Authors: Lori Whitwam
“I doubt that.” He was giving me way too much credit.
He shook his head. “No, think about it. It’s clear Marcus respects you, and he listened when you cut through the crap and got to the point.”
Marcus respected me? I’d have to ponder that later. “I only said what he already knew.”
“I’m not sure he knew he knew it until you said it, though.”
I couldn’t quite diagram that sentence, but got what he meant. “Maybe.”
“Definitely.” He drained his bottle and stood. “So…thank you.”
“Um, you’re welcome.” I stood too, picked up my empty bottle, and stuck the discarded cap in my pocket.
Ty stepped closer, and my stomach fluttered. “I don’t know if it’s right for me to ask, but what did you do, before you became a kick-ass zombie fighter?”
I had to smile, knowing he’d be surprised by my answer. “Librarian.”
A sharp laugh burst from Ty’s throat before he reined it in. “Seriously?”
“Well, almost. I was in grad school at the time.”
He reached out and ran a finger over the contours of my French braid, slowly as if he feared I’d bolt. “Well, you sure are full of surprises, Ellen…”
“Hale,” I said automatically. “Ellen Hale.”
“Goodnight, Ellen Hale. See you on the road in the morning.”
“Night,” I replied as he disappeared back into the house.
I wasn’t scheduled for a watch shift that night, so I finished my second beer, made a pit stop behind a cluster of trees, dumped the empty bottles in the kitchen, and then headed upstairs. I found Melissa and Faith settled on a mattress in the second bedroom, so I secured one of the pillows and settled on the box springs beside them. Tomorrow would be a very busy—and I suspected very interesting—day. Some of that would be due to the unexpected, and not entirely welcome, attraction I seemed to have to a certain tall, blond blacksmith.
When I was jolted awake, it was still dark, and hot strangers and loading cantankerous goats were the last things on my mind.
I heard the shout again, booming up from the entryway. “Swarm incoming! Everybody up!”
Crap
.
Melissa and Faith stirred. “Stay put,” I told them. “If it’s bad, drag a mattress and barricade the stairs.” I pulled my jeans back on, buckled on my machete, slipped on my shoes, and headed for the stairs, others hot on my heels.
As I reached the bottom, Marcus emerged from the sitting room in plaid flannel boxers and a t-shirt. Could’ve done without that visual, but I didn’t have time to do a brain purge at the moment.
“Living room,” he barked, and the team members followed him through the entryway and assembled around him as instructed.
John Kim, who had been on guard duty, made his report. “Moderate swarm, maybe thirty, approaching from the north. About a quarter mile out, crossing the field on the other side of the perimeter fence.”
Marcus gave a sharp nod, and I could almost hear the wheels turning. “Team of ten for now.” He glanced around and named who he wanted on the attack, and the list included me, Rebecca, and Theo. I was surprised by the last name. “Tyler, you go too. Stick with Theo.”
Rebecca opened her mouth to question this decision, and I knew why. We didn’t know Ty, had never fought beside him, and didn’t know if we could count on him. But I also knew why Marcus shut her down with a single raised eyebrow. We had to know if he could fight now, against a relatively small swarm and with plenty of backup nearby, rather than when we were in a dire emergency.
I turned and found Ty. His long hair was loose, a couple inches past his shoulders, and I forced myself to stop looking at that and focus on his eyes. They were bright and alert, not wary or foggy with sleep. He was no longer forced to be compliant and submissive due to being caught at a disadvantage among strangers; I was now seeing the assertive, take-charge Ty. He pulled a cord from his pocket and tied his hair back before reaching for his spear. Go time.
We followed John out of the house and across the yard, in the direction of the incoming zombies. If it had only been a few, John and his watch partner would have taken care of it, or even ignored them if they were outside the perimeter fence. But thirty or more could be a big problem. The farm fencing was designed more to keep a random horse or cow from wandering away if they escaped their pasture, not to stand up to the full press of several dozen walking dead intent on getting to something tasty. So we had to go eliminate them as quickly and quietly as possible. The rest of the available fighters were standing by inside the fence, in case there were more than expected or things got out of hand.
Theo, Rebecca, and I were used to fighting together, so naturally partnered up as we approached the dead mob. Which, of course, meant I was fighting beside Ty for the first time.
The zombies were clustered in what I considered a typical formation, with the more intact and mobile few in front, and the slower, more damaged ones fanned out behind them. Our team of ten split up, effectively dividing the herd, as they focused their attention on different groups of targets.
Rebecca growled and lunged, the razor-sharp edge of her sword separating the lead zombie from his head in a single stroke.
And the battle was on.
A former teenage boy who was missing the lower half of one arm and most of his jaw moved toward me. I swung and cleaved his skull like a melon before whirling to select my next victim…target…whatever. I took down two more before I had enough breathing space to look around. I saw Ty yank his spear from the eye socket of a brittle-looking female zombie with tatters of white hair stringing from her scalp. Rancid gore dripped from the spear’s long, diamond shaped head as the corpse fell to the ground. Theo was beside him, finishing off what was left of a guy in tattered jeans and a single motorcycle boot.
I heard Rebecca snarl, and whipped around to find her grappling with a tall, gaunt zombie. I saw another body lying at her feet, her sword stuck in its head, as if she’d swung but somehow missed her target, embedding the blade in the thicker bone of the skull. “Little help,” she wheezed, her hands clutching the zombie’s forearms and attempting to shove it back. I had no idea where he’d come from; I didn’t remember seeing him in the group we’d split off from the herd. Likely he was a latecomer, catching the hyper-vigilant Rebecca by surprise.
Raising my machete and leaping in her direction, my help was rendered unnecessary when Ty blew by me, coming to Rebecca’s rescue. He wielded his spear like a ninja bo, spinning it and impacting the zombie’s skull and knocking it back several feet, giving Rebecca room to escape. She lunged and grabbed the hilt of her sword, jerking it from the head of her latest victim.
By the time she was re-armed, Ty had taken care of the Ichabod-zombie with one powerful thrust of his spear through the middle of its face. Theo arrived just in time to witness the end of our little scenario.
“Nice moves,” Theo said, as Ty plunged his spear into the turf a few times to clear off the worst of the ichor. This was high praise coming from my fight instructor.
“Thanks,” Ty grunted, scanning the field for additional danger.
We saw John and Javier team up to take down the last two threats. All that was left to do was make a sweep of the area to check for stragglers. Finding none, we were soon on our way back across the field and toward the farm. When the backup fighters saw us coming, John waved them an all-clear sign, and they turned for the house. Everyone was no doubt eager to try to catch another hour or two of sleep before we had to load up and get back on the road.
“Damned thick-headed zombies,” Rebecca grumbled, obviously annoyed her whirlwind of destruction had been derailed and a lowly blacksmith had needed to come to her aid. If I pressed, she’d have to admit he’d done so in spectacular fashion, but I was too smart to bring that up right now.
Ty moved up beside me. “You’re a pretty good fighter for a librarian,” he said with a crooked smile.
I forced myself not to touch the handle of my machete, a gesture I frequently caught myself doing. It calmed and comforted me, thinking of how I’d inherited it and thanking Quinn for all he’d given me. “Yeah, well, guess I had to learn.”
Ty disagreed. “Everybody has to know how to defend themselves, but you’re totally assault team material. Seriously, you were a librarian?”
I sighed. “I was a lot of things. Most of them meek and mousy.”
He gave a low whistle of either amazement or disbelief. “And then…apocalypse?”
“Something like that.” I didn’t want to discuss what had led me to learn to fight. Did I?
We’d fallen several paces behind the rest of the team, and Ty put a hand on my shoulder, slowing us further. “Look, I know you hardly know me, and I don’t want to be obnoxious, but I just saw a world of pain flash across your face.” He hesitated, pulling a hand roughly over his close-cropped beard. “You can tell me to fuck off if you want, but I’d really like to know what happened, what made you change, because I can’t see it. And maybe, if I know—as much as you feel comfortable telling me—maybe I can help somehow, make it not quite as heavy a burden.”
I continued in silence for a minute or so, thinking. It was a very personal question, and not one I was eager to discuss in any kind of detail. In some ways, losing Quinn was even more traumatic for me than those weeks at the motel because of the guilt still festering inside me. But we’d just fought side by side, and he’d proved himself to be very skilled and willing to come to the assistance of a fellow fighter in trouble. Things like that tended to spawn a sort of battlefield comradery, and discussion of things you wouldn’t share under normal circumstances, even for someone as guarded as I was.
Were there even normal circumstances anymore? Anywhere?
We were nearing the farmhouse, so I relented and decided to give him the abbreviated version. “Okay,” I began. “When the outbreak reached where I lived, before my brother and I could plan our escape, we ran into some marauders. They killed him and captured me.”
“Shit.” He reached for my hand, and for some reason, I let him.
“I was there for weeks, and…well, you can imagine.” There was a hostile rumble from his chest, and I had to agree with the sentiment. “Melissa was brought in the last day, and a group from a nearby community rescued us the next morning. It was rough at first, trying to get past what happened—like the freakin’ zombie invasion hadn’t been enough—and I wasn’t doing a very good job.” I stopped walking and met his eyes, still holding his hand. “I was weak. I was a fucking liability. When bad shit happened, I was pushed out of harm’s way, and other people had to protect me. Nobody could trust me to protect myself, let alone help anybody else. I was too unreliable. Too weak.”
“Hard to imagine you being weak.”
I dropped my head and sighed before looking back up to him again. “Well, I was, and it got somebody important to me killed. The one person I’d learned to trust. Crazy thing was, I was terrified of him at first, and he turned out to be the gentlest, most generous, compassionate person I’ve ever known. He got bitten because he had to protect me. After…after he died…” After… “Once I could think, I knew I wasn’t letting that happen ever again. I wouldn’t be a liability anymore. He…Quinn spent his life after the outbreak protecting and defending everybody, making a difference. I figured since he died saving my life, the least I could do is not fuck up what was left of it.”
Before I realized it, my free hand had drifted down to brush against my machete, and Ty caught the motion. His gaze raised to mine, and I saw sympathy, understanding…and maybe a bit of admiration in his eyes. His voice was soft when he asked, “Was it his?”
I didn’t break eye contact, refusing to feel any shame. Ty wasn’t shaming me, not at all. But I swallowed down the shame I had never quite managed to purge from my own soul. “Yes. It was.”
I turned and started toward the house at a brisk pace, Ty following in my wake. He caught up with me just as we reached the porch. Before we parted ways to seek our respective beds for what remained of the night, he brushed his knuckles along my jaw and said, “Thank you, Ellen. Thanks for telling me, and for trusting me.”
He climbed the porch steps, then turned and gave me a small smile and nod before disappearing inside.
Thanks…for trusting him? Did I? I was more than a little surprised when the voice inside me informed me that I did.
***
I doubted anyone got much more sleep that night. As soon as dawn began to make an appearance, we were all up and loading in for the next leg of our journey. Jocelyn dished up portions of trail mix in the kitchen, and the earliest arrivals were able to enjoy theirs with a bit of fresh goat milk. I downed my breakfast quickly, then took my pack to be stowed in the van before heading to the barn to see if Melissa needed any help.
I found her coaxing Wilhelm from the top of a huge stack of hay bales. “How’d he get up there?”
She shrugged. “He’s a goat.”
“Wasn’t he in one of the stalls?”
“Yeah. He’s a clever one.”
Just what we needed, an evil genius goat.
Wilhelm descended from his perch, and Melissa led him toward the truck. “I’m glad we were able to unload the animals. Depending on where we stop at night, we might have to take them out to feed them, then put them right back in.”
I hadn’t thought about it, but could see her point. Plus, less stuff to muck out of the truck if they spent the night somewhere else. I peered into the back of the vehicle. “Is that everybody?”
Melissa shook her head. “Cats are still on the porch.” She latched the back of the truck and gestured toward the barn. “I saw a really big dog kennel in there. I was thinking we could use that instead of the little cat carriers. They can all go in one, and we can put a sandbox in the back.”
I followed her back into the barn. We located the kennel and dragged it to the screen porch where the cats had spent the night. The house had emptied out, everyone in the last stages of loading their gear and preparing to depart. Melissa and I loaded the cats into their more spacious accommodations and started the laborious task of hauling the crate loaded with four good-sized, squirming cats across the yard.
We set the cats down for a moment to rest our arms, and I glanced over toward the pump. Ty was there, splashing water on his face, his damp hair streaming down over his shoulders. He shook his head like Skip after a bath, then proceeded to secure his hair with a cord he pulled from his pocket. He looked up and saw us, then hurried in our direction.
“Morning, ladies. Need a hand?”
“Yes, please,” Melissa said, giving him a look that suggested she appreciated more than his offer of assistance. I couldn’t disagree.
An extra pair of hands allowed us to load the cats without further delay. As I secured the back of the truck for the final time, accompanied by a bleat of disapproval from Wilhelm, Marcus called to everyone to gather around for pre-departure instructions.