Daisy

Why couldn't we hear the screams?

Were there any screams?

Dad and I were exploring the destroyed homes on our street, searching for survivors, snagging supplies, and settling our suspicions. Each home was no doubt empty. Without its four walls the structure doesn't serve a purpose in this environment, and no one wants to be left in the open.

Nor do I.

I was clearing some debris when I spotted a shoe, with a sock sticking out of it. And the sock was occupied.

"Dad."
He turned from his own scrounging and climbed over to where I stood. He and I were both covered in soot, and dust. He looked where I was looking.
"Mmmm." he murmured, "You get that end."

Part of our self-accepted role here was to bury any bodies we found. We had prepared graves in our backyard the day before. I didn't know how many to make.

We lifted a chunk of debris off the body. I kneeled down and threw away some of the smaller bits until I unearthed the body. I uncovered the face, and my heart sank. It was a girl, about my age. Fair. Pretty. Black hair. Her eyes were closed, she had a blue cast to her skin. Dad kneeled across from me.
"Shame." he said.
"I don't recognize her."
Dad shrugged, "Who knows, son. She could have come recently, before the swarm, and fostered with this family. I don't know."
I brushed her hair back, "Why would they not come back for her?"
She coughed.
The two of us leapt six feet in the air, and scrambled backward on our butts.
"Gun!" said Dad.
I fumbled my pistol out of my pocket, and trained it on the hole she lay in. We read each other's eyes. We both expected her to rise slowly from where she lay, twitch, spot one of us, and clamber over the debris to get to our fresh blood. My heart was hammering out a new record for most beats per minute, but my hand was steady.
She did not rise.
She didn't do anything. I signaled to Dad, "Is she alive?" I asked.
He shrugged. Together we crept toward the girl.
"Cover me." said Dad. He reached down and felt for a pulse.
"She's cold." he said, "But I can feel a heartbeat."
I put my gun away. I managed to get my hands under her head, and lifted gently. "What if she has a neck injury?"
"She can't stay here." said Dad, "And I haven't seen any military." That seemed to make him nervous. He rubbed his balding head, and sighed. He kneeled at her feet, and lifted. We propped her on my shoulders. Dad grabbed what supplies we had salvaged, and signaled me to take the lead. It was five blocks to home.
I hoped for no trouble. I knew better. I took my gun in hand, and walked as rapidly as I could.

There were seven of them. They emerged from within the ruins of the biggest house on the block. Between us, Dad and I had fourteen rounds. Two for each skull, if need be. I began firing, but Dad was yelling at me. So I stopped. My ears were ringing.
"What?!"
He was signaling me to move. His eyes were forward, on the Zeds coming at us. I looked around, but the girl was on my shoulders. I couldn't see.
"Just move!"
Move? Move where? I was firing again, dropping the zombies in my path. But Dad was hollering No! No!
Almost immediately I saw shapes coming from either side, out of the corner of my eye. A couple dozen. They were closing.
It appeared that the swarm had left new infected in its wake.
But where were they when we were rooting around the houses? I cannot speculate. I had two rounds left. We were running, now. My center of gravity was so high I was having a problem going faster than a jog.
Dad ran out ahead of me, "Come on, son!"
He jumped into the nearest burnt out husk of a house. I followed. We were climbing through boards, and charred furniture. Geez it stunk. My eyes watered. I had to duck through a hole. Zed was getting tied up behind me. One thing that was in our favor; Zed was all fury, no thinking, just acting. It had a difficult time negotiating anything but the open road.
I took the girl off my shoulders, and cradled her in my arms so I could get through the burned out doorway. I ducked rather carelessly.
The knock to my head sent me reeling. I fell backward, the girl sprawling over top of me. I blacked out. When I came to a couple seconds later, Dad was kneeling over me firing back the way we had come. My head was splitting. Dad was shaking me.
"Martin! Martin!"
"Dad."
He looked down at me, his eyes wider than I had ever seen them. He helped me get the girl off of me, so I could sit up. When I was up I collected the girl, again, and nodded to Dad. Zed was crawling all over the ruins trying to get to us. I hoofed it out of there. A liquid was dripping from my brow. I knew what it was. We stepped out of the ruins, and headed home again.

We had no ammo left. I had dropped my gun back there. For a moment I imagined a Zed picking up the gun and spending the remaining bullets on Dad and me.

But not the girl. Not the girl.

I was dizzy. That was a hard thunk to the head. I was still seeing stars. As each breath tore at my lungs I became nauseous. I stopped jogging, and just walked. Then I just went to my knees.
"They're right behind us, son!" said Dad. He was trying to pick me up. I couldn't move. I set the girl down, and collapsed.

"MARTIN!"
I could smell the earth. Scorched. Tainted with ash, and the slight tinge of death. I breathed it into a dream that seemed to stretch for an hour. I only remember the feeling. It was like experiencing fear and peace at the same time. Like coming to terms.
Scotty called it acceptance. I had accepted something in my dream. I had accepted that Zed had won. It would now count me among its ranks. The peace came from knowing I was done with this world. I didn't speculate like Beth did, that the soul of the person was trapped in the zombie. Dead was dead. Whatever animated these guys, it wasn't a soul. There was an explanation out there.

When I woke I was being dragged by someone strong, but breathing in gasps. I wiggled out of its grasp and fell to the ground.
I turned over and got up on my knees, looking at who was dragging me to my doom.
Scotty.
Dad was up ahead, the girl on his shoulders.
Scott helped me up. I was shaky. Trembling. I have never trembled. I doubled over and threw up. Scott held his hand on my back.
I heard two shots, and smelled gun powder, which turned my stomach even more.
"Almost home, Martin."
My stomach and headache had a strong hold on me. I couldn't move. If I even thought about moving my body screamed at me. I just wanted to lay down and die.
Scott got up under me, and lifted me on his shoulders. "Ugh." he grunted, "You're heavier than you look."
I just closed my eyes, and tried to breathe. After a few steps, some clicks, and another round fired I smelled home. Relief rushed through me.
"Take me to my room." I mumbled.
Scotty took the ladder, slowly but efficiently. He grunted as he rose to his feet, took me to my room, and lay me on the floor.
"Bed?" I asked.
He laughed.
"You're a bloody mess, mate." he said with a poor Irish accent, "If you saw yourself you would want me to throw you straight into the bathtub."
I scowled at him, which hurt. I just lay there with my eyes closed.
"Help Dad." I said, but Scott was already gone.
Mom tended to my wounds, fussing, and tearing up. "Just stay still, honey. Stay still." she sniffed.
I complied. Happily.
I fell asleep again.

I woke in my bed. It was dark. Beth was in my doorway. She startled me.
"Hey." I said. My head was feeling better.
"Hey."
My heart stopped. That was not Beth's voice. This one was deeper, more raspy. I squinted at the figure.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
"Fine." I said a little too quickly, "Who are you."
My fingers were searching for the knife I kept next to me in bed.
She stumbled into the room. I could tell she was in pain. The light coming in from the hallway caught enough of her face for me to relax. I held out my hands in a feeble attempt to help her. She caught one hand in an unusually strong grip, and sat next to me.
"Holly tells me you pulled me out of the house."
I smiled, and felt tearful for some reason. Another living breathing human being. I could see her face, now. She was a little bandaged, but she was beautiful. Heart shaped face, cute little nose, small but sexy lips, and big brown eyes.
"I'm Daisy." she said, her hand still in mine.
"I, uh." I stammered, "Martin." I shook her hand. Stupid. "I'm sorry. For earlier. I hit my head pretty good." I leaned forward, and put my face in my hand, "For a minute I forgot."
"That's ok. From your head wrap alone, I forgive you. Your Mom stitched you up. Should have a gnarly scar."
"Gnarly." I repeated. I was suddenly in love.
"Where are you staying?" I asked.
"The Motel 8."
I laughed. Stupidly. I guffawed much too loud at her joke. She seemed to like it.
"They have me on Beth's floor. She's a cool girl."
"Yes she is." I said, "Yes."
I couldn't think of anything to say. I just looked at our hands, still clasped together, a dumb smile on my face.
"I just wanted to thank you." she said.
"You're welcome."
She gave my hand another good squeeze, got up, and wandered out. She closed the door gently. I strained my ears to listen for her footsteps. I heard every quiet one, down to Bethany's room. The door closed. A satisfying click.
If I hadn't felt rather like crap, my heart told me I would have been up all night. Instead I fell into a deep sleep, and dreamed of pretty brown eyes. What a fantastic distraction.