Eat, Prey, Decay: 7 Tales of the Apocalypse (Zombie, Dark Fantasy, Dystopian, Horror, & Post-Apocalyptic Boxed Set), page 5
Grateful, I smiled. “Thank you.”
“You mind helping me with a little favor on the way?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“We have got to stop that bell ringing, or I am going to lose my mind,” he said. The bell on the Catholic Church still sounded its melancholy gong.
“The world is ending, and you’re worried about the bell?”
He smiled.
“All right. Hop on,” I said, sliding forward.
“You won’t even let me drive?”
“Are you kidding me?” I said and kicked the engine on.
“How humiliating,” he muttered as he slid in behind me.
I parked the bike on the street in front of the church. The bell clanged loudly. Two of the undead who had been standing outside the church turned toward us. I raised my gun, but then recognized Mrs. Crane. She’d tutored me in math when I was in elementary school.
“Oh no,” I said with a sigh. I lowered my gun.
Before she could get too close, Jamie shot her between the eyes.
The second sickly person, a man I didn’t recognize, lumbered toward me. I downed him with a quick shot.
“You always were a good shot, Layla.”
“Thanks to your dad. I didn’t see—”
“He didn’t make it. Neither him nor my mom.”
“I’m so sorry. You and Ian—”
“Yeah, well, we all lost someone, right? I adored your grandma too. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
When we walked up to the ornate doors, we both had a moment of realization. The place could be packed. Every Catholic in town could have taken shelter there.
I pulled the machine gun over my shoulder and stood at ready several feet from the door.
“Have any more grenades?”
“One. Let’s hope we don’t need it.”
Jamie pulled out his handgun then yanked the doors opened.
We were half right; half the Catholics in town were inside. I pulled the trigger, peeling off a spray of bullets as the undead rushed out the door. I tried not to look at them too closely, knowing I would see familiar faces. The thought of it was too horrible. Jamie fired into the horde. Moments later, the space was clear, and a heap of bodies lay outside the door.
“Christ,” Jamie said looking at the machine gun.
“I don’t see how they miss with these things in the movies. At 1000 rounds a minute, who can miss?”
Jamie looked at the heap of bodies. His face twisted. “I know half the people lying there,” he said. He closed his eyes and turned from the sight.
I had been trying not to think about it. “We don’t have much choice,” I said with more disconnect than I actually felt.
“After having to shoot my mom a dozen times before I figured out I needed a head shot, bumping off the meter man should be less jarring.”
“Should? I don’t know about that. You’re no killer. But I’m sorry about your mom,” I said, setting my hand on his shoulder. Jamie and his mom had always been very close, as close as Grandma and me. Grief tried to wash in. I slapped the door closed. After a lifetime of practice, I was good at doing that. I pulled out the shashka and looked up at Jamie.
“I’m ready,” he said.
We went inside. An older woman I recognized from the farmer’s market slowly crept out of the pew. She bit and snapped at us. I motioned Jamie to hold back, and I stabbed her through the eye. She dropped. We made our way toward the back of the church. Again, I caught sight of the broken Mary. It made me shudder.
We followed the winding halls to the back of the church. There we found stairs leading up toward the bell tower. Carefully, we walked up the plank wood spiral staircase. The sweet scent of rough-cut lumber filled the air. When we reached the top, we discovered why the bell kept ringing. Father Meyers had hung himself with the bell rope. His body swayed back and forth.
“Guess he decided not to wait for the rapture,” Jamie said, “which can occur any time now,” he added with a raised voice as he looked toward the sky. He waited for a moment. “Nope, nothing,” he said with a sardonic snort.
“Maybe he thought he was already in hell,” I said, and reaching upward, I sliced the rope in half. Father Meyers’s body fell on the wooden planks below. I stared down at the once-benevolent face now frozen in the grizzly visage of death. “I just saw him the other day. Grandma had me stop by.”
“Why?”
“To ask for holy water.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
Jamie looked thoughtfully down at Father Meyers. “What do we do with him?”
I looked out the window. I noticed a newly opened grave in the graveyard. “There,” I said, pointing.
“Well, it seems right to bury him, but how in the hell are we going to get him down?”
“Put on your gloves.”
Jamie lifted Father from the left side. I lifted him from the right.
“Something about this seems wrong,” Jamie muttered.
“1—2—3,” I said, and with a heave, we dropped Father Meyers out the tower window. He fell with a thud on the ground.
“Well, he’s already dead, and he had the courtesy not to get up and walk around. I’m sure he won’t mind.”
The church was clear when we exited. We dropped Father Meyers into the grave, covering him with a few inches of earth, then headed back toward the bike. On the way, however, we passed Mrs. Winchester’s grave. I could not help but notice the dirt had collapsed in. I stopped to look.
“What is it?” Jamie asked.
“Mrs. Winchester was buried here—or is buried here. Her grave is disturbed.”
Jamie stopped and looked with me. Moments later, the soil stirred.
“Christ,” Jamie whispered. We watched in horror as fingers poked up through the soil. “How did she get out of her coffin?” Jamie wondered aloud as he started reloading his gun.
“Ethel said they did a green burial on her,” I replied and took a step back. My eyes darted quickly around the graveyard. There were half a dozen or so fresh graves. Were all the residents stirring?
A second hand appeared. It grabbed at the grass, pulling the body upward. We stood frozen with shock as Mrs. Winchester slowly dragged herself out of the earth. It was too horrible. Her hair was covered in soil, and her flesh was drooping. The rancid smell of decay wafted from her, turning my stomach. When her head was finally clear of the ground, Jamie raised his gun and fired; he hit her between her rheumy eyes.
With a gurgling cry, Mrs. Winchester’s body, half out of the earth, went still.
“Oh my god,” I whispered. Tears flooded my eyes.
Jamie grabbed my hand. “Let’s go.”
I took one last look at a woman who had once been so kind to me, and then we walked away.
We set off back toward Fox Hollow Road. When we got back to the cabin, the Fletchers’ bodies were still lying beside the steps, and Grandma lay in front of the barn where I had left her.
“I’m so sorry,” Jamie said at the sight.
I nodded, and we got to work. Behind the barn, we dug one wide grave for the Fletchers and a second grave for my grandmother. Wearing gloves, we lowered the bodies in. We covered the Fletchers first. Gross as it was, I retrieved Mr. Fletcher’s fingers too. Then we lowered Grandma into her grave. Once her eyes had been closed, my grandmother actually looked very peaceful. I wanted to kiss her one last time, to feel the soft skin on her cheek, but I dared not come too close to her flesh. I started to cry.
Jamie wrapped his arms around me. I turned toward him. He enveloped me in his thick chest, holding me tightly against him.
“I’m sorry,” was all he could say. “I’m so sorry.”
Turning, I inhaled deeply. Composing myself, I grabbed the shovel and began to cover my grandmother with earth. Grief wracked me.
Now, now, it’s only a husk, I heard my grandmother say.
I stopped and looked around.
“Layla?” Jamie asked.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
I looked down at my grandmother. She lay still in the repose of death.
“Nothing,” I said and began again.
Not long after, we finished.
“Why don’t you come in? Drink something? Wash up?” I asked Jamie.
“I should get back to Ian,” he said.
I nodded. I opened the back of my SUV and took out the weapons bundle. I then handed the keys to Jamie. “Take my SUV.”
“You sure?”
“Well, it saved me once already today. No doubt it will keep you safe too. Thank you, Jamie, for everything. You’ve always been like the brother I never had,” I said and leaned in to hug him.
A strange look crossed his face, but he covered it quickly, returning my embrace.
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning. You can help me with the canvassing,” he said as he slid into the driver’s seat and turned on the engine. “Nice,” he added with a smile as he ran his hand over the dash.
I grinned. I went to the gate and pulled it open for him. “Stay safe,” I called.
He waved. “You too. Lock that gate.”
I nodded and shut the gate with a clang, locking it as he drove out of sight.
Moments later there was complete silence. In the distance I could hear the stream gurgling and the sweet sound of songbirds. The wind blew, picking up the earthy autumn air. I turned to go back into the house but spotted my grandma’s herb bag lying on the ground near the gate. I picked it up and looked inside. She had picked a large bouquet of wildflowers. Had she died for this, died for a handful of flowers? I walked back to her grave and laid the flowers thereon. Then, all at once, it hit me. She had not died because she’d gone to pick flowers. She already knew how she would die. She’d already seen the grave. She’d already seen the flowers. She’d just saved me the trouble of picking them for her. All this time, she knew she was not going to make it. Everything she’d done, she’d done to save me—not her and me—just me.
Tears flooded my eyes. I allowed myself a moment of grief and then pulling myself together the best I could, I went inside. After all, “it’s only a husk.” She had said it. And I had heard it. I had not imagined it. I had heard my grandmother’s voice.
Chapter 8
For the time being, there was still hot water and electricity. I took a long shower. Wrapping myself in a thick white robe, I poured myself a large glass of vodka. The sun had set. I flipped on the small living room lamp and sat down on the floor. My cell had died—no signal—but the old mantel clock showed it was nearly 11:00pm. The autumn air had a hint of chill in it. I lit a small fire.
I knew I should eat, but I couldn’t get myself to budge. I sat, staring at the fireplace. I tried to process everything, but I felt completely overwhelmed. How had this happened? What were we going to do? My grandma was gone.
The radio in Grandma’s room still reported contamination and quarantine. After a while, I realized it was the same news report I’d heard that very morning; it was a looped recording. I tried the T.V. but there was only static.
It must have been sometime after midnight, and two glasses of vodka later, when I saw headlights shine through the small cracks between the boards on the picture window. I went outside to see a truck sitting on the other side of the gate.
I grabbed a gun. “Who’s there?” I called, the headlights blinding me.
At first there was silence. The driver cut the lights and engine. “It’s Ian.”
My heart leapt to my throat. I grabbed the flashlight, slid on a pair of slippers, and went to the gate.
“It’s late,” I said.
His face looked haggard in the glow of the flashlight.
“I know. I’m sorry. I just…can I come in?”
I unbolted the gate. I propped it a little, letting him in, then locked it again. Wordlessly, we went into the house. Once inside, I motioned him to sit in the living room while I went to the kitchen to pour him a drink.
“God, Layla, when did you get the house all boarded up?”
“Grandma,” I replied.
“Jamie told me about her. I’m really sorry.”
I handed him a drink and sat down on the couch beside him. He looked handsome but tired. His straw-colored hair fell over his blue eyes. He had dirt smudged on his chin and arms. His tribal tattoo showed from under his torn and stained white t-shirt. I wondered if anyone else knew the tattoo’s meaning.
“I’m a mess,” he said.
“That’s the last thing to worry about.”
“But you smell so clean, so nice,” he whispered.
“Well, I figured I should take a hot shower while I still had a chance.”
He smiled then there was awkward silence. Every fiber in my being wanted to pull him into an embrace, to smell him, to feel his chest pressed against my body, but I reminded myself his wife had died only hours before.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Layla…I…When it all started to go down, I tried to keep my family safe, but I kept thinking, ‘Where is Layla? Is Layla all right?’ I was praying to God you were not still in D. C. Did you see? They rained missiles down on that place. Blew it up. It was one of the last things I saw on cable. I thought I saw your car the other day so I hoped. But when Jamie opened the door today, and I saw you standing there, I couldn’t believe it. At that moment Kristie was dying, but you were alive. I felt happy. I am so ashamed. I felt so happy.”
“I seriously hope you didn’t come here just to confess,” I said. Part of me was elated, but the other half of me was disgusted.
“No. I just wanted to see you. I wanted to tell you how I felt. I’m so happy you’re fine. You’re alive. And you’re here. I just, Layla, you know I never stopped loving you,” he said then pulled me toward him. Before I knew it, we had fallen into a deep kiss.
How much I had missed him. Every muscle in my body melted. My mind, swimming in a vodka haze, let go of guilt. I relaxed into his embrace. My hands greedily roved over his shoulders, neck, and under his shirt to touch his skin.
Untying my belt, he pushed the robe open. I was naked underneath. He kissed my neck and shoulders, his hands gently stroking my breasts. I shimmied out of the robe and pulled his shirt over his head. I pulled him against me, his bare skin against mine. We lay back on the couch. I could feel him, hard, inside his jeans. I took his hand to guide it between my legs, but when my fingers interlaced with his, I felt his wedding ring. Shame washed over me. I opened my eyes. I pulled myself upright and slid my robe back on.
“Layla?”
I stood up, picked his shirt up, and threw it at him.
“Get out,” I said.
“Layla? What happened?”
“You can’t solve every complex feeling you have by fucking someone. Get out. Go home and mourn your wife like a real man would,” I said and opened the door.
Shame faced, he pulled his shirt on and went outside. He stopped on the porch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here for that. I just came to say I am so glad you’re alive,” he said and walked away.
I slammed the door behind him. Outside, the metal gate opened and shut. A moment later the truck started, and the headlights disappeared back down the road. I slid down the door to the floor and put my head on my knees. Then there was a strange buzzing sound, like the sound you hear during a bad storm, followed by a pop. The lights and all the appliances went out.
“Dammit,” I whispered.
The fire had burned down to a bank of embers. I felt around the kitchen table for the candles. Grandma had left a box of them sitting there. Striking a match, I lit a candle and turned toward the living room.
I nearly screamed. My grandmother was sitting in her favorite chair in front of the fireplace doing crochet. Like the Native American chief, I saw my grandmother and saw through her all at once. Don’t forget to lock the gate, she said without looking up.
I turned toward the door, considering her words, then turned back. When I did, she was gone, but her sewing was sitting on the chair, and I couldn’t remember if it had been there all along or not.
Taking the flashlight and my shashka, I went outside. I could hear a strange clang, clang, clang noise as I walked toward the gate. At the gate was a young woman whose face was so badly torn apart I couldn’t recognize her. Her entire nose had been torn off, revealing fleshy pulp inside. She must have followed Ian’s truck up the road. She was pushing at the gate, biting and snapping when she saw me.
I kept my flashlight on her and got close. We stood across from one another locked in a stare. I wondered about “brain activity.” Clearly, the undead hungered, but did they think? In that same moment, I also realized she had a bright red ribbon in her hair.
I felt confused and frustrated. “Stop,” I commanded and for a moment she was still. But then she snapped and snarled again.
I sighed. I lifted the sword and thrust it through her skull. She fell like a bag of bones. I locked the gate and headed inside, barring the door behind me. This time I went directly to bed. While my grandmother lived on in the spirit, the world was now filled with the undead, and I’d had enough fighting the undead for one day.
Chapter 9
I was sitting on the front porch drinking fire-brewed coffee when Jamie pulled up in my SUV. I swished the truly awful coffee around in my mouth. It was bitter and laced with grounds. I dumped the remaining liquid over the side of the porch and went to let Jamie in.
“Power out here too?” he asked.
I nodded. “I’d offer you some coffee, I made it over the fireplace, but I think you’d never forgive me. Looks like Grandma forgot to stock up on instant.”
“Well, maybe she wanted you learn how to cook.”
“Nothing like the apocalypse to force us to learn new skills.”
We both laughed.
“You ready?”
I was already dressed, my weapons reloaded. I’d added throwing daggers to my belt and had slid the poyasni into my boots. I patted the shashka. “You bet.”
