Jacqueline Druga - No Man's Land

“Be better for the baby if I did, now wouldn’t it?” He lowered the aim.

“No!” I shouted nervously. “No. Please.”

“I know you have gas in this thing. I watched you put it in,” he said. “I would have been gone with it, but you have the keys. Hand them over.”

“Look, we’re just trying to get to Sanctuary City.”

“What a coincidence. So am I. Give me the keys.”

“Why don’t we go together?” I asked nervously. “Really, I think…”

“Man, I heard that thing screaming all night. I’m not going anywhere with a noise maker. Now give me the keys.”

“Okay, just let me get some supplies.”

“You got three seconds.”

“Just the baby supplies, let me get supplies to feed the baby.”

He laughed. “One.”

“They’re in my back pocket.”

“Two.”

Trembling, I reached back for the keys and pulled them out, jingling them for him to see. For him to not get to number three. Chances were he was going to kill us anyhow. I believed it, but that was only briefly. I knew we’d be fine. In fact, I probably smiled.

“What the hell are you…?”

Leah.

In all her dead, half-naked glory, she stood behind the man and with a wide-open mouth and plunged her teeth into the curve of his neck.

He screamed and I darted out of the way in case the gun went off. It didn’t. He struggled to free himself, but blood poured down his chest as her jaws refused to let go.

I looked around for more Vee. Surely they’d come after that scream.

The man tumbled to the ground and as Leah dove on him, he released the shotgun.

I didn’t have a gun, so I seized the moment and grabbed his. I’d worry about more ammunition later.

“Help me,” he gurgled. “Help.”

I knew the shotgun was engaged and I aimed it at him. That was my first thought, to spare his agony. My second thought was to spare Leah. Then I decided, shooting wasn’t a smart thing. Not only would the noise attract Vee, I had never fired a shotgun. I didn’t know what kind of kick it would have and Edward’s safety was foremost. Did I want it to throw me back, holding my child and leave myself vulnerable.

The man on the ground, bleeding, and dying didn’t care about our well-being, why should I care about his?

I gave it a few seconds, mesmerized as Leah tore him apart.

He stopped fighting, his eyes remained open. He was gone. Leah kept chomping on him.

I headed to the driver’s side, keys in hand, opened the door, tossed in the shotgun, and started to get in. I’d drive off and then stop to close the back door and hatch.

After starting the engine, I put it in reverse gear, backed up, turned around and started to drive. I drove slowly, Edward still to my chest. I watched in the rearview mirror as Vee arrived behind me and started to encompass the man’s body.

Leah stood, she walked away from him, leaving the others to devour his remains.

Two blocks away, seeing it was safe, I pulled over to close the back door and hatch. I was ready to leave when I saw her.

Leah was trying to reach us again.

“No,” I groaned. “Please no, Leah.”

What I needed to do was get in the car, give one more glance in the rearview mirror then mentally say goodbye to my wife.

Then again, I just couldn’t leave her there. She would hurt someone else, and possibly be terminated by a stranger who didn’t know her. Didn’t love her. Didn’t see the woman she was before.

I walked back to the car, removed Edward and placed him inside, then grabbed the shotgun. It was already engaged and, dangerous as it was, I figured I might as well fire off the round and make use of it.

End her suffering.

End my misery.

I aimed as she headed my way.

It broke my heart, it did. Even in her current form it was devastating to think about what I was going to do.

“I’m so sorry, Leah. So sorry. God forgive me.” I pulled the trigger.

I was right about the kick. I wasn’t ready for it and the force of the weapon knocked me back and off my balance. I landed on the ground.

When I looked up, Leah was still walking my way.

I didn’t know if I missed or hit her, but I failed in putting her down.

Instead of trying again or driving away, I took that as a sign. I waited for her and would deal with it another time.

“She smells,” Leah had told me. It was totally unlike Leah to say anything negative about anyone, except Marge Lemon. She was a co-worker of mine and Leah always had something to say about her when her name was brought up. That particular time was when I was getting names for a barbecue we were throwing. “She smells.”

“Oh, she does not,” I argued.

“She does. Like cat. How can you not smell that?”

“Really? Cat?”

“And Cal, have you ever noticed the way she eats? Things are always stuck in her teeth.”

There were valid reasons why that conversation popped into my mind. The first was we had passed the exit for Lemon, West Virginia. The other was Leah herself.

“Look, Leah,” I said to her in the back seat. “Lemon.”

Leah was far from smelling like a rose. In fact, she was pretty bad. So bad that I pulled over at the self-serve car wash just outside of Marshal, busted into a vending machine and stole every single pine tree shaped air freshener in there.

There was her sour, rotting odor and then there was her mouth. It was still covered with the blood of the man who tried to carjack us, and his flesh filled her mouth. Leah chewed on it while staring ahead.

It was an odd and freaky sight.

“Marge has nothing on you,” I looked in the rearview mirror. “Just sayin’.”

What was wrong with me? I mean, really, what was going through my mind?

I was traveling with my two-day-old son, trying to get to a sanctuary city, with my decomposing, reanimated wife strapped in the back seat.

I think in my grief-stricken state it was like she was still with me, I hadn’t lost her. Not yet. There was no shock and horror over her appearance, not that she looked normal, but she didn’t seem to look as bad as any other Vee I had seen.

Again, that was probably my distorted perception.

When I pulled over to tend to Edward, I looked again at the map. I set a goal. A release goal. If Leah was still with me by the time I reached the welcome center on Interstate 79, then I would make her go.

I had to. How much further could I take her along?

The journey reminded me so much of a game I used to play as a child. It was called, Oregon Trail . A poor-graphic game that made the player plan out a survival trip during the westward expansion. You put in your name, the members of your family, and with an allotted amount of money, the player would purchase enough supplies to get his family from Kansas to Oregon alive and well.

Usually, it didn’t work out. The route was rough and dangerous. Along the trail the virtual family got ill, the wagon petered out, the food stolen. Everything and anything happened. The game would flash a screen and you’d just continue on.

You broke a wagon wheel.

Mary broke a bone.

Mary has typhoid.

Mary has died.

For me, the signs along the way and the events that occurred created a live version of that game from the moment I left the house. All I needed was the bad music.

Leah has been bitten.

Leah gave birth.

Leah has died.

Sanctuary Trail.

Next stop, Carver Town. Did you want to look around?

No. Hell no.

Carver Town may have been Vee free at one time, but I didn’t need to walk in to know it no longer was a safe zone.