“It’s a small bite, it’s a small bite, it’s a small bite,” April kept saying it, annoying the hell out of Bud, but he kept his mouth shut. The danger was, Bud laughed to himself, that soon he wouldn’t.
Searching the picked over grocery store they had little faith that they would find anything worth eating, but you have to try. Always have to try. Eat or die. Die or eat. Die and eat.
The final two of a group of nine. Now April would be the last. A bite was fatal, and she could mantra away all she wanted, Bud was a goner and he knew it. One at a time they went. A dark room in a suburban home, a turned corner at a gas station, a hidden alcove in a deserted and destroyed mansion and a sudden lunge, a bite. Screaming. They all screamed. Cursed. Cried.
But Bud said nothing. They were still too exposed and he was still alive for now. And she had to get to safety.
His hand was swelling, the blood not clotting. Bud felt his veins burning. His arm twitched.
“I got you this,” he showed her a can of soup.
Almost like bait, as he reached for the can the zombie struck. Like it set the can on the floor by the red and white soft drink display to get a meal. No! They don’t think that much! Bud thought, rejecting the thought of a zombie setting a trap.
But the zombie was waiting, lying flat and out of sight. And Bud saw the movement a second late, as the old er woman, still wearing the blue apron adorned with the grocery chain’s name, latched onto his arm and bit his outstretched hand.
She probably worked at the store and never left. Never would. As he jerked his hand away he’d stomped on her head; it burst, rotten and bloody, brains and blood oozing across the floor as the teeth shot from the shattered jawbone.
“Here.” Bud wiped his blood from the can and put the soup into April’s backpack
“We can eat it later,” her words gushed. “We’ll eat later.” Still repeating herself, April brushed her long hair back from her face. The dark roots showed through.
When they met in the shelter her hair had still been short and stylish, her clothes still clean. He had been sent to check on the refugees and see if anyone had been bitten or attacked. When the shelter folded two days later he found her and took her along with his group.
Bud coughed and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. “Sure. Sure,” he said. “Let’s get back to the room now before it gets too dark.”
The room had been their home for this last week. A second floor apartment. Small but secure. Some magazines, a lot of books. They read during the day and at night kept a careful eye. But it was safe.
Someone had secured it well. Doors blocked, most windows covered.
When the car ran out of gas a week ago, they started the search for another one. Which meant walking. Looking for keys left in ignitions.
They saw a ladder lying in the street. And then the broken window with “HELP!!!” scrawled underneath in yellow paint. April yelled “Hello?” at the shattered opening, but there was no movement up there. Bud, keeping watch, heard moaning and a zombie shuffled into view not too far away. Attracted by April’s voice.
How long had the ladder been lying in the street? What happened to the people who set this up? How many others had passed by?
Bud put the ladder to the window and went for it, hand over hand, the rush of fighting fires coming back from the familiar feel of the rungs. “Once a fireman, always a fireman,” he whispered. Up and in, jumping to a crouch. But the room was empty. With April next to him, they pulled the ladder up and ducked down. The zombie shuffled past.
The walls were covered with graffiti. Names and dates. They added theirs to the list.
When they journeyed out, the zombies lurching along didn’t know that the ladder lying flat in the street could be used to climb. And after an expedition, Bud and April simply pulled the ladder up.
But now what? How would April fare on her own?
Bud stepped out of the grocery store first. The usual procedure. He stared at the sun a moment, felt its warmth and took a deep breath. Brushing away a tear, he scouted the area and saw two zombies heading in their direction, but they were slow, and wouldn’t get to them before he got April up the street to the ladder and safety.
Bud felt tightness in his chest. He place a hand on his heart and felt his limbs stiffening. “Jesus,” he muttered.
At the ladder Bud made April go first.
She climbed, looking back to make sure he was still there. Then she hopped over the windowsill.
Bud gasped for a breath that didn’t come. His mouth opened. He saw red, his body staggered and the hands dropped, landing on the rungs.
And he started up the ladder.
—
©2009 Kevin Quigg
“I work as an editor in a small firm and I perform stand up comedy on the weekends. I have had a few things published and love zombies!”
Tags: Kevin Quigg
March 30th, 2009 at 6:10 am
Nice story. I was drawn in by their situation, and that really fed the dark ending.
March 30th, 2009 at 4:39 pm
Very well told tale, Kevin. Liked it very much.
–dj
April 8th, 2011 at 12:18 pm
Nice! Looking at some of the older stories on the site and this one rocks!