I nodded, and then watched Skeeter return to his wife.
Chapter Eight
Nathan
I LOWERED MY CHIN TO PEEK from a slit in the boards Gary had left for Skeeter. The sun was a little lower in the sky. Before too long, it would be dark. That thought scared me. We would need to sleep some time, but they wouldn’t. Those things would be walking around, just on the other side of these walls, waiting to pull our flesh from our bones with their teeth.
Skeeter grabbed my shoulder; the sudden movement made me jump two inches off my chair.
“Whoa! It’s just me, Nate. Calm down.”
I settled back into my seat, trying to play off my fear. Watching a movie about zombies is one thing. Watching zombies outside your window was another. The movies didn’t talk about that. Well . . . maybe they did, but they didn’t drive home how terrifying each moment truly was. I tried not to think about tomorrow, or that we would still be fighting for our lives every day from now on. I glanced back at Zoe, and choked back the sadness welling up in my throat. I didn’t want her to grow up in a world like this.
A combination of fear, anger, and utter depression fully engulfed me.
Skeeter squeezed my shoulder. I sat still, letting his fingers sink into my tense muscle. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Is it?” I asked, looking back out the window. “Is Jill?”
Skeeter sighed. “I don’t know. I’m hoping the movies got it all wrong, and a bite is just a bite.”
“What if it’s not?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really wanna think about it.”
I nodded, catching a glimpse of an elderly man shuffling by the window. His neck was half eaten away, and his dress shirt was saturated in blood. “We can’t stay here. We’re going to have to keep moving. Get into the country.”
“Damn, brother, I thought I was in the country.”
“I mean away from any town.”
Skeeter took a moment to respond. “I know, but I can’t move Jill. And we can’t risk putting her in a car with Zoe until we know if she’s going to get better.”
I closed my eyes tight, trying to squint away the visual. Another one of those things ambled by. She was wearing a nametag and a long skirt. I couldn’t read the nametag even if it was closer. It was covered in blood and what might be torn muscle lying over the top.
“Jesus Christ, that’s Birdie,” Skeeter said, disgusted. “She works at the bank.”
A dog was barking at her, keeping just enough distance that it wasn’t grabbed and eaten. Looking out at what could be seen through the boards, I watched whoever lumbered by, studying them, trying to notice whatever I could.
They were slow. Not as slow as I thought they might be, but they were slow enough that if we had to head out on foot, as long as we didn’t let one get too close, or get surrounded, we could make it. Some of them that had more extensive injuries moved slower than others. One guy’s foot was completely gone, but he continued walking on a bloody stub. They weren’t distracted by pain.
“I wonder if you can really only kill them by obliterating the brain,” I thought aloud.
Skeeter raised his hunting rifle, situated it between the boards, and aimed. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.” He picked out a target, and then breathed. “Sorry, Mr. Madison.” Skeeter squeezed the trigger, and the fabric of Mr. Madison’s shirt, in the spot where his heart would be, popped and sprayed open. Dark blood oozed from the wound, but Mr. Madison didn’t seem to notice. “Okay. So that doesn’t work.” Skeeter squeezed the trigger again. This time a red dot immediately formed in the middle of Mr. Madison’s temple and simultaneously seemed to burst, leaving a perfectly imperfect round wound. The man stopped midstep as his head jerked to the side, and then he fell onto his side.
I waited for a moment, watching for any signs of movement. Nothing. “You think we have to burn them, too?” I asked.
Skeeter frowned, his eyes darted over at me from over the sights of his rifle. “Now that’s just silly.”
“Skeeter, honey, I think Jill’s not feeling well,” Doris said. She was wringing her hands, clearly unnerved.
Skeeter hopped up and rushed into the kitchen. I followed behind, seeing Zoe sitting in the corner, watching her aunt Jill as she sat in her chair, crumpled over and heaving into a bucket.
“Zoe? Zoe, come here. Come sit in here for a bit.” I motioned for Zoe to join me in the sanctuary. Zoe slid off her chair and walked toward me, and when she gripped my fingers, the strength in her tiny hand surprised me.
We sat together on a pew beside Gary, hoping the hammering would drown out some of the noise coming from the kitchen. Between the moaning noises Jill made while she vomited, she whimpered and cried for Skeeter to help her.
“She’s sweating, Daddy,” Zoe said, “a whole lot.” Her eyes were heavy with worry. “Then her face went all wonky and she threw up on the floor. She said her whole body hurt like she had the flu.”
I nodded. “Did that scare you?”
“It all scares me,” she said. The skin around her eyes tightened, and I could see she was trying not to cry.
No one knew what would happen to Jill, but I had an idea of what might be happening, and I didn’t want Zoe to witness it. Short of Skeeter moving Jill somewhere else, the only way to keep Zoe from witnessing her aunt’s death was to take her away from the church. That meant taking her outside where it wasn’t safe.
“I’m so sorry, honey. I wish I could make this all go away.” I hugged Zoe to my chest, trying to buy some time before a solution came to mind.
Jill was sobbing now. She probably knew what was happening, too.
I cupped Zoe’s little cherubic face in my hands, scanning the splash of freckles across her nose and light- brown hair. She’d kept the same simple shoulder-length hair cut since she was four. Her natural waves made it bouncy, but it seemed like her worry had weighed that down, too. “I’m going to try to help Uncle Skeeter. I want you to stay in here, okay? You’re safe in here. I won’t be gone long.”
Zoe nodded quickly, glancing back to Gary and Eric as they pounded the last nails into the last board.
“Good girl,” I said, kissing her forehead.
Skeeter was on one knee, both arms wrapped around his wife. She leaned against his chest, her face blotchy and glistening with sweat. Skeeter stared at the floor, whispering something to her, with the same hopelessness in his eyes as the woman we passed on the bridge. His young and healthy wife was dying in his arms, and they both knew it.
Doris filled a glass with water, and leaned down to hold it to Jill’s lips. She took a few sips and then spit it out, leaning down to the bucket, emptying her stomach once more.
“We need the doctor,” Doris said.
“The doctor’s dead,” Gary said, dropping the hammer on the table next to Jill. “So is his wife, and kids. They’re all walking around out there with milky eyes and bite marks.”
Jill sniffed once, and looked up at her husband. “Skeeter.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, still staring at the floor.
“Skeeter, what if I hurt the people in here?”
“No.”
“What if I hurt you?”
“No!”
“What if I kill Zoe?” she pleaded, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. Her breath skipped, and she pulled Skeeter’s face down so his eyes met hers. “Don’t let me hurt that baby, Skeeter.”
Skeeter’s bottom lip quivered. “But what about
I stood up straight, away from the doorjamb I was leaning on. “What?”
“What was that?” Doris said.
