Day Five

“Life goes on,” the actor had said, as if that was something a person might really say, might possibly feel. I remember chuckling bitterly at that line at the time.

Since my wife’s return, I’d chuckled over it many more times. Because life did go on, after all.

And on, and on, and on…

I’d sat guard through most of the day, while Julia slept. My legs were cramping badly, and I’d begun patrolling the small store we’d taken refuge in. Julia was sleeping in the defunct cooler, amid racks of spoiling milk and eggs. We’d eaten a meal of chips and warm soda, with melted candy bars for desert. I’d never remembered a candy bar that had tasted better. We’d found an abandoned backpack, and filled it with more bottles of soda, then cleared the racks of chips and anything in a can or jar that we figured would keep, sweeping it all into four large paper bags. Who knew when we’d find more?

I gazed out at the afternoon. It was silent, save for twittering birds and the drone of insects. I wondered, for a moment, if dead animals were coming back, too, but didn’t think so. We’d have seen a dead squirrel or cat, while walking through the city. Across the street the railyard sat silently, and in all directions loomed the shapes of warehouses. Seeing that there was no movement as far as I could see, even in the direction of the freeway, I sat on the curb, and took out Julia’s gun. Our gun. A mutual possession.

Our desperate flight the day before had taken its toll. Mile after mile we’d run, pulling ahead at first, but soon tiring. Our pursuers never tired. They moved faster than we could walk, but slower than we could run. But we couldn’t run forever. Those next miles had been a nightmare of short rests, painful sprints, and then a slow, degenerate jog, always just ahead of the horde that followed behind. Julia had begun crying, and, after stumbling, had been unable to get up. I’d hauled her to her feet, at first dragging her along, her feet plodding and scraping the ground, moving no faster than a walk. And a walk wasn’t fast enough.

For a terrible moment, I’d considered abandoning her. Just opening my hand, and letting her be engulfed. But instead I’d picked her up, carrying her. And I’d begun the last phase of our flight, a near-silent expanse of dark asphalt and looming overhead signs, counting down the miles. In my memory it has the feel of a delusion, a period of madness. The stars overhead stared down, unfeeling, uncaring. At last, I’d stopped, knowing I could go no further.

There was a moment’s reprieve, but we could hear the relentless approach of the dead behind us. From below, came another sound, the trickling rush of water. The highway was crossing a river. I knew where we were, then. We’d not yet escaped the city, but had reached the river that ran just south of the railyards. Allowing no argument, I nearly threw Julia over the side, hearing her hit the water an instant before the hands clutched at me from behind, nails digging through my thin shirt, the mass trying to hold me, trying to drag me back onto the highway.

With just a glance at them, I saw their teeth, bared in the moonlight, their jaws crackling with strain to open wide, lips pulled further back than any living face could manage. With terrified strength, I struggled free, flopping over the edge and into the darkness.

I looked around the day-lit street again. We’d been lucky to not be injured in the drop to the river, but that was as far as luck was taking us. Somewhere between bridge and riverbank, we’d lost the spare bullets. I opened the cylinder, looking at the single bullet left to us.

Slapping the gun closed, I clicked on the safety. If there was any higher power, watching us, my temptation to abandon Julia was surely calling down judgment.