Zocopalypse (Death Fields 1)

Chapter Thirty-Two

~Before~

Five Weeks Earlier

We leave at dusk, tired of being cooped up in the shed. Even in the fading daylight my eyes hurt from being in the dark room. Again we stick to backyards and alleys until complete nightfall. It’s time to make some progress and leave the safety of our neighborhood behind. The tug to go back home is strong and I fight it with everything I have.

“We’ve got the entire commercial strip to deal with before we can get back into the next residential area,” I say as though my mother is less familiar with the area than I am. “Then we can stop at the elementary school on Harper Avenue. According to the last news report I saw that entire area was cleared and moved to the evacuation center.”

“How many miles is that from here?”

“Three. We can definitely get there before daybreak.”

It’s so quiet that the only sound I hear is my heart, thundering like a drum in my ears. More than once I start to take my mother’s hand, just to feel something close. Something alive, but I don’t because I’m not a child. Not anymore. I’m an adult, whether I want to be or not.

The silence is broken by the intense bark of a dog. I stop and Mom stops next to me. “Where is that coming from?” she whispers.

Dogs and other animals are an unknown in our alternate universe. So far none have attacked people. They seem immune to the parasite but that seems unrealistic. We assume everything is a carrier. Beyond that, a barking dog means it’s seen something—heard something. It may be us or it may be something else.

“Over there?” I question. The dogs bark echoes off the empty streets. I can’t tell if it’s inside or out. There’s a small apartment complex to our right, the parking lot about half full. The muggy air smells like garbage and something rotten. I’d hoped we could skirt past it quickly but now I’m afraid to get out of the shadows.

My mother steps forward and scans the area. Finally she points toward the second floor. I follow her finger and sure enough, a medium sized dog has its snout pressed against the window, barking frantically. “What do we do?”

“One step at a time,” I answer, relieved he’s inside and not out. “Let’s just get to the school.”

We dart car to car, our packs bouncing against our backs. We’re close to the edge of the parking lot when the dog’s barking intensifies. He must have seen us, I think ducking behind a Toyota SUV. My mom’s feet shuffle loudly behind me and I turn with a finger to my lips.

“Shhh—” My eyes flick upwards, over her head.

“Mom…”

“What?” she whispers.

“Run.”

She looks back just as the Eater screams. His voice immediately echoed by another, setting off a chilling chorus of howls. It’s the first time I’ve seen one up close, not the secondhand, fuzzy online videos removed as fast as they go up or with a barrier between us at Liza’s house. This one is here. Alive. Hungry.

His face is pale, thoughtless other than rage. Anger lights his spidery eyes and his teeth gnash like an animal.

The barking dog snaps me out of my stupor and I run, dragging my mom by her arm. My pounding footsteps join my heart as the prevailing noise in my ears. For the first time in my life, I consider we may truly, actually die out here.

I bump into a car and over the curb leading away from the complex parking lot, following a sidewalk around back. Even in the dark I see their bodies, coming fast in our direction. Three, maybe four. Movements jerky but quick. It would be better if they were truly dead but underneath the parasite and the hunger, they’re alive and their bodies and muscle memory react as such.

“Come on,” I yell, heading past a wrought iron gate and to the back of the complex. I slam the door shut and latch the gate. A blue-green pool of water sits in the middle of a concrete pad. There has to be somewhere to hide back here.

“Wait,” Mom says, grabbing a lounge chair. She drags it over to the gate and wedges the feet in the slats. She jumps back as the Eater’s bang into the fence, rattling against it violently. There are more now, ten or so. Maybe a dozen. I run around the pool and try the handle on a small storage closet. Locked.

“Where do we go?” Mom asks. All I’ve done is corner us, wedged tight behind the apartments. The Eater’s climb the fence, or try to, using one another for leverage. God, why did they have to have brains?

I’ve wrapped my hand tight around the hatchet I found in Liza’s backyard. A shadow moves near the building. They’ve made it in the gate. “Mom, get out the gun.”

“What? No. I’m not ready.”

“Get ready,” I tell her. “This is it.”

By the fence, bodies fall over the edge, crashing to the ground. The impact only affects them for a moment and they lurch to their feet. From the corner of my eye I see my mother raise the gun with an unsteady hand.

The first Eater up howls with rage. The gun jumps in my mother’s hands, firing with a loud, ear-splitting bang. His body jerks backwards—somehow she hit him.