Day 1 - Part 1: Restless
I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, my whole body tense. My side was raw and burning beneath the bandage and I was laying in the same place I had just been attacked. Who in their right mind could sleep under those conditions. At least we stripped off the sheets and flipped the mattress, but seriously? I have a hard enough time turning my brain off normally. No such luck tonight. I sighed, wishing I could toss and turn a bit to get comfortable, but Maggie and Glenn were still sharing with me and I didn't want to keep them up just because I was going to have a miserable night. Who was I kidding? It would be a miserable few days. The rest of my life.
Giving up, I eased myself off the bed, picking up my shoes to bring them with me. I used to rebel against wearing shoes, but now you had to always be ready to run, even when sleeping. Waking the others up was not part of my plan, though, so I figured I'd wait until I was outside the front door before clomping around in my road-weary hiking boots. I didn't have a plan of where to go, I just knew I needed to go somewhere I could clear my head. I almost tripped over something resting against the wall outside the open bedroom door. I gasped softly as the something grunted in response to my inadvertent kick. It took my eyes a moment to realize that that something was Daryl, the scruffy, redneck guy. He was reclining against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him across the hall, crossbow laying on his lap.
"Jeez! What the hell are you doing sitting here in the dark?" I could barely make out his shape, so it was impossible for me to see his face. I rely on faces a lot, so it made me a little anxious.
"I can see into both rooms from here, as well as the front door. Plus, I'm out of the way of the sleepers." He was keeping his voice low, to avoid waking the others. I remembered earlier how he was the first one to respond to the zombie that had attacked me, taking it out with one of his arrows before Glenn could even pull his knife.
"Were you sitting here earlier?" I hesitated. "Before?"
"Yeah," he responded, after a moment's pause. I knew why I was having difficulty talking about it, but why was he? My temper flared.
"Well a fat lot of good it did, then," I snapped, still mindful enough to keep my voice down. He didn't respond. As quickly as it had risen, my anger was gone, and I felt a little bad about blaming him for what happened. Shit happens. It wasn't fair for me to point any fingers. I was as much to blame as anyone else. I wasn't much for apologies, though.
"Look, I just need some air," I said with a sigh. "Can't sleep. I'm not trying to take off or anything." I avoided looking at him, wondering if his night vision was better than mine.
"Ok," was all he said. I hesitated, but decided to just let it go, stepping over him and continuing my tiptoed path to the front door, past the other 'sleepers'.
Once out the door, I slipped my boots on and laced them up. The air in the corridor was still, stale even, and quieter than I had anticipated. At first I was alarmed, but then I reassured myself that the silence meant no walker would be able to sneak up on me. They are anything but quiet. And yet...well, I wasn't going to think about how the one earlier had gotten the jump on me. It happened. That's that.
Not sure what I was really looking for, I decided to just start wandering around the other apartments, see if I could find anything interesting to distract myself with. I knew I wouldn't find anything useful for survival since the building had already been swept for that, but maybe I could find something entertaining, at least. The apartment next door to the one we were staying in, where someone had set up the toilets, had been owned by a woman with two closets full of fancy clothes, something I thought didn't make sense looking at the state of the apartment building. I didn't really have a taste for fashion, though, so I moved on. I couldn't help peaking at the contents of the kitchen cabinets on my way out, but found no evidence that the woman had even known how to cook. I derived a little pleasure in making fun of how silly a woman like that, living in a place like this, must've been, but when my brain drifted to where she most likely was now, I berated myself. Shame on me. The other apartments on the floor were bare, stripped clean, so I moved to the next floor up. It wasn't until I had reached the topmost floor that I finally found a treasure trove; someone with an entire room for his books! I probably should have thought him as silly as the woman with two closets of clothes, but I felt full of awe and respect. I had never seen so many books together in one room except in libraries or bookstores.
The moon shone through the window at the end of the room, so I was able to just make out the titles on the spines. I started at the top corner by the window, using a step stool tucked in beside the bookcase to reach the top shelf, and slowly ran my fingers along the embossed titles. Some of these I knew, but most I had never even heard of. The first bookcase was full of old college-type textbooks. There were the introductory courses everyone had to take, but the books gradually became more specific until I could see he had specialized in civil engineering. I had no idea what a career like that entailed, but it didn't sound very fun. Probably why he needed a room full of books to make life worth living. The other wall contained books that he had probably enjoyed reading more, or at least that was what I assumed. I ran across a number I had heard of, but maybe only two or three I had ever read myself. It was the bottom half of the last stack that brought me up short. Here the books changed gears abruptly. I slid one from the shelf, curious, and was met with an image of a beautiful blonde princess standing in front of a castle, a handsome young man on a horse beside her. Normally I would've scoffed at how ridiculous childhood fairy tales are, but the presence of the book in this place affected me. The book slipped from my hand as I stared blankly at the cover and when I reached to pick it up, I realized my hands were trembling. Carefully, I slid the book back into its spot and moved to the next. This one was about a mischievous little monkey, running around, getting himself into all sorts of trouble. It was one from a series that every child knew, even if they had never read it. I was very familiar with this one, though.
I was nestled in a high tree branch, my back against the trunk with my legs crossed and stretched out along the branch. A little boy with blonde hair the same shade as mine and striking blue eyes was curled in my lap. My arms reached around him to hold the book we were reading. Across the pages were stray crayon lines and on one he apparently had felt the need to append the drawing with his own version of the sun, in bright orange marker. His skin felt warm against mine, though we were shaded from the summer sun by the thick leaves above us, and his hair smelled like dirt and grass. There was a little color on his cheeks and arms from where he had been playing with the neighbor kids earlier in the day. His little boy voice read the words out from the page slowly, making sure he pronounced each one carefully.
"But...when...the...ice...cream...truck...", he paused, struggling with one of the larger words. I waited for him to work it out. "M...m...moo...".
"Moved," I prompted.
"Moved on...George...for...for..."
"What's the second half?" He squinted at the page, his long eyelashes touching.
"Got?"
"Ok, so put them together..."
"For...got? Forgot!" He turned his head to grin at me, several black holes where teeth should have been.
"Good job! Want to keep going?" He nodded, but we could hear mom's voice calling to us from the house nearby, letting us know that dinner was ready.
I hadn't thought about my little brother in a long time, and I wasn't prepared for the emotional response it would bring out of me. Sliding the book back in its place, I hastily brushed the tears from my face, and stood. My knees protested and I hissed slightly as the bandage pulled at the edge of the bite wound, clapping my hand over it. I knew my parents were gone, but I hadn't spoken to my brother in years, long before this nightmare had taken place. I had no idea where he was or if he was even still alive. Part of me had been holding out hope that I would run across him out here, but there was no chance of that now. I would never get to say good-bye or apologize to him for how things turned out. I had always tried to be a good big sister, but I got caught up with my own life and forgot to keep in touch. We always think we have time.
The tears kept coming and a lump formed in my throat, making it difficult to breath. I needed to get outside. At the top of the stairwell was the door to the roof. I expected it to be locked, but when I put my shoulder against it, it slowly gave way. A cool, fresh breeze drifted past the door and I gulped at it like a fish out of water. I stumbled through the door and between a couple industrial-size air conditioning units. The edge of the roof was lined with a two-foot barrier wall, enough to keep you on the roof if you accidentally stepped too closely to it or forgot how near the edge you were. I leaned heavily against one of the air conditioning units, still holding my side. Eyes closed, I focused on taking deep breaths, slowly regaining control of my emotions.
What a way to go. I never realized how hard it would be to know exactly how much time you had left. Everyone plays around with wanting to know, but actually knowing? Not so great. Could I do it; sit through these next few days knowing what was coming? I'd heard plenty of stories of how it happens. First the fever, hallucinations and incoherent thoughts, every nerve in your body raw and sending pain signals to your brain. Maybe the fever cooks your brain til there's nothing left. Who knows what the bite's effect on the inside of your body was, but it was not a pleasant way to die. Surely wouldn't have been my first choice. Just thinking about how it would happen made my heart race and my palms sweat.
There was another option. My eyes shifted to the short barrier around the roof's edge. Would a fall from five stories up kill me instantly? I had heard of people jumping from buildings that weren't tall enough and living through that ordeal. That'd be a hell of a thing to wake up in the hospital to. Surprise! You're not dead. Not only that, but now you're in a full body cast with all these injuries and pain to live with. You think life sucked before? Just wait!
I straightened up, facing the edge of the roof. Slowly, I crossed the twenty-some feet between myself and the half-wall, still holding my side. The wound didn't hurt, but I was reluctant to move my hand. The toes of my boots tapped against the wall soundlessly, though I could feel the vibration in my feet. A wave of anxiety ran through me as I was faced with the open expanse beyond the roof. I don't usually make it a habit to stand around on rooftops due to a healthy dose of fear of heights. Crossing my arms protectively across my chest, I forced myself to look down. A glance was all I could manage before the vertigo forced me to take a step back. Was this what I wanted? A quick, hopefully painless death to replace the long, agonizing one I was facing? It would be easier on everyone if I jumped, myself included.
A soft, popping sound pulled me out of a light sleep. Some people would have lain there, trying to rationalize it away, but I knew the sound of a gun when I heard it. Without hesitation I rolled myself off the mattress, bare feet hitting the floor with a low thump. My silver revolver with the black grip lay on top of my nightstand. Snatching it up, feeling its comforting weight in my hand, I crossed the hardwood floor to my bedroom door. I eased the door open, listening to the sounds in the house, but only heard the blood pounding in my ears. Holding the gun with both hands, aimed at the floor in front of me, I made my way quickly downstairs. I had a flash of myself looking badass like those cops on tv, but I'm sure I looked like a complete fool. I was at the bottom of the stairs when I heard my parents' door creak.
"Dad?" I whispered, wanting him to know I was down here before he thought I was an intruder or something.
"What the hell are you doing? Get back in bed and let me handle this!" he replied, also whispering. I could make out his dark shape moving down the stairs towards me and I shifted out of his way.
"I heard gunshots," I said, ignoring his orders. I could hear him sigh, growling slightly under his breath.
"Sounded like they came from the Summers' farm," he nodded towards the side door through the living room. I followed him out onto the front porch where we could see across to the neighboring farmhouse by the faint moonlight. We listened for a moment, but no other sounds met our ears. I wanted to ask him what he thought was going on, but I didn't dare speak in case someone was around to hear us.
"Wait here," his voice barely more than a breath in my ear. My initial adrenaline was wearing down, replaced by an anxiety that seemed to have my feet rooted in place. Not wanting to admit my fear, I pretended to acquiesce, nodding in response. I hated watching him dash across the grass alone, feeling like I was somehow letting him down even though I was doing what he'd asked. The night air was a little chilly, raising goosebumps on my bare arms and legs. I was regretting the choice of sleep shorts and tank top. Dad tiptoed up the front stairs of the Summers' porch; I could just barely make him out. These weren't suburban houses with the little postage stamp yards. It was a good quarter mile between our house and next, but there also wasn't anything to obstruct my view except some sparse trees. I didn't see or hear him knock, but I could see him slide in the front door without resistance. None of us really locked our doors, even at night, but after the world started falling apart, we had gotten into the habit of it. Couldn't be too safe with dead people running around trying to rip a chunk out of your jugular.
The minutes stretched on without any sign of my dad. Shit! My need to know what was going on warred with my fear of his wrath. I didn't have to fear his wrath if he was dead, though. I slipped on my farm shoes and hurried down the steps. It seemed to take an eternity for me to reach the large oak tree in the Summers' front yard. Still no sound. I was fighting to keep my fear under control; it was making my hands sweat and shake and I was starting to worry I'd drop the gun. I quickly wiped my palms on my shorts before darting up the steps to the front door. It was still standing open a few inches, so I followed my father in.
The smell of blood hung in the air and brought me up short. Now that I was inside, the silence weighed heavily on my ears and I couldn't hear any sounds, not even those my dad should be making. I didn't dare call out, though. I was familiar with the layout of the house and knew that the oldest daughter's room was the only one on the first floor, at the back of the house through the kitchen. I slipped my shoes off, tucking them behind the flowerpot by the front door. On the balls of my feet, I could move through the house like a ghost, making not a sound. The stairs to the second floor spiraled up to my right, but I bypassed them on my way down the hall. First door on the left was the bathroom, the one on my right was a closet, and then on the left right before the kitchen was a pantry. The back of the house was lined with windows so that the kitchen was as well lit as it had been outdoors. Another hallway branched off to the left of the kitchen and I could see Carly's door sitting half open.
A feeling of dread settled on me as I tried to cross the kitchen. Apparently my feet were sweating in anxiety, as well, because there were little sucking sounds each time I picked up one of my feet on the linoleum. I slowed down to see if that would reduce the sound, but I could still hear it and my heart raced even further. Back on the carpet of the other hallway, I turned so my back was to the wall Carly's door was on. I hesitated at the open door, not daring to look in yet. A shaft of moonlight was silhouetted on the hall carpet so I knew I wouldn't need my flashlight to get a lay of the room. Taking a deep breath, I peaked around the corner. There was a form on the bed, but no sounds, no movement. If it was something alive, they were breathing very quietly.
Although the moon was shining in through her window, the bed was still in heavy shadow. I moved further into the room as I reached in my pocket for my flashlight. The moment I clicked it on, I wished I hadn't. Carly was on the bed, but the image imprinted on my brain to this day was grotesque. It was clear that she was dead. My flashlight slipped from my hand and I could taste the bile in the back of my throat. I must have started making a sound because in the next instant a large hand was clamped over my mouth from behind. It startled me and I screamed before I realized that it was my dad. He released me long enough for me to snatch my flashlight back up. Somehow I had managed to hang on to my gun. Flashlight in one hand, gun in the other, my father gripped my upper arm and half dragged me out the back door. Once in the grass, I realized I was still barefoot.
"Wait," I gasped, but he didn't slow down. "My shoes! I-", but I didn't get to finish because suddenly I was bent over, throwing up my lunch in the grass. My dad let go of my arm and looked back at the house. "My shoes are in the house," I finished, when I could catch my breath.
"Where?" he growled. When I had detailed their hiding place for him, he hurried back inside, leaving me on my hands and knees in the damp grass. I couldn't even process what I had just seen before he was back and hauling me to my feet. My shoes were in his hand, but he dragged me barefoot the quarter mile home. My mother met us in the kitchen and, when she saw my face, brewed some tea. The process took longer than it would have if she had had the help of electricity, but the power had gone out several days before and we doubted it would be back on anytime soon, if ever.
Sitting at the dining room table, a warm mug of tea between my hands, I studied my father's back. He leaned against the sink, gripping the edge fiercely, staring at the Summers' house through the window. My mother stood near him, watching his face.
"What did you find?" she finally ventured to break the silence between us. My father took so long to respond that I thought I was going to have to say it.
"They're dead." My mother's eyes widened.
"All of them?" she croaked, her voice cracking. Emotions were easily accessible for her.
"Yes." She put her hand over her mouth as she waited for him to continue. "Harold must've done his wife and the younger children first. Suffocated them with their pillows. He shot the oldest girl while she was sleeping and then went back into his bedroom and shot himself." My mother was crying and I could see the tension in my father's shoulders. I just sat there, in shock. I hadn't thought about that. When the dead started attacking the living, my thoughts had gone straight to survival, trained that way by my father. But Mr. Summer had a different view. Choose for him and his family to die their own way rather than face the horrors that were coming for us. Death was easier than the world we were living in now.
Was that a good way to die, though? Was that noble or honorable? I laughed a little at myself. Those were such outdated concepts and had no place in the world now. Maybe all you could ask for was to be able to choose how you died, rather than letting the zombies win, turning you into one of them. I would rather die than live that way. Would rather die than hurt someone else in that state. I was afraid of what was coming, as Mr. Summer had been. Afraid of my death, afraid of what I would become if someone with the strength to take me out wasn't there when it happened. Afraid.
I'm not sure how long I stood there at the edge, studying the buildings around us by what light the moon was giving. Eventually I stepped back. I wouldn't jump. Not tonight. If I chose to die before turning, I wouldn't make that choice out of fear. Never out of fear. I would not let my fear control me or dictate how I lived what was left of my life.
The wind picked up, a nice, cool breeze that felt good on my clammy skin. I turned towards it and could see a slight lightening at the horizon. A tinge of blue against the black expanse. The sun was coming up. Suddenly, I realized I wasn't alone. Whipping my head back around to my right, back towards the stairwell, I saw Daryl, leaning against one of the air conditioning units, arms crossed in front of him. There was no expression on his face and he didn't react when I discovered him there.
"How long have you been standing there?" The anger rose in me again as my temper got the best of me. I didn't appreciate being spied on like some criminal.
"Long enough. Did you decide not to jump, then?" I don't know how, but he managed to keep his voice even, his face blank, not giving anything away. I laughed, nothing more than the sound of the air through my nose.
"Probably better for everyone if I did." I looked down at my shoes.
"Probably," he agreed. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to figure him out. Although his manner was relaxed and his voice and face were void of emotion, his eyes were watching me with an intensity that made my skin itch. It wasn't necessarily a bad itch, though, just uncomfortable.
"Would you do it?" I was studying his feet now rather than my own. "Would you jump, if you were in my shoes?" He shifted so that his back was leaning against the unit instead of his shoulder, never taking his eyes off me.
"I don't know. Dying from a geek-bite ain't pretty and there's something nice about choosing the way you die."
"But?" I prompted when he stopped talking.
"But, life's already so short, especially now. I'd probably want to make the most of what time I had left, even if it's doing something pointless like hunting with my brother or taking a nap in the middle of the day." I smirked. There was a strange pleasure connected to a midday nap. Probably some happy memory left over from our preschool years.
"Besides, hard to guarantee you'll land on your head, and if you don't, you still end up as one of those things. Anyways, you have time to figure out what you want to do. We're going to stay here for a few days. Let people have a chance to rest before we get the hell out of this city." Aka, wait until you're dead and no longer a liability to us. Great. Daryl stood there studying me while I struggled to remain composed, turning my face away from him.
"You gonna stay up here for a bit?" There was a lump in my throat and tears running down my cheeks. Ugh, I hated crying. At least I had a good reason. I knew better than to try speaking, lest I give myself away, so I just nodded. I heard some more shuffling and then something heavy being set on the ground behind me. "Might as well make yourself useful, then. Keep an eye on those geeks down there, but don't take any shots, either, unless it's life or death. Sound like that'll bring them to us from all over the city." I had survived long enough out here to know that rule. I didn't think he was intentionally trying to insult me, but rather covering himself. He was leaving me a gun and didn't want me dooming the rest of them by blowing my head off with it. I could respect that. "If you get tired," he continued, "you know where to find us." I heard the door to the stairwell open as Daryl went back inside. I was alone with my thoughts once more.