last. You look happy and Eric…well, I've been told he looks happy. I get it. I swear."
"I am happy. I'd be happier if you didn't make the stupid decision to go drive across the country for people who don't like you." I cross my arms over my chest, thinking of how many things could go wrong. "Do you really think it's worth it? Between you and me? You really think you'll find them?"
"No," Forrest shakes his head. "Not at all. But if it will make Willow happy, then I'll do it."
I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn't really need to. I understand what he's saying, because I have the feeling Eric would do the same for me. Maybe not as wholeheartedly, or as enthusiastically, but he'd go if I asked him to.
"Okay, well, will you stay for a few more days? Could you do that?" I step toward him, thinking maybe I will forgive him, even if he isn't staying. Or maybe Daniel can talk some sense into him, at least enough so he doesn't leave tomorrow. "I'd like to get to know Willow. I know that's asking a lot, but…you just got here. It doesn't seem right to have you run off before we can hang out."
He nods. His eyes light up, and he looks far less miserable than he did a few minutes ago. "Yeah, yeah I can do that. Willow won't mind."
She might.
What I'm asking is selfish; in the event that her family is alive and in New York, every minute counts. Taking two more days to stay here, after he's already hung around waiting to talk to me, could be determinantal. They could be dead, could die while he's driving, or could not even be there at all.
Whatever the case may be, Forrest agrees.
He walks me all the way back to my hotel room, promising to talk with Willow as soon as he can. Things between us aren't amazing by any stretch of the imagination; he still seems hung up on the fact that I'm not willing to run out and find our parents, and he even defends them for not reaching out to me. I let him ramble, having already made peace with not knowing if they are alive or not, while he clearly hasn't.
Forrest hugs me goodbye, muttering again that he's sorry and he's even more sorry that he just assumed I wasn't happy here. His words are pleading, and I nod, knowing he means it. He hugs me even tighter, but this time, his hug feels like goodbye.
On Thursday, the mall is dimly lit.
Eric explains it's in conservation mode, and unlike the hotel, this means only half the lights are on. It gives it an even eerier vibe, long walkways cast with deep shadows, but it's fitting. There aren't many people out right now, nor are many stores open. There are some new ones that have popped up –several with clothes that aren't uniforms, and one where soldiers are lined up to get their hair cut –all located inside the old stores.
I walk with my fingers laced through Eric's, and the public display of affection is making him sweaty. A few soldiers pass us, curious stares slicing over my exposed skin, and my sundress was not a brilliant choice. I'd worn it in full on denial of the changing season. I was desperate to hold onto the warmer weather because I'd forever equate Eric to the end of summer: hot sticky days, cooler nights where the orangey sunsets burned away to reveal a starry sky, and sundresses and flip flops.
Oh, and the zombies.
Always the zombies.
I hold on tighter as we pass a few soldiers who salute him, though he nods and hisses it's unnecessary. He's not part of the military, but in some ways, he is. His rank of Lieutenant is respected, especially by those trying to work their way up. Today, most of them are busy, and I notice all sorts of other uniforms. There are paramedics here, a few fire fighters, and dozens of SWAT members. Each department is careful to address the others by their full rank, but that doesn't mean they aren't curious about who is out and about.
Especially Eric.
He's the only one with a wife holding onto his hand, asking if we can stop and get ice cream.
"You want ice cream? You aren't sick of dessert?" Eric raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't hate the idea. "Alright. I think Rylan and Christina went to…somewhere in the food court."
"We should go there," I readily agree, holding onto him tighter as he leads us to the escalators. "Then maybe we can take a nap. I'm really tired."
"So, you haven't outgrown your narcolepsy?" Eric snickers, ignoring the looks from a few nurses going the opposite direction. "Who knew you helping Quinten would be so dangerous?"
His words make me smile up at him, because honestly, working with Quinten isn't all that bad.
Sure, my day started early. The first one was brutal. Eric woke me up around six thirty, and I refused to listen to him. I shoved my face back in the pillow, fell back asleep while he took a shower only to wake up in a full-blown panic. I had less than an hour to be downstairs, which meant a fast shower, a random dress and a pair of flats, and barely enough time to dry my hair. I made it on time, didn't clock in, and realized I forgot my apron.
Quinten barely blinked.
He was elbow deep in lunch prep, and a woman named Margo told me where to find another one. I immediately set to work, having read through Quinten's enormous list of recipes the night before, and I decided to make brownies.
They were easy.
Quinten kept a watchful eye as I worked to find the ingredients, and by eleven, the kitchen smelled like chocolate. I had the first ten dozen pulled from the ovens, then I moved on to working on the next batch. The morning flew by. I only took a small break to sip some coffee with Margo, and I tried to figure out if she was Quinten's wife. She seemed to appreciate having someone else working with them in the kitchens, but the kitchen staff was impressive in their own way. Dozens of employees flitted in and out; some staying to help cook, others unpacking produce, others doing inventory. The prep team worked with the ones doing inventory, and I overheard them listing the foods they were hoping would be found in large quantities; according to them, we needed more butter, more chicken, dozens of bags of noodles, and flour. No noodles if they could find flour and eggs, but absolutely, for no reason ever, were they to bring back canned pasta.
I left after lunch, stalling to talk with Quinten for just a minute, and he approved of my first day. He thanked me, sent me on my way with two oversized turkey sandwiches, and I found Eric waiting for me. We ate outside, enjoying the last few days of not freezing weather, and once done, Eric suggested we walk around.
I found this suspicious, but my guess is that it was to keep me away from Christina and Rylan.
Despite him being one of Eric's best friends, Rylan was a lot. In Vegas, Eric had sighed and informed me of this. I learned that Rylan's personality made him very likeable, but especially to whatever person he set his sights on. He was an all-in kind of person; he loved whole heartedly, never let the chance to tell them pass him by, and spent his days trying to make their lives better. Rylan was invested. Maybe a little obsessive, but so completely full of joy over life in general, that it was hard to find him annoying.
Which is why his whirlwind courtship of Christina made Eric shut his eyes and count to a very high number. Rylan had immediately declared that if he and Christina hit it off, which they did, we'd never ever have a reason to be apart. His logic was since Christina and I were friends, we'd stay friends till the end.
His only hold up was Quinten. Rylan didn't entirely approve of me spending my mornings with him, while Christina sat in her room. She hadn't been approved to work anywhere, and despite Rylan's best attempts, she was still waiting. In turn, we had seen them for almost every meal. Eric's eye twitched every time someone knocked on the door, and he was only volunteering to go see him now because Rylan had borrowed something from him that he wanted back.
"I like working with Quinten. I think tomorrow, I'm going to make cupcakes." I step closer to Eric, and he steadies us on the stair so I don't fall backwards. "You like cupcakes. You ate that one at the gas station."
His disgust is immediate.
I like watching the expressions on Eric's face. Some of my favorite ones range from horrific disapproval to mild interest, from lusty but furious at himself for having actual feelings of affection, to the barest of acceptance when he liked someone. Even now he looks like he wants to smile, but admitting he likes cupcakes would destroy the well-crafted image he's created for himself.
"Yes, and we both learned my lesson about eating anything from a gas station."
"I can bring you one. Maybe I could meet you for lunch," I suggest, right as we near the top floor. We pass by the large fountains again, still on and spraying delightfully bright turquoise colored water, and he nods. "Maybe we can –"
"Oh good, there they are. Are you sure you want to join them? We still have time to leave," Eric half jokes, and his grip tightens. "We could go over by the movies. There's another ice cream place there."
"You really don't want to say hi?" I glance at them in confusion, until I realize we'd be interrupting one heck of a public make out session. They're far enough away that I can't really see what they're doing, but Rylan's hair is a mess, Christina is giggling, and someone's shoe has been kicked to the side.
A second later, Rylan's shirt follows, and a lone security guard hovering near the Orange Julius yells for him to keep his clothes on. When Rylan refuses, he calls for backup, and Christina laughs so hard she spills her drink.
Eric watches with his eyes widened in faux horror, but maybe it's actual horror.
"You know what, actually, I'd love to see where the movie theater is." I suggest, and Eric readily agrees.
"Good." He pulls on my hand to lead me away from the scene of the crime, and our walk to the movie theatre is full of him muttering about indecent exposure and how he's probably going to hear about this later.
The movie theatre isn't quite as brightly lit as it once was.
I feel a flash of disappointment in knowing that there are no new movies coming out. Sophia and Courtney and I spent a lot of our weekends at the movies, checking out whatever new film had been released, and hanging around the coffee shops next door. I'd always liked the dark atmosphere, the neon lighting, and the feeling right before the movie started. We watched all kinds of things –movies based on books, horror films meant to terrify you, and romantic comedies that left Sophia swooning over the lead actor, and Courtney laughing at the side kick, and for those few hours, life outside the theatre ceased to exist.
Here, in this makeshift safe zone, the movie theatre has the same feeling.
It holds a lot of potential; there's a huge area for concessions, plenty of theatres, and dozens of film posters on display. It's a strange capsule in time, even though the outbreak wasn't that long ago. I imagine tons of people coming to the movies on the weekends, maybe meeting here for the first time, or the millionth.
"Do you like the movies?" I ask Eric as we walk down the steps, further into the theatre. We have no real destination in mind. The ice cream shoppe did exist, at one point, but it's currently closed. There was a sign saying it would open tomorrow, if they had the staff. We decided to walk through here, and I have to admit, it's a nice break from the hotel room. "Did you ever go?"
"Rarely." His answer is off handed, spoken lowly. "Jason liked to go. He would drag me to the sci-fi movies. He used them as inspiration for his entire life. Rylan likes anything no one has ever heard of. He enjoys asking people if they've seen it, then acting surprised when they haven't."
"What about you? Do you have a favorite movie?" I let go of his hand to walk over to a movie poster. It's a giant creature rising up out of the ocean, primed to fight a giant gorilla. "Should I guess what it is?"
"I dare you," he snickers, pulling out his phone. It rings impatiently, but he hits decline. "You'll never guess."
"Paul Blart, Mall Cop," I can't help but crack up as I say it, and the look on his face makes me laugh even harder. "That's it, isn't it? He has your dream job."
Eric stares at me. His expression is neutral, like he's trying to decide how to react, and his brow bone appears sharper from this angle.
"Okay, we're done here," Eric shoves his phone in his pocket then gestures for me to follow him. "I think you're delirious from getting up early."
"Just admit you've always wanted to yell at kids for throwing stuff in the fountains," I walk to the next poster, refusing to leave. "Or throw out old ladies for harassing the employees."
"Everly, are you sure you didn't hit your head again?" Eric steps closer, and there's the faintest hint of amusement on his face. "Paul Blart, Mall Cop? I've never even heard of such an atrocity."
"Okay fine," I give in a little, because he's probably never seen anything so mediocre in his life. "Twilight, but Breaking Dawn, Part Two."
"That's it. I'm divorcing you," he glares at me, with absolutely no malice. "Do you really think –"
"No," I laugh at the look on his face, because clearly, no one ever gave Eric shit about anything. "I think…"
I stop when he reaches in to pull me close to him, and my heart skips a beat. He makes me nervous, even though I've spent the past few months on the run with him.
"What do you think?" He mutters, dropping his head down toward mine. "You watched a soap opera entirely in Spanish the other day. If either of us has questionable taste, it's clearly you."
I giggle, feeling entirely giddy and lightheaded, like this is months ago, before the zombies, and we've snuck out of the movie into this dark corner before our friends find us. I stop giggling when his lips touch mine, and beneath flickering neon and against a poster with a man who looks like his father praying over a demon, he kisses me until I can barely breathe. My head hits the poster, and his hands move to my waist. My sundress becomes a brilliant choice when his fingers slide beneath it, skimming my thighs as his teeth sink into my neck.
"Interview with the Vampire," I mumble, half coherent as pressed his mouth up down my neck, to the juncture of my shoulder. "Or um, Courtney and I saw one about a guy who dresses like a bat and …"
"Promise me you won't go outside," Eric breaks away, eyes dark and tense. The action is jarring; he's warm but the air is cold, and I want him to resume kissing me. "Everly, promise me you won't go out there without me. Or at all. You're safe in here, but not out there."
"What?" I fumble for a second, my hands in his hair slipping down to touch the collar of his jacket, and I'm thrown off. "What are you talking about?"
"I don't want you to leave," Eric grits out, and his mouth returns to mine. His kiss is vicious; there's a moment where his hands are on both sides of my face and it's impossible to miss the desperation radiating off him. "I want you to stay here. I know he apologized, but I know he'll ask one more time. I want you to stay with me. We can stay here for a while. And if you don't want to stay here, then you and I will leave."
"I don't want to leave," I confess, but it's hard to talk when his lips keep touching mine, though they eventually slide over to my cheek. I lean my head forward, so it's buried against the roughest part of his jacket, and I wait for him to say something. "Eric…"
"I can take care of you," he declares, and the moment suddenly makes sense. His desire for us to stay here together, and his strange, sudden panic that I might want to leave. He must feel the same way I do, that our separation would be beyond painful, because his fingers dig into my back, until I nod my head. "I just –"
"I'm not leaving you," I lift my head up just in time to see his stare. It's wrought with frustration, making him look like someone else completely. "I'm happy with you. Are you happy with me?"
There's a pause.
It gives me plenty of time to feel like I can't breathe, like my heart might just shatter into a million pieces. He's not overly affectionate in any way, nor has he truly declared anything crazy. He admitted he liked me, we've slept together on numerous occasions, and the declaration that I was his wife was a bold move.
But announcing he was happy with me? Even though he was demanding I stay, it could be because he simply didn't want to be alone. Our relationship is easy and natural, and finding someone else could take work. So, I wait, staring at his grey eyes and hoping the answer isn't about to crush my soul.
"Yeah," Eric finally admits, like the words are painful in his throat. "I'm happy with you. I'm really happy. I like coming back to you. I don't want to spend the nights alone anymore. Not like before."
"Okay, good," I gasp, about to pass out from a lack of oxygen. "Okay, so we're in agreement. You and I are –"
He kisses me, this time slowly, dragging my lip between his teeth. His tongue touches mine for a split second, and my hands return to his hair. I forget everything going on around us. By the time someone yells our names, his hands are beneath my dress and I'm working to undo the buttons on his jacket. I fumble with the second and third, and I stop when someone calls out my name again.
"Ignore them."
Eric is insistent we continue what we were doing before. He has my underwear down to my knees before I can suggest we see if someone is coming this way, and he's inside me with a low, guttural groan. Hidden away from the main part of the theatre, he thrusts inside me, my back pinned against a creaking poster frame and his mouth returning to mine.
The world slowly grows dark before it explodes.
He feels good, and the lusty, impatient part of me is set on fire. The thought that someone could walk by here at any moment spurs me on, and so does the sound of him grunting my name. I open my eyes to the blur of his hair, his shoulders moving and tensing beneath his t-shirt, and my hands holding on as one shoe falls off.
"Fuck, you feel good," I blurt out, groaning when he moves us. He closes the millimeter of distance between us, until I'm practically consumed by him. He shoves the straps of my dress down, and his mouth marks any free inch of skin he can. "Eric, are you sure no one is over here?"
"Who cares?" He laughs, holding onto me tighter. His fingers press into my spine, and the other hand moves between my legs. "You and I are busy."
I feel his hand on my thigh, sliding between my legs so he can touch me. His fingers graze every sensitive nerve, stroking faster and faster, until his name is all I can say. Eventually, it becomes too much. I come before he does, greedily begging him to keep going, until the faint sounds of someone calling our names is louder. I blearily realize Eric has come right after me, and his slow, uneven breathing quickly returns to normal.
"Are you okay?" He blinks a few times, like he's realized things escalated in a way he wasn't planning, but we both enjoyed it. "Everly?"
"I'm fine," I tighten my arms around him, and this time, I kiss him first. His lips are warm and soft, and I relish in the feeling of him kissing me back. "I'm really good. That was better than ice cream."
"Good," he snorts, and when he pulls away, I'm woefully disappointed. The disconnect is harsh. I fix my dress and my underwear, while he buttons his jacket back up. We're both silent, even when he helps me fix my hair. Eric brushes it off my face, smooths the side down, and smirks when someone yells his name. This voice is familiar, but not really.
"Shit, that's –"
"Hey, I've been looking for you!"
The face that pops up is familiar, and I realize it's Karl. He bounces down the steps and over to us, and his cheeks are flushed. "I've been jogging this whole mall. I swore I saw you guys walk this way, but then I lost you. I got stuck talking to Jason and he said he thought he saw you head this way."
"And?" Eric retorts, standing up straighter. I smile at Karl politely, and his stare is curious. He tries to figure out what we were doing over here, and to my great horror, I realize my dress is still off my shoulder, and one shoe is still off. "What do you want? I thought you were reporting to Daniel?"
"I am," Karl answers, his gaze glued to Eric. There's some mild adoration in his stare, especially when it lands on Eric's badge. "Um, I'm supposed to come and tell you that the guy we found has some information you might want to hear. He said he knows Everly, too."
"Who?" I look at Eric, and he looks just as confused. "I don't know any of the survivors. Daniel never told us who they were."
"Just one guy. Real whiny. Said he was a zombie for a few days, but feels fine now. I guess the serum worked. Sort of. Part of his skin fell off, but Arlene was able to fix it." Karl makes a face, and points in the distance. "He's over there. His name is…shit, wait he told me. Tony? Keith? Andrew?"
"Frank! His name is Frank." Rylan slaps Karl on the back, appearing like he's been waiting for this moment all morning. He grins lazily, waving at us from Karl's side. "What the fuck are you two doing in here? There are no current movies playing, unless you were making your own. Did anyone tell Frank? Is that why he looks so nauseous?"
"No, that's because Arlene gave him one of those Flintstones vitamins. He said it hurt his stomach," Karl is reasonably sympathetic, but it makes me laugh. "Wait, you were watching a movie? Which one?"
"No, idiot. They were clearly fu—"
"About to leave. Why is it so important that Frank talk to us?" Eric hisses, dragging me along with him. "Why can't he talk to you?"
"Because…" Rylan pauses dramatically, and we all wait for him to continue. "He hates me. So, I volunteered you and Everly. Also, he remembers Everly because they had a moment or something, before he tried to kill her. So, if Everly would like, Harrison is willing to have him prosecuted for aiding and abetting a wanted criminal. So is Daniel. Daniel maybe more so than Harrison. Turns out, he's very attached to Everly as well. Something about, no one is going to hurt his precious, secret, completely perfect daughter in law. I'm paraphrasing here, but you get the general idea."
"Good. Sounds fun," Eric agrees, but we don't get much farther than that.
Outside the movie theatre, Jason yells that Meghan is here, and so is Christina, but he also yells that Frank has just thrown up.
A second later, an alarm goes off, the lights dim even further, and a voice comes onto the loud speaker announcing that every soldier and guest must return to their rooms.
Chapter 13: Nothing Lasts Forever
Notes:
Thank you so much for your patience! My break was unfortunately unavoidable and much needed.
Major thanks to Erin for editing, and for those who left such nice comments or reached out!
Happy Friday and have a lovely weekend!
Chapter Text
"Absolutely not am I going back to the hotel. I need to get some new pants!"
Rylan shakes his head, stepping closer to Eric and me. Despite his protest and desire for new clothing, the mall is starting to shut down. The lights dim even lower. Some turn off completely, while others flash. The alarm keeps going off, becoming shriller and shriller by the second, until it becomes ear piercing. Large grates begin to lower down above the entrance to the theatre, and Eric hisses that we need to go, now.
"Wait, no! I wanted to see if they had popcorn!"
Everyone ignores Rylan. We take off running, ducking beneath the metal about to lock us inside, and we barely make it. We find Christina standing to the side, shrieking that Frank has taken off running, and shrieking even louder when the announcement tells us we have three minutes to clear the mall if we aren't active soldiers. Another announcement follows, asking for all active soldiers to meet on level one immediately, and inactive soldiers to return to their stations.
Jason, Rylan, Karl, and Eric all look at each other. They hesitate for a second, torn between finding out what's going on and going back to the hotel, but Eric's phone rings again, and this time, Daniel's name flashes across the screen. Eric doesn't answer the call, and he shoves the phone back in his pocket with little interest and makes the decision for everyone.
"Come on. We'll stop by the control room. I'm pretty sure Daniel is there," Eric insists. He takes hold of my hand, and the two of us lead the way back to the center of the mall. Every few feet, Rylan flips someone off, but he focuses especially on the security guard yelling for us to hurry and evacuate. "Rylan, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Earlier, that dude tried to ban me from the mall, but he doesn't know I'm unbannable," Rylan answers, turning to make sure Christina is okay. "Hey, don't worry. Frank won't get far. I'm pretty sure Arlene put a tracker on him. She labeled him as patient x or something. His ankle monitor will probably shock him if he tries to leave."
"Yeah, but…you left me with him and he was all weird and grey looking!" Christina sounds stressed, and she looks at me. "He got way too close. I think…I think…"
"You're fine," Rylan interrupts, and he encourages her to start walking. "Frank won't kill you. If anything, you'll maybe catch a cold. If that."
The look on Christina's face is one of pure disbelief. I get the feeling she's been here, inside and safe, this entire time. I think back to every zombie that got just a little too close for my liking. The way Eric had trained me to kill them. The days we ransacked grocery stores, knowing the zombies would show up at some point.
They always did.
I'd thrown up multiple times after killing them, watching their guts ooze out and their second, undead life drain from their eyes. Still, I understand her fear. Frank had fallen into a pit of zombies, and I can't figure out if his appearance means Evelyn's vaccine worked, or he was on his way toward zombie infection number two.
I must have a funny look on my face because Christina shakes her head and looks at me.
"Sorry, I don't mean to panic. I don't want to get sick. He kept saying he didn't feel good."
"Well, no one cares about Frank." Rylan grabs Christina by the wrist, and they take off, sprinting ahead. "Last one back to the hotel is zombie food. Literally."
"Rylan, we're going to the control room!" Eric roars, but Rylan is pretty far ahead. He glances over his shoulder to make a face, then takes Christina down a hallway marked EXIT.
"Is he always like this?" I ask Eric, doing my best to keep up with him. His stride is much larger and faster than mine, and I trip when he turns the corner, taking us a different way than I remember. "Eric!"
"Sorry," he mutters. He catches my arm and steadies me with only the slightest pause. "And yes. He's always…very enthusiastic about everything. Including people he doesn't like."
"He barely knows Frank. How do we even know that the guy's real name?" Karl, adoringly engrossed in whatever Eric is doing, has no issues keeping up. He shoots me an interesting side eye, then smiles. "Everly, are you okay? You look…nervous. Your name is Everly, right?"
I nod, but I'm only looking at Eric. He's glancing down at me, waiting to hear my response.
"Do you think something got inside?"
Horror blossoms so fast I barely have time to realize I am nervous. For a few days now, the safe zone has been very safe. I stayed in the hotel, drinking coffee with Christina or working with Quinten, and I spent my nights with Eric. We ate dinner, got into bed, and every so often, Eric grunted something that made my heart skip a beat, like why the fuck are you so cold, or Everly, how is it comfortable to lie like that?
Other times, he let me sink against him, because he felt the same rush of startling affection that occurred when we were alone, and no one could see he had actual feelings. One hand would slide into my hair, one rested on my back, and we would both fall asleep before I could ask him any questions. In the mornings, I woke up to him kicking the covers off, but always pulling me closer.
It was safe.
Warm, secluded, and far away from the outside world.
But all of that could be ruined if a zombie did get inside.
"Yeah, I do. I think that's why they're locking everything down."
Eric answers darkly, pulling me along and around the corner. Karl and Jason follow us, wordlessly, until we reach a door marked Mall Offices.
Only then does Jason remind us his girlfriend is here, somewhere, but absolutely no one answers him.
The mall security control room is immense.
It's bright and filled with endless rows of computer monitors, security feeds, and people milling around. Everyone is dressed in some sort of uniform; most have on dark black uniforms like the ones Eric has, but some have on standard military colors. There are more soldiers than I would have thought possible, all working and talking on cell phones or walkie talkies.
It's a blur of beeps, typing, muttering and swearing, and the occasional argument as someone insists it's not their fault, and swearing further when the computers flicker. Someone yells out that the signal is going to drop, and if it does, the estimated time to fix the generator is three hours.
"Hey! I was hoping you weren't here."
I tear my stare away from a computer screen, a lovely view of the mall fountains and food court, to see Daniel heading in our direction. He looks at me, but his attention is focused on Eric and Karl.
"Are you all accounted for? If you were inside the mall at the time of the announcement, you'll need to see go see Arlene." Daniel scans the room for someone else, and he must not find them. He frowns and calls for someone to see if they know where his wife is. "Immediately. The doors have been locked, and anyone in the mall needs to be seen by the infirmary staff before they can go back into the hotel."
"For what?" Eric sounds bored. He's watching the same screen I am, now showing a view of the entry way. Harrison is there, yelling at someone in a truck and pointing for them to back up and go to the other lane. "I thought it was a security breach. They said all active soldiers need to report to level one."
"It is a security breach. A group got in through the side entrance. They made it into the mall before they were caught by security, and one has shown signs of infection. Jack has asked that we shut everything down except for absolute essential soldiers for three days. Each person will be given a precautionary exam, and possibly inoculated against –"
"Against what? The zombies? No thanks," Karl shakes his head. "I heard if you get the shot, you become a zombie. That's what happened to Frank."
"You really trust anything that guy says?" Jason asks, and their argument heats up when Karl hotly informs Jason he knows what he's talking about. "No, you do not. Just because you watched Dawn of the Dead doesn't make you a zombie expert."
"I watched Shaun of the Dead," Karl crosses his arms over his chest, and he looks at me. "While you were busy trying to find life on another planet."
"Have you ever considered trying to find life on this planet?" Someone snickers, and then coughs when we all turn to look at him. The guy is no one I know, but he's clearly a fan. "Sorry. Just wondering. I still like your blog. I found it helpful. It's nice to actually see you in person, Jason!"
"Thanks," Jason grins, then he glares at Karl. "See! I know more than you."
"All of you head to the infirmary, now. Arlene is looking for Everly." Daniel looks at me, trying to smile reassuringly. "I can walk you there if you want."
"What?" I stare at him, not wanting anything injected into me, especially because Evelyn had been so sure she'd created her own vaccine, and I'm pretty sure it was brought here. "Why me?" I step back, crashing into Eric and struggling when he reaches for my arm. "I don't want to see her. I wasn't near anyone sick."
"Everly…"
Eric does his best to calm me down, but it's impossible.
"I'm fine!" I break away from him, and the vivid memory of Evelyn and Four comes right back. I can feel him sliding that shitty paper bracelet on my wrist, announcing he'd be the one to administer whatever Evelyn had created in a few days. I also vividly remember him, telling me how he'd had it, and he'd gotten over it in four days. "I just don't want –"
"Uh, we have another problem," Rylan interrupts, arriving with coffee and a donut. "I was just a room over getting something to eat, and I'm pretty sure they said Arlene is dead."
"What?"
Everyone questions Rylan at once, and he shrugs, totally unbothered.
"I said pretty sure. Interpret that as you will." He smiles, waving the donut at us, and his grin is highly entertained. "Also, has anyone seen my –"
He doesn't finish his sentence.
The power finally goes out, leaving us in complete darkness, and this time, I'm not the only one to panic.
"How close to him did you get?"
Arlene's fingers are cold. They poke at my throat, searching for my lymph nodes, and her desperation to either prove or disprove someone else's theory of zombie virus transmission intensifies.
"You were around him for a few days, correct?" She prods farther, tilting my head up and sighing in either disappointment or content. It's hard to tell. "Everly?"
"It was a while ago. He did my medical examination for his mother," I grit out, wishing Eric weren't sitting so far away. This time around, his protest was loud enough that they let him accompany me into the room, but Arlene made him fill out more paperwork. He glanced up when things got quiet, and his stare caught mine.
He looks handsome.
His hair is slightly messed up from our time in the theatre, and his jacket isn't entirely buttoned. He never smiles, but every so often, he'll raise an eyebrow or narrow his eyes in displeasure. He wasn't at all thrilled that we'd been sent here, but Daniel insisted. The power came back on a few minutes after it went off, and we were marched down here while he explained it was a routine measure, and we had to follow orders.
He also hinted that the sooner we saw Arlene, the better. The list of soldiers in the mall was a mile long, and if we waited, we'd be here for hours.
I was half hoping Rylan was right about her being dead, but when we went to the infirmary, there she was, wearing dark blue scrubs and standing with her hands on her hips.
"Was there a chance he could have infected you?"
"He wasn't that close. He didn't…breathe on me or anything. He mostly asked me some questions and looked miserable," I try to be helpful, but I greatly dislike thinking about Four and our time together. I've done an excellent job at forgetting about Evelyn, and it makes my skin itch to think of what she would have done to me. "He put the bracelet on my wrist. But that was weeks ago. If he was going to infect me, it would have happened sooner."
"I see."
Arlene's hands leave my throat, and her air of dissatisfaction continues. She moves to write a few notes down, and I try to see what she's writing. It's strange to see the manilla folder with papers shoved inside. It seems archaic and easy to lose, but perhaps it's safer than entering the information electronically, especially when you weren't sure the power would last.
"Alright, well…I'm going to go ahead and say the both of you have no immediate signs of infection. If you develop any, you'll need to come back down here. You'll both be placed in a three-day quarantine as a precautionary measure. Eric may return to active duty once you're both cleared, and you may return to work then as well. However, if either of you develop a fever or a taste for human flesh, I'll need to be notified."
"This is unnecessary. I'm fine," Eric snaps, scrawling his name across the bottom of the paperwork. "I wasn't around the guy at all. And I thought the others were infected, not him. Christina was with him. You should be checking out her and Rylan."
"Precautionary measures," Arlene reiterates. "The group who managed to break in are being isolated. They'll be watched for much longer. Anyone inside the mall, or around…Tobias is being examined. I'm sure you can understand our concerns for you and your wife."
"Tobias?" Eric repeats, sounding disgusted. "Fine. Great. See you in three days. I'll enjoy not having to come get my temperature taken by you on a daily basis." He tosses the paperwork onto the counter and tilts his head. "We're leaving now."
"Enjoy your time off," Arlene dryly answers, and she's as unbothered as Rylan was when he announced she was dead. "Everly, if you need anything, call down to the front desk."
"Thanks," I slide down off the table, wondering if Arlene is actually dead. Maybe she's a functioning zombie, and even better, one with enough brain activity to try and stop the outbreak. "Um, are you feeling okay?"
Arlene's stare is sharply curious, but so is mine.
Upon my arrival, I found that she was waiting for me. Her stare was intense, but full of thinly veiled concern. She and Daniel spoke quietly, but quickly, and a second later, I was escorted to an exam room. Her worry over me wasn't so much that I'd been exposed, but that Four had done something that could have possible long term side effects. When her questioning led to nothing, she seemed torn between trying to make me stay, or convincing me that I needed a shot.
She had several ready, and I declined them all.
"Everly, come on. We're going home," Eric demands, impatient as ever, and he huffs when Arlene opens her mouth to stay something.
She glances back at him, and when she turns to look at me, her lips are pressed together. "I'm fine. Go home. I'll keep you posted if anything else is needed from either of you. If Eric suddenly seems different, perhaps a little more patient or willing to accept medical care, you can let me know."
Eric rolls his eyes, but I smile.
"Sure."
The thought of going home with him is appealing, but even more so is the fact that he called it home. It's not exactly the home of my dreams –nor is it his, but it's somewhere only the two of us will be, and that's enough for him.
And me.
I nod goodbye, leaving with Eric before she can ask again if I need some vitamins or a shot to protect me against the flu, and his fingers press into my lower back the entire walk out of the infirmary.
"She's the worst."
Eric and I nod at Jason, sitting across from us with a miserable look on his face. We've already broken the first rule of Arlene's quarantine, and that was by ordering dinner. I wasn't sure how else we were supposed to eat, but the delivery guy looked nervous, and he bolted as soon as Eric opened the door.
We broke the second rule by leaving our room and heading to the bar. It wasn't quite as deserted as when Forrest and I had sat up here, so we picked a table near the railing, and sat down to eat dinner.
It seemed like everyone had the same idea. After the mall shut down, it was announced that everyone was to stay at the hotel unless called to action. They were asking we stay put for three days, and suggested staying in our rooms as the safest option.
Most listened. The rest of us headed to the rooftop bar in search of something other than the walls of the hotel. Personally, I liked the fresh air; it was colder than I would have hoped, but it felt clean, and much nicer than being trapped inside. We only sat for a few minutes before Jason joined us, and his sour mood was thanks to Arlene deciding Meghan could not join him for two weeks.
Not just two weeks.
Two weeks and three days.
Turns out, she was walking beside the group who had broken in, none the wiser. One had even touched her; they shoved her out of the way to run from the soldiers, and she'd hit her shin and scraped it. In the world of Arlene, Meghan was practically a zombie now, and needed to stay there until they were sure she was fine.
I understood the logic, but Jason was taking it pretty rough.
"Arlene said, and I quote, for me to get out of the infirmary and that I don't know more than her. Even if I do write a blog about zombies for a living." He huffs, crossing his arms and refusing to take a bite of his own dinner. "Like Arlene knows more than me. Eric, back me up on this. You go talk to her."
I wait for Eric's answer.
He's busied himself with glaring at his food, not entirely thrilled with anything that had happened today.
Well, most of what happened today.
He seemed to enjoy himself back in the movie theatre.
"Eric!" Jason insists, still hell bent on breaking Meghan out of her infirmary jail. "Come on. I know what I'm talking about. I could practically write a survival guide. Or a best-selling novel about my time during the zombie apocalypse."
"One, you're a cop not Stephen King. You write a blog that no one can access because there is no internet. Two, Meghan was with the infected, and therefore, there is a chance she's infected. Three, you aren't a nurse, or a doctor, so for now, you have to listen to whatever they're saying," Eric drags his stare up from his plate to stare at Jason like he's on his last nerve. "Four, Meghan is annoying. So, who cares that you have to wait two weeks to see her? You'll be alive, even if she doesn't make it."
"Eric!"
Jason and I both say his name, and he has the decency to look mildly apologetic.
Barely.
"Fine. I'm sure she's…alive and not at all a zombie. And don't quit your day job. I read the one blog post about the best ways to avoid traffic enforcement, which, by the way, is part of your job." Eric says dryly, and he looks at me. "We have a quota to meet. After Jason posted that, we didn't hit our quota and we all got yelled at. Especially Jason."
"Well, Max sucked but I guess at the very least, he can't yell at me now," Jason throws back, shrugging the comment away. "Everly, you're a kind human being. Wouldn't you be sad if it was Eric that was stuck with Arlene?"
"I would," I answer slowly, well aware Eric is staring me down. "But Jason…she was with them. Maybe…maybe something else happened," I stab the macaroni and cheese with a vengeance. I understand his frustration, but I had no desire for him to be a zombie. "You don't want to get sick."
"I know she's not sick! At least I got to see her," Jason sighs. "And come on. If it was Eric, you'd be down there demanding his release."
Eric side eyes me, and I can see him struggling not to lose it. He exhales heavily, and his eyebrows rise up. "Jason, if I had been exposed in any way, I would tell Everly to stay six hundred fucking feet away from me. I wouldn't be asking her to break me out of Arlene's jail."
"Oh, please. You can't be apart from her for two hours. You bitched the entire day about how you just wanted to go home," Jason glares at him, but he's not really mad at Eric. "All I heard was how you wanted to go home. This isn't even our home!"
"I know. But it's better than nothing," Eric mutters, taking a bite of his own dinner. He's ordered what appears to be lasagna, though Quinten must have gotten creative with his talents tonight. "We aren't staying here forever. We just have to get through this. It's safer here than out there."
"Do you really believe that? There are a lot of rules here," Jason points out glumly, and I have to admit, I sort of agree.
The safe zone is safe, but it's intense. The strict nature of keeping it safe means constant surveillance, the military enforcing policy and procedure, and the implied understanding that we'd follow their rules.
"Do you not like it here?" I stare at Jason, his hair is a mess, like he's been yanking on it, and his shrug is miserable. "No? You want to go home?"
"There is no home," Eric grits out. "Lakeview was destroyed. Until this…zombie virus dies down, we're on the run. It's either somewhere like here, with active defense against the zombies, or out on our own."
"We were fine on our own."
"Because Meghan could have just joined us," I guess, and he nods. "Yeah, but Jason, what good is it if you get sick? We wouldn't be able to help you."
"So?"
He sulks, finally eating a bite of his dinner, only to slump in his seat. The next few minutes are quiet. The people around us are all busy eating, and the ones right next to us are discussing how Harrison thought he saw something in the woods. I hear the words Sasquatch, Chupacabra, and even Jason perks up when someone mentions a werewolf.
Meghan and her potential zombie virus are long forgotten as one exclaims that they were with Harrison, and they most definitely saw it.
"I'll be right back," Jason announces, hopping out of his chair and over to their table. He leaves his dinner with us, and introduces himself to the people talking about how one catches a Yeti. Eric stares while chewing with a vengeance, and when he swallows, I smile at him.
"Have you ever seen a Yeti?"
"Everly," he says my name threateningly, and shuts his eyes tightly. "It has been…a day, and you want to know if I've ever seen a mythical forest creature?"
"Is that a no? Because I'm pretty sure I saw one back in Haling." I wait for him to open his eyes, and it's hard to keep a straight face. His expression is murderous, and I finally crack up when he mockingly glares in my direction. "Or maybe it was the Abominable Snowman."
"Okay, Jason Jr. You want to sleep alone? This is how you sleep alone." Eric points his fork at me, and I enjoy how irritated he looks. I know he's not that mad, but his expression keeps getting more and more agitated. "And no, I have never ever seen a Yeti. Or an Abominable Snowman. Because they don't exist."
"I bet you took an oath never to admit the things you've seen. By law, you probably have to deny the existence of such creatures. And extraterrestrial life. You can tell me, though. I won't tell anyone. I promise."
Despite our frantic day, the appearance and disruption of Forrest, and the resurgence of Frank vomiting his guts up everywhere, Eric cracks the barest of grins. He stares at me, grey eyes flashing with mild amusement, and even though he's breathing slowly and probably counting to a million, he's unable to stop himself from smiling.
It makes me smile back, because when Eric smiles –really and truly –it's quite the sight.
We finish our dinner quietly, him eventually pushing away the lasagna and me convincing him we can sneak down to the gift shop for some sort of dessert, and we watch Jason. We stay up here for so long that the sun sets, casting a tangerine glow over the hotel, and eventually, the night shows up and so does Arlene, yelling for everyone to get back inside.
The next three days are both the slowest, and the fastest, of my life.
Arlene sends a message to everyone saying that while she appreciates our dedication to following orders, her orders were to remain inside, not outside, and only with those we have been staying with. She reiterates that the outside is most certainly not inside, and the goal is to make sure none of us are infected.
Stuck in our hotel room with limited entertainment and no desire to try and sneak out, we spend the first day watching whatever movies someone drops off for us. Eric reads part of a novel about a monkey virus, and I paint my nails with the polish Christina has left. On the second day, I convince Eric to order an extra dessert, and I spend some time trying to get him to eat it. He eventually takes a single bite, then knocks me back into the array of pillows. It only takes a few seconds for his shirt to be pulled over his head, and my skirt to be yanked off, and I spend the rest of the second day, and most of the third day, groaning his name.
In the back of my head, where all my faint and entirely unrealistic exist, I decide I like being quarantined with him, but it would be a whole lot better if we were back in the cabin.
At the end of the third day, Harrison returns victoriously.
I watch him from the window, my feet pulled beneath me and one of Christina's books in my lap, and I see him come strolling by. In his hands is something large and furry, and the men walking with him look beyond excited. I try to get closer to the window, peering down as one holds up the tail and the other looks at the leg, and I jump when Eric comes up behind me.
"Before you say anything, that's not a Yeti. Don't try and tell me it is."
His words are dry and unamused, spoken lowly in my ear.
"Yeah, but –"
"Everly," Eric says my name threateningly, watching with a dark stare as Harrison shoves his phone at one of the guys, and poses for a picture. "It's not. It's…a skunk."
"I've never seen a skunk look like that," I protest, half convinced Harrison has truly found a mythical creature in the woods. "Wait, how is he able to leave? I thought everyone had to stay inside."
"They do."
Eric falls silent when a few more pose with Harrison, and he suddenly looks right in our direction. It's like he can feel us watching him, because he smirks, then goes back to posing.
"Even if it really is a Chupacabra, you won't tell me," I half whisper, and I can feel Eric's dirty look. "Eric, are you sure you haven't seen a Yeti? What if Harrison did find it! Maybe that's it's baby!"
His groan is far unlike the ones from when we're in bed together.
"You know what? I'm going to take a shower. Enjoy staring at that…skunk." He leaves shaking his head, muttering how he's going to ask Jason to be reassigned to a room far, far away from us. He ignores my protest, and he even ignores my declaration that perhaps the creature really is one of the ones Jason had listed.
I decide it is, because if zombies can have their moment in attempting to rule the world, so can Yetis.
On Friday, the air is even more biting than before.
I stand beside Eric with my arms crossed, doing my best not to shiver. The storm clouds overhead are thick with impending rain, and the breeze is unkind against my exposed skin. We wait with Jason and Karl, both dressed in dark uniforms, and a few others I don't know. I'm the only one not dressed like them, and the stares from the others aren't easy to ignore. Neither is the fact that they are armed.
I am not.
Eric shifts his weight from foot to foot, and eventually clasps his arms behind his back. The soldiers waiting with us are former police, a few EMTS, and dozens from the fire department. They are all dressed in black, their former jobs gone. They have been assigned to work beneath Eric, and the position here feels permanent. Up ahead, the leader of the safe zone stalks between the rows of men and women about to go outside the gates, offering words of encouragement. He isn't at all who I thought he would be; instead of some overzealous war monger, he's slender and elegant looking.
"Um, what's going on?"
I glance to my right to find Forrest and Willow. Both are dressed like they're headed out for a day in the sun, and the three of us stick out in the sea of black. Eric throws Forrest a single dark sneer, and even though I shake my head at him, he doesn't care.
Last night, he hissed my name so intensely that I knew I couldn't leave. The thought of going anywhere with Forrest had nearly disappeared from my mind, but seeing him in person makes it appear possible. He's friendly and approachable, but more importantly, he looks hopeful. Even though he and I cleared the air about my thoughts on leaving, it's easy to see why Eric would think I might go with him.
"They're about to patrol outside for the first time since this group arrived. They said…the group brought a herd with them." My answer sticks in my throat, raspy and croaky. Eric had told me the news this morning, and I wasn't at all prepared for him to add that he was heading out to lead one of the missions.
All I heard was that he was leaving, and I was staying here.
"They're sending out three groups to cover the area nearby, and two to drive out further. I think Eric is going with the one that's driving out."
My insides are a mess.
As tangled as my hair and afire with worry, I dislike the uniform Eric has on almost as much as I dislike his plans for today. He seems fine with them. In his mind, this is nothing more dangerous than responding to a call back in Lakeview. He's already expressed an ease with it; if he can hunt down criminals or those who have broken the law, the undead are merely the next group on his list.
"Are you going?" Forrest asks, and I throw him a look that hints he's a moron. "I'm only asking because you're out here."
"I'm saying goodbye," I glance at Eric, ignoring me completely, and I want Forrest to go away. "You should go back inside."
"I will. I've been looking for you. I wanted to tell you that we're leaving tonight. I just thought…I wanted you to know with enough time in case…" He pauses, and we both know he better not finish his sentence. "In case you wanted to hang out with Willow. You two didn't really get to talk."
"No, we didn't." I reach for Eric, fumbling when my fingers touch the thick fabric of his jacket, and I could throw up. "Why tonight? Why don't you wait a few more days? You should wait until –"
"We don't have much time. Every day we spend here, is a day we aren't finding them. I promised her I would. We stayed for the three days they asked, and we were hoping we'd see you." Forrest answers low enough that only I can hear him, and firmly enough that I know his mind is made up. "Everly –"
"Eric and Everly Coulter. It's a pleasure to meet you both."
Forrest is interrupted by Jack, and I stand up straighter, trying not to look terrified. The fear is absurd; I've survived much worse than Eric driving down a few streets, but the thought of losing him is gnawing at me. I don't know where it's come from or why, but my guess is whatever I feel for him has reached a new height. I can't imagine what I'll do if he doesn't return, or worse, comes back infected.
But his reputation is on the line here. The men and women waiting for him keep looking at me, and even Jason glances at me out of the corner of his eye. I try to look like I'm fine. I smile brightly, and Eric unclasps his hands to shake Jack's.
"Apologies we haven't crossed paths sooner. We were unavoidably detained after the security breach." Eric lets go when Jack smiles evenly, and he looks down at me. "This is Everly."
"I've heard great things about you," Jack takes my hand in his, squeezing tightly before letting go. "I know you spent some time with Evelyn. I have a great respect for anyone who was able to escape from there. A few of our best men came from her…compound. You must be very brave to have gotten away."
"Thank you," I answer, unsure of what I should be saying. Eric nods in encouragement, and in a moment of rare public affection, he takes hold of my hand. "I'm happy to be away from her."
"We're happy to have you here." Jack's approval is easy. He does his best to subtly take in my appearance, and he's polite. He must realize my concern over Eric leaving the safe zone, because his next words are even and optimistic.
"Eric and his squad should be back in two hours. We aren't interested in searching the entire state, but merely our boundary. He'll be in the truck the entire time, and once back, he'll have a briefing with the others. Our goal is to eliminate the threat completely, but in a smart manner." He pauses, and his eyes search my face. "We've found them to be attracted to noise. Sometimes fire. Sometimes, it's simply the hunger that drives them in our direction."
"How many do you think there are?" My fingers tighten on Eric's. "How many have you killed here?"
"Hundreds," Jack answers mildly. "There are hundreds more, but our goal is to attract as many survivors as we can while decreasing the infected. If we can starve them, they'll start to die off."
"But one got in here?"
His nod is sharp. "One of them was infected. He's been moved away from the general population and being kept away from everyone. The others have shown no symptoms and were willing to talk with us. They were aware the herd was following them and aware of the risk they placed on us." Jack hesitates, and he tries very hard not to look at my hand in Eric's. "I promise, we will get through this. I have hope. And hope is much stronger than fear."
"Or more dangerous," Jason interjects, lazily bouncing over to us. He steps around dramatically, and his smile isn't as enthused. "I was hoping to see Meghan. But instead, my girlfriend is –"
"Meghan is being quarantined just like you were. Once we know she is not infected, you'll be reunited."
"Jason, have you heard from Rylan?" Eric loosens his grip, and while the act is merely because more soldiers are turning up, ready to go, it feels like rejection. "He was supposed to be here, too."
"He and Christina are being kept in the infirmary. They think Christina got too close to Frank, and Frank isn't doing so hot." Harrison shoves Eric and Jason apart, and his stare finds me. He ignores Jack past a simple nod, but Jack doesn't appear insulted. "Come on. Let Eric head out, you and I have some business to attend to."
"What business is that?" Eric narrows his eyes, but Harrison ignores him. Eric looks at me, and I notice some worry slip through his stoic expression. "Are you taking her somewhere?"
"Eric, we're ready." Jack announces. "All teams are leaving now. You and Karl should be back by three. If you find yourself needing more time, radio in and we'll make sure you have backup."
"Fine," Eric agrees, moving toward me. "Everly, you'll be –"
"She'll be with me. She could use some time away from you," Harrison is half joking, though he gives us some space. "We're going to get something to drink. I'll call if anything exciting happens. But only if something exciting happens. Don't think you're going to check in on us, or cut your patrol short."
Eric's eye twitches.
His expression darkens, and I step closer.
"Be safe. Please." I crane my head up to look at him, hoping that absolutely nothing happens while he's out there. "Promise me you'll come back."
"I promise," Eric mutters, so low that only I hear him. He bends his head down, pressing his lips to mine. He pulls back immediately, ignoring a few jealous stares and low jeering from Jason. Jason mutters something about life being unbearably unfair, and Jack pleasantly informs him life isn't always fair.
Eric kisses me goodbye once more, this time slightly longer, and Jack's words ring in my head.
Life is unfair.
The anxiety over Eric leaving is unfair. The worry over where he's going is unfair. And so is the dull, buzzing headache, growing stronger with each minute.
I watch Eric leave, shoulders back and posture haughty, and I wish it were someone else going.
The café is oddly busy.
Harrison and I sit at a large booth near the back, patiently waiting for our coffees. Once Eric, Karl, and Jason left, Harrison instructed for me to follow him. I lingered as long as I could, watching Eric glance back once, and I swore everything was still. The sky was a shade darker than minutes before, and the clouds were heavier. Eric's lips turned up with the barest hint of a smile before Jack joined him, and his attention turned to the men and women he was walking with.
It was a strange sight.
Those who had been assigned to work with him, followed along as though he had been their leader for some time. Each one fell into place, saluting when other soldiers walked past or murmuring a hello, and no one dare take the lead. They followed Eric until I couldn't see them anymore, and the swarm of black was perhaps the best hope we had at surviving the outbreak. Harrison's hand eventually caught my elbow, and he led me to the hotel lobby, then off to the right. We ordered drinks from two nervous looking soldiers working behind the bar and we were promised our drinks would be up quick. I fully expected Harrison to want to talk about Eric's mission, but instead, he asked what I thought about Daniel.
I was completely caught off guard.
"Why are you asking me what I think of Eric's dad?" I try to piece together what I know about him, but my feelings are all over the place. I shared Eric's annoyance that he hadn't helped us get in here faster –perhaps somewhat resulting in my time with Evelyn, but I understood we had to follow protocol. Other than that, my few interactions with Daniel were scarce, mostly pleasant and understandably tense given the circumstances, but I knew he liked me.
At least, according to Rylan.
"I don't really know him. I had dinner with him and Camille. You were there." I shrug as the barista brings over our drinks. Harrison's is tall and dark, mine is not quite as tall and has a heart made out of foam. "They seem nice. Eric told me his dad is very arrogant. But he seems fine. He came to see me and check on my head."
"Daniel's a good guy. I was just curious if Eric had delved into the world of working for his father," Harrison's stare tells me he knows something I don't. "Daniel asked me how serious I thought you and Eric are. I didn't have the heart to tell him you really loved RV living and have no plans of settling down in Lakeview when this is all over."
His words make me smile. I momentarily forget about Eric being outside, possibly running into zombies, and I relax.
"I'm assuming he lives in Lakeview? Or did." I try the coffee, and I'm pleasantly surprised to find it better than the last time I had it. "Eric hasn't really talked about them."
"They did live in Lakeview. Eric lived about a half hour from them." Harrison tries his coffee, and he finds it acceptable. "Jason lived in the same building as Eric, and Rylan lived near Daniel. He liked to stop by for breakfast from time to time. He said Camille is a much better cook than his mom."
"What do you think it looks like now?" I imagine my parent's house, maybe with Hazel's arm somewhere near it. "Do you think the towns are empty?"
"Probably. I assume most people either boarded themselves inside their homes or fled. Those who didn't leave, well there's a high chance they were infected. The ones who left might end up going back. Though I would bet most houses have been ransacked by now."
"You think people broke in?"
"Didn't you and Eric?" Harrison looks at me, not mean in any way, but as a reminder that we did stay at a few homes. We made sure the people weren't there, but like he's saying, we definitely took what we needed. "It doesn't matter now. I was just curious what you were planning on doing after this is all over. I'm guessing Daniel will stay here until this dies down, but I don't see him or Camille here long term."
"Will it ever be over?" I take another sip off coffee, enjoying how warm it is. "I don't even know what month it is. We've been on the road for a while. I keep thinking…at some point, it has to stop. And then what? Will things go back to normal? Is anyone in charge?"
"Sort of," Harrison answers. "The military are the ones handling things. When they feel like they've gotten the zombies under control, each state will rebuild. At some point, they'll elect someone to be in charge, but it'll be a long time before things are the way you remember them."
"Will Eric go back to Lakeview?" I ask curiously, and it dawns on me I've never really thought of what he'd do when this is all over. "Jason and Rylan, they'll go back, too? Right?"
"I don't think they want to," Harrison smiles, but there's a weird achy feeling rushing through me. It's the thought of Eric and his friends returning to a town I don't belong to, leaving me behind. I try to swallow this irrational fear, reminding myself I was feeling off since Eric and I were temporarily separated while he was gone, but Harrison notices. "You're worried he'll ditch you when this is over, aren't you?"
"I don't like not knowing what's going to happen." I toy with the coffee cup, listening to the faint chatter of the soldiers as a distraction. "He could easily go anywhere."
"Funny. He's been worried about the same thing with you," Harrison waves the barista over, and asks for two muffins. "He was all worked up the other day about leaving you here while he's gone. He said you handled Evelyn well, but he's not sure how you'll be on your own. I volunteered to keep you busy today."
"Is that why we're here?" I smile wryly, not at all hating that he invited me for coffee. "Can I ask you something? Are you married? Do you have family back in Lakeview?"
"You can ask me whatever you want, but you might not get the answer you like," he grins, and I feel slightly better. "I was married, but I'm no longer married. I had minimal family back there, and I spent most of my time keeping Eric, Jason, Rylan, and Karl in line. They took up most of my time. I promised to keep an eye on them, and I will keep that promise. Even during the apocalypse."
"What about…" I pause as the muffins are dropped off at lightning speed. "Wait, you said –"
"You're included in that. I know you have parents out there, somewhere, but…I'm going to look after you, too. Odds are your brother isn't going to find who he's looking for. Neither is Willow. When he returns to Haling, he won't find the town he left behind." Harrison takes one of the muffins and slides the other one to me. "I heard he's leaving tonight."
"Yeah, he told me they're leaving soon. He was hoping I'd have gotten to know Willow." I stop talking, because mentioning them makes my head hurt again. The thought of leaving with them is nauseating, perhaps more so than being eaten by a zombie. "I'm not going to find my parents. Even if they are alive, I would have no way of finding them. They could be anywhere."
I look up at Harrison's expression, and its painfully kind. It holds plenty of affection, the kind that one would expect from a parent, and a vast amount of concern. He nods slowly, and smiles when I take the muffin.
"Good. I have to say, if you were my daughter, I wouldn't have left you behind. But I'm glad they did. Because otherwise, I don't think we would have crossed paths."
I smile, feeling the dull ache lessen considerably. Harrison's words are heartfelt and honest. He has no real reason to lie to me, and even if Eric forced him to say something to me, he's not one to lie for the sake of it.
And he's right.
Had I gone with my mother, things would have been completely different than they are now.
I unwrap the muffin, and let go of the heavy feeling I've been dragging around since this whole thing started.
"You know what?" I smile brightly at Harrison, and things feel a whole lot better in this moment. "Me too."
He returns at the darkest part of the afternoon.
The dark clouds from the morning give way to a heavy storm, one that wanes and returns with a force I've never seen before. The thunder shakes the hotel, causing the windows to rattle and the curtains to shake, and the lightning makes the lights fritz. I spend most of the day in my room, trying to read a book. I lose interest when the storm picks up, and it takes me forever to get through the chapter.
Halfway into deciding I'm not sure if I like the book or not, Harrison knocks on the door and announces I should come with him.
Eric and his new squad of soldiers are returning, through it's an hour later than planned. Together, we watch as one by one, the large heavy trucks turn into the safe zone after being waved through security. I scan each one, looking for someone familiar driving, but eventually, the rain becomes too intense to see through. The storm drenches the trucks and those working outside without mercy. A few scramble to take shelter in the makeshift check point buildings, and when the final truck has driven through, the gates shutting slowly, nearly everyone heads inside.
Harrison and I stand atop a bridgeway jutting out from the mall.
We watch silently, until I finally see Eric. He drives along the mall carefully, following another truck to a docking bay. He parks there, and once the large door is lifted, he and his soldiers climb out. While it's hard to make out any of their expressions, there is an unmistakable air of joy as a few high five each other. They look pleased. Two excitedly discuss something until someone insists that they come in out of the rain, and Eric steps outside to hurry them up.
They all disappear into the docking bay, and Harrison cheerfully tells me we can meet them downstairs.
"Where did you go?"
I mumble the words into Eric's neck, not at all caring that I'm balancing on my toes to hug him, or that his new friends are watching. There are some murmurs in his direction –some saying goodbye, some saying they'll see him tomorrow, others whistling as though me hugging him is a considerably lewd act –but most slink past. I hold on tighter, noting he smells like pine trees and rainstorms, and his arm slips around my waist.
"Everly –"
"You were gone another hour. Did they say you can't tell me?" I lift my head away from him to look at his face, and his expression is torn. "Did you see any of them?"
"The zombies?" Eric moves one hand to cup the back of my head, then nods. "We saw…more than we wanted. The herd is larger than Jack was led to believe, and farther out than planned. It took longer because he wanted to see where Evelyn was."
"You went back there?" I tense when his fingers tighten, and I try to imagine what he saw. "Did you go inside?"
He hesitates. I can see on his face that whatever happened on his patrol has made him feel purposeful. I don't think he is bored here, but being out with fellow men and women who share his fearless nature has to be exhilarating. Seeing zombies and knowing they couldn't really get you would be a rush, and worst of all, addicting. Eric looks alive, like someone has given his life meaning, and he doesn't want to tell me that.
"My orders aren't optional. I went as far as where…they had you. We left shortly after. On the way back, we killed at least sixty of them walking along the highway. Maybe more." He sounds proud, like he's been waiting for this day. "I think we can really make a dent in how many are nearby. I'm meeting with Jason and Karl later. They want to talk with some of the others. Come up with a game plan or at least, brainstorm what to do next."
"Oh," I collapse inward, knowing this is my worst fear come true. Forever ago, I'd wondered if him returning to the police world would be the end of us. I didn't think it really would, but there was a certain appeal to his job and friends that I didn't have. I knew little about police work –though I could use the radio in his patrol car and I knew how to shoot a gun –and I knew even less about the tightknit group he was working with.
Unlike them, I had taken no vow to protect the public, nor had I proven that I loved killing zombies.
"I um, I'm glad you're back. I was worried that something would happen." My words are quiet, spoken so softly I'm not sure he hears them. They ring in my ears, juvenile and sharp, like a nagging girlfriend mad over a night out. "I…"
"Everly, we went to look for Evelyn's vaccines. I went because I was there once before. We were in and out. The zombies…they're everywhere. There's a decent chance they'll starve in the next month, and an even greater chance things will improve. In two weeks, they're going to fly over and map out where they are. If we can corral them into one area, we can work on containing them." Eric moves to take my face in his hands, and his expression is tight. "I know what you're thinking. That this is where we part ways."
I nod, and his smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm not an officer. I don't belong here. They'll find out. They'll know that –"
"Camille isn't an officer, either. Neither is Meghan or Christina. You belong here just as much as everyone else. I didn't want to tell you about going to where Evelyn was because the place is…not good. Jack is insisting it be burned to the ground within the next few days." His fingers curl in, coaxing me closer. "Look, Arlene mentioned you might feel weird about this. That was part of having you work with Quentin. The separation, me being gone…she thought it was best to keep you busy."
"What?" I stare at him in confusion, and it makes sense a second later. "You think…I feel weird that you were gone?"
"Look, after I got you back from Evelyn, I wasn't sure I could be away from you. I know what you went through, and I was lectured over and over about anxiety caused by being separated. I want to help put a stop to all this, but I can tell Jack I need more time if that's what you need." Eric pauses, and his eyes search mine. "He promised me a job with him after this is over. No additional training, we'd be helping rebuild society, not questions asked. You and I stay here, or somewhere near here, and we're safe. No more running."
"You and me?" I forget about Evelyn, because the thought of us living together, happily ever after, is more appealing than anything. "You don't want to go back to Lakeview?"
"No. And I'm really hoping you aren't about to tell me you want to go back to Haling," Eric answers, closing the gap between us. "Because I don't want you to. I don't think you need to."
"I don't!" I practically gasp my answer, and the achy feeling from earlier vanishes completely. It's replaced with a happy warmth, one that intensifies when his stare finds mine. "I want to stay with you. I want –"
"My God, you two are gross. This is a public space, in case you've forgotten."
The voice of Rylan interrupts my reunion with Eric. His tone drips with sarcasm and affection, and when I look in his direction, he's trying not to laugh.
"You were apart four hours, not seventeen days. Think of poor Jason and his…suffering." Rylan can't help but snicker, and I notice his hair is a mess. "In case you are wondering, I'm back. Not even Arlene can keep me in the infirmary. In fact, she asked that I never return. Not even if I get bitten."
"You really have a way with timing, you know that, right?" Eric grits out, pulling me close. I rest my hands on his chest, and he looks over me to glare at his friend. "I thought you were quarantined for life."
"I got a pass," Rylan grins, leaning against the wall to smile widely. "Actually, I haven't shown any symptoms, so Arlene let me leave. Christina has to stay for three more days. She has a fever."
"Weren't you together?" I ask, noticing Eric's grip on me has tightened. "Weren't you staying together?"
"No, we were apart. Unlike you two, we have the maturity and patience to stay in different rooms without collapsing upon ourselves like dying stars." Rylan tilts his head, and his eyes are wild with excitement. "I also came by to tell you…"
"Tell us what?" Eric demands, having had his fill of interruptions. "Get to the point or go away."
"Fine." Rylan steps closer, and when he nears us, he pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket. He holds it out cautiously, and when Eric takes it, he jumps back. "Don't shoot the messenger."
"Depending on what's on this paper, I'll shoot you if I see fit." Eric answers, shoving the paper in his pocket and shooing Rylan away. "Go. We're meeting Karl at eight. At the downstairs bar."
"Really?" Rylan is slightly interested, but not enough. "What's in it for me?"
"Oh, I don't know. Free drinks?" Eric suggests, and I laugh at the look on Rylan's face. It's still not impressed, but he relents.
"Alright. I'll see you then. Enjoy your…. time together. Try to remember there are others here, and this isn't your personal playground."
He takes off with a snicker, sneaking down a hallway marked employees only. I have no idea where he's going, but it doesn't really matter.
Eric kisses me, violently and with more force than I'm expecting, until I sweetly ask if he's ready to go back to our room.
He answers immediately, low and smug, that he's been waiting for that since the moment he left this morning.
I say goodbye as best I can.
Forrest looks heartbroken, but we both know the choice to leave is his own.
He and Willow stand in front of the large lobby doors, the two of them ready to venture out into the storm. Both have bags full of clean clothes, some baked goods and nonperishables, and a few things from the infirmary. Jack had been kind enough to give them a few supplies he thought might help: some ammunition, hunting rifles, rope, knives and camping supplies. Forrest is slightly pale, the stress creeping in around his eyes, and Willow is just as quiet as before. She clutches the bag from Arlene tightly, and her skinny fingers are white.
"Are you sure…" Forrest starts, but he trails off when he's unable to finish his sentence. "You're really happy here? You really want to stay?"
"I am," I answer without any hesitation, and I mean it. "You and I both know I can't go with you. I want to stay here. I can help here."
"What are you going to help with? Eric?" Forrest is exasperated, but it immediately vanishes. "Sorry. I know it's not just him. He's…fine. I just…Everly, this might be the last time we ever see each other."
"Yeah," I nod, forcing myself not to give in to the burning sensation behind my eyes. "I know. It was crazy that we saw each other here. I didn't expect to see anyone from the family. Ever." I step closer, and his smile is weak. "You guys will be fine. Harrison said he gave you extra gas, and if you stick to his map, you'll have an easy drive. Does the alert still show in New York?"
"It did," Forrest nods, and so does Willow. "I checked it this morning. It's a little bit more into the city, so we're hoping they found shelter. Or maybe another safe zone, like here. Either way, we'll find them."
"I think you will," I say, but the words aren't convincing, not even to me. "And you can always come back. If you get tired of…being on the road. Or you get there and don't find them."
"She's right. We might not find them," Willow practically whispers, and for a half second, I expect her to say she wants to stay here. She looks up at Forrest with large eyes, and her blonde hair is twisted up onto her head. She's pretty, happier looking than when we first met, but she still looks nervous. "If we don't find them, maybe…maybe we come back."
Forrest looks at her, and the struggle is all over his face.
He wants to find our parents.
He has his reasons, and it's clear he thinks it's what's right.
"If things don't work out, then, maybe I'll see you again. We'll be here," I promise, closing the distance between us. I reach to hug him goodbye, and he crushes me just like when he first showed up. His hug is painful, tight and desperate, and he only lets go when Eric clears his throat.
I've almost forgotten he's here.
He walked me downstairs with a grim look on his face, and I knew he was thinking there was a small chance I could change my mind and decide to leave.
I could.
I'd read the note, and my stomach had turned over several times.
"Harrison has offered his services if you get into any sort of trouble. If you're close enough, we'll send whoever we can your way. Even if you aren't close," Eric offers, extending his hand out as a peace offering. "I'll make sure Everly is safe. I promise no one will hurt her."
Forrest stares at him, not wanting to believe Eric, but he eventually does.
He finally nods, shakes Eric's hand, and Willow smiles at me.
"It was lovely to get to meet you. Forrest had told me a lot about you. I'm sorry we didn't really get to talk. I was hoping we'd get to know each other more." She pauses, and had she chosen to stay, I think we might have been friends. "I'm glad he got to know you're safe."
"I'm glad I know he's safe." I smile at her, hating the guilt at not getting to know her, but maybe that's just how things are meant to be. She moves to hug me goodbye, and it's quick. Friendly and appreciative, slightly awkward.
"Bye Everly."
"I hope you find your parents," I tell her, hoping she knows I mean it. "If you do, will you guys try to let us know? Forrest can call Eric or…"
"I have his number," Forrest steps back, and so does Willow. There's a clear line of separation, those staying versus those leaving, and it stings. "I'll call you when we get there. You stay safe, okay?"
"Okay."
And that's it.
Forrest rushes forward to hug me once more, and my last connection to my family is officially severed. He lets go faster this time, choosing Willow and her family over me, and I'm completely fine with it.
I have no desire to go with him.
I step back, reaching for Eric's hand as Harrison offers to walk them out, and I know I've made the right decision.
"Goodbye!"
"Bye, Squirt."
"Safe travels."
They leave with one final wave. Harrison leads them out of the hotel, into the ongoing storm, and Eric and I watch until the lobby doors close. They shut tightly, slamming with a force I don't remember, and it's done.
My brother and his wife leave, just as quickly as they arrived.
Chapter 14: Resident Evil
Notes:
Thank you so much to Erin for editing!
I'm updating this early because I will be out of town this weekend and will not have time to update.
There are only two chapters left of this story. Thanks for reading along and hopefully, this was a nice break from the real world.
Have a great week! 💖
Chapter Text
"Do you know how to make gingerbread cookies? The good kind, not the gross ones."
Rylan sits across from me, perched atop a stainless-steel counter, ignoring the heavy scowl of Quinten from across the kitchen. Rylan has been down here for a good hour now, with nowhere else he needs to be. He's already let us know he's off today, and Christina is working in one of the stores in the mall, so he has some time to kill. He's also let us know he's here to help, and by help, he means suggesting all the things he'd like us to make so he can eat them.
Having grown weary of such culinary delights like cupcakes and parfaits, he's moved onto holiday themed treats that remind him of a time before the apocalypse.
"I do. My dad and I usually make them at Christmas. Do you like them?" I look up from adding blueberries to the large mixing bowl, and he grins.
"I love them. I was thinking you could make some so we can celebrate."
"Celebrate what?" I shove my hair out of my eyes, long pieces I'd cut on a whim. I had thought they would look cool, sort of edgy and less youthful, and instead, they hung in my eyes every other second. "The fact that it's almost Friday?"
"No, Thanksgiving! How on Earth could you forget? I know it feels like we've been trapped here forever, because we have, but we already had Halloween. Don't you remember? I dressed up as Eric!"
"How could I forget?" I laugh, flashing back to Rylan, stomping down here in Eric's shirt and pants, loudly asking if I'd marry him. When I said no, he said it was fine, because he'd already filed the paperwork. "Are we celebrating Thanksgiving? Are there even any turkeys around here?"
"You know, Everly Coulter, that is a good question. One I intend to find out the answer to." Rylan, now having a new mission in life, jumps down from the counter. "How many would you need to make a thanksgiving feast? There are like, six thousand of us here. So…maybe three thousand turkeys?"
"Sure." I agree without trying to figure out his math. I add the rest of the blueberries, slightly out of season now and dropped off by a team of women looking exhausted, and mix everything together. "Let me know how that goes. We'd also need potatoes, and maybe some more flour."
"I'm on it."
Rylan leaves with a triumphantly smug smile. He slinks past Quinten, uttering a quick goodbye, and it's obvious he's happy to be sent on a quest. The quest to find turkeys sounds fun, and even I didn't have the heart to tell him he wasn't going to be successful.
It had been a few months since we showed up here, and things were different these days.
My brother left right as the air turned cool. It rained for a week straight after he and Willow headed to New York, then it rained for a few more days. The sky stayed dark and unhappy, and the clouds filled every free inch. Oregon has a rainy season like I'd never experienced before, and while I like the bleak weather, I quickly realized it was freezing, and never ending.
With cold fingers and an oversized sweater Eric had hung next to his jackets, I marked off the days on a flimsy hotel notepad. I kept track of a lot of things, though most were carefully catalogued in my head, all holding some sort of significance.
It had been nearly five months since I had last seen my parents.
Five months since I'd left Haling Cove, ending up on the road with an officer I'd never met before.
Four months since Eric kissed me.
Four months since we'd slept together.
Three months since Evelyn had tried to turn me into a walking zombie experiment.
Two months since Forrest had left and vanished off the face of the Earth.
Two months since Arlene announced Evelyn's vaccine had some promise, and Jack Kang declared an emergency order allowing him to set fire to Evelyn's compound because they had all her supplies.
Six weeks since he set fire to her work, and five weeks since he declared there were no other survivors, zombies, or people lurking in the woods near her compound.
Five weeks since Tobias was released into the general population of the safe zone, and five weeks since he'd really spoken to anyone.
Four weeks since I last had cramps, and this felt important, because it was the morning we ran out of chocolate. I'd blinked up at Quinten in confusion, and he reminded me the teams grabbed whatever they could, but nothing was guaranteed. He'd compromised by letting me use some of his hidden supply, and to my horror, I realized we were running low on everything.
It had been three weeks since the teams brought back a full selection of food that we needed. They also brought back some new survivors, having found them foraging for food and shelter. They were mostly welcome additions, and most stayed. A few left, preferring to risk their lives on their own, rather than follow the rules here.
It had been two weeks since Daniel suggested each team of soldiers begin venturing out farther, pushing well into the state limits in order to bring back the things we needed.
Six days since he was right, and the soldiers came back with nearly everything on Quinten's list.
One week since Eric forgot we were supposed to have dinner together, because his new team kept him busy, and he thrived on chopping zombie heads clean off their bodies while returning from a promising zombie hunting mission.
It came as no surprise that he was enjoying his time here.
In the world of the safe zone, Eric is highly regarded. His team adores him, having bonded over slipping in the dark, syrupy blood of the undead while trying to save their fellow soldiers, and his friends are incredibly supportive. He and Daniel do not cross paths as often as one would think, but they seem respectful of each other when they do. They have joined the ranks of the others who hold high positions, and quite often, Eric can be seen walking with army generals, high ranking captains, and sergeants. It's obvious he likes the camaraderie, and after months on the road, his soul is fed by his work.
That's not to say things aren't good between us.
On every level, they are better than ever.
Working with Quinten eased most of my anxiety about Eric being gone. Arlene was right that I could move on from Evelyn, if I didn't have time to sit and think about what she'd done. Busied with preparing whatever sweets I could come up with, I too, had purpose. I wasn't out there slicing and dicing the living dead, but I was putting a smile on the face of a weary solider looking for a brownie after a long day of patrolling. Baking is soothing. It's easy, but creative and fun, considering the ingredients often were a challenge.
My mornings were spent downstairs, working away until lunch time. My nights were spent with Eric, buried beneath crisp, heavy sheets, often completely wrecked with the lusty nature of our relationship. The hotel offered a feeling of permanence, even if we were living in a place meant for a temporary stay. Each night, I ordered us dinner, and we'd eat it while talking about our day. He always returned with his jacket buttoned up, his hair slicked back, and his stare hungry.
I spent a lot of time learning about myself, and just how much I enjoyed being with him.
There were quite a few nights where I was sure Eric loved me. It would smack me in the face when his eyes would find mine, hips thrusting against my own and my legs wrapped around his waist, that he was incapable of telling me just what he felt.
He tried.
He often kissed my cheek, sometimes sloppy thanks to the erratic pace of his thrusting, or more often than not, because such soft affection made him appear weak. But he would linger, his fingers brushing over my ribs, or parting my thighs, and his mouth would sink against vulnerable skin until all I could do was gasp his name. I wasn't sure if I was confusing love with lust, because I certainly never, ever turned him down, and it felt a lot like love.
I was usually the one watching him from the bed. I liked his uniform these days, and I liked it even better when he took it off. I found myself reaching for him, pulling him closer until I could loop my arms around him, and he willingly let me. He was just as greedy, just as insatiable, and frustratingly close to admitting how he truly felt.
I never pushed the subject.
Only because every time I got close to bringing it up, it was like some sixth sense kicked in, and he'd change the subject. He'd kiss me or push me onto our bed, mumbling about how I looked pretty in his shirt, or even prettier without it. He'd kiss me until I forgot, until my brain swam with how good it all felt and how I was fine with this, and then change tactics. I easily figured out his plan of action, but I never thought once about calling him on it.
It was him and I, and this thing between us seemed unstoppable.
Even today, three weeks after the arrival of her, it still is.
The outside is much different than I remember.
After months of being safely tucked away inside a safe zone, I leave with Eric early in the morning, before most are awake. My day off is being spent with him, taking what's being promoted as a very safe tour to a neighboring city. He invited me along last night, and I spent a few minutes trying to decide the best way to safe yes without appearing too eager.
I missed Eric, oh so much.
Things have changed drastically from pretending we lived together while sleeping in someone else's cabin, to him saying I was his wife so we wouldn't be separated. He is really the only one I trust, though I fully admit his friends are a close second. While I knew he liked me, permanence is a weird thing, especially now. I could be his apocalypse wife, but who knew where things would end up when this is over.
So, today, I woke up extra early, took a quick shower, and rifled through my clothes while he got ready. I couldn't find the dress I wanted, and I tried to remember if I'd sent it downstairs with the laundry. I settled on my second favorite dress, realizing I might actually have to venture into the mall to purchase new clothes, then left with Eric into the still dark morning.
The truck we take is large and rumbling, a military vehicle designed for much more intense rides than driving down the street. We are waved through the security gates after a minor detention with some girl working on his team. She questions where he's going over and over, grilling him like she's been trained to, and when her stare finds mine, it's unfriendly. Eventually, she grants him clearance, though he hinted he wasn't really waiting on her to give it.
"I trained them a little too well," he mutters, and when Eric turns onto the road, I have to admit my chest tightens.
The outside is wild.
After two months of being behind large walls, living safely in a hotel room with doors that lock and running hot water, I've forgotten how high the trees climb. I've forgotten how open the road is, how the forest spans so far into the distance I can't see the end of it, and how quiet it is. I forget about the girl demanding my security clearance to leave the safe zone, and I focus on the outside. Eric unrolls the windows to let icy air in, and the smell of the forest hits me in the face.
It brings me back to all the times he and I were on our own, with nothing more than each other and some gas station snacks to keep us going.
He looks a little different today; less free and more official. The uniform is he has on is a lesser one than he normally wears, with a different badge pinned to the jacket. He sits perfectly straight with his stare straight ahead, but every so often, I can feel him sneak a look at me out of the corner of his eye.
Today, he is Eric Coulter, leader of hundreds of soldiers, and willing participant in the army fighting the zombies. He has fully immersed himself in the war on the undead, determined to return the cities back to some semblance of normalcy.
I scoot closer when he turns the corner, and though his attention is on the empty street, he smiles.
"I'm glad you came along. I thought you might want to…get out for a minute." He glances down at me, and I scoot over even closer, pulling my feet up to avoid the console and leaning into him. He moves one arm around me, slowing the truck down as we near a still working, but flashing stop light. "Do you remember driving like this? For days on end?"
If Eric is anything, he's practical and imperturbable, but today, he sounds homesick for the time of just him and me.
"Yeah, I do. We spent a lot of time driving. And stopping to kill zombies," I toy with the bottom of his jacket, the threading so tightly wound I wonder who had the skill to make it. "There were a lot of places we went. That creepy hotel, the cabin, the McDonald's where you taught me how to shoot."
"Do you still know how to kill them?" His fingers press against my skin, and he drives onward, quiet until we reach a shitty looking town I don't remember. It's full of run-down buildings, maybe abandoned even before the apocalypse, and everything is a dull gray. Most of the businesses are boarded up; each one has smashed windows, shards of glass everywhere, and signs warning us to go back. The decay of the city is fascinating; it happened in such a short time, and it's horrifying to think the people who worked here have vanished.
"How could I forget?" I look up at him, his jaw tense and his stare straight ahead, and he looks like he did when I first met him. His hair is short, his uniform is pristine, and he's focused on looking for someone, or something, with only a minor distraction.
Me.
"I knew it was a good idea to train you," he snickers, his tone teasing and lighter than it has been. "Your dedication to staying alive is impressive."
"Well, I had a few reasons for not wanting to die," I answer dryly, and he smirks in response.
"Just a few?"
"Are you working late today? Or do you get to come home after this?" I rest my head against him, eyeing the city from the safety of the truck. I don't see anyone out here, but each building could potentially hold dozens of zombies. "Have you found anyone here?"
"We've patrolled through here a few times. If anyone is found, they're given the option to come back with us. We've found maybe twenty or thirty people. Some have asked to be left alone," Eric answers distractedly, speeding up to head past an old bank. "They like being out here."
"It's definitely quiet," I watch the bank carefully, swearing there is movement inside, but it could just be my imagination. "Has it been searched?"
"Dozens of times. It's considered safe. Jack is thinking about starting to go through each building and taking a few over. Expanding the safe zone."
"The mall isn't enough for him?" I think of the large space, but there's something hopeful about Eric's words. If Jack thinks things are going well enough that he can extend the area out this way, it might mean big things for the state. Maybe we're gaining some traction over the zombies, or maybe they're dying off. "Would you come here?"
"No, I like where we are," he answers, parking the truck just off to the side of the street. There is a stunning view of the mountains, cloaked by thick storm clouds. "This doesn't feel right just yet."
I look up at him, grey eyes sort of dark but warm, and his gaze is intense. "What?"
"I missed you this week."
He lunges for me, as best as one can in a parked truck in a zombie ravaged town. His mouth captures mine, his hands take hold of my face, and for at least fifteen minutes, he kisses me without interruption.
At some point, when his hands have slipped beneath the straps of my dress and his uniform jacket isn't so perfect, Eric mumbles just how pretty I am, right as the radio crackles with someone's demand that he return back to base immediately.
On Friday, Quinten hands me an envelope.
It's thick and heavy, sealed tightly shut, with his name stamped on the back of it. I have absolutely no clue what he could be giving me, but he grins and waits for me to open it.
"It's a gift, Everly. I think you'll like it." He's impatient, eyes glued to the envelope and his posture threatening. "Well, you better like it."
"And if I don't?"
I pry the envelope open, destroying the end in the process, and I pull out several sheets of paper. There are keycards at the bottom, and a very official looking badge with them. I scan the papers, searching for an answer, and my eyes widen.
"Quinten, are you sure?"
"You've earned it. I know it's not…head of the FBI or whatever your husband does, but you've helped me out tremendously and everyone agreed that if I'm not here, then you're the only other person they'd trust." He sounds slightly emotional, but his expression is as indifferent as ever. "I know you don't like cooking, but maybe someday, I can show you a few things. Until then, this gives you some freedom in the kitchen, and maybe some extra bonus points with the higher ups."
"Thank you!"
I toss the envelope aside and lunge to hug him. It's not as awkward as one would think, nor does he act like he's being murdered. He's a lot like Eric in the way that physical affection is as rare as his praise, and when he hugs me back, I know he's proud of me.
I'm proud of me, too.
Quinten has promoted me to head baker, even though I really am the only baker, and given me keycards with access to my own office. The paperwork grants me the power to place my own orders, and the other keycards open up several storage rooms where he keeps things in reserve. In the grand scheme of things, it's a minor promotion, given the world is full of zombies and we're basically living inside a hotel and mall.
But here, it means everything.
Quinten lets go only to mutter that this doesn't give me an excuse to be late or start taking requests from Rylan, but I know he's pleased.
Even if he's picked out a terrible photo of me, one taken from a security camera, as the official picture on the badge.
"Quinten, can I retake this? It's horrible. I look like I'm about to sneeze!" I hold up the badge, ignoring the way he tries not to laugh, and he finally relents.
"Yeah, sure. I know a guy. He'll take it for you." Quinten snorts, but his attention slips over to Rylan, peering around the corner and gesturing wildly. "Oh Jesus. Go. Clock out of the day. I can't have him in here, eating all the cereal again. My kids won't have anything to eat."
"I'll see you tomorrow." I wave goodbye, taking the papers with me and rushing to meet my friends, and I catch the eyeroll from Quinten.
I roll my own eyes an hour later when Eric calls Rylan to inform him he's stuck with Jason at the front gates. One of their team members, the girl who tried to deny his clearance, has done something that deactivated the code, and they can't get back in. I promise him it's fine. I celebrate my promotion with Rylan and Christina, eating ice cream and laughing, but I still wish he were here with me.
It becomes a trend.
On the coldest day so far, I kiss him goodbye, and I make him promise to come home on time. Lately, his work stretches into the evening, and our dinners have been pushed back. Sometimes he eats while I take a shower, and other times, he brushes his teeth and is in bed asleep before I can ask if he's still hungry.
"I promise. I told them all I'm leaving at five. We think we've cleared this entire area, but Jack suggested we move to Redwater and see if they have extra trucks. He thinks we could use four or five more." Eric pulls his jacket on, and I pull on my own sweater. "Oh good, you know it's going to be cold today. Do you believe in the weather reports now?"
"There are no weather reports. I get all my news from you," I point out, grinning when he leans in.
He kisses me goodbye just as his phone rings, and I loathe the connectivity of the safe zone. There's internet, Wi-Fi, enough power to keep the mall lights on, and a very normal sense of life here. The hotel TVs work, and it's now possible to order movies and series from a catalog they have.
Even worse, communication is always open to those outside the safe zone. There's even a police scanner that runs all day, just in case someone out there hears it.
"See you at five."
"At five," he promises, but the look in his eyes isn't as sure. "I'll be here. We can order…whatever is on the menu."
"Good. I'll wait until you get back to order." I reach for his hand, feeling the weirdest sense of disconnect, but he's out the door before I can touch him.
The feeling, icky and clingy and purely because I've barely seen him, stays with me all day. It lingers like a dull headache, and it worsens when he sends me a message at five fifteen, tersely informing me he's stuck at work.
His team has come across a fresh wave of zombies, just outside of Redwater, all ready to meet their end. When he calls at six thirty, his team is loud, cheering and celebrating their kill total rising over four hundred of the undead. In the background, some girl yells Eric's name, insisting he hang up and celebrate.
He apologizes, tense and irritated, but he doesn't make it back until long after I've gone to bed.
Two days later, I accept Jason's invitation for dinner.
It comes on a day where things are okay, and Eric had made an effort to be home before I went to bed. Last night, he showed up with cupcakes I'd made, a bag from the mall, and practically knocked me into the wall in an attempt to kiss me. He mumbled how he loathed the long hours, and he hoped I'd let him make it up to me.
He did.
Several times.
"You're here!"
Today, he promised to join me for lunch. Jason invited me to join him and Rylan, and a few others. They wave me over, Jason shoving his now totally blonde girlfriend a fraction of an inch over to make room for me, and Rylan beaming when I slide into the booth beside Eric. I sit opposite Jason and Meghan, and I make sure I say hi to Christina and Rylan. Both return to their conversation, ignoring the heavy stare of Karl and the girl beside him, and I force myself to be nice. I say hello to her, too, pretending I'm thrilled she's here.
She blinks, her lips pressing together tightly, like she's struggling to hide her disgust. "Oh, I didn't know you were coming. Eric didn't mention his…uh, that you would be off work in time to join us."
Nita, the newest member of Eric's team, flashes me the fakest, most unconvincing smile ever. She stares me down, eyeing my dress intently, before her stare slides right back to Eric. She waits for him to notice her, but he's talking to Tobias in a moment of rare, weird politeness. They're discussing something about the vaccines Evelyn had, and he's completely engrossed in listening to the tale of how they were created. Nita waits a few more seconds before her dark eyes narrow in annoyance, but she smiles when Eric eventually turns away from Tobias.
It's been like this for weeks now.
I add another date to the calendar, three weeks since Nita showed up and immediately decided the only man worthy of her attention was Eric.
I knew right away it wouldn't be good.
We were introduced to her by Jack's assistant, and while she flashed us a quick and polite smile, her sole interest was on Eric. I was only there because I'd stopped by to bring him lunch, and she must have assumed I was no more than a kitchen worker, sent to bring one of the leaders his meal. She smirked at my dress, slinked a step closer to him, and ignored me completely.
Eric didn't have a tolerance for her, and he wasn't stupid. He introduced me as his wife, kissed my cheek, and ushered her out of his office so he and I could eat. I wasn't stupid enough to miss her glance back, and her expression told me I wasn't a threat, but merely an obstacle in her way. To my great annoyance, she was assigned to work for him, and to my dismay, she proved herself within a week.
She was, unfortunately, great at her job.
Eric was pleased to have an additional soldier willing to work, and I reluctantly agreed that yeah, it was good that she was doing so well, and she would definitely lessen his workload.
On the surface, I totally got it. Nita is great. She's smart and ambitious, a soldier from a small town in Washington, and she and Eric share a passion for killing zombies. She had worked at a reserve base in Tolwick, where she had the run of the place. The men and women there must have hung on her every word, because she showed up demanding the same treatment here, only she wanted it from Eric, with Eric by her side.
He laughed when he told me about her asking if he'd personally show her around.
He untied his boots, snickering at the thought of some girl demanding his attention and loyalty seconds after meeting, and seemed unbothered by her. He told me Harrison let it slip that Nita had asked to join his particular patrols squad, and Jack had okayed it because he thought Eric could use another person.
I wasn't at all suspicious until I went to meet Eric for lunch a second time, and there she was, batting her eyes while he filled out a form. She had on a different outfit, not the same uniform the soldiers wore, but a sundress similar to mine, and her hair was down. She leaned against his desk, smiling coyly when she saw me, her smirk told me she thought she was actually getting somewhere with him.
I saw red.
I saw a lot of things, like the way she toyed with her hair and twisted it around her finger, and the way her dress was the same style as the one I had on. It might even have looked better on her, because hers wasn't a size too large, stolen from a casino gift shop, nor did it slide down off her shoulders.
I tried really hard not to dislike her. I told myself I was being petty and irrationally jealous. By anyone's standards, Nita is pretty. Tall, but not too tall, thin, but not too thin, with warm brown skin, and dark hair. She radiates a confidence that would be admirable, it if wasn't centered on getting her what she wanted: my husband.
Despite numerous reminders from everyone, including Eric himself, that he was happily married, she had yet to give up. She found me incredibly unworthy of him, and wasn't shy about vocalizing this.
It had gotten her in trouble a few times.
Once, Harrison grabbed her by the arm, yanked her around a corner to yell at her, and her squeal was loud. She tried to file a complaint against him, but it was dismissed, and she was given a few days off to work elsewhere. Another time, after she purposely knocked into me to get next to Eric, Rylan told her she would make an amazing zombie, and he'd be willing to help her accomplish this if she didn't stay away from Eric. A few days ago, Eric told her to get back to work, right after she asked if he'd been married before me. She then hinted that I had no real personality, and he could do better.
I was, of course, insulted.
I have plenty of personality, and to top it off, I'd been incredibly kind to Nita. I made her a welcome platter with her favorite cookies –hard to find peanut butter and caramel chips, I'd invited her to walk around the mall with me, and I'd even invited her to dinner. I introduced her to Christina, and I offered to show her around if she wanted to get out for a few hours. She accepted the dinner invitation, only to stare at Eric the entire time, until he irritability told her to get the fuck out. I wasn't exactly disheartened by her behavior, because like all of us, she simply wanted someone to care about her.
All anyone wanted here was to have someone to come home to. The zombie world was tolerable if you had a partner, someone to watch your back and yell that there was a walker around the corner and you had better hurry.
So, I totally understood.
But I was running thin on patience these days, especially when she sighs heavily, rolling her eyes when Karl asks if I'm working tomorrow, because Charlotte wanted to congratulate me on my promotion.
"I am. Are you and Charlotte coming by?" I ignore Nita's stare, though it burns when Eric slides his arm around me. His fingers press into my arm, pulling me closer to him. He isn't as bothered by Nita, simply because he doesn't acknowledge her unless they are working. "I can make her something if she is. Quinten said the last run was really good. We got everything we needed and then some."
"Oh, is that why we risked our lives? So, you can bake cookies all day?" Nita sounds like she's joking, but there's a nastiness hidden in her tone. "I mean, I know you bake the muffins and stuff. But we went across the state line to find what was on the inventory list. I didn't know it was so you could make Karl's girlfriend dessert."
"Does it matter?" Eric asks coolly, his tone is icier than I've ever heard it. "I don't remember anyone asking your opinion on why or where a group is sent to pick up supplies. This area is tapped out. We can't feed soldiers if we don't have necessary ingredients."
"I just asked if Everly is the reason why we're risking infection by crossing into the other states. I'm sure you've wondered the same." She blinks a few times, before she touches her hair and wraps it around her finger. "You said it yourself, it can get tiresome. All so Everly can play house."
I barely flinch.
After weeks of these tiny little digs, the best reaction she evokes is an eyeroll.
"I said patrolling gets tiresome. But that's a good thing. It means we're making progress in killing off the zombies in this state." Eric snaps, and I can feel the anger radiating off him. Every so often, Eric defended Nita, pointed out that she was new and immature, and obviously not accustomed to the strict rules or hierarchy after being out on her own. I always shrugged, figuring she'd eventually find someone else to bug, and stopped commenting on her behavior. "If you have an issue with your assignment, I'm more than happy to reassign you."
"I don't," Nita's eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. "I was under the assumption we were scavenging for something else. It's a low priority assignment as is."
"Uh, I don't know about you, but eating is a pretty high priority for me," Rylan throws her a dirty look, and I'm grateful that he dislikes her. He's never hidden his opinion of her, not even when Harrison suggested he could be slightly nicer than straight up saying she was a total bitch right to her face. "Maybe you should go work with the landscaping crew. I hear they need someone to clean the fountains. Frank keeps throwing up in them."
"It was one time!" Tobias answers hotly, and his expression darkens. He's made almost no friends here except for Christina and Rylan, and that's only because they were quarantined with him in the infirmary. He and Eric get along about three percent of the time, and that three percent only occurred when Eric needed information from him. "And my name is Four. Not Frank."
"Who cares?" Nita glares at him, and even Rylan pretends to look insulted. "Why are you even here? I heard you were infected. Shouldn't you be outside the safe zone?"
"Why is he even here? First you insult Everly, then my best friend, Frank. Why are you even here? None of us invited you," Rylan snaps, sneering when Jason agrees. "In fact, I'm uninviting you. Go. Leave. We won't miss you. Especially not Frank the Twice Infected."
"Excuse me? Can he speak to me like that? We're the same rank. Are you going to handle this, Eric?"
She says his name firmly, and for half a second, I expect him to snarl at everyone to shut up. He doesn't tolerate much drama, and he's only enduring Nita because she's an active soldier.
But tonight, he has no patience left for her.
"Go then," he shrugs, and he scoots me over closer, making sure Nita is well aware of the wedding ring on my finger. He picks up my hand to adjust the band, then tells her she can have tomorrow off. "In fact, take two days off. Perhaps you'll use the time to learn your place here."
"Are you serious?" She stares in disbelief, and when her stare lands on my hand in Eric's, I know she blames me. "Unbelievable. You have no idea how to run a team."
"Now." Eric waves her away, and he turns to me. Karl is staring, looking furious and ready to punch Nita, and even Meghan looks pissed off. "Everly, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I smile, picking up on his unease over me being upset, and I promise him it's okay. "Do you want to share one of the desserts? I made them all."
"Sure."
"You'll change your mind when you see the schedule," Nita warns, sliding out of the booth with a stormy, somewhat embarrassed scowl. "Good luck having Rylan help you kill anything."
"Oh wow, what an insult. I don't work for Eric, idiot. And I kill whoever I want. Including you." Rylan calls out in a sing songy voice, watching her with great disdain. He perks up when she stomps away around a corner, and there's a crash as she must bump into a waiter. "Eric, for the love of God, fire her. She's being obnoxious to the mother of my godchild."
"Rylan," Eric starts, but even Meghan cracks up, and she throws me a knowing, sympathetic smile. She shakes her head, and flips Nita off, even though Nita is long gone.
I like her.
Meghan is nothing like Eric made her out to be. When we finally met, she was understandably nervous, but very, very friendly. She complimented my hair and my dress –rolling her eyes when Rylan insisted it was made for a very tall doll and not a human being –and I learned she wasn't much older than me. She quickly told me all the things she liked, including shopping at the mall in addition to playing video games, and she asked if we could have dinner or lunch or even breakfast.
She and Jason shared a love for a lot of things, including the paranormal. We did have breakfast together, several times, and she told me all the spooky things they'd witnessed together.
I especially liked her when she shyly asked if I thought Quinten would hire her, because she wanted to stay on good terms with everyone. Her arrival was rockier than ever; she found the place on her own, showing up during a slow day and walked in with the group she thought was staying here. They bolted when they saw the soldiers walking, knocking her into the fountain and cutting her leg. She then spent seventeen days in the infirmary, having to prove she wasn't infected and wasn't some traitor.
She was eventually released to Jason, with the intent of staying put.
So far, she hadn't found anywhere to work. While she liked the mall, she wasn't keen on spending her days handing out uniforms, nor was she cleared to work at any of the posts. Her best bet was the hotel, but while Quinten needed the help, he trusted very few. He'd even put up a sign saying he wasn't hiring, despite needing the help.
"Nita is awful. I don't know why Eric lets her stay on his team," Meghan adds, not looking at anyone but me. Her fingers toy with the glass of water in front of her, and when she does look at Eric, I know she's slightly afraid of him. "She's pretty mean to your wife."
"I told her to leave," Eric answers, his tone short and tense. "I don't let her stay on my team. She was assigned to work there. I've already asked Jack to move her, but I need someone else to take her place. Do you want to volunteer?"
"Sure," Meghan retorts, not at all the soldier he's looking for. She and Jason both share a slighter frame, and her long blonde hair gives her an almost too pretty appearance. As a soldier, not a soul would take her seriously. "If it means she'll quit trying to get in your pants."
Beside her, Jason snickers, but his stare is in awe. He gazes at Meghan as though he's never seen anyone quite so amazing, and I have to say, it's pretty endearing. He mutters something to her, something that does not make her smile, but she does throw him with an entertained eyeroll.
"She's not," Eric snaps, and his fingers press so tightly I swear they could leave a mark. "I have no interest in entertaining a single thought in her head. I'll have her moved as soon as I can."
"Good. Because we like Everly, but we do not like Nita," Rylan agrees, raising his glass in the air. "To Everly, the best addition to our squad we could ask for. May you one day find Nita a zombie, so you can stab her in the head!"
Karl laughs so hard he chokes on his water, but he holds his glass up. He joins in the morbid toast, and so do Jason, Meghan, Four, and Eric. I shake my head at all of them, relieved that they are on my side, but also sort of uneasy over the whole thing.
If I've learned anything, it's that this world is entirely unlike the one I knew, and it was absolutely fine to take whatever you wanted.
Including people.
"Do you like Arlene?"
A week later, Meghan and I sit with Christina in the infirmary, in the world's most uncomfortable waiting room chairs, watching the nurses run back and forth. We've all been scheduled to come down here on the same day, and it worked out well. I got to leave work an hour early, but I made sure I was finished with everything before I did, and I was thrilled to have friends here with me.
Especially Meghan. On our walk down here, she told me she's meeting with Quinten tomorrow to see if she'd be a good fit, and if not, Jason jokingly said she could take Nita's place.
I wasn't opposed to that at all.
While Eric is very smart, he had clearly dismissed Nita as nothing more than an annoying pest. I highly doubted Meghan would wind up working for him, but at least she liked me. Nita had made it perfectly clear that she found me lesser than, especially after she returned to work, nastier and more determined than ever.
"Well, that's a hard question. I don't love her by any means. But I guess she's doing her job. What about you?" I look over at Meghan, perched on the edge of her seat, looking ready to bolt.
"Hell no. She kept me here for weeks, convinced I would turn at any second. They checked on me every hour at first, then every three, then every six. It took me like, five days before I could finally fall asleep. And she did so much bloodwork I thought I'd run out of blood." She shakes her head, and scowls. "Jason brought me dinner a few times, and Arlene threw it out!"
"Precautions," Arlene barks, rounding the corner at just the right moment. "And while I know your time here was not fun, at least you didn't wind up infected. Now, if the three of you can come with me, we can get this over quickly."
"Is it going to hurt?" Christina hops off the chair, looking worried. "I have to work at three. Am I going to be sick after?"
"Maybe."
Meghan and Christina all look at me, wide eyes and mouths open, but there's nothing to say.
In order to continue staying in the safe zone, we are now required to be vaccinated with a different version of what Evelyn had been working on. Turns out, she had made some decent progress, and there was some merit to her work. While wildly unethical in her approach of turning people into zombies, she'd created something that gave the scientists a head-start on creating a cure. With their new vaccine, if you were bit, you only had a ten percent chance of getting infected.
Which didn't ease my fears about getting the shot.
It was a single dose, that was rumored to cause all sorts of side effects for four days. Four had thrown me a weak smile when it was announced, and that was only because I was the only one sitting with him. He'd been hired by Eric to run errands for him, and sometimes, Four would eat lunch with me since everyone else was convinced by Nita that he was still a zombie.
He wasn't.
Not entirely.
He was awkward and sort of dorky, but he wasn't as bad as Nita. He kept to himself, was quiet, and occasionally made a wry comment about Jason or Rylan that wasn't all that far off base. I wouldn't go out of my way to hang out with him, but I had some sympathy given he seemed to be walking a fine line between zombie and social pariah.
"Everly, you're first, but all three of you can come in," Arlene calls out, guiding us to her office. We make our way inside, and I stall by glancing around. The room is crammed with books, notebooks, paperwork, and rather official looking awards. Her makeshift office is a smaller room, with plenty of shelving and a large desk shoved in the corner. I imagine wherever she worked before was nicer than the storage room in an abandoned department store, but this works. "Actually, Everly you're going with Polly. I need to talk with Meghan."
"Gross, why?" Meghan protests, but Arlene ignores her. She sets up a tray with a few syringes, dark blue medical tape, an alcohol wipe, and a few cotton balls. "Can't she stay? How do I know you won't try to quarantine me again?"
"We've spent enough time together. I can assure you I'm not angling to keep you down here any longer than necessary. Everly, just follow Polly. She'll get you started. Meghan and Christina, you stay with me."
"Okay," I smile at Meghan and Christina before following a nurse with dark red hair out of the room. She takes me around a corner, to a wide-open space, and through a doorway. It was once a fitting room, and each room is set up so soldiers can be treated privately. There is a tray with the same set up as Arlene: blue medical tape, cotton balls, a sharp needle, and paperwork.
"If you'll have a seat here, I'll grab your chart. I just need…" The nurse pauses when I sit down, and she flips through several pages of paperwork. Her brow furrows together, and her stare is confused. "Everly Coulter, right?"
"Yes," I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, wishing I'd brought a sweater. My dress is too cold for the weather these days, but I liked it. I toy with the hem, ignoring the weird feeling looming in the air, and I wish I was anywhere but here.
Four days of feeling miserable is not my idea of a good time.
"Actually, wait…" The nurse is now frowning, and she throws me an apologetic glance. "Sorry, it says here you already had the shot. It's marked off…today. It says you just got it. The time stamp is twenty minutes ago."
"What? I haven't gotten any shot." I blink at her, and my confusion mirrors her own. "Why would it say I just got it? We just got down here."
"Yeah, it says…priority inoculation given husband's position within the army. Eric had his early this morning, and it says you got yours a few hours after he was here." She pauses, then frowns. "You only need one. I don't know why they'd send you back."
"I didn't get –"
"I'll tell Arlene what happened. You can go," she turns to the file, scrawling something on it and not looking back up. When I try to explain that I haven't gotten any shot, she pays no attention. "It's fine. There might have been a mix up since this morning's staff was actually the evening staff from last night. They had to stay late and are exhausted. You're good."
"Um, I'll go talk to Arlene…" I stand up slowly, half relieved I hadn't been injected, but half uneasy. "Are you sure I should go? Because –"
"Can you send the next person in? There should be someone outside." Polly looks at me, not listening at all. "Thank you."
"Sure."
I leave the room without saying anything else, and I figure I'll find Arlene and figure out what's going on. I make it two whole steps before I hear someone speaking, louder than necessary. The heavy footsteps are recognizable as one of the soldiers, and I hope it's Jason or Rylan.
"Everly! Your husband wanted me to give this to you! Eric said he'll be home late. Maybe a half hour at most, but he didn't want you to worry. This is for you."
I turn when they say my name, but they aren't talking to me, nor is it anyone I know. A soldier dressed in dark camouflage stops by someone, and when they turn, my jaw drops.
"Thank you. He's so…considerate." Nita smiles, reaching for the paper in his hands. She takes it, pausing to brush back newly cut bangs off her face, before she opens the paper. She eventually smiles and folds the paper back up. "Tell Eric I'll see him soon. I'm looking forward to tonight."
"Will do. Take care."
The soldier leaves, but Nita doesn't. When he's gone, she reads the note again, then crumples it up, and tosses it into the trash can. She pauses to fix the sleeve on her black shirt, pulling the collar down to reveal her arm. She carefully peels off the blue medical tape, the same shade as the one on the nurses' tray, and tosses it right into the garbage, before she disappears into the group of nurses walking out toward the mall.
"Are you serious?"
Meghan stares at me, eyes so wide they look like saucers, then she grimaces. She wiggles her arm a few times, groaning that it hurts from the shot, then inches closer. "Did you confront her?"
"No," I shake my head, tilting it when Christina joins us, visibly annoyed as she peels the band aid off her arm. Their shots had been quick, and their arms were just as sore as Arlene said they would be. "She left right after. I mean, it could have just been a mistake. But why didn't she tell the soldier she wasn't me? How didn't the guy know he had the wrong person? I'm pretty sure she got the shot because she said she was me."
Meghan and Christina look at each other. They both look worried, and I bite at my lip –a nervous habit I loathe –until Christina speaks.
"Well, you do…. sort of look alike. Not exactly! You're way prettier and…" she channels Rylan with her next words. "Much shorter. Like way shorter. But if he quickly described you to a soldier, they probably saw Nita and thought she was you. Though she is a little bit more tan. Actually, way more tan."
I stare at the two of them, and I feel slightly crazy. "But she's not me."
"No, she's not." Meghan shakes her head, then reaches to take hold of my hand. "But she wants to be."
"What are you doing?" I'm confused when Meghan pulls me along, but she's insistent. We leave the infirmary in a hurry, and the mall bursts into sight, still dimly lit and playing creepy music. "Meghan!"
"Taking you to see your husband and make sure he knows just exactly what that asshole is up to!" She announces loudly, and a few of the nurses startle. Meghan keeps walking into the large, empty section of stores, determined to figure this out. "If Nita got your shot instead of you, then she's going to be held accountable for it. I told Jason I didn't think she was up to anything good."
"Wait, you did?" I stop, right in front of the store handing out uniforms, and the faint music echoes. "What did Jason say?"
"Well," Meghan chews on her cheek, and her gaze is sympathetic. "Okay, so he said it sounded like a conspiracy theory to get Nita off Eric's team. He said he knows none of us like her, and maybe we're making it worse by being mean."
"But –"
"I told him that's not true. I gave him some examples, and he believes me. I didn't want to say anything, but I saw Nita nosing around the front desk at the hotel the other day. She was trying to persuade them to give her something, and when they asked for ID, she left in a hurry. I don't trust at her all." Meghan scowls, and Christina does, too.
"Rylan and I agree. He said she calls Eric all the time. That they went to grab breakfast, and she kept blowing up his phone even though she was assigned to work with someone else for a few hours. He said…" Christina pauses, and her next words send a chill up my spine. "He said, Nita told Eric you were telling everyone how much you hate him working so much. And how unsupportive you are as a friend, even to him. That you should be thrilled he's doing so well here, and if you can't be happy for him, then why is he with you. I don't think she's accepted the fact that he's married."
"So now what?" I stare glumly at them, knowing this is starting to spiral out of control. The most worrisome part is that while I am happy for Eric, I do miss him, and he knows I don't love him being gone all day. In a very unfortunate way, Nita has a point. "What if he doesn't believe me?"
"Eric will. I promise," Meghan answers, and I hope she right.
If Eric doesn't believe me, I'm going to sound absolutely nuts, and I have a feeling that's what Nita wants.
"Everly, did you hit your head?"
Eric's stare is concerned, but it's more about if I'm sane, than that Nita is trying to take over my life. He reaches out to slide his fingers into my hair, and while it feels good, he's checking to make sure there isn't a bump.
"No! I didn't hit my head!" I jerk back, and his expression tightens. "Why don't you believe me? I'm not making this up."
"I do believe you. It's just…I know you don't like her. I haven't even seen her today." He frowns, his sigh weary and impatient. "Did you get your shot? I asked that you be moved up on the list. You, and Meghan, and Christina all should have been asked to go to the infirmary today."
"I did go down there, but they said I already got the shot." I watch his expression turned confused, and I shake my head. "I never got it. But Nita was there, and she left with the same band aid Meghan and Christina did. And…and this soldier gave her a note from you, and he called her Everly and..." My words are a jumble, spoken too fast to make sense, but I can't help myself. Eric's stare is not impressed, and his nod is worrisome. "Did you write me a note?"
Eric lifts his head up higher, tilting it look at my eyes. "I did write you a note. I wanted to let you know that I'm driving out with Karl for a few hours this afternoon. I didn't want you to worry. I had someone take it to the infirmary, because I knew you were there."
"Okay, but the guy gave the note to Nita, and she took it! She pretended to be me!" I try to explain what I saw, but for some reason, Eric looks unconvinced.
He also looks a little pale.
Sort of sweaty, and a little green.
"Eric, do you not feel good? You look…awful," I ask, pressing my hands to his collar and pulling him closer. He leans in, resting his head against mine. "Eric, she's trying to make everyone think she's me. I swear, I'm not crazy. I saw her and I heard her. The guy said Everly, and she answered like she was me."
"Well, maybe she misunderstood. And I'm fine, just…Arlene said I might feel shitty for an hour or two," Eric answers, and I know he must feel like crap. His cheek is hot, and he looks like he'd like to go lie down for a few days. "I don't think Nita is trying to do anything. The soldier I sent to find you is new. I told him you were at the infirmary, and he must have mixed you two up. Maybe she misheard him, or maybe he misheard me."
"Eric…"
I start to say his name, but I feel him lean further into me, and I know he doesn't feel great. He stills, his whole body pressed against mine, and my fingers move to his hair.
It's damp, like he's feverish.
"Why don't you come lie down for a while. I think you'll feel better if you take a nap," I try to remember what Arlene had told Meghan and Christina. They'd both looked pretty worked up on our walk over here; Meghan mentioned Arlene said the symptoms could make you feel pretty awful for all four days, but some people had none. Christina split to go see Rylan, and Meghan, looking slightly pale herself, left to find Jason. "I'll get you something to drink."
He debates my offer.
I know because he sighs heavily, but eventually, he nods.
"Fine, but just for a few hours. I have a meeting…" he mumbles, sounding feverish and woozy. "Can you tell Karl I'll be back in time for us to drive out."
I don't know if he's talking to me or someone else, because I don't even know how to get ahold of Karl. But I promise him I will. I unwind my arms from around his neck and press my palm to his forehead. He smiles, his gaze a million miles away, and he crankily announces he has to grab some papers.
"Okay, well…I'll meet you in the hallway." I step away from him, glancing around his office like I'm not trying to spy on where he works, and it's pretty interesting.
He'd been awarded an office a few weeks after working with Jack. It was in the mall, at the end of the third floor, with several others. The space is large and airy, with big windows and plenty of shelving. He's got papers and maps strewn on his desk, a laptop with an email opened up on it, and a few other odds and ends. There are some books, including one that looks brand new on the corner of his desk, and when he isn't looking, I take it with me. The pages stick out funny, and I find myself suspicious that with his lack of free time, he'd grab anything to read and leave it on his desk.
I knew he liked to read, but something feels off.
I walk into the hallway, shutting the door behind me as he groans that his joints hurt. I open the book to the cover page and stuck inside is a note. It's been taped to the inside, written in bold, looping handwriting.
Eric,
I thought you'd like this. It seems more up your alley than some of the others. You and I seem to like the same books, and it looks like we have more in common than we first thought. If you want, we can meet for dinner to discuss it. I'd love to get your insight on a lot of things, especially those that aren't work related. I have plenty of experience and I'd love to show you what I'm capable of, in and out of uniform.
Nita
I slam the book shut, pocketing the note and trying not to hyperventilate. Despite the sudden desire to kill, I head out into the main section before the offices. The receptionist working there is named Linda, and she looks up to smile when I tell her Eric is going home and he's not feeling well.
"He's getting ready to leave now. I just thought maybe I should tell someone. He said to tell Karl, but I don't know where Karl is."
"Oh, poor thing. I've heard that's a very common reaction to the shots. It's nice that you came back to check on him." Linda brightly answers, tapping away on her keyboard. "Everly, did you find your room key? When you came by this morning, you mentioned yours weren't official yet and you lost the temporary one. I was hoping you'd found it, because registration is being a pain in the rear today."
"My room key?" I stare at her, her dark blue shirt pressed into perfection, and it takes everything in me not to scream.
"I swore that was you. Same dress, same hair," Linda agrees, typing even faster. She looks up at me again, but this time, squints for a second like she's not sure who she's looking at. "So, unfortunately, I wasn't able to order another room key, but they said if you stop by the desk on your way home, they'll help you. They'll reprint it only if you're there, in person."
"Oh." Horror pricks at my neck. I clutch the book tighter as nausea pools in my stomach, and I take a step toward Linda. "I forgot I asked you for that."
"Am I thinking of someone else? I swore that's what you asked me for. You came up to get Eric for the shots, and mentioned you lost the one they gave you. I didn't say anything to Eric. You said you were worried he'd be upset with the security risks and all, and you were hoping to replace it without him knowing." Linda's nose wrinkles, like she's remembering something unpleasant. "At least, I swore that was you. And hey, I understand completely. They're very particular with how many they print for security purposes."
I blink.
It takes me a second to gather my thoughts, and they are all very unpleasant.
"You know, I did find it. So, uh, thank you for your help. This morning," I answer her brightly, right as Eric stumbles out of his office. His jacket is now unbuttoned, and his hair is a mess. "I don't need another one. No worries."
"It's nice to talk to you again. I've heard so much about you, and it was a pleasant to surprise to learn Eric is happily married."
I don't answer her this time. Eric walks over and takes hold of my hand, muttering that he feels like someone has turned the heat on. I slide my fingers through his, promising him he'll feel better in a few hours.
"Bye Linda," I wave at her, and Eric offers a very unfriendly grunt as a goodbye.
"Bye! Feel better, Eric. I'll hold all your messages until you're back."
"I feel like my skin is on fire," Eric mutters, and his hand is hot. "I just want to get home and take this uniform off."
Any other day, I would have looked up at him and smiled, or made a joke that I wanted him to take his uniform off, too.
Today, I hold on tighter, and my only comment is that I'll ask if Arlene can send something up for him.
The side effects for the vaccine are fun. By noon, Eric has a headache, a fever, a pretty grouchy disposition, and the inability to do anything but lie with his head on my chest and my fingers raking through his hair. He's unusually needy, but in a reluctant way. He wanted me to lie down with him, but he didn't want to ask me. He wanted me to touch his hair, stroking his temples until his eyes shut, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He also wanted something for the pain, but he was unwilling to admit that his head hurt.
By twelve thirty, he fell asleep, mumbling that it was unfair I didn't feel as shitty as he did.
I refrained from reminding him it was because I hadn't actually gotten the shot.
Afraid of sounding crazy, because I could still clearly see the look on his face from when I had told him about Nita and the soldier in the infirmary, I smiled tightly, and told him I'd order lunch when he woke up. I was relieved when his breathing slowed, turning deep and even, and his fingers relaxed. I stayed there with him for a few minutes longer, enjoying how good it felt to know that he trusted me enough to take care of him, but it was short lived.
I wiggled away, grabbed a pair of ballet flats, and left him sound asleep in our bed.
My walk to the elevators is quick; I take it down to the main floor, head through the lobby doors, and head into the mall. It doesn't take me very long to find the offices I'm looking for, and I hesitate going inside only because there are dozens of soldiers milling around. I'm not afraid of them, but they give off an air of intimidation simply because they're all armed.
But I don't really have a choice.
I walk inside, stopping at the front desk, and I politely introduce myself. The receptionist's eyes light up when I tell her who I am, and she tells me to wait one minute.
Not much later, she escorts me to an office in the back, and cheerfully tells me to go on in.
"So, you think she's trying to take over your life?"
Daniel sits behind his desk, looking very official for someone who didn't work here a few months ago. His uniform is as black as the ink on the note Nita wrote, and his hair is slicked back like Eric's. I watch him contemplate what I've just said, and I do my best to explain it better than I did to Eric.
"It's all very weird. She cut her hair like mine, she had the same dress on. She went to the infirmary and got the vaccine as me. When I went to get it, they said I had already been there. I saw her leaving, and she had the band-aid on and…a soldier came up to her to give her a note from Eric. He called her Everly, and she took it. She never told him her name is Nita."
"What did she do with it?" Daniel leans back, listening carefully. "Did she read it?"
"She did. Then she threw it away." I swallow, perched on the edge of his visitor's chair. His office is larger than Eric's, and sits in a way that the windows have a view of the forest. "When I told Linda Eric was going home, she said I'd been there this morning and she couldn't get me the key to my hotel room. She said I told her I lost it, but I didn't. That was the first time I'd ever met her."
"She asked someone to make a key to your hotel room?" Daniel's brow furrows, and his expression turns worried. "Has anyone been in your room? Did you notice anything strange?"
"No," I shake my head. "But I left Eric sleeping. He got the shot and doesn't feel good." I swallow, and I find myself pretty terrified he won't believe me, either. "I promise you I'm not making this up. I swear…she's planning something."
"No, I believe you," Daniel pulls out of his phone, and taps a few buttons. "Actually, I met her the other day. She came in to introduce herself with another new soldier, and was very forward about how much she enjoyed working with Eric. She kept hinting they were close, and she'd like to get to know me, too. Jack said she's very enthusiastic about getting to know everyone working here."
My stomach tightens, like I've just leapt off the roof of a building, into a bottomless black hole.
"She asked if I would like to get dinner sometime under the guise of wanting to learn about the positions available. I found her to be very forward. I didn't agree to anything, but then again, I don't normally socialize with anyone below my rank, purely because it can cause issues." Daniel presses the call button, and I hear his phone dial someone. "Have you mentioned this to Eric?"
"I did. I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm nuts," I confess, thinking of the look on Eric's face when I tried to explain myself. Daniel nods, then asks whoever he's called if they can meet him downstairs in twenty minutes. "Alright, we are going to get to the bottom of this. You said you think she got your shot and she's been responding to your name, as you."
"Yes! You don't think I'm crazy, do you?" I ask, admittedly feeling a little insane. "I'm not normally jealous or this weirded out by anyone. I don't care that she works with Eric, or that she's good at her job. But when someone called her Everly, and she answered –"
"I think it's a definite problem." Daniel pushes his chair back, and gestures for me to follow suit. "You and I are going to figure this out. I promise."
"Thank you," I stand, relieved that he doesn't think I'm making this up, and I can only hope he knows what to do. "Where are we going?"
"Well, if there's anyone out there who can find out what Nita is doing, he's downstairs, enjoying some coffee. Come on. You and I will grab something, too. I think we'll have this handled by today." Daniel walks around his desk, grabbing a few things including some papers, and he nods for me follow him.
I do.
My chest is tight with hope that this will all be over in an hour, and Nita will be a thing of the past.
Chapter 15: Beneath the Surface
Notes:
Thank you so much to Erin for editing!
Chapter Text
We don't find him.
I try to ignore the rise of panic as we leave Daniel's office by reassuring myself that even though I knew what I had witnessed, it wasn't that bad. Nita hadn't accomplished her main goal of getting to Eric, and while explaining her actions would sound like I was nuts, I could prove most of them. I could ask Daniel to find the soldier Nita talked to, and there had to be some security footage. Even with this, the worst of it is Nita trying to get my room key, but I'm confident she wasn't able to.
At least, I hope not.
Thinking of her in my room makes my stomach twist as Daniel leads me downstairs, to a lounge set in an area of the hotel I haven't frequented. There's a large bar spanning across the back of the wall, extravagant and spacious, and plenty of booths and tables. Large windows line the side, giving way to a view of mountains and forest, and only a tiny sliver of the parking lot. The air holds the smell of alcohol, soaked into the carpet during happier times, and the barest hint of cigarettes. It's stale and biting, all too overwhelming, and thick with anticipation. For a split second, I expect Harrison to pop up and invite us to have a drink, but there is no one here.
Only a single bartender, polishing a glass.
"Can I help you? Are you here for happy hour? It doesn't start until four, but I could make an exception." He wipes the glass a few times, admiring his work out of sheer boredom, and flashes us a winning smile. "Would either of you like some water to start?"
"We're actually here looking for someone. Have you seen Harrison? I know he's been down here a few times. I met with him here a few days ago," Daniel strides toward him, glancing around like he's not so sure what he's seeing is real. "Tall? Uh, interesting hair, green –"
"Guy who hunts the creatures in the woods?" The bartender's interest is piqued. He sets the glass down, and his eyes skim over Daniel to me. "He was here for about an hour. He left when he got a call. Something about...missing some paperwork. He split real quick. Are you friends of his?"
"Yes," Daniel answers for the both of us, checking his watch before looking at me. "Do you know where he went?"
"No clue," the bartender wipes the glass again, then reaches for another. "He said the name Eric. Does that ring a bell?"
My stomach twists even further. It's like knives are lining the inside, each one sharper than the last.
"He said Eric?"
"Everly, you said Eric is sleeping?"
"Yeah, he fell asleep before I came to see you." I pause, and we both must be thinking the same thing. "Do you think he's okay?"
"Well…" Daniel pauses, holding my stare, and the panic comes right back. It's like he's thrown ice water on me, so much that I recoil.
"He got the vaccine this morning and it made him sick. He has a fever and was sort of out of it…" I step back farther, already mentally heading back to the hotel room. "I'm going to go check on him."
"I'll meet you there. I'm going to try one more place if Harrison doesn't answer my call." Daniel thanks the bartender, but he politely demands that if he sees Harrison, to have him call immediately. The bartender nods, and it's clear we're far more interesting than serving drinks. "Great. Thanks. Everly, I'll meet you up there unless I find Harrison. I promise, we'll get this taken care of."
"Okay."
For a second, Daniel looks at me, and his stare is funny. I don't know him very well, and I can't even be entirely sure he likes me beyond knowing his son and I share a hotel room and a last name. If there's any affection at all, it's because he knows Eric is happy, and he's not alone.
But right now, it's different.
It's a crushingly heavy stare, one that tells me he's incredibly worried.
I count the hotel rooms as I walk by them. There's no reason to; there aren't many on our floor, and rarely have I wondered if anyone was in them. I hurry down a hallway of ugly, paisley print carpet, and large windows. The mall looms to the side, sitting like a living, breathing entity. In the distance, just beyond the outline of the mall, makeshift walls have been placed around the safe zone. Today, soldiers are working to reinforce the structure, doing their best to keep both zombies and the outsiders from breaking in. It's reassuring, but also not. It hasn't done a great job of keeping Nita out, and if anything, it's trapped her inside, giving her a large sprawling space for her games.
I decide I really don't like her.
I swear when I reach my hotel room, feeling completely frantic, and nearly drop the room key. I swipe it a few times, impatiently waiting for the green light to flash, and to my horror, it doesn't.
The entire thing lights up red, over and over, no matter how many times I swipe it.
"And your last name is…Coulter?"
The person working behind the desk is a soldier, not much older than me, and just as pale. He types quickly, frowning at the screen a few times, and each sigh makes the worry bore right through my bones.
"Yes. Everly Coulter. My keycard worked yesterday, but today it doesn't." I try to be patient, but it's impossible. After knocking several times on the door and yelling Eric's name to no response, I practically sprinted to the lobby. I was lucky to find the front desk not busy, but the guy helping me is taking forever. "I just need a new key."
"Okay, well…" he clicks the mouse a few times, slower than I'd like, his stare is torn. I've already given him all the information I know, but there were a few things I didn't. Eric had failed to give me his birthdate or social security number, and I didn't know his home address in Lake View. '"Sorry, give me a second. It's only my fourth day. None of us are really trained with this software. There's a code to reprint the keys but…"
I nod, knowing none of them probably worked at a hotel before. It's a miracle the software even functions. "Actually, is there a way to change it completely? Can you print two new keys?"
"It says here your key was reprinted not too long ago. There isn't any reason it shouldn't be working…" he trails off, stabbing the screen a few times with his finger, until his frown is all I can see. "Okay, I found the screen. It says you printed another an hour ago. Your ID was verified as your…work ID. We keep track in case someone tries anything funny. The other day, this guy came in and said he needed keys to every room on the first floor because he was with maintenance. He wasn't. He was trying to rob the place and luckily, we –"
"Wait, are you saying I was down here an hour ago, and asked for a room key?" I nearly throw up, not because I think Nita could accomplish much with Eric, but because these attempts at taking over are growing increasingly bold. "And I showed you a work ID?"
"Yeah, it was you…wasn't it?" He looks confused when I shake my head no, and he turns and yells for someone to come help him. "Hold on. Hey, Bob. This is…Everly…and she said her room key doesn't work. But we issued her one an hour ago. Can you verify? You helped her last time. She's with Coulter."
I wait as Bob emerges from a back office, an unfriendly man, looking tired and irritable. I can just imagine how many people have come down here, struggling with lost room keys or missing cards, and most of his day must be spent verifying who they are and printing them new keys. Bob meanders over with absolutely no enthusiasm, and when he looks at me, his expression is pricelessly bored.
"You're… Everly Coulter?" He tilts his head, the light catching several sharp piercings through his eyebrow, ears, and one faint dot where he had one on his nose, and his expression is one of tedium. "Did she show you ID?"
"No," the guy shakes his head, and my blood turns hot. "She just said she needs a key. She has one, but it doesn't work. She confirmed Eric's name and job, his father's name and –"
"She's not Everly. I helped Everly a little while ago. She had ID. If this…Everly doesn't have ID, then she's clearly not Everly." Bob's stare darkens to irritation. "Look, I don't know what you're doing, but we don't have time for this."
"Are you serious?" My blood pressure rises, and before I can leap across the counter and grab him by the throat –a valid solution for this situation, I'm saved by Karl.
Dressed slightly more casual than usual, he wanders behind the desk. He's as enthused as ever, and when he sees me, he smiles widely. "Everly! What are you doing here! I was wondering how you were. Linda said she saw you earlier. Sucks that Eric got sick. I got the shot, but I'm fine."
"Everly?" Both Bob and the guy working look at him, but Karl misses their stares completely.
"Anyway, I'm here to learn how to check people in. I guess one of the patrols found thirty-six new survivors and they're coming here. Jack wants everyone trained in two areas: hospitality and food prep. He told me to come here and watch Bob for a few hours." Karl beams, finally noticing Bob's open mouth gape. "Uh, are you guys okay? Should I come back later? I can go see Quinten, but his wife said he's on break."
"Hold up. You know her? She's…Everly. Everly Coulter?" Bob repeats, and the color has drained from his face. "The Lieutenant's wife? The one in charge of the patrol squads?" He slowly looks at me, and so does Karl.
"Yeah! We're all really good friends. Me, Jason, Rylan, Everly, Meghan, Christina, Charlotte. In fact, I was just gonna ask you how long you think Eric will be sick for. Linda said he looked rough when he left, and we probably wouldn't head out this afternoon."
I stare only at Karl, ignoring the pleading stare of Bob not to report him for giving away my room key, and force a tight smile. "He's not doing so great. I need to check on him, but my room key doesn't work."
"Oh, well…you can get a new one, right? Jack was raving about how secure the key cards are, and how his army is well trained, and how we've gone two days without a single security accident." Karl points at the computer, and Bob looks green at this point. "So just uh, print her a new one. Eric probably is wondering where she went."
"Fuck," Bob exhales, and I share his sentiments. "Kyle, that girl wasn't Everly."
"What girl?" Karl questions, tapping a few keys until a machine starts beeping. "Everly, I hit print. I can hear something whirling. Is this how I do it?"
"I'm gonna call Jack. Um, you…yeah, Karl, give her the key. It prints beneath the desk." Bob fumbles over his words, and I wordlessly watch him stumble back. He hits the counter, and the guy he's working with glares at him.
"I told you that ID didn't look like her! She looked nothing like the picture!"
I don't listen for much longer.
Karl triumphantly hands me the key, and I take off running, ignoring their shrieks and arguments over who is at fault for giving someone else my key.
This time, it works.
It flashes green immediately, and I fling the door open. My mind comes up with a thousand new scenarios for what Nita could have done while I wasn't here; Eric was pretty delirious when he fell asleep, and he might not have heard her come in. Just as I get to the absolute worst idea, I realize Eric not sleeping, nor is he anywhere to be a found.
The bed is a mess.
The sheets are askew, the pillows are shoved to the side, but there's no sign of him.
"ERIC!" I yell his name, panic searing through me so fast it's hard to see straight, and I wonder if Nita is crazy enough to have killed him. "ERIC!"
"Everly?" I nearly collapse when he walks out of the bathroom, toweling his hair off and looking a little more alive. "Are you okay? Why are you yelling?"
"Oh, thank god!" I nearly knock him over when I throw my arms around him, but I let go immediately. I check him the exact same way he's checked me countless times for a zombie bite; I skim his neck, his chest, his cheeks, and I'm relieved when there isn't a single mark on him.
"Everly, are you okay?" Eric's stare is confused, but rightfully so. I've run into our room like it's on fire, and with little explanation. "What are you doing?"
"What are you doing?" I try to speak normally, but my chest feels like it might explode. "I couldn't get back in the room. My key didn't work."
"I was taking a shower. I woke up and called housekeeping because I was all sweaty. They're coming up to change the sheets, and I decided to wash off. I told you this." Eric blinks, and he's still pretty pale. His cheeks have the faintest hint of red, and he stands there unsteadily, still looking tired. "Did something happen at lunch?"
"At lunch? What lunch?" I blink, and he rubs at his temple.
"The one you went to. You said you were going to lunch with Meghan."
I stare at him, unable to say anything.
"You said she came looking for you, and asked if you'd meet her. I don't know. I don't really remember. I was half asleep when you told me," Eric irritably shrugs, looking none too happy. His expression softens after a second, and he reaches for me. "You okay? I've been thinking about what you said…"
"About lunch?" I work very hard not to hyperventilate, and it's a struggle to speak. I want a million things right now: I want to find Daniel, find Harrison, find Jason and Rylan, find Meghan and Christina and Karl, and explain that I am not crazy, and that Nita was in my room. I want to find Nita, if only to ring her neck, and force a confession out of her. "Eric, I didn't –"
"No, about…Nita," Eric looks down at me, his eyes are clearer than before. "I sent Jack a message and I asked to have her kicked out for good. There's something weird about her. I know it doesn't seem like I believed you, but I can't imagine you'd make this up. I don't know how to explain it, but I opened my eyes, and you were sitting beside me, but it wasn't you. I swear it was Nita."
I nod up at him, taking in the seemingly sharper edge to his jaw and his flushed skin, and I smile tightly.
"Eric," I reach for his hands, warm from the shower and probably the fever, and I wait until he's looking right at me. "It was her."
Things spiral even further by dinner time.
A nurse from the infirmary comes by to see Eric. When I open the door, she flashes her badge and asks for Everly Coulter.
"I'm Everly Coulter."
The name sounds funny when I say it, like I'm defensive over a name that really isn't my actual name, and the woman notices. Or maybe she notices something is off because she looks at me like I'm lying to her, and I have the feeling she's met a different Everly Coulter.
"You're Eric's wife?" She hesitates, her eyes raking over my hair and bare shoulders before forcing a smile. "You look different than I remember."
"I parted my hair down the middle," I, too, force a fake smile, then wave her in. "And no worries. You were the one who gave me the shot, right?"
"Yes…" She slips past me, tentative, until she sees Eric sitting on the edge of the bed. He admittedly looks better than earlier, but he's still pretty feverish.
After his shower, he fell back asleep. I was able to wake him up once housekeeping arrived, but I was too afraid to leave him to go and find Daniel. I desperately needed to tell him what was going on, but I couldn't risk Nita heading back here, or attempting to have the keys changed a third time. Eric had asked what I meant about Nita being here, and when I tried to explain it, he blinked.
I could see the change in him instantly. Despite feeling like utter garbage, he looked murderous. I saw the connections go off, but I also saw the exhaustion and lack of ability to do anything.
Which was fine.
I'd made the decision to handle Nita myself.
Well, with the help of Daniel. And possibly Eric's friends. But I would keep him out of it, because he was what she wanted, and involving him while he didn't feel good isn't smart.
"Everly, are you having any side effects?" She looks at me out of the corner of her eye, walking toward Eric like he's about to attack her. He does look sort of violent; his hair is slicked back, his black shirt appears even blacker, and his posture is primed for murder. "Any headaches or nausea?"
"None," I answer brightly, and Eric smirks.
Despite his fever and exhaustion, he told me had no doubts that I hadn't gotten the vaccine. If he felt this bad, I should feel the same way.
"Okay, well, I'm going to take his temperature, and I'll give you something for the fever. I would recommend sleeping it off and resting the best you can." She creeps closer to him, clearly afraid. "Um, Eric…Arlene said that…Everly…"
She glances back at me, and Eric nods encouragingly.
"Yes?" he pointedly stares, knowing something is up. "Is there an issue?"
The nurse is finally close enough to pull something out of a bag. She presses a thermometer to his head, and when it beeps, she exhales. "Uh, no. I just…she looked different in the infirmary. But it must be the lighting. I'm going to leave some medicine with you, and you can take it as needed."
"Good," he snaps, fully ready to go back to sleep. "Everly, can you grab me some water?"
"Sure."
I leave him with the nurse and I venture into the kitchen. I find a glass to fill with ice and water, then I take a quick detour toward the closet. I stop there, noticing it's slightly open, and it makes me pause.
Eric's clothes are in there, too, but it's mostly my stuff. He always shut it, perhaps out of habit or an inability to have something be out of order, so I know he wouldn't leave it open.
Neither did I.
My suspicions are correct when a few minutes later, I discover that not only are more of my clothes missing, but so are my shoes.
"You are insane. Do you know who you're dealing with? Do you know the level of pure, unhinged psychotic rage? The power? The lust for being in charge? The fucking audacity –"
"Rylan, quiet! We're almost there." I shush him as we head down into an annex of the mall I've never been in before. Most of the mall is familiar to me, but this area is one I didn't know existed. Tucked away to the side, in a space so large it appears to be four floors and then some, it's dark and foreboding. "This has to go well."
"Okay, true. I'll be quiet."
He relents. Rylan leads me into blinding white lights, and it takes a second for my eyes to adjust. When they do, I'm in for a shock.
It's far unlike the infirmary or the stores I've been in, or any store, really. The area is spacious, and the inside is gleaming. Pristine marble floors appear freshly buffed, and the light fixtures are a few grades above the generic mall lighting. We walk past still full racks of clothing, dresses made to look like they're for a movie premiere or a prom, and a whole section dedicated just to weddings. It's a strange sight, like looking at artifacts from a world that doesn't exist anymore, and the feeling deepens as we reach the makeup counter. Rylan lingers only long enough to pocket some perfume that's still on display, then he gestures for me to keep going.
"Up ahead. It's best if you go in alone. Just remember what we went over. Don't reveal any personal information, including your height. Keep the conversation brief. Don't mention Eric unless absolutely necessary. And for God's sake, try not to cry." He goes behind the counter, opening up a drawer and rifling through. "Do you need any mascara? Christina said if we're coming down here, to grab some things."
"I'm good, but thank you. And thank you for your help," I grin, waving goodbye as he immerses himself into the world of waterproof mascara stacked beneath the counter. "If I'm not out in ten minutes, you'll come find me?"
"I'll be waiting at exactly nine minutes thirty seconds. Godspeed."
I smile again, fully confident my plan will work.
Because if it doesn't, I'm screwed.
Turns out, I'm screwed from the minute I step inside the room.
Dark eyes find mine, raking over the hem of my dress, the straps that keep slipping down, and the pink fabric. They narrow in pure horror at the ditsy floral print, one I thought was pretty when I bought it back in Haling, and then they screw shut in defeat.
"You want me to make you… a uniform? Really? Aren't you Eric's wife?"
Christian, the only tailor left alive in the world, sighs wearily. He eyes me up and down in an exaggerated manner, wrinkling his nose at my untied shoes and messy hair, and it's very clear my request is horrifically insulting to him.
"Yeah, I am. But I just need…" I pause, knowing he already doesn't like why I'm here. "I need the uniform that a patrol soldier would wear. Do you know if they have their names on them? Not like a badge, but sewn on?"
"Ugh, God, yes I do. But honestly, is your husband making you trample through the mud and rain? Because the uniforms are not my thing. They're cheap and ill fitting, and I have to mass produce them. The names are only for certain ranks. I'm actually running out of that shit green fabric Jack wanted. Can't I make you something else? Something…prettier?" He pretends to smile, then places his hand over his mouth. "Something in another color than pink? I've seen you around and you either adore the color or your husband gets off on how sweet you look compared to the soldiers here."
I smile brightly, doing my best to avoid talking about just exactly how Eric got off. "It's my favorite color. Look, I…I need the uniform for a patrol. I can definitely pay you, um, but I needed a different name on it. And I'd like to order a dress, too. Something prettier and better than what I have on. Someone stole some of my clothes. But if you're too busy, I could buy one."
"Buy one? You want to purchase one… off the rack?" Christian comes awfully close to collapsing into himself. He dramatically waves his hands back and forth and shakes his head. "I will make you whatever you want. But please tell me you are wearing this uniform for role playing or something. Because I promise you, they aren't flattering. Though I can put whatever name you want on it." His eyes widen, like he's decided it's most definitely for something other than wearing on patrol. "Oh, I get it now."
"No, it's not that!" I protest, but it's useless. "I just need it for one day. Even if you have one that's close to my size, and you can put a name on it. That works, too." I try not to sound like I'm desperate, but I am. "Just the normal one. Not a leader's uniform or whatever they're called."
"Got it. Okay, so a normal uniform, close to your size with a different name on the tag, and I can make you a dress and you won't care what details I add?" Christian's eyes are as large as flying saucers behind his thick, black glasses. His hair is flat ironed in front and spiked up everywhere else, and every so often, it falls dramatically onto his face. "Am I billing this to Eric?"
"No." It's my turn to shake my head, and I step down off the platform he had me standing on. "Actually, a friend of mine is going to pay. That's why I want her name on the tag part. It's um, sort of an inside mission, so I can't say too much."
"As much as I hate the uniforms, I'd love to know what's going on. Did you know I signed up for the army? I wanted to join the second I got here. I thought I could make a difference, maybe spark some change, really kill the zombies. But once they found out I could sew, they stuck me here. With Tina as my assistant. Tina, who is drunk half the time. But whatever," Christian waves dismissively. "I eyeballed your measurements. I'll have the uniform by tonight, and the dress…give me a few days. Is it for a celebration?"
I smile, and for the first time since Nita showed up, I feel hopeful.
"Actually, yes."
I dress while Eric is asleep.
Tue to Christian's word, he sent the uniform later that very day. It had a bill attached to it, one with a payment date of tomorrow, and Nita's name stitched onto the front. I stared at it in horror, because Christian hadn't been lying.
It was ugly.
It was rough, stiffly starched into place, a print of greenish camouflage. Never in my life have I worn a uniform, and it took everything in me to shove it into the far corner of the closet before Eric could ask who was at the door. He still wasn't feeling amazing, and his time was spent sleeping or complaining. He was a terrible patient, one who loathed feeling ill, but also wanted me to stay by his side, and it was obvious something was off.
I fell asleep with him slowly dragging his fingers through my hair. He would graze my temple now and then, and when he thought I was asleep, he uttered a low, painful apology that he felt bad for not believing me about Nita. I kept my eyes shut, because really, Eric only felt bad that he dreamt she was in here. When he asked me to explain what I meant by my answer, I told him she'd been messing around for a few days, and it was likely he'd finally noticed. He stared. He pressed his lips together, wracking his feverish mind for a better explanation, but eventually nodded and let the issue go.
Now, I button the jacket quickly, shoving the cell phone he'd given me in the pocket, and I fix my hair. I stare in the mirror for a while, doing my best not to compare myself to Nita, and it's easy. She's taller and a horrible person, so the only real comparison is our hair. Once I pull it up in a bun and scowl into the mirror, I can see the faintest resemblance of her. Barely. If someone were to look quickly –glancing as she stomped down the hallway or sulked in the coffee shop –someone might possibly think it was me. I hadn't gotten to know many people here yet, a mistake I planned on rectifying once this was over, and unfortunately, this gave Nita an advantage.
"This ends today," I mutter to myself, more determined than ever. I know I have some time, because Eric is still asleep, but it feels like time is moving in slow motion.
I tie the thick laces on the boots Eric had given me, and everything feels heavy. The uniform, my hair, the boots. The whole atmosphere feels heavy, and not just because I'm leaving Eric asleep while I head out to play Nita's own game. I don't say goodbye to Eric, but I do leave him a note, one far unlike the one Nita wrote.
I simply tell him I have a few errands to run, and I'll be back later this afternoon.
I leave it on the nightstand beside him, then I leave as silently as I can.
The soldiers are numerous.
They line up shoulder to shoulder, some in groups, some a little more spread out, all awaiting their orders. The organized chaos is exciting; each team is fully prepared to take care of some zombies, and all are hoping they get a good assignment. In my short time here, I've learned the orders are given out based on who is overseeing the patrols. Because Eric is out, his group is being overseen by Jason. He waves when he sees me, and his smile is wider than I've ever seen it.
A few feet away, Karl winks, his own smile lighting up his face like it's Christmas.
"Hey…Nita." He come to a halt beside me, and I decide I really like being friends with him. He reminds me of Eric, large and hulking but much, much friendlier, down to the way he knocks someone aside so he can get closer. "Jason and I have your patrol covered so you won't be in any real danger. All you have to do is stick to the plan. After today, Nita won't have a job to save her life."
"Good."
In the grand scheme of things, Nita being fired from her patrol squad isn't a big deal. She can apply for another, perhaps a rival squad or even a higher position, but it'll put her on Jack's radar. Everyone here is on an unofficial, unspoken probation. If you prove to be a problem, you can't stay.
Which is exactly why today, I'll make sure Nita is a problem.
It took some coordination. Daniel's talk with Jack hadn't gone as planned –something about Nita doing her job well enough to have Jack's approval, and Harrison was nowhere to be found. So, I sat with Rylan, Jason, and Karl, and the four us came up with a plan.
Jason changed the schedule at the last hour, adding Nita to a patrol group on her lone day off. He sent it out exactly an hour before the soldiers were scheduled to arrive, and no one else cared because their schedule hadn't changed. He left Nita off the thread, and then had Rylan planted on her floor. Rylan had a small team of men and women working as a distraction in case Nita got too close, and I was guessing I had two hours max before things got out of hand.
My first attempt to cause trouble was when I showed up, demanding everyone get the fuck out of my way. Seeing only a rush of dark hair and a blur of Nita's name, the soldiers scowled and told me to watch myself. I flipped them off, cutting the line to check in, and rolled my eyes when one demanded I go back to the end.
I loudly told him I didn't have to wait. I shoved past a girl with red hair, harder than necessary, and signed in as Nita. I ignored her withering stare as I slipped into the crowd, and looked for Jason, knowing he'd give me an assignment to fuck up.
"Were you aware of the line back there? Or do you think you can do what you want since you're on Eric's team?"
I turn to see the angry stare of a girl twice my size, staring me down. She has the same uniform on as me, and her nametag reads Noelle. She tilts her head, awaiting my answer, and her stare is mean. "I'm sorry, can you not hear me? You fucking cut ahead of all of us who were waiting. You did it last week, too."
"I don't wait in lines," I smile sweetly, enjoying the rush of adrenaline running through me, but it's mixed with some panic. Noelle could easily beat the shit out of me if she wanted to, but luckily, Karl steps in between us.
"Calm down. Assignments are going out now." He points as Jason, and there's a roar of both approval and dismay as soldiers are given their orders. "Nita, looks like you are…with my team."
"Does she deserve that? She's new. She should be running inventory," Noelle snaps, but she's forced to step away when the crowd starts moving. "Fuck you both."
"Noted!" Karl calls back, and his grin is wild. "Wow, you're good at this."
"It's not me," I crack up, feeling a twinge of guilt when Noelle glares from a few feet away. She snarls something to the person beside her, and they glare at me, too. "I guess Nita doesn't have many fans here."
"No," Karl nudges my arm to follow him, and the crowd parts, revealing more soldiers than I've seen before. "Actually, I don't think she has any, at all."
An hour later, I'm pretty sure I've officially ruined Nita's life.
There's some freedom in being an absolute asshole; I don't give a shit what people think about my actions, and the selfish, only I matter mentality is a rush.
Unfortunately, because I'm not an asshole, I have to ignore the guilt after every interaction.
Noelle didn't forget that I cut the line to check in, and while it was a minor transgression, given we were in an army, she seemed hell bent on making sure I knew she was still mad. To make her rage even worse, I purposely knocked into her, told her sergeant she was complaining about her squad being subpar, and dipped out while she was seething with rage at his lecture of who decided how well the term performed.
The rest fell into place.
"Nita, are you fucking serious? You just blew the entire mission!"
The words spoken from the mouth of an angry man in charge were probably the sweetest thing I've ever head. While I knew I didn't look like Nita, all it took was a uniform, my hair pulled up, and her name tag to make people think I was her. Karl had prepped me for what I could do to ruin the mission I was being sent on, and it happened in easy succession. I knocked over a rack of ammo because someone got the last of the coffee, I threw a fit when I was told to clean it up, and I told Jason to go fuck himself when he demanded I stay after my shift to make up for the time I was wasting.
He loudly told me he was giving me ten thousand demerits, and he struggled not to laugh when I rolled my eyes and stormed away, muttering he could go kick rocks.
Things got even better when I loudly announced no one knew what they were doing. I threw away the soldier's lunches, all neatly packaged by Quinten, and told them all that they could stand to skip a meal. I told Karl he wasn't a very good leader. I asked if Jack would approve how horribly things were run down here, and I threw away the printed-out routes that someone had meticulously drawn by hand.
By the time I had been on this squad for an hour, the men and women around me were murderous.
Turns out, Nita rarely spent time with the actual patrol squads. She spent more of her time sucking up to anyone in charge, and skirting her work. Her avoiding the routine patrols was normal, so my presence as her left them seething.
"Get the fuck to your post. You were scheduled to leave an hour ago!" The man yelling is not anyone I know, but his expression is so livid, that he makes Eric look like an angel. The stress is apparent on his face, sending deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, and his hands balls into fists. "Who the fuck hired you? How the hell did you lead anyone in your last job?"
"Get wrecked," I smile, climbing into the driver's seat of the truck. It's not as big as the one Eric and I drove, and to my horror, Nita is assigned to drive it. "I don't work on your schedule. Don't you know who I am?"
"Oh, I know who you are. I wrote your name down and you'll be appropriately disciplined when you get back," he snarls, but I slam the door shut, smirk, and fumble to turn the truck on. From the seat beside me, Karl pretends to be annoyed, but he nervously asks if I know how to drive all while waving the man away.
"Yeah, sure. I've driven. Once or twice."
I press the start button and the truck roars to life. It shakes and rumbles, and the man outside turns frantic, waving his arms and shaking his head no.
"Um…Everly…wait…"
"Eric did most of the driving. I just kept him awake. But my dad taught me to drive. I wasn't great at it, but…" I put the truck in reverse, knowing I have to back it up and to the side before I can leave, the guy shouts something I can't hear. "Do you think they all hate Nita yet? This is really hard, Karl. Everyone is so mad, and I hate that they think I'm her."
"You're doing great at destroying Nita's reputation, and she totally deserves it, but Everly!" Karl's protest is lost as the truck lunges forward. "Everly! The brakes! This isn't the right way!"
I realize a second too late I've put it in the wrong gear, and when I pressed on the gas, it was much touchier than imagined. I nearly run over the poor soldier screaming at me, and to my horror, the truck crashes through a table, through a rack of weapons being handed out to soldiers patrolling on foot, and because I can't stop it in time, into a second rack of guns and boxes. The truck screeches to a halt, and Karl flies forward, whacking his head on the window. I also fly forward, smacking my face on the steering wheel, despite desperately jamming the brakes to stop the truck.
"Ow, shit!"
"Oh my God, Karl! Are you okay?" I turn the truck off, and it makes a weird sound because it's not in park. It takes forever to change gears, and by the time I kill the engine, there's a crowd of soldiers standing with their mouths open. Some look horrified. Some look impressed. Most look incredibly smug. "Karl, answer me! Are you okay? Do you need a medic?"
"I think you broke my brain," Karl groans, but he perks up a second later. "On the plus side, I think you have officially gotten Nita kicked off this squad."
When I look out the window, there are more leaders now –higher ranking military soldiers that I haven't met before –and Harrison.
They wait for me to exit the truck, and when I do, Harrison's grin is pretty darn bright.
"Are you aware of the damage you caused? Are you aware of the lives you nearly took, and the weapons that cannot be replaced?" Harrison stares me down, while a nurse checks my cheek. A few feet away, Karl is being fawned over by several other nurses, all cheerfully touching his hair and promising him he'll live. One tells him he should be okay, and the other glumly announces they've called his girlfriend to come get him. "Nita, are you aware that you have thirty-seven complaints filed against you? Today alone. That might be a record."
"Good," I answer boldly, but my façade as Nita is wavering. It's hard to be someone I'm not and the exhaustion of trying to get people to dislike me is starting to win out. "I don't care. I don't want to stay in this shitty safe zone. You all…suck."
Harrison smiles even wider, and the nurse's eyes move from me to him while she awaits his response.
We've been down here for fifteen minutes. After I crashed the truck, I was ripped from it by a commanding officer, and dragged over to Harrison. I demanded to speak to Jack, knowing there was little chance they could get him in time, before yanking my arm away and threatening to fight the officer. Harrison snickered, and insisted I stand by him. He calmly told the officer that he would handle everything from here on out, and I was brought to the infirmary.
It was a formality; Karl's head was fine, and I wasn't driving fast enough to do any real damage other than bruise my cheek and knock over some weapons.
On the walk over, Harrison laughed and told me I was creating more of a mess than anything, but I'd made Nita some real enemies by acting so rude. He let me in on Daniel's whereabouts –still arguing with Jack over what exactly Nita had done –but he was working on it.
Turns out, Nita hadn't exactly won Jack over. She'd recently thieved his laptop, pretending to have mistaken it as her own, and half of the files were opened when his assistant tracked Nita down.
"Fine. Let me know when you're done with her. She's to come right back to me." Harrison nods dismissively, but his stare is impressed. When the nurse steps away, he leans in and grins. "You know, I think you might actually have done it. When this gets back to Jack, he'll ask for my recommendation, and my recommendation will be for Nita to be thrown out."
"Good." I reach up for him without thinking, and he hugs me quickly. "I have to say, it's really hard to be this unlikable. I hope she gets kicked out sooner than later."
"I would bet that by the time you get back upstairs, Jack will have her in his office. The real Nita, that is." Harrison laughs, and I wish he'd stay. But the nurse is returning with paperwork, and he takes that as his cue to vanish into the hallway, snorting about how much trouble I'm in.
While entertaining, he's leaving me with a woman who hates my guts.
"I heard what you did. My husband works down there. You could have killed him," she snaps, dropping her gaze to my name tag. "Aren't you supposed to be some incredible soldier? He's talked about you a few times, but he never said you were such an ass. Or so irresponsible."
Normally, I'd be horrified. Nita's behavior is so unlike my own that it's painful. But as Nita, I have no choice but to smirk and wiggle away from the nurse.
"I'm out of here. Your husband sucks, anyway. No one likes him, and I certainly don't care what you think."
I leave the room to her swearing at me to get back on the table so she can give me my discharge paperwork, and round the corner. The nurse yells NITA as loud as she possibly can, but I don't stop. I keep going until I see Harrison, and he's standing with a few of Jack's assistants. They stop talking when they see me, and Harrison gestures for me to join them. But not really.
He tilts his head slightly, and I follow his lead.
I go the opposite way, heading down a maze-like hallway, until I can duck into a room. There is plenty of yelling going on, and I know I have only a few minutes to get out of here before someone finds me. Overhead, someone pages Nita's name on a loudspeaker, and heavy footsteps thud past me, probably searching for her. I peer around the corner, looking for anyone familiar, and when I see Jason patrolling through, he gives me a thumbs up.
"You're good! Go back to the hotel!"
I leave as fast as I can, heading in the direction he's pointing. Jason's scouring of the lower levels of the mall has given me some insider information. He's learned the layout, including emergency exits and back doors, and with this knowledge, I slip outside, into bright sunlight, without anyone from the infirmary seeing me. I cut across a pathway, skirting a second unused docking bay, and it only takes a few minutes for me to reach the hotel.
I walk through the doors at a normal pace, trying to appear casual. Luckily for me, there are only a few people around. Bob is at the desk with another soldier, and he stares unabashedly, perplexed by me in a soldier's uniform. My focus isn't so much on him, but the company he's with. While they watch, their fingers tapping on the counter impatiently, I undo my hair from the bun so it can fall down, and I make sure to make eye contact with Nita as I pull the jacket off.
Her expression is the best thing I've seen in my life.
She stands in front of the desk with a room key in her hand, and her head is tilted. She looks guilty. Right up until the moment when she realizes her name is on the uniform, and I have absolutely no reason to be wearing anything of the sorts. I wink as I pass her, heading straight to the elevators without stopping, and I only have to wait a few seconds for the doors to open up. Nita's mouth drops, jaw slack and eyes darkening furiously, but she can't do anything.
The elevator doors open to reveal Eric, and I lunge for him the second I can.
"What on Earth are you doing?"
Eric stares me down, looking much better than he has in days. His hair is damp, his shirt is clean and black, and his posture is primed for murder. "Everly, why are you wearing a uniform?"
The elevator doors close with an electronic beep, and I press the button for our floor. Eric looks over me, then presses the button for ground level. He jabs it a few times, but my choice wins. The elevator car rises, and he shoots me an irritated stare as he pushes the button again.
"What are you doing? I'm supposed to meet Daniel. He said he had something important to talk to me about."
"Are you feeling better?" I ask, doing my best to ignore the rush of what just happened. While I wouldn't normally take pleasure in anyone getting thrown out of somewhere because of my actions, I also don't take pleasure in someone trying to take over my life. "You look better."
"Everly…" Eric says my name warningly, and he's rightfully suspicious. "Christian came by. He dropped off some clothes for you. He said," Eric pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I hope she likes these better than her first request. Which apparently is the soldier's uniform."
"I wanted some new clothes. I'm missing some of my dresses," I answer quickly, knowing I have to either tell Eric what's going on, or let Daniel fill him in. Either way is unfavorable; Eric didn't especially believe me about Nita, and my actions today might have crossed a line in his eyes. I'm hoping he'll be on my side, but he may not like how I handled it. "Can we talk upstairs? Please. It won't take long. I'll explain everything."
He stares at me, and for the first time since I've met him, he looks unsure of what to say. It takes the rest of the ride to our floor for him to nod, and when he does, he looks uneasy. "Actually, I'd love to know what the fuck is going on. And why you have that uniform on."
I reach for his hand, slipping my fingers between his, and he blinks in surprise.
The elevators doors open, and there stands Daniel, Rylan and Karl.
Of course, the discussion sounds a little crazy.
I gave Eric the chance to compose himself by taking a few minutes to change. I fixed my hair, ditched the uniform in favor of a soft, definitely pretty dress Christian has made, and kicked the boots off. I felt much more like me no longer dressed in the scratchy uniform. The dress Christian has made is a brighter shade of pink, one that he approves of, and it hits my shins. It has poufy sleeves, and a few more ruffles than anyone could ever want, but it's lovely and much nicer than the uniform. I emerged to Eric raising an eyebrow at me, looking stunned, but also confused, and Daniel doing his best to look serious.
Behind him, Rylan tilts his head critically, shaking it back and forth at the dress.
"Very…I live on a farm and milk cows all day. I hate it."
"Everly…is what Daniel just told me true?" Eric demands, ignoring Rylan's distaste for the dress. Rylan continues to stare critically, and he lowly asks me if I have any freshly made butter he can borrow. "You went downstairs and pretended to be Nita? And you crashed a truck?"
In the world of Eric's police career, I imagine impersonating an officer and crashing one of their vehicles is frowned upon. In the world of zombies and some girl trying to steal my husband, I think my actions are justified.
"I told you about Nita. I came to you the day you got the shot. Meghan walked me there, and I explained what she was doing. She even wrote you a note and left it in a book on your desk," I walk toward him slowly, not afraid of him, but not wanting to appear like I'm all worked up. "I'll show you the note. She made a copy of our room key and she was in here. You said yourself that you had a dream she was here, and she was. My card was deactivated."
"You said you noticed something was off about her behavior," Daniel reminds him, glancing at Eric. "You suspended her once, but nothing after that? Her writes up were minor, until today."
Eric stares at me, shaking his head in disbelief. It takes him some time to answer, and when he does, his words are heavy with incredulity. "Yeah, she made a few comments I thought were off the cuff. She was disciplined a few times, and I assumed her attitude was handled. Jack said he'd move her to another squad when he could replace her with a civilian. When she gave me the book, I tossed it onto the desk and forgot about it. What did the note say?"
"Oh, that she'd be more than happy to show you what she's like out of uniform," I answer, scowling when his expression doesn't change. "Eric, she was in our room. Sitting next to you on the bed. Are you not upset by this?"
"No, I am!" He steps back, his expression darkening. "I had no idea it went this far."
"Well, yeah we know that," Rylan snickers, stepping closer to roll his eyes. "In your defense, you were feverish and suffering from the side effects of Evelyn's work. However, if Everly chooses not to forgive you for being an idiot, I think we'd all understand."
Eric's posture tenses. His shoulders rise, and he pulls them back before crossing his arms over his chest. "Is she still here?"
"Jack is on his way here now. The soldier Nita almost ran over would like a world with you." Rylan informs him, mirroring Eric's posture. "But we told you! Everyone said Nita is awful. Even Meghan pointed out that she was mean to Everly, and Meghan spends all her time playing Hello Kitty, Treasure Island."
"I know, I know," Eric mutters. "I told you, I thought it was handled. I made it very clear to her that I wouldn't tolerate her disrespect. I rarely saw her, unless she was assigned to report directly to me. That was it. When Everly told me what she was doing…it didn't make any sense. But—"
"It's fine," I smile, stepping closer to reach for his hand. He's been standing close to me this entire time, but with enough distance that I know he feels shitty about what's happened. His eyes darken when they land on the bruise on my cheek, but it's nothing. I barely feel anything, other than pure exhilaration at the thought that I might have pulled this off. "Look, Eric…I know what I did wasn't the most... ethical way to handle Nita, but if she was going to try and take over my life, then she deserved the same treatment. I figured it was the easiest way to get her out."
"And the pettiest," Rylan crosses his arms, stepping closer to Daniel. "Which is fine. We like petty. Eric, I think this is where you apologize to your wife for failing to notice a literal serial killer working for you."
"I…" Eric pauses, his fingers grazing mine. They stay there, like he wants to hold my hand, but he only reaches for it when there's a knock on the door. "Is that Jack?"
"Probably," Daniel answers, leaving with Karl to go open the door. He's gone for a few seconds before we hear him greet someone, and Eric sneaks a look at me.
"Everly, I had no idea…."
He hesitates. It's clear he's at a loss for words, which is unusual for him. Eric always knew what to say to make things better; he always knew what to whisper when I was about to get bitten by a rotting zombie, and he knew what to snap before we fell asleep, with my head on his chest and his fingers on my spine. Eric is usually eloquent with his disgust at the world around him, but now, he flounders.
"I didn't think she was really in here." He rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand, and though he looks better, almost normal and healthy, he also looks stunned and furious. The conflict is everywhere; it's in his posture, all over his face, and it's in the tense way he's holding my hand. If it were just the two of us, I'd insist things were fine, and throw my arms around him. But we aren't alone, and it's mere seconds before Jack and Daniel appear with the soldier I'd nearly run over. Behind them is Harrison, and Nita, looking equally murderous.
Eric's grip on my hand tightens. Not like he's afraid of Nita, but like he's assuming I'm about to punch her if I get the chance.
"Eric, Everly…hello." Jack greets us quickly, nodding at Rylan. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have a situation that I believe is best cleared up in person."
"Of course. I was just being informed about what happened," Eric answers, focusing only on Jack. Harrison smiles slyly, stepping around Nita, and it brings me great joy to see that she looks absolutely livid. Her expression is thunderous, and fixated directly on me. "It sounds like there was quite the incident this morning."
"The reported behavior of one of your soldiers is unacceptable. I received countless reports and complaints against Nita, and she's asked to speak with you. Nita claims that what happened today was…not done by her." Jack pauses, looking at me for a split second before he exhales. It's clear he's bothered by this situation, and there's a hint of embarrassment in his posture. "I can't say this has ever happened, but Nita is accusing Everly of pretending to be her. She says the accident is a case of…mistaken identity."
I smile.
Sweetly.
"Really? You think I had something to do with it? I don't work down there. I was assigned to work with Quinten," I smile up at Jack, craning my head and blinking in faux surprise. "How on Earth would I be involved?"
"Well…" Jack looks torn, mostly because we've met a few times, and it's always been pleasant. He knows where I work, and he also knows that my time here is spent either working or with Eric. The complaints against Nita, both past and present, build a case against her, and accusing me is not something that makes any sense. "Nita, perhaps you can explain."
"Gladly," Nita grits out, thinking she's got the upper hand. "This bitch is trying to sabotage me. She has my uniform. I watched her walk right by me wearing it. Every complaint should be about Everly, not me."
"Nita, you think I'm sabotaging you? How? I was with Eric all morning. I only left to get him something to drink. He's had a rough time after the vaccine," I tighten my grip on Eric's hand, and my smile is kind. "Are you feeling okay? I know you had the shot a few days ago."
She startles like I've slapped her. Nita recovers quickly, but she's caught off guard. "I'm fine. That has nothing to do with today."
Jack looks at her, noticing the change in the way she's standing, and her hands ball into fists. "Nita, do you care to explain what's going on? These accusations are serious."
"I said, I'm fine. I wasn't there this morning," she hisses, the words scraped between clenched teeth. "Everly has my uniform. She's the one who drove the truck. She was the one acting like a psycho. She stole my uniform, and I want to press charges."
"That's so weird," I pause, and beside me, Eric is still. "I'm also missing half my wardrobe. A few of my dresses are gone. Maybe the same person who raided your closet, raided mine. Oh, and my hotel key. Actually, would you mind if we go downstairs to see Bob? I had to get my key fixed, and he swore he already gave me one. Maybe someone is mixing us up. I swear, he said you were there. That's funny…"
The color drains from Nita's face, until it's bone white. "I don't know what you're talking about –"
"Oh, yeah. Hey, Daniel, we can pull security footage, right? We could see what time the key was issued and watch the tapes…" Karl adds casually, and he winks. "I worked with Bob, so I can help if the need arises."
"We can. Bob can easily match the time the key was printed with the footage from the front desk," Daniel smiles, and Nita looks like she's about to be sick.
Her stare keeps going to Eric, chewing on his cheek like it's the only thing stopping him from ripping her head off, then over to me.
"What is going on here?" Jack is visibly confused, and his stare flies to Nita. "Can you explain to me how Everly is missing clothes and how someone gave you her room key? Combined with today's allegations, this is all looking…odd. Nita, unless you have a better explanation…"
"I'm telling you, it was her, not me." Nita snarls. "She's trying to fuck with me."
"Everly was not downstairs. I saw who was driving the truck, and it wasn't her." The soldier behind Jack steps forward, and his gaze is scrutinizing. He stares me down so intently that I fear he might actually realize it was me, but he shakes his head. "Different eyes. Everly is too short. Her hair is longer, and she doesn't have a uniform. I heard from a bunch of the guys that she's not a soldier and wouldn't know anything about working with us. You looked right at me and flipped me off."
"The fuck I did!" Nita's voice is shrill as she shrieks, and her stare is wildly accusatory. "Everly, admit you fucking –"
"Oh, I do need to admit something." I interrupt, and few feet away, Rylan does his best not to laugh. "Nita, I am so sorry, but I took that book you left for Eric. I just couldn't help it. There's nothing I love more than really shitty, predictable murder mysteries. But you left a note in it, and I'd like to return it to you, since I don't think Eric cares what you look like out of your uniform."
This time, Rylan bursts out laughing.
Nita's face is bright red, straining like she's about to explode. Harrison laughs, then covers it up with a cough, and even Karl snorts.
Jack and Eric are the only ones not laughing. Jack looks at Nita, and his expression turns very unfriendly. "I think I've heard enough. Nita, you and I will be taking this to my office. Whatever is going on here is not acceptable, nor will it be tolerated in any way."
"I'll kill you," Nita howls, lunging toward me, but Harrison has her by the arms, having fully predicted her meltdown. "I'll kill the both of you. She's a horrible person! You'll be sorry for this. All of you! Eric! Tell them!"
The rest is quick.
Harrison drags a kicking and screaming Nita out of the room and into the hallway, and Eric and I are left with his father and Rylan. Only when the door shuts, does Daniel speak, lowly informing Eric they'll talk later. He says goodbye to me, his relief clear as day, and he informs Eric that he'll be in his office.
Rylan leaves with him, informing us that he won't be in his office because no one has assigned him one, and his final words are heartfelt.
He cheerfully encourages Eric to switch rooms, because he definitely doesn't think this is the end of Nita.
Chapter 16: The Last Days
Notes:
Thank you so much to Erin for editing!
Chapter Text
"If you stop, I will kill you. I swear."
I manage to utter these sweet words while Eric's head is between my thighs, nosing his way up. His teeth drag and scrape slowly, determined to either kill me, or prove how very sorry he is for not believing me about Nita, but either reason is fine.
It's been two days since she was dragged out of here by Jack.
I'd never thought that vengeance and justice could be the same thing, but the day that Nita's stupid plan got thrown back in her face proved to me they were. I knew she was getting what she deserved, and it wasn't just because she stole my clothes, still unreturned, even though Jack had promised someone would go through her room, or tried to steal the first person to not abandon me when things turned bleak. There were numerous reasons why she deserved such banishment, each one more telling than the last. I could list all of them, every transgression or calculated move she made, and there would still be a million more.
In my mind, she got exactly what she deserved.
"Do you forgive me now?"
Eric's words are quiet, but even. His hair is dark: damp from his shower and slicked back from his face. My fingers dig into it, urging him back to what he was doing, and the act is far unlike anything I'd ever been comfortable with. Despite having sex with him, throwing up on or near him, and being forced to confess I had cramps while being stuck in a patrol car with him, the act of Eric going down on me feels far more intimate. There's a sense of exposure as my legs fall open, then immediately tighten when his mouth moves higher, ending up right where I want him, and a sense of extreme ecstasy when his fingers press into my thighs.
It's been two days since Nita threatened me.
Two days since she was marched outside the gates with a warning never to return, and two days since Rylan announced he was convinced she'd show back up.
I wasn't.
I wasn't naïve enough to think Nita wouldn't be out for revenge, because I had no doubts that she knew how to get it. But there was something about the look in her eye –crazed and manic as Harrison held her back –that told me something was wrong. There had to be a reason to get close to Eric, a reason she so badly wanted the vaccine, and a reason she wanted inside. I'd decided she was infected, and her only hope was Eric could cure her.
Maybe by sleeping with her, though that never panned out.
"No, not yet," I mumble, enjoying the lush feeling of his mouth, working against soft skin and nerves, begging for him to keep going. His response is a grunt of annoyance, but he busies himself with other things, until I'm no longer begging for him to keep going. "Fuck, don't stop!"
"I said I was sorry," he growls the words, not out of meanness or anger, but the guilt over ignoring what I had told him. He did it once with Vincent. Nita was twice. There would be no third time. "Everly, you know I wouldn't…I wouldn't hurt you. Not like that."
It has nothing to do with hurt.
Exasperation is all over him, but I pay no attention. The ache in my chest is dull compared to the fading one between my thighs, but it ignites when he hovers over me, then pushes himself inside slowly. His body covers mine, more hard muscle and tan skin, and his hands press down by my head. He kisses me sloppily, just for a second, then sinks his teeth into my neck to silently beg for forgiveness.
He'll get it.
I won't stay mad forever, and really, I'm not actually all that mad.
I've already forgiven him, but I can't shake the lingering feeling of uneasiness around the situation, especially when Eric's shoulders tense and he whispers my name, and I'm reminded of every single time Nita attempted to get close to him.
Things stay quiet.
A little too quiet, for my liking. Because when it's silent, that's when I think of her.
Nita ceased to exist the very same way she arrived. In the blink of an eye, or the sneer of Eric's lips, she was gone. Tossed out by Jack, all the while screeching that I was the one at fault. Her words were an ironic truth; I had done all the things she'd accused me of, but she so had she. For each question Jack asked, while he dragged her down the hotel hallway and toward the front gates, she was forced to admit her intentions were not pure. She didn't like me. She'd made no point to hide it, and the reasons I didn't like her slowly slipped through. By the time they reached the security checkpoint, Nita had all but admitted to breaking into my hotel room to steal my clothes and seduce my husband.
Any normal person would have felt guilty.
Nita was merely enraged that she got caught.
Things didn't exactly go back to normal, because normal here is ever changing, and this was now the second time Eric hadn't listened to me. Minutes after Nita disappeared, Eric stood before me, and the look on his face told me he blamed himself. I'm sure in his mind, he'd made his disinterest clear; he'd asked to have her moved, he made an effort to be around me, and he bluntly pointed out he had a wife.
I didn't blame him for what she'd done.
Nita was cleverly cunning in her attempts to slip into Eric's life, and she knew how to make it all seem believable. There was a split second where even I questioned the reality of what was happening, and wondering if anyone would actually believe me. When I explained it to Daniel, it sounded insane, completely made up. Nita knew this, which is why she grew bolder and bolder, until she slipped right into our hotel room while Eric slept.
Luckily, I had people on my side who did listen. It was with great thanks to Rylan, Jason, Daniel, and Harrison, that I was able to get her kicked out. I felt nothing but relief when she left, and I held no ill feelings toward Eric.
If anything, I was pretty elated that I'd done it on my own.
Because it meant that not only had I taken care of someone trying to hurt me, but if Eric had any lingering doubts that I couldn't look after myself, they should be officially put to rest. I'd proven to be capable beyond his wildest dreams, and turning Nita's game around on her was impressive.
It was also the reason our safe zone was now in an extreme lock down.
I think of her as I exhale heavily, a plate balanced in my hands as I try to swipe my keycard for the sixth time, and I know that both she and I are the reason the security has increased a million times over.
"Name and ID number."
"Everly…Coulter…and I don't know my ID number. I don't have it on me," I fumble to find proof of who I am, but it proves impossible. The muffins on the plate slip, and the whole thing tilts dangerously, ready to spill onto the ground. "My husband can verify who I am. He's right there."
"Everly, I have to ask you for this," Karl whispers, ducking his head as Jack storms by. He looks extra stressed today, but he's looked that way for weeks now. "I know you're…Everly. The real Everly, but you're supposed to have your ID on you. Jack said, and I quote, "no more mistakes, especially when everyone should have an ID." It's been this way for two weeks now."
"I must have left it in my apron. I'll bring you some extra cookies if you just…let me walk two feet to give this to Eric," I answer Karl brightly, and he eventually relents. He waves me through with a pretend intense scowl, and loudly announces I'm cleared to go see Eric thanks to my ID badge. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Karl's answer is loud enough that Jack turns, only to wearily smile in my direction. "Enjoy your…husband."
"I'll try," I snicker, stopping a few feet away from Eric, and his stare flashes to me.
He doesn't look enthused.
He stands with Rylan and Jason, deep in discussion about the outside. These days, everything is divided between the outside and the inside. Those who are inside rarely go outside. Those who can go outside, now follow strict protocol once they return to the inside. Not only did Nita push Jack over the edge, so did Four.
Three days ago, he came down with a fever.
While walking with a girl named Stella, she panicked that his skin was a sour shade of grey and his eyes were unfocused, so she brought him to a high-ranking commander. His hands shook. He couldn't remember his name, and he started coughing uncontrollably, moaning that his lungs hurt, and that he had the unbearable urge to lie down.
He was fine.
Four had come down with pneumonia after working in the rain too many days in a row, and even though Arlene swore up and down that he needed antibiotics and would live, it added to Jack's worry. He ramped up the safety precautions, so much so, that soldiers were being turned away if they so much blinked wrong.
"Hey, I'm here with your breakfast. I have an order of muffins for Eric…" I pause, smiling at all of them, and doing my best to keep a straight face as I read the order name. "Motherfucking Disbelieving that Aliens Really Do Exist Coulter. I think these are for you."
Eric stares at me.
His eye twitches at the plate, though it's hard to miss how good the muffins look. I know he's starving, because he left this morning without eating, and bolted downstairs muttering that he was supposed to be at work an hour ago and he'd forgotten about a meeting. His intentions were honorable; he was silently atoning for his mistake, even at the risk of pissing his coworkers off.
"Everly…" he says my name slowly, closing his eyes when Rylan asks to see the name on the order, then insists he didn't do it. "Thank you. Which one of you idiots ordered these?"
"Me. And you're welcome. I thought you'd like them to celebrate your birthday!" Jason is wired with excitement, though it might be the extra-large coffee in his hand. "You said –"
"I said I didn't want to celebrate. I told you that yesterday," Eric snaps, and he's as on edge as Jack is. "You asked if I wanted to go the bar, and I said no."
"You can't spend all your free time with Everly. You at least owe us a round of nachos," Rylan grins, and when he looks at me, his smile slips. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Oh no, is it Frank? Did he fall down the stairs again? Walking is hard for him sometimes. I'm not entirely convinced he's human. Jason, have you ever thought about investigating Frank?"
"God, no!" Jason laughs, and only Eric and I remain quiet. "Everly? How about you? Can you help us convince Eric that he won't die if he has dinner in the hotel bar? I bet you'd like to get out."
I smile at the three of them, but I'm oddly thrown off. Eric and I had been staying at home more than normal, but it had nothing to do with him avoiding them. I was tired from being back at work, and most nights, I fell asleep far earlier than planned.
I blamed Nita.
The situation had been exhausting, even after she was gone.
"Um, yeah, if he wants. I don't think we have anything planned." I shrug, figuring I'll take a bath and be asleep before he gets home. "Eric, why don't you –"
"Everly, can you take a quick walk with me?" Eric interrupts me, his gaze sharp and his mouth turned down. He doesn't wait for my answer; his hand finds my elbow as he takes the plate from me, then hands it to Jason. "We'll be right back. Give me fifteen minutes. And no on the dinner."
"You suck," Rylan retorts, but he's happy to have the muffins. He and Jason argue over if they should wait, but Eric reassures them to go ahead and enjoy them.
"Are you okay?" I ask quietly, and Eric's nod is curt. His hand drops to find mine, and when his fingers tangle with my own, I know something is wrong. "Okay. Do you want to go outside?"
"Sure."
I follow his lead, doing my best to keep up with him, and the outside isn't all that far away. He and his friends weren't too far into the mall, and the exit is one that's set off to the side. Eric pushes one of the heavy doors open, and I'm met with gray skies, damp air, and the distinct smell of snow.
It's everywhere.
Once lush and white, it's now grey and slushy, smashed into the asphalt and piled up against the doorways. I was taken back to discover it snowed early and often in Oregon; after Nita was kicked out, I lost track of time, and woke up to several teasing snowfalls. It never really stuck, but it turned the air biting. It sliced at my skin while I walked, and it made it much harder to crawl out of bed in the morning.
Today, the storm is not threatening, but arriving. The clouds form an army in the sky, giving the fence and forest even more of an eerie feeling. I try to remember how long it's been since this all started. It becomes impossible, mostly because I've mixed up the dates listening to Eric explain about the zombie deaths, and because it sometimes doesn't matter.
A single week ago, Harrison got a call from Forrest.
It was a distress call, one filled with panic and fear. Harrison didn't tell me too much, only that Forrest was asking for help and Willow was screaming something. I sat beside Eric, nails digging into his forearm, and I knew it wouldn't end well. Their coordinates faltered when Harrison tried to trace the call, and his questions of where they were went unanswered.
While the area we were in was now experiencing some slowing down of the zombies, Forrest wasn't here. He was somewhere else, somewhere without Jack's fences and soldiers and endless weapons, with only his wife and a truck.
Harrison left with a few of Jack's best men, but they all looked grim. Eric absolutely shut down even the very idea that I'd want to go, hissing and snapping that I wasn't leaving, even if it was my brother. I nodded. I wasn't about to argue with him. Forrest's stupid decision to leave was his own, and I had no desire to go find him. That didn't mean I wasn't worried. I stopped marking down everything but days I worked, figuring it was easier this way, and less of a reminder that Harrison was gone.
"I forgot it was your birthday," I confess, slipping on a patch of slick ice. Eric's grip on my hand is the only thing that keeps me from falling backwards, and he yanks me upright and over closer to him. "I should have known. I wrote it down forever ago. I even circled it."
"It's fine. I don't need to celebrate my birthday." Eric's answer is a million miles away. "We didn't even celebrate yours."
"Mine?"
I stop to look at him, totally thrown off.
"Yeah, you said yours was in November. Rylan wanted to get the turkeys. Nita threw all of that off," he mutters, pausing to look down at me. "It's December fifteenth, Everly."
"What?" I know I sound like a broken record of stupid responses, but my mind is having a hard time processing all this. "What do you mean it's December? I thought it was…um…"
I glance around him, over at the decorative posters still hanging from when the mall was open. If there were no zombies, someone would have changed them depending on the season. Since the zombies forced it to close, the summer promotions are still up, advising me to stop in for some July sales. The world here is frozen in time, or maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm losing my mind because I had noticed Quinten flip the calendar over to the next page, muttering that he didn't have another one for next year, and it never clicked that the year was crawling to an end.
"Eric, am I losing my mind? What is going on?" I crane my head up, and his smirk is immediate. "This isn't funny!"
"No, you aren't losing your mind," Eric shakes his head, his blonde hair slicked back and lightly dampening with each snowflake. "You've been busy. I've been busy. We've been…busy together."
My cheeks burn at his words, because they're followed by a rare, amused stare. We have been busy, but he's talking about our nights. They are often filled with us falling asleep at a reasonable time or earlier, but also not.
He was still working on getting me to forgive him. It has become sort of a silent standoff that I won't forgive him. I like how he utters my name or strokes my hair as I fall asleep, all desperate attempts to get to me to say he's forgiven, especially when he thinks I'm sleeping.
He did these things anyway, so the real joke was that he should know I wasn't mad.
He looks mad, though.
He chews on his cheek, gaze skyward for a minute before it returns to me.
"Everly, I want you to hear this from me before someone else tells you, but Jack thinks he saw Nita this morning. One of the trucks hit a row of spikes that were thrown across the street. It's a tactic used to slow down cars during police chases. He's assuming it's her, and the girl who was seen off to the side looked like her." Eric snaps, his mood souring even further. "If it is, I'll shoot on sight."
"And this is upsetting you because…" I wait, knowing full well his friends are still giving him shit about Nita. "I guess if you see her, will you tell her I said hello before you shoot her?"
"Funny," Eric rolls his eyes. "Look, I said I was sorry. I ignored your warnings and I put you in danger. I promised I'd keep you safe. I know I was in the wrong. Her being back isn't great. It just brings it up all over again."
"You have kept me safe," I close the distance between us, feeling a fleeting flash of guilt that he's this worked up. I haven't done a single thing to make him think I'm mad, I just haven't verbally announced I was over it. "If this is Nita, it's not unexpected, right?"
"No," Eric agrees. "It's not. But the idea of her getting back in here makes me uneasy. I upped security, and Jack agreed to additional guards up front."
"Okay, well…" I pause, because this makes me nervous, too. I chew on my lip thinking about how we've already moved hotel rooms for the second time, and if Nita does get back inside, I'll likely have to move again. "I highly doubt she'll get in. But if she does, she does. I think we can take her."
Eric's stare is bleakly unamused.
He simply nods, and his hands return to me.
"Come on. It's supposed to snow all afternoon. I'll walk you back inside."
He tugs at my hand to pull me back with him, and I follow along silently. After months together, both on the road and in the safe zone, I've never once felt like he made it a point to be in charge.
Today, he does.
He walks me all the way back to the kitchens, and his kiss goodbye is a quick mumble of lowly agreeing we'll go celebrate his birthday, and hoping it'll be enough to win me over so I'll say he can finally stop apologizing.
"How about now?"
Eric does his best to make me announce that all is right in the world, but the only thing I can think of is that this feels good –too good, and that Arlene called and I missed it. Her voicemail is hazy; I have a new phone now, one pressed into my hands by Eric, and it felt strange to hold one. My own is still…somewhere. Perhaps buried in a bag Eric has tossed into the closet, or tucked away with his own things, drained of battery life and not of much use. The new one is a safety precaution, and it felt like one.
This, Eric beneath me with my legs wrapped around his waist, is not.
If anything, it's dangerous.
The calendar in my head reminds me I'm missing something slightly related to what we are doing, and I mentally try to count back while his fingers dig into my hips.
"Everly," Eric draws my name out, emphasizing the first half. "I said –"
"I know," I cut him off, letting my head fall back to expose my throat. His stare goes there, always searching for a vulnerable spot to protect, and his mouth follows. "You're sorry about Nita. I am, too."
He tenses.
I'm not being very fair, or maybe I am. Maybe a part of me has held onto the selfishness that made up the very being of Nita, because it feels good to let him know that his actions hurt. They were in no way on purpose; I've learned that his career as an officer leads him to act with little emotion, always seeking out rules and routine as justice, and looking at the impact of them after. He dealt with Nita like he would any other officer: he disciplined her, had her moved, then ignored her. His response of no response to her should have told her to back off. But his reaction to the vaccine gave her a slight advantage by clouding his judgement, but for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to blurt out that I forgave him.
I did.
There was no way I was holding this over him or attempting to gain anything from it. I did like his undivided attention, and his desire to prove himself by taking off my nightgown every single night. I especially like the way he looks at me, disbelief burning behind his stare as if he can't quite believe I'm in front of him, and the upturn of his mouth when I sigh his name.
Or maybe I just liked the safety of him. The broad span of his shoulders and the warm press of large hands down my back. His legs, strong and tangled with my own. His back, muscle woven over muscle, tensing and flexing beneath my touch. I know he can shoot a gun very well, and I know he can fight off zombies like he's been doing it all his life. I am safe with him. I know this. I'm safe when he kisses me goodbye, and I'm safe when he returns, lunging for me like being apart for eight hours has physically pained him.
But sometimes, I just like him, showing the barest hint of vulnerability in a world that required absolutely none.
"Fuck her," he snarls, teeth scrapping the juncture of my shoulder and neck hard enough to draw blood. There is no eloquence in his words or actions, and he's buried so far inside me it's hard for me to even answer him. "Fuck her trying to hurt you. I'll kill her. I'll protect you. I'll keep you safe."
My eyes close.
The ultimate vulnerability here is that I want to tell him it's fine. I want to tell him a lot of things, like how I am proud of myself for handling her, and I am proud of his friends for trusting me in coming up with a plan. I want to tell him that what I feel for him goes beyond someone who has my back as the nearest zombie rounds the corner and that had we not met in the woods, I still think I would have found my way to him, and I hope he's proud of me, too.
I don't say anything.
I selfishly shove his fingers between my legs, holding his hand there until the world is a blur of feeling good and explosions in the sky. I say his name at some point –gasping it right as he starts to groan mine, and neither of us say anything else after except for a soft, wanton goodnight whispered while my eyes stay closed.
Days later, I find my phone.
The one I got on my seventeenth birthday, hidden deep in the pocket of an overnight bag Eric had taken from a nameless, zombie-filled store. I sit back on my heels, the fabric of my dress pooling around me, and for a few seconds, the homesickness is so strong it chokes me.
My phone case is pink. It's a mess of the flower stickers Paisley had stuck on it, and a few rocket ship ones that Zander had picked out. There is a crack in the corner, a crack on the screen, and a scratch covered in either blood and guts or blood and some other zombie fluid. Holly had picked out the case. Eric had tried to wipe off the blood at a gas station covered in zombie guts.
I hold it carefully, fingers curling around it like this is some precious artifact from a life long ago, and I decide to see if it powers on. There's a cord in the bag, and the only reason I even looked for it was because Eric is insistent that we move rooms again. This time, he wants somewhere even higher. A better view, bigger bedrooms, and a larger bathroom. Nita being in our room has caused a lingering feeling of ickiness, so I'm not opposed to it. Eric asked if I could put a few things away while he went to see his father, and I told him I would.
I wasn't expecting to see the phone, but I'm curious to see if there's anything on it.
For a second, I am hopeful.
The phone powers on slowly. It has some life left to it, but it takes longer than I remember for the screen to light up. I stay perfectly still, my insides agonizing over what I will see, and I'm hopeful it's…something. A message from my mom or dad, even one of my brothers and sisters. Maybe Forrest telling me he's still alive, or Sophia or Courtney trying to find me.
There is nothing.
My old background of polka dots and lilacs appears behind a slew of apps. No new notifications. No missed calls. No voicemails. No text notifications.
I wait.
I give it a few seconds, thinking maybe it needs a moment to catch up before everything loads. I swipe through the screens carefully, taking the time to analyze each one, and when I go back to the home screen, I force myself to ignore the burn behind my eyes.
Nothing.
It's like no time has passed, and I'm back in my old bedroom, waking up on the morning of the apocalypse.
I click through old texts, wondering if they'll show, and they do. The last ones are from months ago, and they're normal stuff like Courtney asking if I want to spend the night, and Sophia texting the both of us, saying she'll pick up coffee if we can come over. The last one from my mom is one asking if I'll stay home with Zander while she takes Leif to the library, and the last one from my dad is him saying he loves me, but he'll be gone on my birthday because he's picking up a few more jobs, and he wanted to let me know before he got home.
"Everly…"
I shut my eyes tightly, willing myself not to move. If I can defeat Nita, Queen of the absolutely audacity, then this shouldn't bother me. My family must have assumed I hadn't survived past a day or so, and their lack of communication is a reflection of them and not me.
But it still sucks.
It makes my stomach hurt, and not even Eric crouching down behind me makes things any better.
"What are you doing? Are you okay? I called your name, but you didn't answer."
"I found my old phone," I answer as evenly as I can, but it sounds strained even to me. "I was thinking maybe my mom had called when all this started. Or my sisters. Or my friends."
"And no one did?" Eric guesses, reaching around to pry the phone out of my hands. I let him take it, feeling his chest hit my back before he sighs. "I never told you, but I found it a few months ago. It was in my bag, so I charged it, thinking I'd surprise you with it if it worked."
"You knew?" I turn to look at him, and somehow, this is just as sharp as his dismissal over Nita. "You knew they didn't –"
"Giving you an empty phone wouldn't do any good. They shouldn't have left you, and someone should have called. They would have had service for a few more weeks. I thought about throwing the phone away, because you didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve them abandoning you like they did." He pauses, his fingers tense on the phone, like he's about to crush it. "You don't deserve it now."
"Are they alive?" I blurt out, stunned by my own question. The look on his face is funny, and it's not one I've seen before. I wonder if he's called them, of if they've tried to call me and he answered. "Eric…did you –"
"I don't know," he shakes his head. "I thought about calling them more than once. I asked Harrison if I should. I just decided that I would keep you with me and when things calmed down, maybe you'd stay. Maybe you'd want to stay. But that's why I never gave it to you. I was just hoping you'd forget about it, because I knew it would hurt that no one had called."
I stare at him, unable to say anything. The words in my throat are heavy, full of an anger and grief not meant for him. I'd long decided I was fine with being left behind, fine with surviving with Eric, and I am. I may never find out what my mom's thoughts were when she left, or why no one in my family had any faith I'd survive, but what I do have, is Eric.
Right in front of me, in the darkest of all his uniforms, doing his best to convey what he's feeling.
"Eric, do you love me?" I tilt my head up, catching the flash of surprise on his face, and the searing agony of being asked such a thing, and I know the answer.
He doesn't.
He might like me, but Eric has absolutely no reason to love someone who can't forgive him.
Or anyone.
Maybe I should have just told him I wasn't mad. That I forgave him for not listening to me, and I knew he'd done his best.
His lips part, and my name is right there. But he stops, pressing them together tightly, like he can't bring himself to answer.
"You know what…it's okay. I just…I need a minute." I stand up before he can protest, not bothering to wait for whatever canned response he has ready. I imagine it'll be clinical or maybe even malicious –a jeering no, or a snort of how ridiculous I'm being and I'm just upset that Nita might still be alive. "I have to go. I'll see you later."
"Everly –"
I leave him there, holding the last piece of my old life in his hands, and I hope he chucks it right out the window.
"Are you ready?"
Arlene, overlord of the army infirmary, holds the syringe up like a threat. Behind her, Daniel watches with a furrowed brow, and his fingers hurry over a report. He scans it like he's looking for something, and his posture tenses when she wipes my arm with an alcohol-soaked wipe, like he's determined to beat her to the punch.
"Hopefully, you have nothing more than a sore arm. There are two new versions of the vaccine. Both have minimal side effects, including…." she starts, but she's cut off by him frantically stepping between us.
"Wait! She can't have it." Daniel steps between us, and Arlene's stare is one of total contempt. He shakes his head and holds the papers up in triumph. "Not right now."
"She can't have what?" Arlene whirls around, and her stare is icy. "Are you bored, Sir? Don't you have officers to be overseeing, or a general to listen to?"
"The vaccine. She has to wait. Or she'll need this other dose, which you don't have on hand. I can run it by Camille to be sure but –"
"Are you some sort of doctor? Did you attend medical school and fail to tell us?" Arlene glares at him, having worked very hard to get me down here. My lack of faith in the medical system bugged her, but after one of her nurses mistook Nita for me, I wasn't very confident in their abilities. The first nurse today had taken what seemed like a dozen vials of blood, announced I had to have some tests run to make sure I was healthy, then she made me wait for what felt like two hours before I saw Arlene. "Next, you'll tell me you've been a neurologist all along."
"Can I talk to Everly for a second? Privately?" Daniel more insists than asks, and his hand finds my arm like he'll stop the shot one way or another. "Two minutes, tops."
"If you must," Arlene retorts dryly, stepping back with a dark gaze. "Two minutes. I have patients waiting. Patients who would like to not become zombies."
"Go see one of them," Daniel waves her off, and his stare is glued to mine. He's only down here because he was getting the same vaccine I was scheduled to get, and the nurse handed him my paperwork instead of Arlene because he has a white shirt on. "Everly, how are you and Eric? Are you guys okay?"
"This is what you needed to talk to her about? Her relationship with her husband?" Arlene demands, but the lights flash blue, and a code is announced over the loudspeakers. "Fine. Now you have six minutes. Someone just died."
"Great!" Daniel answers brightly, and he turns to me. "Everly, are you okay? You look a little pale."
"Why? Did Eric say something?" For a horrific minute, I imagine Eric dumping me. It would be easy. He could announce that since I won't forgive him and had asked him the ridiculous question of did he love me, that he was done, and he would go find someone else. "I don't know. Things aren't great. He keeps asking me to forgive him and I have! I just haven't said it out loud, and I don't know why. Maybe because I am mad that he didn't listen to me."
"Well, he deserves that," Daniel smiles, and unlike our last important discussion, this smile reaches his eyes. "Even I told him you had every right to be mad at him for not listening. I know he wasn't feeling well, but the paperwork on Nita showed she was an issue for a while."
"Well, I made it even better because I asked if he loves me," I look right at Daniel, and his eyes widen in surprise. "He didn't answer me, and I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm being ridiculous. I don't even know why I asked him."
"You don't know why you asked him? Or you don't know if he loves you?"
"Both." My response is glummer than ever. "I found my old phone and I turned it on, hoping someone in my family had called. Eric came home and he told me he found it a while ago, and didn't say anything because he didn't want to hurt my feelings. Then I asked if he loved me, and he didn't answer."
"No?" Daniel steps closer, flipping the papers back to the front page. "He didn't say anything?"
"It was two days ago. He's been really quiet." I look to the side of him, wishing the Earth would swallow me whole.
These two days were some of the longest of my life. After asking Eric such a brilliant question, I left the hotel room and went downstairs. I got a coffee, sat in a booth, and watched everyone around me, until I couldn't stall any longer. Part of me didn't want to know his answer. Part of me was dying to know, but the larger part was laughing in my face, pointing out I already knew how he felt.
If I had to ask him, he clearly didn't feel the same way I did.
Eventually, I had to the face the facts that I was wasting both of our time. Eric had vocalized that he wanted us to stay together, but perhaps it was more out of guilt than anything else. With a heavy feeling in my chest, I left the coffee shop slowly, hoping the Earth would explode, or maybe a zombie would appear out of nowhere.
Alas, nothing happened. I made it through the hotel alive, and rode the elevator in silence, wondering how on Earth I could possibly face Eric. He wasn't emotional or overly affectionate in any way, and I'd asked him to speak something he couldn't.
It was my mistake.
I thought about it the whole walk to the room, coming up with a million scenarios in my head, but the worst and most real one happened when I swiped my keycard and opened the door. Eric was standing there. His eyes went right to me and his said my name, like he was going to tell me the answer to my question, but someone stepped in front of him and asked if he preferred the artwork in this room better.
I stupidly realized he was having us moved, and these soldiers were helping.
The rest of my evening was no better. I didn't even know where the new room was. Eric left with the soldier, and I was finally taken there after packing a few things, only to discover the new hotel room was enough to house several families. It came with an elevator that only worked if you had the card to this floor, and it didn't share an entryway with any other room. The soldiers unfortunately stuck around, handing me things to unpack and put away, but Eric was in and out. He returned with a few more packages, including my clothes that Nita had taken, and they had my name pinned on the evidence bag.
Our fingers touched when he handed them to me, and he lowly told me he'd be back in a few hours.
I went to bed before he got back, and I woke up to him being gone. I spent most of today putting away my clothes next to his. I hung up all his shirts and jackets, and pushed my dresses closer, like I could make him love me if our clothes were touching. I felt queasy at the thought of Nita rifling through my things, but especially Eric's, and I chalked it up to having not eaten breakfast.
I grabbed something to eat on the way to see Arlene, figuring I'd eat it after my appointment, but now, Daniel seems determined to change my plans.
"He rarely tells anyone how he feels. I'm not making excuses for him, but he might not know how to answer you," Daniel suggests, though he looks optimistic. "You could try asking him again."
"Yeah, because he's so open and willing to talk," I sound mean, but I can't stop myself. "He'll laugh in my face."
"Everly," Daniel steps closer, and he hands me the papers in his hands. He points to one of the codes, and his smile is pretty bright. "I don't think he'd laugh at you before, but he certainly won't be laughing at you now."
I find him in his office.
I feel like I'm returning to the scene of the crime, and I guess I kind of am. Linda waves, enthused as ever to see the real me, and she looks slightly sheepish when I smile at her. I bypass a few soldiers walking down the hallway, and to my surprise, there are exiting Eric's office. My nod hello goes nearly unnoticed, but I don't care.
I hurry.
I fling Eric's office door open without knocking, and I find him sitting there, staring at me with a very surprised look on his face. He quickly collects himself, and his eyes narrow.
"I have to talk to you!" I announce, but I nearly lose my nerve completely when I realize Jack is seated across from Eric, along with a few other soldiers. They are tall and intimidating, and they look irritated at the interruption. "I'm so sorry. I just…wanted to tell Eric…that…um, did you know Arlene does a…a test? Like a lot of tests before you can get the vaccine?"
No one speaks.
They stare silently until Eric clears his throat. He then smiles tightly, pushing his chair back from his desk slowly, and when he stands, I swear you could hear a pin drop. Both of his eyebrows are raised, and his expression is unreadable. "Uh, this is my wife, Everly. If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'll speak with her outside while you four converse on the subject of…Four."
"Sure," Jack agrees. He looks at me, and when we lock eyes, and I have the weirdest feeling he knows why I'm here. "Take whatever time you need. Everly, it's lovely to see you again. You look well."
"Thank you," I swallow thickly, because Eric is heading toward me, looking as murderous as ever. "You look…great…too. It was good to see you again. And not…with Nita and all that."
"What the fuck are you doing?" Eric hisses, taking hold of my arm and none too gently pushing me a few steps back. He closes the door behind him, and I notice I dislike this uniform the most out of all of them. It's so black it hurts my eyes, and it means his meeting is important. "Yes, I'm aware Arlene does tests. She does all kinds of them. Is this really what you came down here to tell me?"
"Why are you being so mean?" I wiggle my arm away from him, greatly disliking this argument.
Actually, I dislike all of this.
His weird attitude, his stupid uniform, and his aggressive haircut. It all makes sense now, but I hate feeling this way.
"I'm not being mean. I'm in a meeting. You're the one who asked me a question and bolted. Then you went to bed and wouldn't talk to me," Eric snaps, and I take a step back so he can kill me out of Linda's view. "You asked me if I loved you and then you left. You didn't even give me the chance to answer."
"I didn't want you to tell me no." I figure I have little chance of him not being furious, so I might as well tell him the truth. "You didn't look happy."
"Well, I walked in and you looked miserable. So why would I be happy? Do you think I wanted to tell you that your mom didn't call? Do you think I wanted to be there when you figured out that they could have reached out, but didn't? I couldn't. You wouldn't have listened."
"You really think that? You really think I'm the one who wouldn't listen?" I look up at him, and his stare is exasperated.
"Okay, look, whatever I did to piss you off with Nita, I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry. I should have listened to you, and I'm sorry that I didn't. I thought I had it under control and then I got the vaccine, and things blew up in my face. But you won't even forgive me for making a mistake, so I don't know why you're so hell bent on hearing that I love you."
He stops.
Eric stops speaking, probably because my eyes have widened to the point they hurt, and I'm about to lose it. Not because I'm crazy. I'm not losing track of time, nor am I making shit up because I don't like Nita. I'm not overly emotional because I missed my birthday or because Eric didn't listen to me and I'm still furious.
Because I can't help it, and the stupid pregnancy test Arlene gave without my permission came back positive, and now my life is over.
"Wait…you love me?" I blink, and his expression reaches a whole new level of exasperation.
"Of course, I love you. I've…I wouldn't have bothered keeping you alive if I didn't," Eric hisses, again, not sounding any nicer. "I married you as officially as I could. If I didn't…" He pauses, and I know such affectionate words are hard for him to say. "If I didn't love you, I would have left you behind the first time you threw up after killing a zombie. This world is not a kind one. It's not one for anyone soft or afraid or throwing up on the side of the road because you got a little too close to zombie guts. But I met you, and I wanted you to stay with me. I wanted you to sleep by me. And I want you to fucking forgive me for –"
"Eric, I'm pregnant," I blurt out, right as Rylan rounds the corner. He comes to a dead halt, nearly spilling his coffee everywhere and his expression is priceless. "I don't….I don't know what…I just found out. And I do forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago. I was just really hurt that you didn't listen to me, and I liked that you were so nice because you thought I was mad. You even let me have that extra blanket on the bed, and you hate the extra blanket."
"My god," Rylan stares even harder, tilting this head as he watches. "Are you serious? An extra blanket. Go on. I'm here for this."
"Rylan!" I turn to look at him, but Eric grabs my wrist, and his skin has turned pale white. "Eric, are you okay? Did you get another vaccine? I thought you had to wait?"
"You're…pregnant? Now?"
"No, next week. This is clearly something she can schedule. Everly, tell him how having a baby works. Eric is a fantastic cop, but he clearly skipped sex ed." Rylan casually leans against the wall, and waves his hand. "Continue. I'm ready. I've been ready for a while now. I've always known my position in life was to be the Godfather of my best friend's child. My plan wasn't for it to happen during the zombie apocalypse, but we all know things are unpredictable these days."
"Rylan, I swear to God -
"Yes, now. And I feel like shit. Everything makes me want to cry, and I hate crying. I hate feeling sad, and I hate feeling crazy. And I just really liked having sex with you, so I kept having sex with you, and we had some really good sex this week, and –"
I stop when Eric looks over at Rylan, and his eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline. "You can stop anytime. He doesn't need to hear any more."
"I mean, it's a little much to hear her say it aloud, but I'm into it." Rylan shrugs when we both glare at him, and he dares to look insulted. "No, not you two having sex. Everyone here knows you're having sex. You guys aren't that special. I meant, I'm here for this confession. So many feelings. So much…emotion. Jason is gonna be so mad he had to work the gates today when I tell him all this."
"I'm going to kill you," Eric announces, and his free hand moves to my lower back. His touch is possessive, pulling me closer to him. "Rylan, do me favor. Go find the nearest lake and jump in for a few hours."
"No can do, because they're all frozen." Rylan grins. "I'm happy to report we found a lake with hundreds of zombies frozen beneath the ice. So…there's something for your nightmares."
"Wait, really? A lake of frozen zombies?" I press one of my hands to Eric's chest, shivering at the thought of the undead, frozen beneath ice. Eric hand moves to my back, pressing me closer to him. "Will they thaw out?"
"I mean, we're hoping they don't. But uh, I haven't lived through this zombie apocalypse yet, so no clue. But you keep going. Is there anything else you'd like to share? When exactly was this child conceived?"
"I don't…know," I look at Eric, his lips in a fine line and his eyes tightly shut, and his expression makes me laugh. "Um, I guess I could find out."
"You one hundred percent do not need to find out when our child was conceived for Rylan's sake," Eric grits out, and there's some relief to him so desperate to keep me close. I'm reminded of the very first night he let me sleep against him, and how it felt to have him finally let his guard down. "Rylan, can you give us a second?"
"No, I'm invested now. And involved," he shrugs, taking an exaggeratedly slow drink of his coffee. "Oh, and by the way, the girl outside? I'm here to tell Jack it wasn't Nita, but someone much better. Oh, so much better. In fact, you're gonna love this. Everly will, too. I mean, it's not, not Nita, but you'll get what I mean."
"Who is it?" Eric asks, his tone entirely unenthused for this information. "Are you going to tell me, or…"
"Even better! I'm going to show you."
Rylan gestures for us to follow him, and Eric's sigh mirrors my own exhaustion over the whole Nita situation.
"Fine. Let me tell Jack I'll be right back. Can we finish this later?" Eric looks right at me, and I can't help but smile. It's slight; relieved that this weirdness between us is over, and happy that he seems pretty unbothered by my announcement.
"Um, with or without Rylan?" I ask, and he struggles not to laugh.
"Obviously with me. Now hurry up, I don't know how long Karl can handle things. He has an oddly weak stomach these days." Rylan interrupts, rolling his eyes and checking his phone. "Go tell Jack you'll be back. This won't take long."
"Fine," Eric barks, letting go reluctantly, and I'm left with a smug looking Rylan.
He watches Eric leave with a smirk, then stares at me, his hair pulled up onto the very top of his head and his shirt untucked. He eyes my dress warily, but he himself is out of uniform. When I smile, he holds my gaze until I tilt my head at him, wondering what he wants.
"What?"
"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" Rylan asks, serious as ever.
"On what?" I stand there totally confused, and in his office, I hear Eric inform Jack he has to go to the gates. "On…finding a frozen lake?"
"No, Everly. On becoming a Godfather," Rylan answers patiently. He looks at me like I'm crazy, and I realize he's staring to see if I look pregnant. "This couldn't come at a better time for me."
"Yes, how could I have forgotten about the most important person in this pregnancy? Congratulations, Rylan." I dryly retort, and he snickers right up until Eric walks back out of the office. "Should I go with you guys?"
"Oh yeah, you're gonna need to see this. I promise you, it's…good. Come on." Rylan takes another sip of coffee, and his impatience amplifies. "I promise. It's almost better than Everly's news, and that is hard to top."
Eric's lips press together in a way that tells me he doesn't think this is anywhere near as good as Rylan thinks it is, but I'm too curious not to go.
Eric and I follow Rylan out of the office hallway, into the mall, and the whole walk there, he refuses to tell us what's going on.
"Holy…fuck."
The sight before me is an impressive one, but unfortunately, not that uncommon. The group of soldiers form a sloppy circle, and they stand with their weapons drawn, but with no real intent to attack. A few shove someone back when they get too close, and others taunt them by asking if they're hungry.
By the time I realize what's going on, Eric's gaze is both impressed and sort of grim.
There, in the middle of the circle, are three zombies.
One is Nita.
She looks much different these days, and it's unlikely she'd be able to pass as me. Despite the vaccine, her decline has been rapid, and jarring. Her dark hair is a mess; she's bloodied and ravenous, but slow. Her gait is off, her teeth are broken, and her skin is the same shade as the sky. Her eyes roll back in her head whenever she moves, her arms jerky and uncontrolled, and I feel absolutely no sympathy that I was right in my theory.
Next to her, is who I am told is Ashley.
She's somewhat recognizable from the few photos I've seen of her, but just barely. Her long blonde hair is only long on one side, and the rest has been ripped clean from her skull. Her jaw is broken, but functioning. Her arm is bent at a weird angle, and the dress she has on is destroyed. It hangs in rips and shreds, revealing battered and bloodied skin, exposed bone, and dozens of spots where her flesh is rotting off. There is absolutely no recognition when she looks at anyone, but to her credit, she walks with more control than Nita.
Beside her, pleading and begging to be taken to Daniel, is Blythe.
I only know this because Rylan says her name like it tastes bad, and her gaze whips to him with all the hatred in the world.
She's nothing like I'd expect. Rail thin, still dressed nicely, but her skin has absolutely no color. Her hair is a mess; there is deep stain of red by her neck, and she lets out a gasp when she presses her hand to stop the bleeding. She hasn't noticed Eric yet, but he's noticed her.
There's the slightest wince to his posture, but it vanishes when his fingers fumble to take hold of mine.
"Karma is a bitch, isn't it?" Rylan joyously announces, his stare glued to Blythe's plea for someone to help her. "That's what you get for questioning my ranking."
"Is she infected? Is that why no one is helping her?" I blink at Eric, emotionless beside me, and he shrugs. "She looks like she might be."
"She is infected." Karl joins us, crossing his arms and staring her down. "She and the other one showed up a few weeks ago. They demanded instant admission, and they threw Daniel's name around like he'd come strolling down here the minute he heard they were here."
"Did he?" I look at Karl, and he shakes his head.
"Nah, he told us to explain that they had to be quarantined first. When they learned they had to wait, they refused, but left when someone threated to shoot. According to what we got out of Blythe, they went to the campgrounds, where Ashley was attacked. She fled into the woods and Blythe let her. Blythe was bitten a few hours ago by Nita. Arlene has already denied her request for medical treatment saying there is no point to admitting her, even under observation."
"Good." Eric answers sharply, and Blythe looks up at the sound of his voice. She searched the crowd until she sees him, and her stare turns violent.
"Except now, she's refusing to leave. I called Rylan in as backup, but he mostly just wants to watch her rot."
"How did she get so bad in such a short amount of time?" I look at Blythe, now staring at me with a murderous glare, and she attempts to break through the mess of soldiers. She howls Eric's name, but he barely blinks.
"It's happening faster now. They turn faster, starve faster, and hopefully, die off faster," Jason strolls over to me, and he smiles brightly. "Hi Everly. I heard from Rylan that uh, you finally forgave Eric for being a dick."
"How…" I look over at him, and he feigns innocence. "How on Earth did you already tell him? We walked out here together!"
"I know how to text, Everly." Rylan smiles, but it turns to a scowl when Blythe manages to work her way past the soldiers. "Whoa, back demon. Back where you belong!"
"ERIC! Get me some help! Get me to your fucking hospital!" His mother, lurching forward with the telling awkward gate all the recently bitten zombies have, screams and claws at the air. Her one hand stays on her neck, but when she pulls it away, it's wet with blood. "Eric, did you hear me? Get me some fucking help!"
"No one here can help you, Blythe," Eric answers, and it's weird to hear him speak so dismissively to his mother. I know he doesn't like her, and I remember the story about her questioning him and his friend's ranks, and it all makes sense when she calls him worthless.
"You really are good for nothing. What kind of son wouldn't help his own mother? Is it because of her?" She shrieks, wild and furious, and her attention turns to me. "Who is she? Some girl you found at a truck stop?"
"Whoa!" I glare at her, a wave of defensiveness rushing over me. "You don't have to be rude. We met in Haling Cove."
"I don't care where you met," Blythe gasps, and she doesn't stop moving. She keeps walking, her ankle making a snapping sound and her skin turns more and more sallow by the second. "Eric, get your father. I've been hurt. I wasn't bit. I…I …I was in an accident."
"I'm sure," Eric's grip tightens on my hand, pulling me back toward him. "Hey, can we get a few members from security to walk Blythe outside? The rules here require all new applicants to be in good health. No visible injuries or concerns, no actively bleeding wounds. Sorry, Blythe, but it doesn't look like you meet the criteria."
"You son of a –"
"Eric," I say his name softly, pulling his hand so he looks down at me, and when he does, our eyes meet. Despite being surrounded by soldiers, three zombies –including one who tried to steal my husband and one who probably would have tried to steal him if she wasn't so focused on eating human flesh, and our friends, he smiles at me. It's warm and affectionate, like we're the only ones out here. "I take it you don't want to name the baby after your mom."
He snorts.
His mother screams, blood curdling and so shrill it hurts my ears, and eventually, the soldiers working as security do take her away. One shoots Nita through the head, and the other takes care of Ashley. Blythe is given the option of them helping end the infection in the same manner, and she howls for them not to touch her. A second after the gates close, there is the loud crack of gunfire, because no one is willing to risk her turning into a zombie and trying to get back inside.
"Absolutely not."
Eric shakes his head as the group disperses, and Rylan disappears into the crowd to high five whoever killed Blythe. We don't stick around much longer. Eric announces he has to get back inside, and I decide to go with him.
I do linger for just a moment, enough to watch the truck pulling in through the check point. The driver is no one I know, and neither is the passenger, so I follow Eric inside, pretending I wasn't looking for Harrison.
Chapter 17: Everly and the end of the apocalypse
Notes:
Thank you oh so much to Erin for editing!
Chapter Text
She is born with gray eyes.
Gray skin.
Small gray hands flail aimlessly alongside a wail that sounds like it's from the depths of hell. Her eyes focus on me, angry and furious as ever, and when she opens her mouth, it's filled with black slime. She's like so many other zombies that I've killed while Eric waited a step behind, and her skin crackles with the visible zombie virus rushing through her veins.
"No, no, no, no! Eric! Eric!"
I yell his name, sitting up in a hospital bed I don't recognize, struggling not to panic. He's off to the side, his face sharp but everything else a blur, and he shrugs.
"I told you to stay in the hotel," his lips curl up into a sneer, and he only steps closer to yank her from my hands when he realizes I'm upset. "I said if you got too close, you could risk getting bit. Why didn't you listen?"
He takes her from me, normal in every way except that she's clearly infected, and I desperately look around for a nurse. A doctor. Anyone who can help me, or at the very least, get me out of here. Panic chokes me when no one appears, and Eric turns with a scowl when I ask if he can call his dad.
"No. I think she's fine. She'll be fine. But you…you might tell everyone she's sick. And she's not." He holds my stare, unblinking as he pulls the zombie baby closer. "Sorry, Everly. I can't risk you saying anything. You'll have to stay here. I can do it without you. Someone will help."
"Wait, what?" I suddenly can't move. I'm frozen in place as he leaves, taking the baby with him. I hear the door lock, and I realize he's left me, and he's going to try and pass her off as being completely fine. He's chosen her over me, and his decision is final as his footsteps retreat. "No! No! Help! Somebody! Anybody!"
I freak out, a totally rational reaction to my husband choosing our brand-new zombie child over me, but there's nothing I can do. I scream so loud that eventually my eyes open, and I sit up completely hysterical, and I'm not in the hospital.
I'm in bed in our room, where Eric is sound asleep beside me, and there is no zombie baby, only the quiet ticking of a clock in the suite living room, and the faint sound of Eric mumbling my name.
I leave the lights off.
I walk to the kitchen, large and unfamiliar after moving for the millionth time, and I fumble to find a light switch. Only the dimmest lights turn on, but it's enough for me to see where the cabinets are. I search for a glass, and once the panic subsides, I fill it with ice and water.
A few minutes ago, I'd woken up from one hell of a nightmare. It stuck with me, clinging to my mind like it was a possible scenario. While ridiculous and terrifying, it wasn't entirely farfetched. Now was not the time to be having a baby, and my guess was, there were very few studies done on what happens if a woman is bitten by a zombie while pregnant. I try to imagine who would volunteer for such a thing, but really, they wouldn't be volunteering. If such a horrific scenario did occur, they'd be watched under the careful eye of some remaining government officials, or maybe they'd just give birth in the wild, unaware of what was happening.
I gag at the thought, because really, I don't want to be pregnant. It's not that I hate the idea. There is something appealing about having a permanent family with Eric, and it solidifies Eric's words that we are in this for the long haul.
But I am nineteen, living through the apocalypse, and currently unsure of what will happen when things change. I'm hoping that Eric and I will end up somewhere quiet. I like to imagine we'll find somewhere away from everyone else –still close, but not that close –and live happily ever after. I could work somewhere while he resumes his job as an officer, and things will be boringly, pleasingly, incredibly normal. I lust over the idea of permanence. Of someone who won't leave when things get tough, and I know this person is Eric. He hadn't left when he could have, and he'd made it very clear we were in this together.
But a baby, a screaming wailing child who would keep him up all night and demand all of our attention, has never been part of that plan.
I wasn't stupid enough to know I should have assumed it would happen. Not once did Eric ever bring up birth control, nor did he grab any condoms while we were slinking through a grocery store. We'd willingly accepted the risks of having unprotected sex quite frequently, and now I was suffering the consequences of my own actions.
"You're a genius," I mutter, rubbing my eyes and wishing I could go back to bed. Eric was sound asleep when I left him, and I didn't want to wake him. The death of his mother was fresh, and while he played it off like he was unaffected, he was quiet all night. "Shit. Maybe the test wasn't mine. Maybe it's…someone else's."
I'm talking to no one. Only myself, in a dark kitchen in a large hotel suite, trying to figure out if maybe the test was Nita's. Maybe they'd mixed up some test results and Arlene would call in the morning and this would all be a bad dream, just like the zombie baby one.
But it's not.
And I know this.
I'm exhausted. I've felt insane, bordering on the brink of craziness and thinking it was stress, and I've blissfully ignored the fact that I haven't had cramps in months. I blamed it all on the fact that for those months, we were focused on staying alive, but now, I had no choice but to admit that I felt queasy more often than not, and the ache in my abdomen wasn't a sign that my period was about to start.
"Motherfuck—"
"Everly, are you alright? Who are you talking to?"
Eric stumbles into the kitchen like he's been awoken from a deep sleep. His hair is a mess; the longer part hangs in his eyes, and he rubs them a few times after blinking in the low light. He stares at me, his skin glowing golden, and I think how unfair it is that he still manages to look handsome after crawling out of bed.
"Who are you talking to? Did someone call?"
"No one. I was talking to myself, I guess." I turn to fully face him, and he takes the water from my hand. "I'm sorry if I woke you up."
"I swore I heard you yelling," he mutters, taking a long drink of the water like he's dying of thirst. "I woke up and you weren't there. Did I dream that you were screaming?"
"No, I probably was. I had this nightmare…" I pause, watching him carefully. "that the baby was born and she was a zombie."
"She?" He repeats, looking more confused than ever. "Did you have another appointment?"
"It was just a dream. But you picked the zombie baby over me and left me there. You were going to tell everyone she was fine, but…" I trail off, growing nervous when he steps closer. His bare chest seems larger and more defined than I remember, or maybe I'm just delirious from the nightmare. "Eric, how will we take care of a baby? What if this place falls apart? What if it fails? What if Harrison never comes back? What if she's born and she is a zombie? You don't want a baby. It's going to cry and scream and throw up on your uniform and –"
"Is that what this is about?" He sets the glass on the counter, and his hands find my arms. They curl into my skin as he pulls me closer, shaking his head no. His hesitation is only so he can hold on tighter, and each inhale is slow. "Everly, none of that will happen. This place is as secure as we're going to find. Jack isn't going to let anything happen to it. And I don't…I don't hate the idea. I should have expected it, but I was assuming… I don't know. That you were taking something. It's not your sole responsibility, but I guess I figured when this is over, we'd find somewhere to live and it would happen eventually."
"So…you want a family?" The words sound stupid as I'm saying them. I don't know anyone who doesn't want a family, but I'm not so sure Eric has spent much time around small children. "They're loud. Zander was the worst. He was always in my room, or my parent's room. He refused to sleep alone. You might not want one if the baby is anything like him…"
"I want a family with you," he clarifies, and there's a rush of drunken exhilaration that runs through me, despite having a visceral reaction to the thought moments ago. "If it happens sooner than planned, it's not a big deal. We will make it through. Us. You, me, and the nonzombie baby."
"I mean, she could be a zombie. You never know. I did sit by Four the other day," I try to keep a straight face, and Eric tries hard not to roll his eyes. "I just…never thought about having a child. I always had to watch my brothers and sisters. I hated it."
"Well, we'll hire a nanny. I'm sure Rylan is available to help," Eric half jokes, pulling me flush against his chest. My head presses against the middle, and he holds on tightly, arms encircling my waist. "We have a lot of help here. Daniel and Camille will be glad to help in any way they can, and I'm sure if you ask nicely, Jack will get you whatever you want. And Harrison will remodel the whole hotel just so you're happy."
"He's not back," I whisper, closing my eyes and enjoying how nice this is. He's solid and unmoving, and I cling to the fact that if anyone is to survive the zombies, it's Eric. "What if he doesn't make it back?"
"He will. I have no doubts that Harrison will show up soon, probably with your brother and Willow. This isn't his first day on the job. He specializes in these sort of rescue missions."
"Okay," I agree, figuring he knows Harrison far better than I do. "Eric, do you promise me if the baby is a zombie, you won't pick her over me?"
He is still. Eric's hands tighten, pressing me as close as they can, and I feel him exhale in probably sheer exasperation over my question. But he nods, and his next words are all I need to hear.
"I've always chosen you."
I close my eyes even tighter, and we stay this way until Eric sleepily suggests we go back to bed, and I forget all about the zombie baby.
In the morning, Eric hands me my phone.
He sits down on the beside me, still shirtless and slightly grumpy, and tells me to call my mother.
"Why?" I stare at him from beneath the mess that is my hair, and my grumpiness rivals his own. We had gone back to bed, but it took me a while to fall asleep. I listened to Eric for a long time, his heart beating steadily, until I must have passed out clinging to him. "She won't answer."
"No, but this way, you'll know you tried."
Ever the voice of logic, he waits.
His stare is stuck to me, and I gingerly push the app labeled contacts.
"What am I going to say?" I hesitate only because I want to talk to her. I want to hear her voice, I want to know she's alive, and I want to hear her reasoning. No matter how many times I pretend otherwise, I miss her. "What if she doesn't answer?"
"What if she does?" Eric nudges my arm, and his only pause is to pull me back against him. He arranges us so I'm leaning back against his chest, resting his head on mine. "If you don't reach out, you'll never be able to move on."
He's not wrong.
"Okay. I hope she answers." I push call, and the phone rings twice. It's loud in my ear; the sound is metallic and crackly, and a few seconds later, there's a loud beep and it disconnects. I exhale heavily, staring at the phone in my hand, until Eric encourages me to call my dad.
"Okay, keep going. He might pick up."
The same thing happens.
Two rings, then a beep of disconnection. Holly's phone is the same, so is Paisley's. By the time I reach out to everyone –including Forrest –I feel both better, and slightly disheartened.
"None of them are answering," I lean back, and Eric's arms bend inward. "Do you think their phones died or…"
"Yeah. I'm gonna guess their batteries died. Or they lost the phones, or they were destroyed, or a zombie ate them. I think there are a lot of reasons why no one has called you."
"I called my mom once before. Back in the RV," I say quietly, and when I look up at Eric, he looks surprised. "It was after Vegas. You were still sleeping, and I wanted to see if she was alive. It rang for a long time but went to voicemail."
"Did you feel better after?" He asks lowly, and his hands begin to move. They skim my sides, then wrap around my waist, pulling me back. One moves toward my stomach, but it seems that he changes his mind, and takes the phone from my hand when I shrug. "I think if anything, you can rest easy knowing they more than likely couldn't call. Not because they didn't want to."
"I think you're right. I bet they don't have them anymore. But I'm okay. I didn't expect them to answer, and I'm not mad." I lean back farther as he tosses the phone aside, and it lands on the bed a few feet away. It ends a chapter of my life, a note of finality to the situation, and I feel oddly relieved. "Are you working today? I have to meet Quinten at eleven. Something about making calzones."
"Sounds…riveting," Eric mutters, distracted now by me. He presses his mouth to my neck, and he only stops when his own phone rings. "Ignore it."
"It could be important," I point out, laughing when he shakes his head.
"It's not."
The rest of my morning makes up for the nightmare, and the lack of contact with my family.
Eric and I don't do anything more than go back to bed, and when I wake up, I have just enough time to take a shower and meet Quinten. We make a leaning tower of calzones, not my specialty, but pretty fun to try out, and not once do I think about my parents.
"Well?"
"Say it again," I insist, my arms looped around Eric's neck and my head tilted. He smirks at me, moving one to shove my hair out of my eyes, and his fingers are warm. "Eric, you promised…"
"Fine. Everly," Eric pauses, just long enough that I have time to scowl at him before he tells me what I really want to hear. "The zombies are dying off. A search of the state, conducted by not only Jack's army, but by a SWAT team, an independent zombie hunting squad, the US Navy, the air force, and someone claiming to be what's left of the white house who has seen more than Area 51, found minimal signs of new and previous infection. It seems that if they can't eat, they can't live. And their food has been scarce since people have figured out how to kill them."
"Keep going," I tighten my arms around his neck, ignoring the drop of his stare to my collarbone as he pulls me closer. His hips meet mine, patient and completely in charge of the pace, and he hits something inside that makes my eyes close. "I want to hear more."
"They think that by spring, the zombies will be gone. They're scouring each state, and encouraging everyone to stay inside unless absolutely necessary. Shoot the zombies on sight. Statewide zombie killing lessons for any willing civilian, and Jason's blog is a big hit now that the internet has been turning back on."
"It has?" I mumble, ignoring one of his hands moving to my side, then down to my hip. His touch feels good, especially when his fingers tense on my skin, betraying how unaffected he pretends to be. They move with intent, skimming my thighs, until they are between my legs, teasing me until I whimper. "How?"
"The details are fuzzy, but as of yesterday, Jason could update his blog on a connection stronger than the one here, and Meghan made it to level 87 in her stupid game in an online tournament," he mutters, drawing out the words as his lips touch mine. "Quinten even found a working router that he's using to lord over Jack until he gets all the apples he wants. He doesn't even care that they're out of season."
"Fuck, I know. Someone asked for apple pie and I only had so many apples," I answer, gasping when Eric speeds up, and for a moment, I forget about Quinten yelling that we were running out of fruit and someone else yelling that no shit, we were out of a lot of things. "What about –"
"They think by April, they'll have a cure for recently infected. If administered within six hours of a bite, there's a chance at stopping the infection completely," Eric lowly informs me, and his mouth moves to my neck. He bites down, mumbling something about the vampiric nature of the zombies, and when he pulls away, his smile is lazy. "It won't be long until the zombies are nothing but a bad dream."
"Really?" I don't think Eric hears me. He returns to my neck, and my fingers dig into the back of his hair. He's overdue for a haircut, but really, there hasn't been time.
In the past few weeks, Eric and I went through a slew of emotions, all at record speed. The discovery of a pregnancy neither of us asked for, though Eric seemed oddly into the idea of being married and having a child, and the death of his mother, the girl who tried to seduce him, and another girl who would have seduced him no questions asked. My parents not answering their phones –a sort of silent death that I accepted, and the new idea that we could one day leave here, once things changed.
And there were lots of changes, some occurring daily, including the shift in Eric's relationship with his father. With his mother gone, the two of them seemed much happier.
Eric had no kind words for Blythe and her demise -only a sharp good riddance, and an even sharper fuck her –and even less kind words for Nita and Ashley. Our discussion about them was brief. I sat on the edge of the bathroom sink while Eric washed his face, and he allowed me to ask him a single question about Ashley.
His generosity came with a warning; he told me to choose wisely, because he wasn't answering a million questions about a girl he went to a bar with once. With a smile, I asked that if he hadn't met me, and he and Ashley reunited at the safe zone, would he have been happy to see her.
His side eye was enough of an answer for me.
Deep down, I knew Ashley posed no threat, zombie or no zombie. Even Nita hadn't really been able to come between us. Eric's answered eyeroll and sneer told me he wouldn't have cared if he never saw either of them again, and his attention immediately returned to me.
My head hit the mirror above the sink with a thud, and his hands were everywhere before I could protest that I was about to fall off the counter.
He made sure I didn't.
Determined to put this all in the past, we moved on. We focused on other things, like how Jason and Meghan were also switching rooms, and how Christina and Rylan were more serious than ever. She'd officially adopted Theo, and was now the main caretaker of Rylan's wild, apocalypse zombie hunting kitten. She would occasionally bring him over to show me how big he'd gotten, and how he really enjoyed eating butter.
She was a bright spot in my days, and so was Meghan. She had all the best gossip, and over coffee and whatever snacks she'd brought up from downstairs, we discussed Four, having developed a morbid fascination with obsessing over whatever Eric did, and Stella, having developed a morbid fascination of watching Four obsess over Eric. Meghan had gotten the job with Quinten, and though our schedules didn't really overlap, every so often, she got to work a shift with me. We'd walk home together, and sometimes, she'd stay for dinner.
Eric tolerated her and Christina as best he could.
None of us mentioned Harrison, still missing and with zero communication, and Eric and I both refused to mention that Arlene had taken to dropping by all the time. Her greedy stare raked over me during each of these surprise visits, and I did my best to pretend I couldn't see her or hear her.
Instead, I focused on Eric and myself.
Like now, how he'd found me sitting on the bed, about to go to sleep, and instead, he yanked the nightgown right over my head, announcing it was better suited for his grandma. He pushed me back against too many pillows, pulled his boxers down, and it was obvious he had no plans to go to sleep.
I wrapped my fingers around his erection, looking up so I could watch his expression change, and I liked this power over him. Despite spending his day barking order at everyone, it was easy to make his eyes close if I touched him. I stroked him slowly, then faster, until his lips parted and the slick wetness dripped onto my fingers. He never let me jerk off him completely; he would always stop me, preferring to be inside me, which is how I preferred him, too.
Now, his shoulders tighten, straining as my fingers skim over them, and his skin burns hot. My legs are wrapped around his waist, and there is no space between us. Pressed tightly against him, I can feel him nod, lazily answering my question.
"When will they be gone? There won't be any more zombies?"
"Maybe earlier. Arlene thinks maybe by March." Eric's focus returns to me, lush lips returning to my own, completely smug to be sharing such thrilling news. "Rylan volunteered Four to try it out, but Arlene passed. They want someone who hasn't had any of the vaccines at all."
"What a shame," I laugh, and for the first time in weeks, things feel much lighter.
They feel hopeful. Optimistic. Like a warm, sunny day after months of snow and cold. It's enough to make me not think about what having a child during the zombie apocalypse will be like, and enough to make me think of only Eric.
Especially when his hands move up my back, pressing up my spine, vertebrae by vertebrae, until they reach my shoulder blades. I give into the triumphant feeling of goodness, and I refuse to let it go.
"How far along are you? You look like you're six months pregnant," Four declares, pausing to stab his French fries with a fork. "Are you six months pregnant? Or seven?"
"Wow, Four, it's a total mystery why you're still single," Rylan elbows him, hard, and Four scowls. "Everly is like five days pregnant, and it's none of your business. Only hers, Eric's, and mine."
"How are you involved in this?" Four looks perplexed, his skin no longer grey and his hair recently cut into something more militant, and it only accentuates the fact that he could stand to eat another hamburger, after spending weeks fighting off being sick. He'd gotten over his pneumonia a month ago, but he still looked sickly half the time. "Do you know how it even works?"
"Yeah, I do," Rylan flashes him a bright smile. "Everyone here does but you. Now if you could pass me the ketchup, I'd greatly appreciate it, and as a reward, I'll tell you how babies are made."
"I can't wait to hear this," Jason laughs, earning the scowls of Four and Stella. "I'm pretty sure Rylan gets all his facts from Sesame Street. So uh, good luck."
"Wrong," Rylan flashes a wide smile. "I actually get all my knowledge from Harrison. He'll tell you anything and everything you need to know about any subject in the world. Including pregnancy."
"Uh huh." Jason snorts, but he drops the subject when Meghan smacks his arm and shows him her phone. He's momentarily distracted, until Rylan asks how Jason feels about alternating weekends to babysit their Godchild.
"I told you we shouldn't tell anyone," Eric mutters, and his arm tightens around my shoulders. He's draped it over the back of the booth, giving me room to sit against his chest. He's warm; unlike the outside, which is covered in fresh, wet snow, Eric is hot to the touch, and already complaining the hotel heat is too high. "I said we should keep it a secret."
"Wait, do I look six months pregnant?" I pause with my fork in the air to look up at him. "You can tell me. I won't get mad."
"Are you sure?" Eric eyes me warily, but he's already snickering. "Because, no. You don't look pregnant at all, and that's why Four will surely die alone. For a third time. Or is it a fourth time?"
"The third. But seriously, sorry. I thought she was farther along." Four grimaces, returning to his plate of fries and chicken fingers, and I lean back into Eric, cracking up when Christina elbows Rylan and tells him to take his leftovers for Theo, and Karl beams at Charlotte. A few seats away, Jason and Meghan are now busy talking about what they're doing this weekend, and past them, Daniel and Camile are listening to Jack and Arlene rave about their newest vaccine discovery.
It almost feels normal.
Almost.
My stomach is still in knots, every so often giving me the urge to throw up whatever I'm eating, but it's mostly calming down. It's been weeks since Arlene had given me the test without telling me, and nearly five weeks since I told Eric.
Things have been drastically different since then.
Our argument over Nita is long forgotten. It wasn't even so much an argument as a misunderstanding, and plenty of hurt feelings. Once I finally told Eric I wasn't mad and forgave him, Eric finally confessed what he felt for me was more than mild affection toward his zombie killing partner. His romantic declaration of –yes, I do love you, spoken between gritted teeth, was heartfelt. It was a confession from a man who'd never told anyone anything of the sorts, and never really saw any reason to. In his mind, I should have known that his secret marriage and plans to keep me alive were a silent but loud announcement of how he felt.
After I told him what the test said, our time was ruined by Blythe showing up, but her moment was quick. She, Ashley, and Nita were shot to make sure none of them caused any future infections. I felt nothing toward any of them, only the barest speck of sympathy that the fate they met was one of infection, and ultimately, death.
We celebrated the night together, only Eric and me, in bed. Eric was careful and slow, staring me down like he expected to see something else, but it was just me. A nightgown that didn't fit, flimsy straps, my bangs falling in my eyes, and him fumbling when his hands touched my stomach. I gently pointed out that I had no clue when it had happened or what we would do, but that I was fine. I wasn't going to break into a million pieces, nor would I tolerate being locked inside our hotel room because he thought it would be safer.
I assured him I was fine.
Pregnant, not all that enthused about it, but fine.
"How are you feeling? Are you okay to go to your appointment tomorrow?"
I glance up to see Eric looking down at me, eyes flashing with worry. My nod does little to reassure him, and he exhales in heavy disappointment.
"I'll try to be there. But Karl and I are scheduled for the last section of Oregon that's gone unsearched. It's three hours out, three hours back," Eric is apologetic, but he lowers his voice as though someone might overhear him. "You know what, I'll tell Jack I can't be there. Karl can go with someone else."
"No, it's fine. Honestly. It's an appointment with Arlene, or Arlene's assistant. Her message said I can see either one. I'm hoping it's not Arlene," I answer brightly, and this time, Rylan can't help himself.
"Why? You don't want a lecture on safe sex? Even though Arlene knows no one here is worried about that when you're coming down off the high of nearly dying and surviving only by committing legal zombie murder, and you don't have time to worry about wrapping it up. Because that's what I got. So did Christina." He looks over at her, and her nod is quick.
"I got it, too. Something about a lack of doctors to deliver babies and oh, there's not a condom factory nearby so that's why the prices are so high," Christina adds, rolling her eyes as though this is a minor inconvenience in her day. "She did offer me the shot, but she said I had to wait a few weeks."
"Me too!" Meghan leans in, looking annoyed. "I told her Jason and I don't have time for a child. It's like she wants to repopulate the world as quickly as she can. Who even wants a baby right now?"
The table falls silent, and I can feel everyone looking at me. Even Four looks insulted, though Stella distracts him by asking for a napkin. Eric clears his throat, and Meghan's stare flies up, horrified, as she realizes what she's just said.
"Oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean you two. I, obviously, think the baby will be cute. I hope it looks like Everly."
"It's totally fine. To be honest, we weren't…trying to have a baby," I point out, and Rylan tilts his head.
His stare goes to Eric, riddled with disbelief. "You sure about that?"
"Wait, you were trying to have a baby? Did you and Everly plan this?" Daniel tears himself away from the conversation with Camille, and she smiles at me. She looks pretty pleased, but she shakes her head at Daniel's question, and I decide Eric is right.
That day I told him, he insisted we keep it quiet for a while. I was confused, but not opposed to it. It wasn't ideal timing for this to happen, and it did reveal to the world part of our relationship. But really, we really had no choice in the matter, because since Rylan knew, it meant the whole world knew.
"You know what? We're done here. Everly, come on. It's time to leave," Eric announces, ignoring my protest that I'm still eating. "You can finish your dinner upstairs."
"Wait, I want to order desert!" I try to calm Eric down, so I lean in closer, but he's busy glaring at Four. "Eric! Be nice!"
"What are you looking at?" He hisses, and Four blinks slowly.
"Are you sure you didn't plan it? You're awfully…attached to your wife. It wouldn't be that farfetched to think you'd plan this. She does look surprised every time someone mentions it," Four announces, right as Eric picks up the heavy steak knife from beside his plate.
"Points for bravery, Fourteen, but I'm in no mood to –" Eric starts, but he's cut off by Jason standing up.
"Hey! Hey! Everyone, shut up! Harrison is back!" He points toward the lobby of the hotel, though it's hard to make out anything from where we're sitting. "And I don't think he's alone!"
"Well, he wasn't alone when he left, soooo…." Rylan answers, but no pays attention to him.
I'm away from Eric's side in the blink of an eye, and out into the lobby before Eric can yell my name.
He is alone.
Harrison stands in the middle of the lobby like he knows I'm looking for him. He waits with his hands in his pockets, his posture casual, but his hair is a mess. The closer I get to him, the more disheveled he appears. His shirt is ripped in places, covered in dark stains and char marks, and his cheek has dried blood on it. His hands have blood on them, too. He pulls them out the second I see him, and my lips part in horror.
"Everly, wait!"
"Oh my God! Are you okay?" I leap at him, hugging him tightly despite the exhausted look on his face. He smells like fire, like burnt earth and ash, and when he hugs me back, it intensifies. "Harrison –"
"I'm fine. It'll take more than a truck fire to stop me," he laughs, touching one hand to the back of my hair. He holds still for a few seconds, then carefully untangles himself. "I need to go wash the blood off me. I figured I'd have time to get cleaned up before I saw you."
"What about…" I pause, dimly aware of Eric approaching. His footsteps are heavy on the floor, and he says my name quietly. "Forrest and Willow? Are they…. are they alive?"
"Everly," Eric says my name again, impatiently, and I whirl around in confusion. The look on his face tells me he knows something I don't, and if he knows they're dead and didn't tell me, I'm about to be furious. "Whoa, wait no! He's –"
"He's outside. They're just fine. I found them a few miles from Times Square. Freezing, hungry, and surrounded by a throng of theatre loving zombies. It took us two hours to clear the area. I brought them back, and unfortunately, it was a long drive. States are starting to set up check points, and the army is working to get things up and running. Gas was hard to come by. One idiot soldier filled up bags with gas and the truck blew up. Took some time to get us back on the road." Harrison explains, but his smile is bright as ever. "Your brother is incredibly, incredibly humbled by his cross-country journey. I don't think he or Willow will be leaving anytime soon."
"Where are they?" I glance behind him, expecting them to be lingering near the doors, but Harrison shakes his head.
"They have to be quarantined again. Unfortunately, everyone is at risk for infection since we were outside the gates, but the soldiers are allowed back in so long as they check in with Arlene once a day for the next week. But they'll be fine. You can visit him if you want. You'll just have to check in with Arlene first and –"
"I can't," I say it before Eric can, because I can feel his blood pressure rising from a few feet away. "I don't think that would be very smart right now. I'll wait until I'm sure he's not infected."
"Are you alright?" Harrison's stare turns curious, then less curious when Eric steps up beside me. "Actually, I think I can guess why you won't be heading his way."
"Yeah, I bet you can guess," Eric answers, but his voice sounds weird. There's a stress to it, like despite his superior attitude, he actually cares what Harrison thinks. "We, uh, found out while you were gone."
"How far along are you?" Harrison looks at me, and to my surprise, he looks pretty pleased. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine," I smile back, noticing Eric looks incredibly uncomfortable, especially when Harrison looks at him. "Are you two okay? What are you doing?"
"We're fine," Eric barks, but Harrison smiles even wider, and slaps Eric on the arm.
"I'm only gonna say this once, so listen good. If you fuck this up, it's all on you," he warns, and my eyes widen. "Don't worry, Everly. He'll behave. Eric here has been dreaming of having someone to come home to ever since Ashley didn't pan out. Speaking of Ashley, I heard she showed up here."
"She was a zombie," I announce, failing to sound even the least bit sorry. "They shot her."
"Good. It's what she deserves," Harrison grins, then steps back and shakes his head. "I'm going to shower. Enjoy your night. I'll see you in the morning."
"Goodnight," We both answer, and I'm oddly bummed when he leaves. It's not that I need to stay and talk to him for hours, but he's important to me, and I just learned he's important to Eric, too.
"Come on. I ordered you dessert if you want it," Eric offers, reaching for my hand. "I promise Four won't say anything else stupid."
"Can you really be so sure?" I smile up at him, and he smiles down at me, shrugging off my question. "What kind of dessert did you order? And when?"
"Just…come on." He pulls me along, becoming impatient when the doors open, and a slew of soldiers file in. They are loud. They are going on and on about their latest patrol, and I overhear the words 99.9% decrease in new infections. "We have a lot to celebrate. Plus, you have to tell Rylan we don't plan on having him babysit anytime soon. Or come over this weekend."
"Why me?!" I protest, but his words make me laugh. "Fine. I'll tell him we're…busy."
"Good."
Eric and I head back toward the restaurant, and I glance back at the lobby while we walk. There is no one there but the soldiers working the front desk, and a few soldiers carrying large boxes toward the kitchens. I make eye contact with Bob, still working behind the desk, and his cheeks burn red. He immediately averts his stare, then ducks his head down toward a computer screen.
It's been a while since Nita has been gone, but every so often, she showed back up in the strangest ways.
The second wave is quick.
It happens one evening while I lie in bed with my head on Eric's chest and his fingers twist a piece of my hair over and over. In the middle of twenty questions –all my questions, all no answers from Eric –his phone rings. I listen while he talks, but the call is to the point, and disheartening.
Several soldiers have found a nest of zombies a few miles north of here, buried deep in the woods by the coast. They were discovered purely by accident, and the orders are for them to be dealt with immediately.
"They're what?" Eric sits up, nearly knocking me off the bed, and his feet hit the ground before I can beg him not to go. "How many?"
"Eric, no!" I sit up and my nightgown slides down. It fits better these days, but it's nowhere near my size. Christian, upon hearing I was pregnant, took it upon himself to make dozens of new outfits for me. He included pajamas, and to my dismay, he seemed to have thought I was several feet taller than I am. This left me looking like a damsel in distress, one who tripped over her own gown while sprinting after her husband before he heads out to find zombies. While romantic in theory, it was far from practical. "No! Let someone else go! You said we were going to bed!"
"Fuck, what are the options?" Eric ignores me, though he pauses to eye me warily while I climb off the bed. It's awkward; my center of balance is off, and I nearly take myself out when my foot catches the comforter. "Okay, my vote is to burn them all. Can you call in backup? I can be there in fifteen, and we can be out that way in thirty. Maybe by 2230."
He speaks in code, like I can't tell time, and my scowl is instant. I know I'm living up to the reputation of clingy wife, but the idea of him trampling into the woods, at ten thirty at night, to a nest of zombies, is horrifying.
"Eric, come back to bed!" I demand, trying to be threatening. I change my posture to match his, I move my hair out of my eyes, and I stand as tall as I can. He ignores me. Eric smiles blandly, gesturing for me to move, and I realize I'm either going to lose this battle, or convince him I can go along.
Which he'll refuse.
"Okay, see you there. Have Jason grab gasoline or any lighter fluid he can find." Eric hangs up by jabbing the screen with his finger, and he shakes his head. "Everly, no. I know what you're going to say, and the answer is no. You can't go. You don't have pants on."
"I have pants. Somewhere," I remind him, shaking my own head. "There is no way you're going out there alone."
"I won't be alone. Jason and Rylan were called in. So was Karl. Harrison is leading the mission," Eric explains, heading toward the closet. I watch him rifle through his shirts until he finds the blackest one possible and pulls it over his head. "I already know you're going to ask if you can go, and even if you stay in the truck, there's a risk of infection. You can stay here, where it's safe, until I get back."
"What if I don't want to stay here?" I demand, knowing I'm walking a fine line between concern and full on freaking out. "Why can't I go? I can shoot a gun. I could shoot a flare gun and help light the fire."
"Or you could go to sleep and not be put in any danger," Eric counters, heading right at me. His hands find my shoulders, and I hate the words he's speaking. "There are about six hundred zombies hiding out. Jack is calling almost all active soldiers down that way. He wants to burn them. They're the last in the state."
"Okay, but –"
"You have more than yourself to worry about," Eric points out, his tone softening slightly. "Normally, I'd say yes, but…"
"I'm not afraid. I won't throw up, either." I hold his stare, refusing to back down out of both principle, and a morbid curiosity to see a nest of zombies. "Please. I'll be really quiet. I'll stay in the truck, and I won't distract you."
"You know, when things go back to normal, and I go back to work, you can't come along on the calls. Most nights will be like this. Any shift could be my last." Eric pauses, and this time, I'm the one who reaches for him.
The space between us is even less these days, and I find it oddly comforting.
"Then let's take advantage of this time while we can." I rise up on my toes, touching my lips to his, until he agrees.
It's quick.
With a curt nod, and a sigh of defeat, he instructs me to get dressed. I do find some pants –leggings I'd taken from a store back in Las Vegas –and we head downstairs. The thought of seeing a nest of zombies should be horrifying, but I can't help but wonder what it looks like. Or who found it. Or how they found it.
Unfortunately, I only make it as far as Eric's father.
Daniel Coulter, Chief of Police and apparent Czar of the safe zone, clearly has other plans. He smiles warmly, pats my arm, shakes his head, and loudly yells for Camille to take me upstairs. My protest and scowl is not enough to sway any of them. Daniel loudly announces that he would prefer it if his unborn grandchild did not become a zombie, and I'm more than welcome to call Eric while he drives out there.
Even my plans to stay in the truck get shot down, and in the end, Camille does walk me upstairs, gently offering to stay with me until I fall asleep.
It's not a horrible decision.
Eric returns hours later, covered in blood and guts. He smells like fire and death, and he quietly announces the zombies have been handled. He also announces he's come from the infirmary, and the stitches Arlene gave him itch.
He falls asleep before I can ask what happen, but the gash is dark and deep, and I spend the rest of the night worried he'll turn into a zombie.
He doesn't.
Eric sleeps until noon, and when he awakes, he groggily informs me it wasn't a zombie that got him, but Four.
The idiot tripped over Rylan while heading back from creating a boundary for the fire, and Rylan fell into Eric. Four then tripped over the both of them, and on his way down, gracelessly stabbed Eric in the arm with the knife he'd brought.
Eric grouchily informs me Four has been suspended for life, and he's pretty sure his girlfriend dumped him, too.
He goes back to sleep, and this time, I'm the one slide my fingers through his hair, softly saying his name for only me to hear.
I don't see Forrest until after the new year.
The makeshift calendar reads January, and Quinten has been marking off the days with a heavy hand. Supplies are limited now, and despite having the state of Oregon to ourselves, we aren't entirely alone. A few days ago, Jack announced survivors are beginning to emerge. They have started to come by the safe zone, not wanting in and cautious as ever, but the start of some normalcy is greatly hoped for.
Most talk with Harrison. He explained they are farmers. Construction workers. Hunters. Lots of local police who chose to protect their families rather than the state. Some are teachers. Others are former cashiers, clerks, nurses, and veterinarians. Because there is no main government, they are focused on fixing things from within, starting at the ground level. Some of them know about large manufacturing plants, others have been working to cultivate greenhouses and other methods of growing food.
The only downfall to this is our involvement means we stay here. Harrison was the first one to point out that if we become involved here, sticking around with Jack's army and working to get Oregon up and running, then we would be expected to stay. We could leave. But it would seem unfair to those who were depending on us, or even rude, after months of taking refuge at the hotel.
Harrison also pointed out that we'd be returning to a city that isn't doing as well, or maybe would never come back to life. He had little contact with anyone from Lakeview, and absolutely no contact with anyone from Haling Cove. He told us he was fine with whatever we decide, but at some point, we had to pick.
After months of wondering when the zombies would die off, it was hard to believe the day was within sight. The choice left Eric chewing on his cheek, because his father was very vocal about wanting to return to Lakeview, and so were Jason and Rylan. Even Karl and Charlotte announced they'd like to go back, because they'd both left their homes and families there. There was no contact with anyone in that city as of now, but Harrison promised it would come.
I was torn.
I didn't love Oregon by any stretch of the imagination, but I'd come to appreciate everyone here. My biggest fear was that Eric would return to Lakeview, and I would hate it.
I was trying to look at it as an adventure. Daniel had stopped by to visit the other night, explaining he had a large house Eric and I could have, and he had no doubts the town would turn around in no time. He was willing to do whatever he could to help establish a local government, and if no one was willing to take over, then he would.
He'd make an excellent governor or mayor, but right now, I have other things on my mind.
"Do you have an appointment?"
The girl behind the counter eyes me intently, and I hold up the ID badge with my picture on it. "Everly Coulter. I'm here to see Forrest Carlen."
"Sure." She types something in, and the keyboard clacks noisily. "Found him. He's working in section three. You'll need to take a left, then head all the way down the hallway. If you get lost, ask anyone in the offices and they'll help you." She smiles, then points to the doors. "I'll buzz you in. On your way out, stop back here so I can confirm you've left."
"Sure, thanks."
"Go ahead." She waves me past her, and there's an electronic beep, then a buzzing as the doors open automatically.
My walk to see Forrest is quick. The hallway reveals a stretch of the mall I would normally have no reason to visit. It's dark and cold back here, and silent. The only lights on are the security lights, and a few flicker as I walk beneath them. I take the first left, like the receptionist said, then proceed down the hallway. It takes some time to reach the end, but when I do, the room is more alive than I'm used to.
Workers are everywhere. They are pulling in inventory from wherever it's been taken from; some have been traded with local farmers, others have been scavenged from the furthest parts of the state. There are boxes of goods as well. One area is nothing but medical supplies –crates of vaccines needing to be put into refrigerators immediately, antibiotics, and several boxes marked fragile –and there are numerous security guards in front of it. Other areas are set aside for textiles, furniture, and clothing.
It's a strange sight, like the world is slowly waking up from a deep sleep, and it's unfolding right in front of my eyes.
"Hey! Harrison said you might come by today!"
I look over to see Forrest jogging in my direction, looking alive and happy. He has only the faintest hint of a scar on the side of his face, and I know it's from where his truck turned over. Harrison explained a few of the gorier details to me, but only after Eric had gone to work.
Forrest and Willow didn't find her parents. They did make it to New York, and they made it deep into the city. Rather than finding the signal or any clue as to where her parents could have taken refuge, they instead found hordes of the undead, taking up every free inch of the city.
New York had been hit hard.
The dense population and buildings made it impossible to flee, and once the outbreak started, it spread like wildfire. Building by building, people tried to hide out and stay safe, but at some point, they had to emerge. The zombies outside were ravenous, almost a different breed; they were fast, hungry, and willing to lose a limb in order to eat. Their lust for blood was frantic and never ending, and the swarms made it impossible to sneak out and look for food. People were stuck in apartments, stuck in luxury hotels, and generally stuck in tiny stores or sprawling shopping centers, until they absolutely couldn't take it.
Forrest and Willow ran out of gas before they could find shelter. The truck sputtered to a stop, in the middle of a zombie lined street, and Forrest knew their time would run out quickly. His emergency call to Harrison bought him six painful days. By the time Harrison got there, they were trapped in the truck, out of food, and near the brink of insanity, because the zombies had turned the truck on its side. They'd broken the window, a few of the sharper pieces slicing Forrest's face while he tried to cover Willow, and they were seconds away from making contact.
Luckily, Harrison showed up just in time. He and his men took out the zombies eagerly anticipating a meal, got Forrest and Willow inside one of their trucks, and fled the state as fast they could. Once back, they quarantined until they could pass Arlene's inspection, then were released into the general population.
Willow took a job working at the small, but absolutely necessary, daycare. She seemed to enjoy it; she was good with the kids and the hours were flexible. She never once complained, and after spending days trapped in a truck, she soaked up the free space of the mall and the safety of being inside the safe zone. I only saw her from afar, and she looked relieved as she stared up at the ceilings, closing her eyes before heading home from work.
Forrest took a job working inside, and I had only seen him once in passing. He was walking to work while I was walking to see Eric, and his stare flew to me. Unable to cross the wave of soldiers walking around us, he was swept away, yelling for me that he was sorry.
I was sorry, too.
I missed him, and I would be missing him again very soon.
"Hi Forrest. I'm sorry I didn't come by sooner. I wanted to. I've been working a lot. I covered a few shifts for some of the other bakers," I reach for Forrest, hugging him tightly, and he nods against my hair. "Are you guys doing okay? Is Willow happy to be back?"
"Yeah, I don't think either of us plan on ever leaving again. It was…not what I was expecting."
"What were you expecting?" I lift my head away from him, curious if he really thought he could simply drive around an empty city and find his in-laws. "Just…less zombies?"
"Maybe," Forrest cracks a grin. "Everly, it was brutal. Even though I had Willow there, it was lonely. Cold. Dangerous. Every night, I thought about how it could be our last. More than once, we parked to sleep and someone tried to break in. The zombies…. they were everywhere. New York was so bad. I was expecting something else, I guess. I dunno. I feel bad, though. I sometimes think if we could go back…maybe we'd find them. Maybe things are different now," Forrest sighs, looking away from me. "I know Willow still wonders about them."
"You shouldn't go," I shake my head firmly, knowing he won't. He'd come back scared, and Forrest was rarely afraid. "It's not likely they've survived. Not even with things turning around."
"No, it's not." He agrees, waving to someone wandering by. "I uh, I wanted to tell you…Willow and I are going to stay here. Jack offered me a supervisor position, and I think I'm going to take it. There's some housing nearby, and he said by February, the safe zone should be expanded to include most of the surrounding city. Willow likes it here. I don't think she's up for driving across the country again."
"I think that's a really good idea," I smile, trying to memorize his face. I have his new number, a cell phone provided by Jack, and I contemplate taking his picture so I can add one to his contact information. "I'm sorry I didn't come see you sooner. I had to wait until...well, until they were sure you weren't infected."
"Nah, don't be sorry. I uh, wouldn't want you to risk getting sick. How are you feeling, by the way? I saw Eric the other day. He was telling uh...Rylan that you're having a boy."
I blink in surprise.
Eric must have attended some appointment I did not, because I certainly had no clue what we are having.
"I'm fine. I'm feeling way better these days, and…I don't know what we're having. I never went to the appointment because…" I pause, trying to think of a good reason why I hadn't gone down there. "I didn't want to. They can't do much because there's no obgyn, and it's just a general doctor. I feel okay, though, and at some point, I'll have a baby."
"You seem happy, and Eric seems happy." Forrest holds my stare, and there's nothing but kindness in his voice. "He said you're moving in a few weeks."
I nod, and my answer sticks in my throat.
"We're moving in three days," I try not to look right at Forrest, because I don't want to cry. I loathe crying, and really, he had already left me to go find Willow's parents. I didn't need him to stay, and I didn't need to stay for him. "I'm going to Lakeview. Eric's dad has a house there, and they want to start getting the city back together. I think Daniel heard from some of his fellow officers, and they're just waiting for him to return."
"Won't Jack be bummed? I heard that Daniel was a huge help. So was Eric. Even his friends. I know all these branches are vying to be the lead, but it seems like Jack really liked you guys."
"He is bummed, but this isn't our home," I shake my head, and my words are honest. "I'll be glad to leave here. It was safe, and it was the best thing during the worst of the outbreak, but I don't want to live here. I hate the rain and the snow, and I hate how cold it is."
"Yeah, you were never one for storms. When you were little, you used to cry when it would rain," Forrest grins, but his smile falters. "I'm gonna miss you, Everly, but I'm glad you'll be okay."
"Yeah," I nod. "I'll miss you, too. And I'm glad you have Willow. I think you guys will be just fine here."
"We will. And if we aren't, Harrison said to call him. But I think this is where we're meant to stay." Forrest hugs me again, and this time, I don't answer him.
Selfishly, I want to get out of here. The strict rules have kept us alive, but I want more than living in a hotel and waving a security badge to visit Eric. I want to have somewhere for just Eric and myself, and I want nothing more than a backyard, or a front yard, where I can enjoy the warm summer days, and not worry that someone has hopped the large fence or accidentally triggered another lock down.
Selfishly, I want away from all of this.
The zombies.
The army.
The memory of what happened here, what happened with Evelyn, and what happened when Eric didn't listen to me. I want to be far, far away from here, because once we leave, I know things will start to get better.
They already are.
This morning, one of Eric's officers, a rookie named Edward called, and told him he'd been hiding in Lakeview since this whole thing started, and the town is waiting for him to come back. He told him there are plenty of people left, all scared and afraid, but willing to work to make Lakeview what it once was. He even volunteered to work weekends, and Eric's head tilted, which meant the offer must mean more than I could understand.
"So, I guess this is goodbye?" Forrest asks, low and careful, wincing when I nod. "Everly, this doesn't feel right. You should stay. You and Eric should stay here and –"
"It's not really a goodbye," I interrupt, pulling away to smile. "We'll see each other again. I have no doubts you'll wander through Lakeview at some point. You could stay with us. I don't think Eric would mind. So, it's not goodbye. I'll see you soon."
Forrest makes a face, wrinkling his nose and shrugging, but he knows I'm right.
It's not a real goodbye, nor is it permanent.
It can't be.
Not after all that's happened, and not after Harrison saved his ass.
"I should get back. Will you call me when you get there?" Forrest asks, and my answer is quick.
I promise him I'll call, and I intend to keep my promise.
We don't say any other major goodbyes.
There are few people here who care that we are leaving, but most of the ones who care are coming with us. Daniel and Camille pack up their things into a truck that'll be driven back once they reach Lakeview. Jason and Meghan are leaving. Karl and Charlotte are coming along. Rylan and Christina have carefully packed Theo into his carrier and have taken enough cat treats to last months. Only Four and Stella are staying, two tiny, weird souls who have found each other during the zombie apocalypse, and no one was surprised when they announced their decision.
Stella clearly has no issue overlooking his abnormally odd self, and Four is just happy someone likes him.
I do say goodbye to Jack and Arlene, both looking disappointed that they won't get to see Eric's child be born, but Harrison stands behind them, rolling his eyes and pointing to his watch, and so I offer up a very gracious thanks for allowing us to stay with them. I accept Arlene's apology about Nita, spoken hastily while she hugs me goodbye, and I accept Jack's as well. Eric rolls his eyes at Arlene and refuses to hug her, but he accepts Jack's offer to walk us out.
The safe zone is quiet, but not. The walls are being taken down, moved back hundreds of feet to encompass the city Eric and I drove through. It will expand over two hundred miles, and slowly, week by week, it will take on more. All around us, soldiers work to accept new civilians, and the medical tents are prepped and ready to have them come through. There are dozens getting vaccinated as we walk by, and a few look on curiously.
"Are you ready? I want to be out of Oregon by dark." Harrison walks ahead a few steps, and he gestures towards the truck Eric will drive. "Is that everything?"
"I think so," Eric calls back, holding my hand tightly, ignoring the stares of the civilians. He looks striking today, dressed all in black and with his hair recently cut. I can see myself in the reflection of his sunglasses, much shorter, wearing a dark dress made by Christian, and I smile.
Christian had full on sobbed when he learned we were leaving. He asked a million questions about Lakeview, none of which I could answer, and demanded to know my new address. I had almost none of this information, so he hunted down Eric. A few days later, he dropped off dozens of bags for us, each one filled to the brim, and I had the weirdest feeling we'd see him again very soon.
Those very bags are now being carefully loaded into the back of the truck.
It's a bittersweet moment, one heavy with anticipation and a few nerves. In the distance, the mountains splay as far as the eye can see, beckoning us forward. The roads are empty, though not entirely, and there is some promise in the air. It feels far unlike the way we arrived here, hopeful but disappointed at being turned away, then rushed inside once Eric found me at Evelyn's compound.
I say a silent goodbye to all of it, vowing to leave this place in the past.
I know if Eric and I ever do come back this way, maybe years from now to check it out, it'll look nothing like it does now. I won't be able to find my way to the hotel rooms we've stayed in, nor will I remember the numbers. I won't want to wander the mall, knowing which stores had been turned into makeshift meeting rooms or general stores, and I definitely won't want to visit where the long-gone infirmary will have sat.
I say a silent goodbye to all of it, holding on to only the best memories –like meeting Eric's father, getting to know Jason, and Rylan, and the rest of their friends, Eric confessing that he loved me, and finding out that we'll soon have a child –and I leave everything else behind.
Especially my safe zone mandated ID.
I toss it into the trash with a smile, and this time, I don't look back.
Our drive takes me right back to the first time I ever sat in Eric's patrol car.
I sit in the passenger seat, watching Eric drive. This truck is one from the military, but we have Jack's permission to take it. As a thank you for helping him run the safe zone, he's sending us with a parade of trucks and soldiers, and while much different than driving with only Eric, there's major comfort in having a military escort drive us home.
I pull my feet up beneath me, catching him sneaking a glimpse in my direction, and he reaches for my hand.
"Are you okay over there? You're awfully far away," he mutters, taking his eyes off the road for split second. "Are you going to throw up?"
"Yes," I laugh, teasingly swatting his hand away before taking hold of it. I slide over, awkwardly since the truck is designed much differently than his patrol car, until I'm as close as I can get. He relaxes when I'm against him, then lets go to put his arm around me. "I was just…thinking how it felt like the very first time I got in your car. And you asked for all my information, including if I was married. Little did I know, you were just trying to see if you had a shot."
"It's routine paperwork!" He answers defensively, and his scowl is merely because his questions had been ridiculous. "I needed to know if you had family I was supposed to contact. Have you learned nothing about being an officer?"
"Not really," I admit, cracking up when he mockingly raises an eyebrow. "I can work the radio. Hey, do you remember listening to the calls while we drove? How they'd ask for help from available officers, or we'd hear someone radio a zombie attack happening in real time?"
"I remember the calls all too well," he answers, fingers tightening against my arm. "The first few days, I was shocked you didn't ask to turn them off. Some were pretty graphic."
"Do you think other officers were out there? Do you think they were listening?" I wiggle closer, watching the road twist and turn in reverse.
I don't remember this part very well. I have only the faintest recollection of driving this way, and each memory is a blur of trees, more trees, and endless pavement. I do remember sitting with Eric, in total shock after escaping from Evelyn, but not much else. Eric remembers it just fine. He drives without much concern, like he knows exactly where he's going, and he stays silent as we wind up a mountain, taking us away from the safe zone.
A few minutes pass before we reach a check point, and we merely slow down enough to be waved through.
"Yeah, I'm sure there are officers all over who listened to the calls. We could have used the scanner to listen to different states, but I tried to keep it to the ones we were in," Eric tilts his head as the truck in front of us slows down, but it's only because the road turns to a steep incline, and the whole truck shifts. "I think anyone listening knew the best and only thing they could do was stay alive. Find shelter. Ammunition. Food. There were no official commands coming in from anywhere, so anyone responding was doing so out of the kindness of their own heart."
"I'm glad you let me come with you," I think back to the first time I met him, in the woods, about to be eaten alive by Landon. "I know it was my choice, but…"
"I'm glad you agreed to come along," he leans into me, smirking when I glance up. "Otherwise, I'd have had to experience all of this alone. Shooting Peter. Meeting Theo. Jason's alien extravaganza. Eating dinner with Four."
"He could have been your roommate," I offer, snickering when Eric's eyes narrow. "Think of how much fun that would have been."
"I try never to think about Four," Eric retorts, but his malice isn't at all real. "We never would have crossed paths. Evelyn would still be alive, your brother would probably be missing a few limbs, and none of us would have been forced to meet Arlene."
"Will you miss her?"
"Fuck no."
His answer makes me laugh, and we lapse into comfortable silence. There are no panicked distress calls this drive, nor are there zombies wandering alongside the road, or motels with signs claiming no vacancy. Eventually, staring at the road makes me tired, so I close my eyes. I focus on the feeling of Eric beside me, his uniform stiff and starched to perfection, and how good he smells. I fall asleep when the radio does crackle, and I barely catch the tail end of whatever the operator working said.
Her words about a missing person don't register, not until I open my eyes in an entirely different city, and Eric cheerfully informs me we're back in Vegas.
We don't stay long.
After a single night in Las Vegas, in a decent motel far, far, far away from the strip and anywhere that could possibly be considered shady, endless hours in the car, and enough gas station snacks to make me never want to eat pretzels again, we arrive in Haling Cove.
I stare at Eric in confusion, but he shrugs off my questions and continues driving through the outskirts of my hometown.
It looks nothing like I remember.
The buildings are the same, but most are boarded up. Nature has taken over in several spots, and there are dead branches and vines climbing up the walls. Roofs are collapsed, windows are broken, and there's the strong feeling of abandonment, especially in areas where the irrigation ditches are overrun with trash and dark, black water, and the signs are spray painted with a warning to go back.
The main sign, the one with the town's name on it, has been crossed out with black spray paint.
"What are we doing here?" I sit up straighter. My eyes burn from staring at the road and trying to guess where we were. "Aren't we going to Lakeview?"
"We are. Edward called when you were sleeping. They wanted someone to drive through here, and I thought maybe you'd want to see it one more time," Eric answers casually, keeping his eyes on the road. "He said they've had reports of citizens asking for help. But not help with the zombies, help with rebuilding their homes and stores. They want the town back."
"Really?" I shove my hair out of my face, having pulled it up hours ago before falling asleep somewhere near the border, and I'm oddly torn about being back in Haling.
On one hand, there's some relief to seeing the actual town. The further we drive into it, the less abandoned it looks. There are plenty of homes that are just fine. There are even some people outside, though they glance our way cautiously. Some are in the process of taking down boarded up windows and makeshift fences, and others are clearing out driveways. There are some zombies, but they are dead. Laid up in piles along the road, brittle wrinkled skin and lopped off heads and limbs, and my assumption is someone is coming to take them away.
We pass one lone zombie head, vacant black eyes left skyward and sunken into black skin, and to my relief, it doesn't move.
"Makes me miss Bob. These are all dried out," Eric comments, offhandedly, and keeps driving, winding through the older part of town, until we near the ice cream shoppe and fountain. He stops to park nearby the fountain, and he lowly says my name.
I'm already halfway out of the car.
The ice cream shoppe is nothing like I remember it. When we left Haling Cove, it appeared fine, but it was crawling with the zombies and people who'd recently been bit. The neon sign was lit up, the doors were open, and the lights were on.
Now, it stands unopened, but covered in fliers for missing people. There isn't an inch of free space left, and most are tattered and torn, placed in endless rows. I approach the store slowly, my eyes raking over every makeshift flier, and the hundreds of faces. People have printed out photos, taped up polaroids, or simply written the names of their family members. Most offer a reward, and almost every single one overlaps another.
My picture is right in the middle.
Actually, it's all over.
There are dozens of photos of me, mostly smiling, and a few where I'm not smiling, and my name written below the picture. Everly Carlen, 18, missing since August. Contact Hank or Eden Carlen immediately. The others are written sloppily, like someone had frantically scrawled the information down in a fit of panic, but they list my parents address and several ways to get ahold of them.
I reach out gingerly, and I touch one of the newer ones. It's a picture of me on the patio, sitting with a drink in my hand and Sophia and Courtney off to the side. It's a lifetime ago, a day where the sun was warm and comforting, and the only excitement was that Carole let Howard pick out some new bird bath to place in their yard.
"Edward recognized your name when I said you were coming back with me. He saw your picture up, and he figured he'd swing by the address. He tried to knock on their door, but they weren't home. He thinks they're out looking for you. Some lady named Carole chased him off the property before he could explain who he was. He said she kept yelling about how she was right all along." Eric comes to a halt behind me, and his boots thud over the cracked pavement. "Something about a chicken virus and how she'd just defeated it."
"They're alive?" I turn to look up at him, and his lips are pressed together. "My parents are here?"
"Edward thinks so. I figured we'd try…after you saw this." He pauses, and his gaze skirts to the side, stopping on a picture of me sitting with Zander. He stares at it for a moment, but his expression stays neutral. "If you want to see them."
"What about all these other people?" I look back at the faces beside me, all bright and cheery, and my stomach is so tense I might throw up. "Do you think they're alive?"
"I have no clue," Eric is honest, and blunt. "You were my priority to keep alive. I haven't looked into any of these names, but once the police station reopens here, it'll be flooded with missing persons cases. My guess is most are dead."
I nod, having guessed this. I reach for Eric's hands, and his uniform is so sharp it sounds stiff when he moves. "Do you think we can we just drive by? So, I can see if they're there?"
"I planned on it."
Eric retreats a step, and I follow him, stopping to take a flier with me. It comes down easily, falling into my hands without any trouble, and I silently head back to the patrol car. After months of wondering why they hadn't tried to find me, I had my answer.
They had.
The house is unfamiliar.
After months on the road, it feels strange to return to my former home. I remember it a certain way, large and charming and decorated with flowers and treehouses, but when we arrive, it looks defeated. Like all the homes around it, it's obvious it was once boarded up. There are the tell-tale signs where wood was nailed, added dead bolts and reinforcements, and the driveway now has a gate to ward off anyone who doesn't belong. There are a few flowers left, but mostly stems and shriveled leaves, and the only greenery is the trees.
Eric parks alongside the house, and for a split second, I feel like he's going to wait in the car.
"Are you coming with me?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't I?" He looks confused, rightfully so, and he takes a second to fix his hair. When it's to his liking –though honestly, it looks exactly the same –he adjusts the collar of his uniform and throws me a slight smirk. "What? Do you want me to wait in the car? Should I be worried if they are home?"
"No," I shake my head, opening up the door and climbing out while he grabs his phone. He's so much like the Eric I first met, that it feels as though had my parents been home during Ian and Landon's attack, Eric would simply be walking me back to meet them. This alternate universe swings wildly, and I wonder what would have happened had we parted ways. "Do you think they're here?"
"I don't know. It's dark," Eric glances at the house, leading the way up the porch steps. "We'll try the front door. It looks like someone fixed it."
I hesitate, staying a step behind him, because I think of how it was when I left.
I'd run out of the house as fast I could, sprinting to go find Ian, only to discover the whole world was upside down. I'd later returned with Eric, and unfortunately, ran right into Hazel, and our scuffle had left the downstairs a disaster. I can still see the blood on the floor, the ruined kitchen table, and the look of disbelief on Eric's face that Hazel really only had one arm.
"I think we should go and see if they're out back. Maybe –"
I start to speak, but I stop when the front door opens, and like a scene out of movie, there is my mother. She looks at me in shock, and her gasp is accompanied by my name, and her shoving Eric out of the way to get to me.
"Everly!"
"Mom!"
She practically collapses once she's close enough. She hugs me tightly, tighter than Harrison, tighter than Eric, and her words are an incoherent mess. She swears softly, clutching me so hard I can barely breathe, then yells for someone to get my father. She yells again for my dad, yelping his name in between hysterical sobbing, and her fingers dig into my arms, refusing to let me go.
"Oh my God, Everly!"
"I tried to call you," I blurt out, not even knowing where to start. My trip with Eric seems like a whirlwind of a dream, especially now that I'm here. "You didn't answer. No one did!"
"I lost the phone. I gave it to Zander to play with while we drove, and he left it somewhere. Everyone else's died. We got to …to your father and were stuck in a relief zone. They sent these troops in to keep everyone safe, but we were split up. I didn't see Paisley and Holly for a few days, and when I did, everyone was terrified. There was no power for months. Everly, I am so sorry. I only meant to be gone a few hours. When I got back, you were gone. You were gone, and the house was a mess and there was blood…there was a lot of blood." My mother speaks in a rush of grief-stricken rambling, doing her best to explain what had gone wrong. "I told your father we had to get back. I told him I left you…I left you alone…"
"I wasn't alone for long," I lean back so I can see her, and her hands find my face. She smiles, shaking her head like she's not sure this is real, and she looks the same. Long dark hair, an oversized sweater, but the stress is all over her face. "Um, this is Eric. I was with him for most of it."
"Eric?" She lifts her head up, blinking at him like he's a ghost, and she doesn't smile. She looks stunned, and her fingers tense on my skin. "You were with…Eric?"
"Hello." Eric greets her coolly, staying a careful distance away. He watches us silently, his expression unreadable, until my mother really looks at me. "And yes, she was with me. I found her in the woods. We left Haling Cove that same day. We came back once we got word there was life in Haling."
"I see," my mom pauses, and her grip lessens just a touch. "You were gone the whole time? You weren't here by yourself?"
"No," I shake my head, listening to someone fumbling inside the house, and the faint banging of a hammer. "I left that day. Um, Ian and Landon attacked me, and I wound up running into Eric. I left with him when I realized I would die on my own. Hazel…Hazel got inside, and it seemed like everyone was infected. So, I left with Eric. I learned how to kill the zombies, and we stayed wherever we could find. There was a safe zone in Oregon we were at, and his dad was there. And Camille."
"You don't need to bring up Camille. She's not important," Eric scoffs. "My father is the Chief of Police in Lakeview. We're heading that way after we leave here."
My mother stares at me, her lips part. She steps back, looking at me intently, and I can see everything click together in her mind.
"Everly, are you… pregnant? Is Eric…are you guys…." She tries to ask all the questions at the same time, but she stops when I smile. "Are you…together?"
"Eric is my husband. We got married in Vegas." I smile at Eric, watching him smirk at the memory of Jason taking ages to pick out a ring for Meghan, and it hits me that Jason never even proposed with all the rings he'd taken. "And yeah, I am. I don't know how far along I am, because…I haven't seen a doctor. But um, I'm going to Lakeview with Eric. We're going to live there."
"Oh," she blinks, taking all of this the best she can, and I don't blame her one bit for looking torn. "Lakeview is nice. It's not that far. Everly, I really should go get your father. He'll want to see you. He won't believe this. He –" she pauses, and I know she's worried. "How long are you here for? Are you in a hurry?"
"No, we have plenty of time," Eric answers, because really, I have no clue about our schedule. "Everly, is that good with you? We can make it to Lakeview by nightfall. Daniel and Camille are almost there, and there's no rush. They'll get things set up for us."
"Okay," I smile, and my emotions are indescribable. I reach for his hand, and inside, I hear Zander scream my name at the top of his lungs. "Are you sure you're ready to meet everyone?"
My mother smiles when Eric looks at me, and I hope he knows what he's getting into.
"No."
I burst out laughing, and my timing is perfect.
A second later, Zander flies through the front door, past me, and right at Eric. He yells that he knows him, despite having never met him, and for the rest of the evening, Zander refuses to let go.
Chapter 18: Z is for Zombie
Chapter Text
Thanks to Erin for editing this epilogue!
"Z is for zombie. Rip out their spines. Stab their brains, and listen to their whines."
Eric reads the last page of Jason's children's book, complete with picture instructions of how to behead a zombie, while his daughter stares up at him skeptically. She waves her hands when he closes the book, and he obediently reopens it so she can stare at the pictures. Her actions make me smile, because I know the book by heart. Eva gets mad unless you read it every single night, and not just because her second godfather insists that she knows he wrote it.
She's only a year old, but Jason is one of her favorite people in the entire world.
"Do you want me to take her? I know you have to leave soon." I hate to interrupt Eric and Eva's moment, because the sight before me is one that makes my stomach tighten all over again. There's a wholesomeness to the sight of one hulking Lieutenant Coulter holding his daughter before bed. There's a panic in knowing he's heading into work soon, but it's temporary, and I'm slowly getting used to him being gone for hours at a time.
"I can put her to bed if you want. Rylan is covering until I get there. He said it's quiet, but he's also been working since early this morning," Eric looks at me from the rocker, a pink chair meant for someone much smaller than him, and Eva looks extra small in his arms.
Almost a year ago, exactly, she came into this world, looking like her father's clone, right down to the tiny scowl on her face. I hadn't gone to any real doctor's appointments, and not just because Lakeview had few practicing physicians on hand. When we arrived here, I was shocked to see the town bounce back from the apocalypse with surprising speed.
The police station was reinstated first, along with fire and rescue. The hospital opened at twenty five percent capacity, but it was more than enough for the first few months. Small stores and businesses began the hard work of rebuilding and cleaning up, and most opened by late summer. The grocery store is still hit and miss, depending on what local farmers are able to grow, but they frequently trade with nearby towns to make sure we have enough food on hand.
It's all new to me. I'm not from Lakeview, and I'd never once thought about moving here. I had some apprehension about living somewhere I knew nothing about, but I found everyone very welcoming. It helped that I was introduced as Eric's wife, and he was both highly respected and highly feared as a Lieutenant. I did see a doctor here, but she was nervous given where we'd come from, and even more reluctant to spend time with someone who'd been so close to the zombies.
My appointments with her were quick and few; I had a single ultrasound, and three visits total. When Eva was born, I had no clue if she was a boy or girl. I didn't even know how far along I was. I woke up feeling sort of nauseous and tired, and by lunch time, I was irritated that I had cramps. I called Camille, hoping she'd bring me some tea or at least listen for a few minutes before reassuring me things were fine.
Instead, she showed up ten minutes later and brought me to the hospital.
Eva arrived shortly after. Eric showed up minutes before her birth, looking handsome but confused, and I nearly killed him for having both a coffee and a donut in his hand. He was on the phone with one of his officers, idly eating the donut and droning on about police codes and how they weren't going to change him, and he only hung up when I shrieked that it hurt, and I was never ever having sex with him again, if he didn't hang up right that second.
Two pushes later, Eva made her debut, and I sunk back against the hospital bed, dressed in a hideous hospital gown, watching Eric hold her. He blinked a few times, while the staff worked around him, and he didn't respond when they asked if he was alright. The look on his face was funny; my heart sunk, knowing he'd assumed she'd be a boy, and what on Earth would he do with a daughter. I wished I could read his mind, because I'm sure it was screaming that the tiny creature in his hands would most certainly not survive the zombie apocalypse, and she'd definitely barf if a zombie came too close. Not to mention she was small; her little hands were miniscule, and her tiny feet wouldn't be wearing any combat boots anytime soon.
"Sir? Are you okay? We need to take some vitals…"
Eric didn't answer. He looked up at me, one large hand holding his daughter against his chest, and he stared. And stared. And stared. Someone asked if he was okay, and some else grouchily told him they needed to wash her off and he had to hand her over.
He refused.
He stared even harder, while Camille helped braid my hair off my face and Daniel could be heard yelling as he ran down the hallway, then he blurted out that she looked just like me.
Ironically, I thought she looked just like him. She shared his same scrunched up face when she didn't get her way, and she loathed being taken away from him. I thought they were twins, though she had dark hair and certainly was nowhere near his size. Even now, right before her first birthday, she's still shorter than he'd like. He often holds her up, muttering that she'll need to be taller to fight off whatever comes after the zombies –werewolves, demons, maybe pirates –and she glares at him every time.
The first year of her life was a total challenge. A new town, a new-ish husband, because being at home with Eric and a newborn was much different than living in a hotel room, and a new family. Jason moved in next door. Rylan moved in two houses down. Daniel and Camille lived a street away, and came over almost nightly, frequently bringing dinner and dessert. My parents visited often, taking Eva whenever I needed to sleep or needed a second to myself, and I was eternally grateful. I was especially grateful for Eric, who was surprisingly patient and understanding, and never once seemed irritated by either of us.
Even Harrison came by, always with a gift for Eva, staying as long as he possibly could.
Sure, things got sticky sometimes. Eric went back to work much sooner than I'd hoped, and I was left alone, with a tiny baby, trying to keep both of us alive. Most nights, we fell asleep on Eric's pillow. I'd wake up to him picking her up and carefully setting her down in her own room, before he'd climb into bed with me. There was never an urgency in his movements, only the desire to be close to me.
I found myself irrationally impatient for him to come home each night. Because once he did, the mornings were mine. He'd sleep in –though he loathed both this night schedule and sleeping half the day away –and when he woke up, Eva was usually napping. I'd spend the afternoons curled around him, my head on his chest and his arm thrown over me, and he'd tell me about the sort of calls he had to take.
They were much different than he was used to.
He wasn't responding to things like murders and drug deals gone bad, but situations like zombie parts discovered in places they shouldn't be, or a neighbor accusing someone of being infected. The fear from the zombie outbreak lingered, sneaking up when it got dark. There were some bar fights at one of the rowdier bars in town, and a few disputes in the twenty-four-hour grocery store. Eric answered calls from little children, afraid of the dark after their parents had gone next door to visit friends, and pleas for help when someone wasn't sure if their family member was sick with a normal sickness, or sick with the zombie flu.
Luckily, it was starting to die down now.
Every so often, Eric would bring up something that would take me right back to our time together. I'd think of days spent driving, my feet pulled beneath me and my shoes untied, and how it really was him and I against the world. I'd think of our time at the sketchy motels, the stores where he let me take whatever, knowing I didn't want to use his shampoo or soap, and the times where I couldn't keep my lunch down.
It feels like a lifetime ago that we ran through Vegas, just two people with absolutely nowhere to be. I can vividly remember walking along the fence that surrounded the fountains and glancing at him when he yanked my dress down. Even now, when he stands up slowly and walks toward me, his uniform takes me back to days in the safe zone, where his friends became my own, and I wanted to hear him say he loved me.
"Maybe Carole will call you again. I heard she got some new chickens," I tilt my head, liking the way his lips turn up into a smirk. Once she met him –on the walk out of my parent's house, one single time –she was obsessed. When she learned where he worked, she took to calling his station directly, claiming the officers in Haling just weren't as good as the ones in Lakeview. "Or maybe she got stuck on the patio again."
"Or maybe her husband finally went missing," Eric rolls his eyes, and he grudgingly hands me Eva. She protests being away from him, and her tiny squeaks are funny. There is no one she loves more than her father, especially at bedtime. "Will you be okay tonight? Meghan said she'll come over if you can't sleep. She's got the opposite of narcolepsy."
"Funny," I grin, happy that Meghan and Jason will have their baby soon. Eva isn't lacking in baby friends since there are plenty on the block, but I like the idea of her growing up with a close friend. I still saw Sophia and Courtney; both are alive and fine, and they've visited several times now. "Will you be home in the morning?"
Eric nods. "It's only for two more weeks. Then I'll be home with you and Eva and back on my normal schedule. Are you sure you're okay? You don't want me to call Jason?"
"I'm fine. I promise. Do you promise you'll be home soon? Before sunrise?"
"I promise, Everly."
He agrees easily. I reach up to kiss him, balancing with Eva in my arms, and his lips touch mine slowly. He mutters that he loves us, and when he breaks away, it's hard not to smile.
It's been nearly two years since Carole told me there was a chicken virus running through our town, and nearly two years since Hazel lost her arm. Two years since Landon tried to kill me, and two years since we left Haling Cove with the intention of never returning.
Maybe more. Maybe less. I've quit keeping track of those moments, because I have new ones that are more important. I've learned a lot about myself during this time, including just how capable I am, and just how happy I am with my new life.
I pull Eva closer, and the two us walk Eric downstairs, watching him head into work.
He stops once to look back, his uniform sharp and his hair slicked back, and I swear he looks like the leader of some post-apocalyptic society. He smiles smugly, waving goodbye as he grabs his keys, then disappears into the night, which seems as dark as his jacket.
Eva protests for only a few minutes, until I remind her that he'll be back soon, because Eric never broke his promises.
We both fall asleep on his pillow, the dark sheets cold and smelling like his shampoo, and this time, I don't dream of zombie babies or Nita.
I dream I am the only girl in the zombie apocalypse, and Eric chooses me to train to survive.
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