Fear of the Dead Read online

  She wanted to voice her concerns with Atton in private, somewhere away from Linus. But she was silenced both by what Linus would think of their secret conversation, and the fact that she didn’t have any better ideas. As simple as it would have been to just leave him behind, finding it in them to make that decision was an entirely different story. And for this reason she kept her reservations to herself, and encouraged herself with the words she shared with the two other survivors.

  “It’ll all be alright.”

  9:18 AM

  We’ll be leaving for Pier 35 in a few minutes. We’re still early, so there’s no rush to meet the ferry yet. I thought that while I’m here, I’d write just a little bit more before we go. Not much. I can’t keep the boys waiting. A minute or two shouldn’t hurt.

  Linus is infected. He hasn’t turned yet. But it’s only a matter of time until he does. No telling when that’s going to happen. The only time I ever saw someone turn was when Tom got bit. Or was it before? Christ I can’t even remember anymore. It seems so long ago at this point, my memory’s starting to daze.

  Tom changed under different circumstances. Who knows? Maybe Linus really will survive this thing. I hope to God he does.

  But chances of that are slim. As much as I want to believe otherwise, I know he’s only prone to change. If not today, then tomorrow, or the day after that. And Atton and I have to be prepared when, or in case it happens.

  I never said it out loud, but at the time a part of me wanted to leave Linus behind. Since then I’ve had some time to think things through, and I’m tired of leaving people behind. If it hadn’t been for me, Tom would still be alive. If I’d only done something to help Grace when she needed me instead of running, I know she’d be here with me right now.

  9:19 AM

  For all the things that had stopped working since after the start of the infection, the 70s style starburst clock in the bathroom was still ticking. She washed her face over the sink with bottled water and soap. The soap dispenser smelled of fresh lavender. Her pants were wet from the puddle she stepped in as they’d parked outside the KTLU building. Everything from below her knees to the insides of her shoes was cold and drenched. Vanessa wanted the chance to dry herself, but that probably wasn’t going to happen. Not now at least.

  First things first. Head to the pier, find the ferry, and leave. Afterwards she could worry about comfort, and possibly hypothermia.

  She pulled her hair back and tightened it with a headband she found from one of the abandoned offices. She noted as toured the building how funny it was that a rock station could feel so corporate on the inside. The halls were roomier, and the place didn’t have cubicles, but it nonetheless reminded her of the old accounting office she used to work in. It was funny, if not also a little sad.

  As Vanessa was in the middle of rearranging her hair, she heard a powerful explosion ring in her ears. Immediately she flinched, and headed downstairs towards the sound. All along the way she peered outside the windows to see if it could have come from outside. Maybe the infected were here.

  But as far as she could tell they weren’t. Instead, all she saw was Atton lying on the floor, bleeding out of his left side. Linus came in after him bearing Atton’s shotgun.

  “Linus! What are you doing?!”

  “I’m sorry. But I don’t have any other choice.”

  Atton winced as he held the area above his open wound. He squirmed and made a clear but unsuccessful attempt at rising to his feet.

  Linus cocked the gun and aimed the barrel at Atton’s forehead.

  “Stop! Linus. Don’t do it!”

  He hesitated, and Vanessa could tell that he derived no joy from what he was about to do. Just like Tom, he was doing what he had to do to save his own life. And that meant killing the two people who could jeopardize his chances of being rescued once the ferry arrived.

  His hands tightened on the weapon. And in that one split second of terror, her mind trailed back to Tom, his hands tied around her neck, choking her, telling her that he loved her. The more she saw the correlations between Linus and Tom, the more she began to realize who they really were.

  It was there that she realized that she had no reason to feel sorry for Tom. Even if she was the one who got him killed, Tom would have willingly killed any number of people if it meant saving his own life. She saw it for herself then, and she saw it again now. And as afraid as she was of Linus, she despised him so much more.

  Before the gun could discharge, Atton grabbed the barrel and turned its aim away from his head. He pulled it from his hands which even now surpassed Linus’ strength. Linus held the butt end of the gun, but quickly lost control. With a throw of brute force, Atton forced the stock against his nose. Linus cried, and without thought let the shotgun go. It was in Atton’s hands once more, but Atton didn’t use it. He tossed it aside and threw himself straight at Linus. He screamed at the tear on his side, but it didn’t stop him from mustering the strength he needed to wail at Linus’ face.

  Linus fell in one blow, landing on top of Atton’s blood. Atton continued raining fists on his head until Vanessa couldn’t tell whether it was Atton’s blood on his face, or his own.

  “Atton, stop.”

  But Atton kept on going. He wrung one hand around his neck, and sent the other pounding on his mouth. Linus spat out blood and chipped teeth, and he began to choke. He stopped resisting. He stopped avoiding the attack. His eyes fell shut, and he stopped moving altogether.

  “Atton, stop!”

  A few more punches in, and he died. When Atton’s hands stopped moving, so did all of Linus.

  “You...” Vanessa tripped over her tongue. “You killed him.”

  Atton struggled to muscle his way to a stand. He nearly succeeded, but had to hold onto a rail in order in order to support himself. For the longest time they stood in silence, staring at what was left of Linus.

  “Let’s go,” he finally whispered, limping as he held to his side.

  “Are you, are you alright? Do you need a bandage?”

  He spat, his saliva mixed with blood.

  “Fuck it.”

  “Do you want me to drive?”

  “No,” he shot, and gazed a pair of suspicious eyes hit Vanessa. “I’ll drive.”

  “But you’re hurt.”

  “I said I’ll drive.”

  Even with his injuries his strength seemed to be returning. His grabbed his shotgun off the floor, gasping with the effort but torturing his body to take it. He pursed his lips while he breathed out loud through his nose. He trudged his way towards the entrance, leaving a small trail of blood spatter in his wake.

  “Open the door,” he told Vanessa.

  “Look, Atton. You’re still bleeding. If I can just get you a cloth or something…”

  “Open the fucking door,” he snarled, slowly enunciating each and every word.

  They arrived at the car sooner than Vanessa thought they would. Once they were outside Atton managed to pick up pace. He forced himself to a jog, which in the end only made it harder for him to breathe once they reached the car. Before he could open the door and climb inside, Atton hurled on the street.

  9:35 AM

  Atton’s control over the steering wheel was stiff, but so long as he kept his speed to 40 he was fine. Vanessa tried not to leer too closely at him, but since she relied on him to take her to the pier, there was little else she could do. She didn’t want to talk for fear that Atton still wasn’t in his right mind. She didn’t want to test him.

  He killed Linus with his bare hands. He didn’t count on her enough to take the wheel, and now he had a gun on his side. If Vanessa had ever felt that there was a time when she could have trusted Atton, then by now the feeling was alien. Atton wasn’t the same man now that he was when they met. The spark of elation in his eyes. It was gone.

  “Everybody runs,” he said, and Vanessa didn’t know if he was speaking to her. “When the chips are down, it’s every man for himself.”

  His ch
est began to heave, and Vanessa had to wonder if he was laughing or crying.

  “I’ve done so much to try and do right, now come to find that I’ve been wrong about it all. The only thing people care about is themselves. Nobody gives a fuck about you.”

  He repeated the words once more in a reflective whisper.

  “Nobody gives a fuck about you.”

  When they reached the San Francisco pier, the rain was still pouring as hard as it was before. The storm hadn’t let up one bit. If anything, now it only seemed worse. They drove along the Embarcadero coast line and saw the aftermath of the storm at the Pier 39 Plaza. The cheap plastic chairs that had at one point complemented the outdoor restaurants of Fisherman’s Wharf now lay in what could only be described as complete disarray. Tables were tossed, umbrella shades were turned inside out. Chairs were knocked off their legs, some a few feet from where they originally stood.

  It took a while to catch it in the storm, but Vanessa saw what looked to be a human shape crossing the street at the Grant Avenue intersection past the Bay Aquarium. It stopped at the first sign of Atton’s headlights.

  “Is he alive?” Vanessa asked.

  Atton snarled viciously.

  “Zombie.”

  He stepped on the pedal, bringing the front end of the SUV within ramming speed to the infected on the road. They came within sheer spitting distance when the headlights finally revealed its face. It was a man in his early twenties bearing a goatee and a pair of glasses that obscured the color of his eyes. It was impossible to tell if his eyes were red, but his body was shaking like those of an ordinary human being. Vanessa could tell. There was no mistaking the expression of fear.

  Vanessa grabbed the steering wheel and veered the trajectory of their SUV. It spun harshly towards the right, away from the road and onto the red-bricked building marked SB Architects. She felt Atton kick the brakes, but by then it was too late. They smashed against the wall, crumbling the front bumper into a discordant metal mush. The airbags went off before their heads could hit the dashboard, but the heavy push of momentum only made it feel just as hard.

  Vanessa winced as she felt remnants of her concussion return. She opened the door and tossed herself out, landing palms first against the soaking gravel. She looked around to see where she was, paying no mind to either the rain or the bone shivering climate.

  A woman’s scream echoed in the distance, followed by growls she recognized all too well. While Atton struggled to break himself free from his air bag, Vanessa reached for his shotgun and headed towards the screams.

  At the park overlooking the docks, a living, breathing woman in a red dress was running for her life. But she wasn’t the only one. The man with the goatee, the one Atton had nearly run over, was running with just as much fervor pulsing in his heart.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, putting aside her relief of seeing more survivors in the city.

  The stranger yelled over the restless wind.

  “There’s a boat up at Pier 35! It’s about to leave for Alcatraz!”

  Vanessa startled.

  “The evac’s supposed to leave at noon!”

  “It isn’t safe! They’re taking whoever they can and leaving!”

  That didn’t leave them enough time on foot.

  Behind her, Vanessa heard and saw an infected trampling towards her as fast as it could. She promptly turned around and pulled the trigger on its chest. She returned to Atton, who was still stuck inside the driver’s seat. His eyes drifted as if tired, a result of the bleeding he’d still been doing inside the car.

  Vanessa leaned in and tried to unlatched his seatbelt, but it didn’t budge.

  “Seatbelt’s jammed,” Atton said, his lightheadedness fast turning into drowsiness. “I…can’t get it off.”

  Another infected screamed behind her, but Vanessa couldn’t see it. The heavy rain clouded her vision, making it harder to trust her own eyes. All she knew was that there were infected coming her way, and now she had to make a choice. Either break Atton free, or run with the others and leave him behind.

  Tom’s father George once told her that people were not to be defined by who they were in times of good, but rather in times of bad. It was his understanding that most people in America would never get to see each other for who they really were from the abject comfort of their middle class lives. It was only in the test of struggle that their true colors would ever shine through, and for that not enough people would ever face that test.

  The lesson was part of the toast he gave on the day of her wedding. He told her that of all the things in life, marriage was the closest thing aside from war that he’d ever experienced as being that very test. Because marriage, like war, was the journey between two people to reveal who they were behind their own self-imposed illusions.

  For the longest time since Tom’s death, Vanessa had always feared she would turn into her husband. Now she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she could never be anything like him, because she couldn’t leave Atton to die.

  “Get up!” she yelled.

  “Leave me,” he replied in a low, anemic whisper. The bleeding in his body hadn’t stopped, and his condition was only getting worse.

  Pier 35 was not more than a few meters ahead from where they stood, but it was clear that Atton wasn’t going to make it on his own. Even if she managed to break him free from his seatbelt, his injuries wouldn’t allow him to move far without help.

  “Go save your own ass,” he whispered, his head swaying wearily with exhaustion. And then he muttered underneath his breath, “Everybody leaves.”

  Vanessa slapped him hard across the cheek, bringing his eyes back to full attention.

  “I am not leaving without you!”

  The screams came again. They were even closer now than before. When she held her eyes out long enough in the rain, she could see vague impressions of infected storming their way towards her.

  “Come on goddamn it! Get moving!”

  The seatbelt tightened with a stubborn grip as she tried pulling it free. Failing to get the button to work, Vanessa cocked Atton’s shotgun, and blew the buckle. Atton unfurled the strap and fell to his knees as he left the door.

  An infected came within yards of her and Atton. With its largest step, Vanessa brought the shotgun to its head and took it down. Body parts flew from its back along with rounds of metallic shells. She returned to Atton and grabbed his arm.

  “Come on.”

  She slung his arm over her shoulder, and set the pace for their run. Atton fought against himself to keep up. She could feel the anguish in his gut as if it were her own. But in spite of it all he pushed himself and he didn’t stop. As they ran together they could see the white building nearby with the golden sign on top that read Pier 35.

  “You see that? You see that there? We’re almost at the ferry. Just a little more to go. Come on. A little faster now. You can make it.”

  She felt Atton’s pace increase until he came in front. It took everything in him, but he was fast gaining speed.

  “Fuck,” he spat, and pushed himself just a few steps further. The docks came closer now. The American flag hanging atop the white building rustled like a goal line.

  Another infected scream.

  “We can do this,” she cried, drowning out her fear with words of encouragement. “Trust me Atton. We’re going to make it.”

  “I can’t do it,” he wheezed. His head shook. His throat tensed up. “I can’t do…”

  He slowed down, but Vanessa didn’t let go of his arm.

  “I’m not letting go,” she said. To Atton. To herself. “I’m not letting go.”

  Atton tripped, bringing them both to a hard fall. Vanessa landed on her knees while Atton crashed on all fours. She picked up his arm again, dragging up the thick layers of muscle with her two scrawny hands.

  The infected were coming closer now. And Vanessa began to accept the possibility that neither of them would make it. If she ran ahead she probably would hav
e stood a chance, but she wasn’t leaving Atton behind. Not even if it meant her life. Vanessa was nothing like Linus. She was nothing like Tom. She would rather die alongside a friend than escape alone.

  “Come on,” entered a voice for once not hers. A man with glasses drenched in water and a goatee. The man from moments before, who told her that the boat was leaving soon. He came and grabbed Atton’s other hand.

  “Get up. They aren’t waiting long.”

  With the stranger’s help Vanessa rose Atton to his feet. They carried his arm on both sides, and walked him the rest of the way inside.

  Once at the Pier 35 building, the stranger shut the door and brought them to the edge of the docks. A large ferry awaited them, with the woman in the red dress shouting They’re here. She waved them on to the ferry, where there were other survivors she’d never seen before. 30 to 45 people from the looks of it, though it could just as easily have been more. They all waited for them. Like they had no intention of ever leaving them behind.

  Saturday

  April 26, 2003

  10:25 AM

  More people made it out of the city than I thought. A woman from the rescue told me that there were 125 people living on the island. There are 52 newcomers on the boat, which brings the total of known survivors up to 177. Considering how many people used to live in California, it isn’t much. But it’s still more than I’ve seen so far.

  Atton went to sleep not long ago. The medics gave him a tranquilizer to help ease the shock. They’re working on him. They say aside from losing a lot of blood, there was no permanent damage. He should recover in a few days. Maybe a week. When he wakes up I’ll be sure to tell him that he owes me. Maybe he can buy me a beer or something.