Beyond the rotting food, discarded packaging, and miscellaneous garbage, a redheaded teenager crouched in the far corner. She wore tattered clothes, her hair was limp and greasy, and freckles—or was that dirt?—covered her pale face. She glanced at us, her eyes wide with fear, then screamed again and kicked at an oblong object in front of her.
I squinted. “What the fuck?”
It took a few seconds for me and Casey to recognize what had freaked out the poor girl. A severed zombie head lay on its side, clacking its jaws, as if attempting to bite her.
“Well,” Casey muttered, “guess that answers one question.”
Suddenly, the young woman dove over the relentless head and scrambled over the side. Casey and I instinctively stepped apart to give her room, but once she landed on the ground, she didn’t stop to introduce herself—just darted around the pickup and disappeared from view.
“You’re welcome,” I grumbled.
But clearly, she was as scared of the two strange men who’d sprung her from the disgusting prison as she was of the zombified head trying to nibble her toes.
“It’s alright, honey,” Clare said from the other side of the truck. “Nobody here is gonna hurt you.”
Until I heard her voice, I hadn’t even realized my wife had emerged from the van.
With a shrug, I led Casey back to the vehicle, where we spotted the girl sobbing in Clare’s arms. George stood nearby, still on guard while offering words of comfort to the scared young woman.
As Casey and I stowed the siphoning equipment, the two women tried to persuade the girl to join us. None of us could’ve stomached leaving her behind in the apparent ghost town.
Though obviously frightened and seeking solace, she was understandably reluctant to climb inside a van—especially one that looked and smelled as bad as mine did—with four full-grown strangers. It took Azazel whining from inside her carrier to convince the girl that we were trustworthy, and a moment later, all six of us were secure inside the rig.
Once again, having a cat on board had saved the day. I just hoped it wouldn’t go to Azazel’s head.
Chapter
22
“This is either madness… or brilliance.” – Will Turner, Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
The young woman, who’d tentatively accepted a seat on our couch, visibly jumped when Casey locked the rear doors.
“You’re safe,” George, who’d resumed her spot in the dining nook, assured her. “I know that’s hard to believe these days, but we honestly mean you no harm.”
Casey joined his mom at the table, smiling awkwardly at our newest passenger.
Clare and I had already taken our usual seats up front, but we’d both swiveled toward the back so we could face the girl.
Azazel, still safely ensconced in her carrier, chirped at the newcomer. I glanced at Clare’s lap, surprised that our ferocious feline hadn’t hissed at her instead, but perhaps even she sensed the girl’s need for solace, not suspicion.
The young woman gazed at the carrier, a tiny smile emerging.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” my wife asked. “I’m Clare Daniels. That’s my husband, Joe.” She pointed at me, then down at the carrier. “And this is our cat, Azazel.”
The girl looked up at my wife, then scanned the rest of us before uttering a soft-spoken response. “Jessica. My name’s Jessica Horton.”
Clare smiled warmly, a maternal gesture despite her lack of human children. “Nice to meet you, Jessica.”
Once George and Casey had introduced themselves, my wife offered the girl an unopened water bottle, which she gratefully accepted.
“Are you hungry?” Clare asked. “We have plenty of food.”
Jessica swallowed a giant gulp of water. “Thanks, but I’m too nauseous right now.”
“So, Jessica, what happened here?” I asked. “Where is everyone?”
Her eyes watered, and a couple tears rolled down her dirty cheeks.
“Give her a minute,” Clare urged, then glanced at the girl.
Though itching to hit the road and finally find a place to bed down for a while, I didn’t want to unnerve Jessica even more by making a move too quickly. So, I waited with the others until she felt calm enough to explain.
“There were so many,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “It was like a hurricane and an earthquake hit at the same time.”
“So many?” I asked. “Zombies, you mean?”
She nodded. “A giant swarm of ’em swept through town… Mr. Davis…” She choked on the name. “My old neighbor… he tried to get me out. We pulled in here to grab a few supplies before leaving, but it was a madhouse. So many desperate people.” She sniffled. “Then, the swarm came down the street. Too big, too fast.” Another sniffle. “We were planning to take 51 north, but when Mr. Davis saw the massive horde, he panicked and hit the memorial out there. We didn’t know where to go, so he helped me into the dumpster. To hide, until the mob passed.”
She took another gulp of water, then continued relaying her terrible tale. “I think he was planning to hide in there, too, but a few seconds after he closed the lid…” A horrified look crossed her face. “I heard him scream. I lifted the lid and stood up to see if I could help him, but one of those things tried to get me. I fell back down, and the lid shut on top of the zombie’s head. He was about to crawl inside when I heard a loud bang and the side of the dumpster crumpled toward me.”
Casey smiled. “That would be when another truck crashed into it.”
She glanced at him, her shoulders
