“And we were too scared to leave,” Ken added.
“Uh huh.”
“I’m still too scared to leave.” Ken gave Cher several long kisses on top of her head. The tears in his eyes caught the candlelight.
“We can always just sit here and wait to die,” Lenore said with a shrug. The idea sickened her. She didn’t want to starve to death. Or get eaten. “We’re damned if we do, damned if we don’t.”
“Can we think about it a few more days?”
Lenore nodded. “We got enough food for a little bit longer.” Looking out the window at the pond, Lenore sighed. “I’m going to clean up.”
“I’ll come with you.”
They gathered clean clothes and towels. Leaving Cher safely inside, they walked down to the pond. Their flashlights illuminated the tall grass and few trees. Lenore didn’t particularly like the dark, but she couldn’t stand to be dirty.
Under the full moon they washed up, changed into fresh clothing, and washed their dirty outfits. The world around them was peaceful and Lenore wondered if she was being rash. Maybe she just wanted to run away because her grandmother was gone. The emptiness inside of her was crushing.
Carefully, she withdrew her grandmother’s hairpins from her jeans. Her hair was grown out and ratty. It annoyed her, but she didn’t have anything to secure it until now. Tears blinded her eyes as she carefully French-braided her hair back from her face, slipping the hairpins into the woven hair to hold the style. When she finished, she rested her hands against her hair, remembering her grandmother’s gentle touch.
In silence they trudged up to the RV. Ken hung their wet clothes on the makeshift clothesline they had strung on the branches of a tree. While he was doing that, Lenore poured the tepid water they had boiled earlier over the campfire into a gallon jug. She hoped there was some Kool-Aid and sugar left. She hated the taste of the pond water even after it had been boiled to rid it of impurities.
Lenore kicked dirt onto the fire to extinguish it. Turning, she saw Ken draping his jeans over the line. A shadowy figure lurked just beyond him, moving slowly through the brush.
“Ken!” Lenore shouted.
He jerked about, staring at her in confusion.
“Run!”
Panicking, Ken ran in her direction and away from the RV. Lenore pointed at the RV, breaking into a run.
“No! That way!”
Skidding around, Ken retreated to the RV. He was almost to the entry when the zombie lurched out from the gloom under the trees and into the moonlight. With a screech, Ken dashed past it and dove into the vehicle.
“Get the gun!” Lenore screamed stumbling to a halt. The zombie was between her and safety. She cursed herself for becoming so lax in their security. It had felt so safe up here they had stopped carrying the revolver after the first week and a half. The beam of her flashlight caught the zombie in its light as it lurched after Ken.
For a moment she was terrified it was her grandmother risen from the grave, but then she saw it was a man wearing bloodstained coveralls. The creature twisted around on its skinny legs toward her, abandoning its pursuit of Ken. Lenore swung the heavy gallon jug at the zombie’s head as it lunged. The impact shattered the plastic and sent warm water over both of them. The blow was violent enough to knock the zombie backward. It reeled, trying to regain its balance.
Lenore surged toward the dark gaping entry to the RV. The light from her flashlight swung crazily over the ground as she pounded up the incline. Her lungs gasped for air and she felt light-headed. After all the hard work they had done today, she was physically exhausted.
The reek of the zombie filled her nose as she pounded past it. Hurtling through the doorway, she almost knocked Ken over. Clutching the revolver, Ken screamed in terror.
Lenore scrambled to shut the door, but Ken shoved her aside and aimed at the undead man. The explosive sound of the shots nearly deafened Lenore. She flinched as the revolver roared. Ken fired all six shots and the gun clicked empty. The zombie lay on the ground moaning, one leg shattered and an arm hanging from sinews. Lenore grabbed the door, swung it shut, and barred it.
“You idiot!”
Ken staggered away from her, hyperventilating. Cher was somewhere in the RV hissing angrily. Collapsing against the kitchen counter, Ken shook violently.
Despite her anger, Lenore understood his terror. She gently tugged the revolver out of his hands and set it aside.
“Ken,” she said in a low voice.
Shivering, he stared at her through glassy eyes.
“Go lay down.”
Ken nodded and wobbled to the rear of the RV.
Sighing, Lenore pulled the crowbar off the counter. For a few minutes she checked outside with her flashlight, peering into the darkness. No more shambling shapes emerged from the darkness. Only the one zombie keened as it tried to crawl to the RV.
Clenching the crowbar in her hands, she unbarred the door and stepped outside.
It took two whacks to kill the zombie. Once done, she wiped the end of the crowbar off on the grass. The wind whistled through the tree branches and stirred the tall grass.
All seemed calm once again.
As Lenore climbed back into the RV and secured the door, she wondered how long it would last.
21.
Time to Go
Curled up on the bottom bunk, Ken wished he could stop crying. Though he managed to stifle his sobs, he was sure Lenore heard him. She had climbed onto the top bunk after going outside and killing the zombie. He had expected her to yell and call him names after he had been such an idiot by wasting six bullets. Instead, she had been silent, which had been in its own way even worse. She was Eeyore to his Tigger, and when she was grumpy at him he knew everything was okay between them.
Silence scared him.
Cher nudged his nose with hers before crawling over him to settle into the small of his back. Her presence was a comfort. He could always depend on her love. Maybe he was being foolish, but he wondered if Lenore hated him now. He was such a stupid Nancy girl. He couldn’t even deal with one zombie.
But then again, he had avoided confrontations his whole life. Anxiety attacks had plagued him all through his formative years. It was very hard for him to stand up for himself or involve himself in any physical confrontation. He had never hit anyone in his entire life even when he was being beat up.
Last night, his desire had been to run into the RV and hide, but the thought of losing Lenore, his best friend -- only friend now -- had compelled him to take action. Of course, that had resulted in him wasting ammo and not even killing the zombie.
Sniffling, he curled up on the pillow. Sleep felt far away. His senses were heightened, his ears straining to hear every sound. The creaking of a tree branch sent shivers down his spine. The wind swirling through the field and the noises of the night creatures sounded eerie tonight. Of course, what he was truly straining to hear was the low, terrible moans of the undead.
It was warm in the RV. The windows were cracked open just enough to let a breeze in, but it was still humid and he felt sticky. He wished he could fall asleep and forget the horrible day, but he felt painfully-awake. Worried that the zombies could be creeping up on the RV, he slid out of bed.
A quick glance out of each window, including the windshield, reassured him that no more of the shambling dead had reached their safe haven. The moonlight illuminated the mesquite tree that sheltered Grandma’s grave. His overzealous mind began to ponder the possibility of the old woman crawling out of her grave as a ravenous zombie. Shivering, he tried to dispel that frightening notion and returned to bed.
Cher glared at him as he jostled her and made a great fuss over having to resettle herself into a new position. He felt fresh tears fill his eyes at the thought of his little kitty girl suffering alongside him through this nightmare. He had noticed she had lost a little weight and it saddened him. Cher and Lenore were all he had left in the world.
If Lenore wasn’t mad at him...
Changing positions every few minutes, he tried to find a comfortable spot in the bed. He grumpily kept adjusting the pillow until Cher had enough and stalked off in a huff to sleep somewhere else. He considered sleeping in his regular bunk, but he wanted to be close to Lenore even if she was mad at him. If only he could get comfortable…
Trying to fall asleep became a nightmare. Ken counted sheep, counted backward, tried to pretend he was floating on a cloud, and a variety of other mind tricks all in an effort to fool himself into sleeping. He finally gave up, convinced he was doomed to a long sleepless night, when sunlight struck his eyes, waking him. Groggily, he pulled himself upright, surprised that he had actually slumbered. He must have been dreaming he was still awake.
Standing, he checked Lenore’s bunk to see that she was gone. A sour little knot of anxiety clenched inside of him as he hurried through the small RV looking for her and his cat. Cher was asleep in a sunbeam on the dashboard, but Lenore was nowhere to be found. The door was slightly ajar and he tentatively shoved it open. Lenore stood before the smoldering campfire gazing toward the meadows below. The revolver was clutched in one of her hands. The corpse of the zombie was nowhere to be seen and Ken shivered at the memory of the creature.
“The zombie...” Ken started, then faltered. He had left Lenore to deal with the zombie alone last night and with its body this morning. He felt like a jerk.
