The man patted his chest, “Kevlar vest.” He grinned. “Hurt like a bitch, but I’m alive.”

Riley held still, feeling foolish and angry. She should’ve made sure he was dead. Who would’ve figured he had a bullet proof vest on? She had made another blunder. Her mental notebook was becoming jammed with things to never do again. Maybe she was afraid that if the man she shot wasn’t dead she wouldn’t be able to finish him off. No, that was bullshit, she was assuming and careless.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“For starters . . . why’d you shoot me?”

“I thought you were after me, wanted to hurt me.”

The man kicked out the chair opposite him and lowered his weapon. “Sit. Relax,” he told her.

Riley placed the items down before meandering over to the table where she took a seat. The man pulled an apple from his coat, tossing it to her. She caught it, looking upon it as if it held the answer to the apocalypse.

“Haven’t seen one of those in a while, eh?” he asked.

“No.” Her stomach was queasy; her mouth watering. Riley’s eyes, like two spherical sponges, absorbed the sight. Her tongue seemed to throb, begging for a taste, but her mind was wary. Was the fruit poisoned?–like in the fairy tale with the witch? Maybe he was going to drug her, make her less of a problem when he had his way with her?

“Don’t worry. It’s not poisoned,” he said as if reading her mind. He pulled out another apple and took a bite, the crunching vividness echoing throughout the small cabin. Riley’s mind went blank, her mouth winning over as she brought the fruit to her mouth and bit. Her mouth flooded with saliva, her taste buds thanking her over and over as the sweet sugary juices flowed down her throat. Once she began she couldn’t stop gnawing on the apple, devouring it all down to the core. It was the best thing she’d ever tasted. Riley plucked a seed from the core, admiring it.

“Plant that, along with the others, and hopefully in a few years you’ll have yourself a few fruit bearing trees.” He was only half done with his apple as if it were a common item for him. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“I shot you,” she said flatly.

“Before that.”

“No.”

“I found you at the diner during one of our sweeps.”

Riley remembered now. He’d asked if she was alone, infected. He’d seemed pleasant, his voice and manner genuine, but she wasn’t about to trust him.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she said, placing the skeletal apple core on the table.

“Okay, go ahead then.” He gestured to the door.

Riley got up, hesitated. Was he tricking her? Once her back was to him would he attack her? Try to force himself on her like his fellow soldier?

“Problem?” he asked.

“No.” She kept walking, wincing with each step, expecting to be tackled. She reached the door; a sigh of relief falling over her.

“We’ve got a lot to discuss and little time so hurry back.”

Riley closed the door behind her. She hadn’t a clue what the man was referring to, but knew running wasn’t an answer. He’d catch her within minutes. The man, after getting shot in the chest, had followed her to the cabin–avoided her alarms, walked across the floor without making a noise and sat at her table without her being aware of any of it. She was left with only one option.

It was dark outside, the sun having dipped way below the horizon making room for the gloom to set in. Riley walked toward the rock she’d hid the .38 under, hoping it was still there.

Like a gleaming jewel, the gun rested under the rock, sealed securely inside the plastic bag. She took it out, made sure it was loaded, and stuffed it into the small of her back–the cold steel sending goose-bumps along her flesh.

She went back inside the cabin.

“Before you shoot me–again,” the man said, catching Riley off-guard, “we need to talk.”

He must have been watching her through the cabin’s windows, saw her retrieve the weapon.

“You’re very well trained,” he told her. “Parents in the military?”

“No.” She didn’t bother removing the gun, if the man wanted her dead–or in other ways–he could have had her already. She decided to hear him out.

“There are men looking for you,” he told her.

“Why me?” she asked, thinking she knew the answer.

“You killed Deak, right?”

Riley wasn’t sure where this was going. Maybe the man was here to bring her back alive, a trophy to be tortured. His posture hadn’t changed since she’d laid eyes on him. He remained casual, relaxed with the gun lying across his lap. Soldiers were brothers and looked out for each other no matter what happened. Maybe this guy wasn’t like the man Riley killed back at the diner, but they were still brothers, brought together by a deeper bond.

“I killed him,” Riley said, not afraid to be blunt about it. The man’s eyebrows rose. “He deserved it.”

“He had a bad rap. Did he attack you?”

Riley looked away, unsure, then stared into the eyes of her new visitor. “He was a pig and wanted to have his way with me, regardless of my protests.”

“I shouldn’t have left him alone with you. I’m sorry. I never thought he’d try anything in the middle of a fight.”

Riley took her gaze from his, her face feeling flush, and stared at the floor.

“I’m glad you killed the son-of-a-bitch, but now the squad, headed by his brother, Big Ben, wants his killer dead.”

“You’re the only one who knows it was me.”

“I told my commander that Deak, the man who attacked you, was bringing in a little girl. Like I said, I never thought he’d be stupid enough to try anything.”

“Someone else could’ve killed him,” Riley said continuing to stare at the floor. Her eyes locked onto a piece of cereal. It was probably a few days old. She’d need to clean it up later.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re involved. At least that’s how they’ll see it.” The soldier took a sip of his tea. “The luckiest you’d get is a shackled work order. But most likely they’d kill you, but not before . . . well, let’s just say it wouldn’t be pretty.”

Riley looked up, staring off into space. “All because it was my birthday and I wanted to see the town.”

“Happy birthday,” the man said.

Riley shot him a look of disgust, her face crinkling up. “Why are you telling me all this?” He wanted something. A trade. Maybe he was more like his buddy Deak than she thought, simply using a different tactic to get what he wanted.

“I’ve done some bad things, looked the other way when I had to. I want out and if I can save your ass . . . well it’ll be a start down the road to redemption for me.” His tone was somber, quickly becoming more upbeat. “Don’t get me wrong. What the army is doing, at least the northeast division, is a good thing: eradicating the undead. But there’s no application period, no background checks. They’ll take on anyone. They need the man power. This new military is hardcore. The officers let the men get away with a lot during the downtime, keeping the troops happy. Being around them has ruined me, damaged my soul. The man looked haggard, his face appearing to have aged ten years. But if you want food and safety you join up and play along.”

“My name’s Riley,” Riley told him.

“Jack.” He smiled, his face brightening. He went on to explain a few things, bring Riley up to speed.

After being shot, he followed Riley through the woods to the cabin. The other men, Ben’s squad mates led by Ben’s brother Deak, would start searching the area at first light. They’d known Jack was with the dogs and when they returned without him they’d know something was wrong–the dogs trained to return to the nearest encampment when fired upon. The squad would search for his corpse along with Riley and when they didn’t find either they’d assume he’d been taken hostage.

“We need to pack up and move as quickly as possible,” Jack said.

Riley didn’t want to believe him–a soldier bent on making up for his past. Why couldn’t he simply leave her alone, let her be. Damn the town, damn the soldiers and damn the world for causing her such grief. She fought to keep the cabin; had killed people to stay alive and had escaped the clutches of a rapist, making it back home only to be told she had to leave it. What would her father have her do? The answer was simple.

They packed up as many essential supplies as possible–fishing line, flashlights, batteries, matches, knives, toilet paper, toothbrushes, among other things. And food–mostly dried goods and canned items. They left immediately.

Riley’s brain told her not to look back as she walked away from her home, but her heart insisted; wanting her to burn the memory of it into her mind. She shed a single tear, wiping it away quickly not wanting Jack to see her angst. She marched onward, never looking back again.

Jack had explained that the soldiers would only chase them so far before it wasn’t worth their time and effort. He and Riley needed to hoof it, make haste. Take minimal breaks and stay hydrated, but not enough to cramp up. Once they figured out Jack was a deserter and aiding the individuals responsible for Ben’s death, they’d have orders to shoot to kill. Riley only walked faster.

Using flashlights, they hiked south, going around Roscoe and onto Route 17. Traveling the open highway was risky, but a blessing on the travelers. The forest, with each footfall taken, could prove a potential broken or sprained ankle. Riley’s knee ached from tripping on a rock and falling. They were both branched-whipped and itchy from pine needles. Traveling at a fast pace in the woods during nightfall had been an unwelcoming prospect.

They walked along the cracked asphalt highway. Weeds sprouted about; the flora determined to take back what man created.

The moon was almost full, and with the sky clear of clouds, the way was lit well allowing the travelers to save their batteries.

If a vehicle came along, the noise or headlights would alert them in time to dash into the woods alongside the roadway where they’d hide until the way was clear.

After four hours of non-stop walking, the two companions stopped for dinner. They ate beef jerky, canned tuna, and drank small amounts of water.

“We can’t rest for long,” Jack said.

“We must be far enough away by now,” Riley figured, chewing on a piece of jerky, her face grimacing at the taste.

“They’ll use dogs and vehicles to find us, especially once they realize we’ve taken the road. If we’re far enough, I’m hoping the army will not want to waste man power or fuel on finding us, leaving only one small team on our trail.”

Riley stopped chewing, looking up at Jack. “Ben’s brother. It’ll be him that comes looking for us farther than the army would.”

“Yes,” Jack said, nodding his head. “He’s an angry man to begin with and he’ll want to use his brother’s death for an excuse to do something other than shoot zombies. Revenge and fun. Two birds with one stone.”

An hour later, even after a break and dinner, Riley couldn’t go any further. She was exhausted, the bottoms of her feet throbbing and asking to be let free of her shoes. The road was truly less obstructed than the forest, but the pavement was as unforgiving as it was solid.

They decided to camp for the night making sure to hike a good half-mile off the road. They’d passed abandoned gas stations and houses, but Jack thought they’d be too easily trapped should some problem arise, and the night was clear of rain.

Satisfied a fire wouldn’t give away their position– the woods thick with foliage–Jack started a fire so Riley could keep warm.

The following morning, after only four hours of sleep, the two companions moved on. Following alongside the road, using the woods for cover, proved too slow and tiring. Traveling along the open road during daylight was extremely dangerous, but the two travelers had little choice. They chose the highway, keeping as quiet as possible. Hardly a word was uttered between them, allowing their ears to be free.

“Where are we heading?” Riley asked, breaking the long silence.

“Poughkeepsie,” Jack answered in almost a whisper. “Heard there’s a working city there. Non-military controlled.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t, just a rumor around base.”

“Isn’t Poughkeepsie far? I remember seeing it on a map once.”

“Yes, but I’m hoping to get us a car.”

“Really?” Riley responded, as if she’d heard the best news in the world.

“Would’ve had one already,” Jack said, pointing to a house standing a few hundred feet off the highway. “Many of these homes probably still have vehicles in them. Back near Binghamton, where the base is, they used to commandeer them from the neighboring houses, whether people were still in them or not. But I wanted to put some distance between us and Roscoe. Cars are an easy, noisy target.” Jack had been looking forward the entire time he spoke, but turned his head around and winked at Riley when he was done. She smiled, unable to help herself.

Riley hadn’t known Jack very long, but she liked him. He reminded her of her father–ruggedly handsome and sure of himself in a positive manner. She also hated connecting with Jack in a way, wanting to stay self-sufficient and strong. But at the same time it was nice to have a friend. At her age, even with all her father had taught her and all she had been through, she still had much to learn. She would follow Jack, listen and learn from him. Like a sponge, she had to absorb all she could if she wanted to not only survive, but live.

Over the next couple of hours, they searched various homes along the way, climbing over guardrails and across rough terrain. They’d had no luck with vehicles. Either they didn’t run or the tires were flat or keys couldn’t be found. Most families that had two cars, when they left during the apocalypse to try to get away or reach family members, used only one vehicle. Jack was sure they’d find a working one sooner or later.

After a few hours of house-exploration, finding the occasional zombie inside and having to blow its brains out, they came upon a house with a two car garage. Peering through the dusty window, Jack saw a car inside.

They broke into the house via a rear window. Inside they found food–mostly rotten and moldy, but the bags of chips and unopened cereal, although stale, were edible. In the pantry they hit the jackpot, finding a can of corn, two cans of carrots and a can of peas.

“Check out the upstairs,” Jack said. “But be careful and quiet. Grab anything valuable for our survival.”

Riley headed upstairs, the .38 at her side. The house was quiet, but she acted as if someone or something might be home. She climbed slowly, passing crooked family photos as if the people that had lived there had left in a hurry. She hoped to find soap and other hygienic items in the bathroom, having not taken many from the cabin.

The first bedroom she entered was made up as if the occupant had cleaned before leaving. The bed was made, pillows looking fluffed. The closet door was open; shoes and shirts neatly arranged. Riley guessed from the décor and clothing that she was in the master bedroom, the parents’ room. It had a bathroom. She entered and found two packaged toothbrushes, two rolls of toilet paper and a bar of Irish Spring soap.

The next room was a girl’s room. Posters of forgotten teen idols lined the walls. Pink sheets embroidered with daisies covered the bed. A purple radio sat on a wooden desk with stuffed animals guarding it. Riley had a room like this once–comfortable, soft. Would she ever have one again? Needing to leave, she exited the room, shutting the door behind her.

The next room’s door was closed and as she approached it she heard a scraping noise. She crept up to the door, putting her ear to it. Something was moving on the other side. She heard the scraping sound again, followed by a moan. She swallowed, shaking her head slightly. As she backed away something heavy thumped against the door causing her to jump. She knew what horrible creature lay on the other side. It could smell her; her presence arousing the thing’s sense to living flesh. The moaning grew louder along with the scratching sound. The thing on the other side was clawing at the door to get at her. It probably hadn’t eaten in some time.

Riley raised the handgun, pointing it at the door. It was too much to hope she’d found a place with no undead. Tears began to blur her vision before spilling over her eyelids and down her cheeks. She could never relax and would always have to be on guard wherever she went.

She suddenly felt tired, as if all the strength had left her body, zapped by some unseen force. She lowered the gun and wiped her face with her sleeves. The moaning and scratching continued relentlessly, and she knew it would never stop.

She wanted to blast holes in the door, hopefully hit the zombie in the head and silence it, but she had no idea how tall it was. Was it an adult? A small child? She could find out, but she hadn’t the strength to open the door with the zombie up against it. She’d let Jack take care of it, realizing how lucky she was to have someone to count on. People weren’t meant to be alone.

Riley walked, half in a daze, back to the girl’s room. She let her backpack slide off her, then removed her coat and flopped onto the soft, dusty mattress. She felt like she was invading someone’s privacy, but the reality was that the bed no longer had an owner. Closing her eyes, she fell asleep.

She awoke to Jack’s voice and the shaking of the bed.

“Riley,” Jack said, softly, sitting on the bed next to her. She opened her eyes, blinking away the dreariness. “You okay, kiddo?”

“Guess I fell asleep,” she said, remembering the zombie. Her face faltered. “There’s one in the room at the end of the hall. I couldn’t open the door by myself.” She felt weak, not physically, but emotionally as if she’d let him down. Jack put a hand on her arm.

“I took care of it,” he told her.

“Good,” she replied, coldly.

“Found these,” he said, smiling and letting a pair of car keys dangle from his finger. “Already checked it out. Runs fine and has about three quarters of a tank of gas too.” Riley forced a smile, matching the grin on Jack’s face. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

A short time later, their bags packed and the car loaded with supplies, they pulled out of the driveway and began heading down the road.

—

Bio: When David first wrote Amongst the Dead, he never intended it to be more than a short story. It has grown, developing into a much longer story, one he himself has no idea where it will end. He hopes the readers enjoy it and thanks them for their support and comments. David can be reached at dbern77@hotmail.com or davidbernsteinauthor@blogspot.com