Her vision suddenly sharpened, just as the flailing arms and struggling bodies. The gap between the body parts showed her a face underneath. It was her son.
Oh no... Dale! My baby boy...
Their eyes met. Claire could see his face clearly but everything else looked distorted, like her view was pinched. The smashing fists, the scratching nails, the faces darting in, to bite. It all looked smudged. Dale’s face, however, appeared clear and in focus.
He smiled. He opened his mouth and said “It’s ok. I love you.” Then he opened his mouth to say something else, but only blood poured out. His eyes grew wide, then dim, as she witnessed the death of her son.
Her focus shifted back to the bat in her hands. She screamed her outrage and swung the bat.
Claire awoke in darkness. Somebody was holding her by her upper arms and shaking her.
“Claire! Claire! Wake up!” Claire opened her mouth and gasped. “Claire! It’s me – Shelley!”
With a shudder, Claire released her breath. Shelley held Claire’s arms, as the older woman became aware of her surroundings. It was still dark out, but Claire could make out the details of their shared classroom. Shelley released Claire’s arms and sat down on the edge of Claire’s cot.
“I think you were having a nightmare. Are you ok?”
Claire tried to nod, but anguish was written on her face. She started to cry. Shelley held Claire’s hand as the older woman cried.
“I watched my ... my son! ... d–die!” she said between heartbroken sobs. Shelley just held her hand, as the older woman wept. After a few minutes, Claire got control of herself.
“S–sorry.”
Shelley squeezed Claire’s hand. “Hey. You don’t have to apologise.” She met the older woman’s eyes and smiled sadly. “Are you better, now?”
Claire responded with a hesitant smile. “Yes. Thank you.”
Shelley nodded. “All right. ... Let’s get back to sleep, ok?”
“Ok.”
Shelley returned to her bed, casting one last concerned glance at the older woman.
Surprisingly, both women fell asleep within minutes.
Chapter Forty-four
Romy
November 1, 7:20 AM
She crept up the rickety stairs, careful not to make noise. It had been quiet. They were very grateful for that. She reached the closed trap door, mostly by feel. She could barely see what she was doing in the dark.
She placed her hands on the trap door and prepared to push up on the hatch. She listened carefully one last time. Nothing.
The hatch moved up. One inch. Two. Light streamed into the gap. She could peak out now. The hallway floor was dusty, and there were some items lying around. A stack of boxes. A broken plate. A couple of water bottles.
But no feet. Thankfully, no feet.
She continued to push. She felt a touch on her leg and almost yelped. She looked down and saw the anxious face of another woman staring up at her. She used her free hand to give a small thumbs up signal. The other woman nodded, relief palpable on her face.
She continued to push until the latch caught. The small ‘click’ it made sounded deafening in the silence. The woman froze for a long moment.
There.
She heard movement outside. She had to stay super quiet now. Or it would start all over again.
Last night they made too much noise, and the dead beat on the sides of the house. They had huddled in fear as they heard glass smashing. Their eyes grew wider as they heard the distinctive dull hammering sounds of fists beating on the door up there. They hoped that it would hold.
Thank god for that poor soul, who chose that moment to drive past the house. It distracted the zombies. The assault on the house ended. But now she knew that they had not gone far.
They contemplated getting back on the radio to put out a distress signal. But they didn’t. They waited down in that basement. Through the long night.
Nobody slept. People were in a daze by the time the first rays of the sun cast a pale light though that tiny, dirty covered window. Just enough light to drive away some fear.
‘Maybe they’re gone.’ They whispered to each other.
‘We need to check. We need water. Who’s going to go?’ And then the excuses came.
So here she was.
Several minutes later and halfway out of the trap door. Knowing already, that the zombies were still there.
Fuck.
She could feel Michelle’s hand on her ankle. A gesture and a question at the same time.
Yes, the noises have stopped. I know! Then why can’t I move? Come on girl, you’re better than this. She told herself.
Romy started moving again. She crept out onto her hands and knees, and slowly crept forward. The door to her right was closed. The door to her left was open, but only partially. Slowly, ever so slowly, Romy crept forward to peek past the door. A bedroom. Messy. Clothes everywhere, and an unmade bed. The hunting trophy hanging from the wall, and the old-fashioned crossbow hanging beside it were a clear indication of the resident.
Single dude. Red neck.
Romy could see nothing through the window except for treetops and a mostly clear sky. She crawled further down the hall. There was another door on her left. This one was only open a couple of inches. A peek reminded Romy that this was the bathroom. Only one small high-set window, still intact. Up ahead, a narrow door on the right, which would be the linen closet.
No need to check in there.
Unless zombies started playing hide and seek. As ludicrous as it sounded in Romy’s
