“Outside of my family and health care professionals, you’re the first.”
He especially felt sorry for her now.
But now he had a grander mission in front of him. For the first time in a week, he saw a direction, a purpose laid out for him. All he had to do was seize it. He was satisfied with her story, and a powerful ally was much preferred to a powerful enemy. But more important than that, he had an opportunity to redeem himself for butchering his wife and daughter if he helped Jocelyn’s quest in finding a cure. “I’ll accompany you to our group at the supermarket. There’s a pharmacy. Hopefully you will find your medication there.”
She stared at him. “Thank you,” was all she could manage.
He grunted. “I can’t promise you Colorado Springs—I have a county and now a group of people to look after. But the county seems lost. Maybe our group can accompany you there—it would certainly be a better environment for us than a grocery store.”
“If it’s there. It will be dangerous, even if it is.” Now he trusted her more, just from the simple fact that she wanted to make sure he was making the right decision for himself.
“The idea of spending the rest of my life in that grocery store scares me more, especially the winters.” He decided to change the subject. He glanced back at the sword. “What are these symbols, if you don’t mind me asking? Do they signify anything?”
“It spells ‘Draugar.’ They’re a race of the dead who come back to life . . .”
“Zombies?” he asked.
“Those are ancient runes,” Jocelyn told the sheriff said. “Etched in the sword when it was forged in the tenth century.”
“Why does it look new?” the sheriff asked.
“It’s . . . magical?” she said, chagrined.
The sheriff laughed. “I don’t believe in such things. Still, these runes . . .”
“But you now believe in a zombie apocalypse.”
“So you believe someone made this sword specifically to fight a zombie apocalypse?”
“I’m starting to believe someone made it for me to defend myself during one. Maybe so I could survive to help find a cure.”
“That seems a little far-fetched.”
“You said you’d believe whatever I told you,” Jocelyn pointed out.
“I believe the facts, not necessarily the conclusions.”
“Well, the fact is this sword is magical.”
The sheriff nodded. “If I’m to believe you, I have to give you that.”
“Good. Then you’ll believe me when I tell you I need you to tie me up.”
The sheriff narrowed his eyes. “Now why would I do that?”
“To prevent me from harming anyone if I get paranoid or delusional.”
He sat down on the concrete floor, cross-legged. “What are the chances of a relapse before we get to the pharmacy?”
“I can’t . . . I don’t know.”
He nodded, frowning, grunting. “I’m sorry, but I won’t tie you up.”
“You have to believe me. I’m dangerous.”
The sheriff nodded, still frowning. “And so are the zombies. I’d rather take my chances with you.”
He didn’t understand, I’ve already killed six people! But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that. Still, it was obvious he could see the pleading in her eyes.
“The fact is, ma’am, we all have our faults. Hell, I don’t trust Vin as far as I can throw him. He still believes the new president was behind all this. I tell him he’s crazy, but he won’t listen.”
“And you’re not listening, either. You call him crazy, but I’m the one who’s actually, clinically, insane. He’s simply paranoid.”
The sheriff nodded. “And delusional, like you.”
She sighed. “But I’m dangerous.”
“So is he.”
“But I’m violent.” She gestured to her sword and shotgun on the floor.
“So is he.”
“But you don’t understand,” she pleaded.
“I believe I do, Jocelyn. I believe I do.”
“But if you did, you wouldn’t even compare him to me,” she countered.
“No, I understand. We all have our strengths, and we all have our weaknesses, and we all have our. . . baggage. Take Emily. We have to take care of her, and when we leave the market, whenever that is, she will slow us down.”
“But she won’t kill you.”
He sighed. “I’ve heard enough. This will be our secret. We won’t tell the others—you shouldn’t have told me. You’re lucky I’ve got a good head on my shoulders. You tell Vin, he’ll kill you first chance he gets, I reckon’.”
“Aren’t you worried about me at all?”
“Of course I’m worried. But I’m worried about a lot of things, about a lot of people. Hell, I’m even worried about myself. My wife and daughter are dead. By my hand! I killed them to save my life. Yes, they were zombies, but I could have let them turn me into a zombie. At least then we’d be together now.”
“I believe you did them a favor.”
“Really? You think? And what if they find a cure?”
She was about to say, a cure is unlikely, but she stopped herself. She had to maintain hope in finding a cure, given she was willing to give herself over to experimentation for that cause.
“But my son is still a zombie,” the sheriff continued. “I didn’t have to harm him to save myself. There’s still hope for him. That’s what I need to focus on now. And I refuse to live alone. Because that means I die alone. If we humans stick together and stay loyal to each other, we might just survive. But we won’t if we tie our hands behind our back.”
Jocelyn got it. He had decided she was less dangerous than the draugar were without her protection. She moved to retrieve her weapons from the floor. “I don’t know what we can do, sheriff.”
“Please, call me Marty.”
“Okay, Marty, but you need to call me Jocelyn, then.” She smiled. “This problem is far bigger than us. But I don’t want to just survive. I want to help, in some way. I know that sounds crazy . . .”
“I have a good feeling about you, Jocelyn.”
Out back behind some storage sheds, Marty and Jocelyn buried a
