Peter Clines - Ex-Communication

“That would be up to the civilian government,” said Stealth, “would it not?”

“Yeah,” he said, “sorry. Shouldn’t bore you with shop talk.”

The cork popped on the wine. Salad was tossed. Pasta was drained. Danielle sat down across from Barry. St. George and Stealth flanked them. They passed the salad and the bread. St. George poured the wine.

They paused with their glasses in the air. He realized they were looking at him. “Toast from the host,” said Barry.

“Yeah,” Danielle said. “This may be the last bottle of real wine in the world. Let’s do it justice.”

“There are nineteen pre-outbreak bottles in the Mount,” said Stealth. “Several families hold on to them for special occasions.” St. George gave her a look and her shoulders slumped. She gave a forced, awkward shrug. “Or so I have heard.”

St. George raised his glass. “I guess … to bringing the world back to life.”

“In the good way,” smiled Barry.

“In the good way,” agreed St. George.

Their glasses chimed together over the bread basket. Stealth put her lips on the rim, but barely let a drop touch her tongue.

Barry began to load up his plate. Danielle, seated across from the dark-haired woman, had another sip of wine and seemed to relax. Stealth tore off a small piece of bread, then set it down on her plate. She pushed at some of the pasta with her fork, impaled it on the tines, and then pushed it back off onto the plate. She reached for her wineglass.

Danielle watched her fidget. “Is everything okay?”

Stealth straightened up with the wineglass. “I usually eat alone,” she said. “I feel somewhat self-conscious.”

Barry shoved another wad of tomato-soaked bread into his mouth. “Don’t worry,” he said around the food. “Everyone’s watching my horrible table manners. Especially now that I’ve drawn attention to them.”

Stealth’s lips twitched into something close to a nervous smile and she stuck her fork back into the pasta. She guided the bite around the plate.

Danielle ate some pasta and swallowed some more wine. “So,” she said, “how long have you two been … together?”

St. George and Stealth exchanged a glance. “I never really thought about it,” he said. “It just sort of happened over time, y’know?”

“So … weeks? Months?” The redhead set her wine down and picked up a piece of bread. “How long have you been keeping this little secret from us?”

“It wasn’t really a secret,” said St. George. “It just wasn’t something that comes up in casual conversation.”

“It does for most people,” said Danielle.

“The first time we slept together was five weeks after the convoy returned from Yuma,” said Stealth. “Is that what you wished to know?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“Wait a minute.” Barry banged his palm on the arm of his wheelchair and turned to Stealth. “I know who you are.”

She tensed in her chair.

“You were on Jeopardy! ,” he said. “About a year before the exes appeared. You were champion for, like, a week and a half, weren’t you?”

“Six days.”

“And you won almost half a million dollars. You beat the highest-earning day ever and then you beat your own score three days later. It was amazing. People were talking about it for months. They all had you pegged as the next Larissa Kelly or Ken Jennings. You played two games where the other players didn’t even get to buzz in. You just swept both boards.”

Stealth gave a hesitant nod, then swept back the lock of black hair that fell across her face. “There was only one game where no other player buzzed in, but there were two games where no other player scored.”

“Amazing,” said Barry. “What’d you do with the money? Take a trip or invest it or what?”

“I invested some,” she said. “I spent the rest on clothing and equipment.”

“Ahhh,” he said. “You’re a sports nut.”

“Something along those lines, yes.”

They all glanced at St. George. He made a point of shoving a piece of bread into his mouth.

They made small talk through dinner, and St. George surprised them all with some peanut butter cookies from the bakery. For a few hours, they were just friends having dinner together. When he saw them to the door, Barry bumped knuckles and Danielle gave him a hug. “Thank you,” she said. She even tried to hug Stealth, but then both of them thought better of it.

St. George closed the door and turned to the dark-haired woman. “Well,” he said, “that didn’t go too bad.”

“Danielle knew immediately.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

Dear Diary,

My eyes opened when I heard the gunshot and the bullet hit the ground six inches in front of me. The sand poofed up and everything, just like on TV.

I know that sounds kind of staged, but it was really just like that. Eyes open, poof . I almost peed my pants. I’ve never been shot at before. It’s scary as hell.

Dad warned us stuff like this might happen. Some people weren’t doing well with the zombies. That’s one of the reasons calling them exes stuck. It was a psychology thing. He told me the term for it, but I don’t remember.

Anyway, he said some people just went crazy. They were shooting at anyone they thought was a zombie or who they thought might be infected with the ex-virus that made them into zombies. Other people were shooting at people to get whatever food and stuff they had, or because they thought they were coming to take their stuff. And some people were just shooting at anything that moved. It was all pretty stupid. It was like everyone’s IQ dropped forty points just because they were scared.

Writing it out makes it sound like I was all uber-cool and everything, like it was just a game or something. Bullets whizzing around me and I sat there thinking about psychology and stuff. The truth is, a second bullet made my hair move and I just ran. I rolled over two or three times and crawled on my hands and knees until I got to my feet and then I ran as hard as I could. Being on the track team finally paid off.

I think I realized then that I only had one shoe on, but all I could really think about was running away from the gunshots.

I ran maybe a hundred yards and saw a n zombieex-person.

Dad says it’s better to call them ex-people, no matter what. They aren’t zombies, he says, because zombies are made-up sci-fi things and exes are real.

I’m doing it again. I’m writing stuff like I was really cool and calm but I was screaming and running around. It’s been four hours now and I think I’m hidden pretty good. I know I should try to be more organized.

Okay, so I was running away from the gunshots and I ran into an ex-person. It was a girl about my age, but she had blond hair. She was walking away from me, so I don’t think she saw me. Well, I know she didn’t see me, because I skittered away and hid behind some bushes and rocks and stuff and she didn’t follow me.

I hid there for maybe a minute and then I heard something and realized there was another zomex-person coming from the other direction and this one was looking right at me. So I got up and ran again. It was like that for two or three hours at least. I’d run and stop and there’d be another ex, so I’d run again. I’m lucky I’m in good shape. If I hadn’t been a runner already I would’ve gotten tired and they would’ve gotten me. There were so many of them.

I think I’ve found a safe place for now. After running around for a while I found some tall rocks. There were one or two exes around them, but none up on them. I don’t think exes are good climbers. I ran between two of them and got up here. I looked around and found a nice little space between some boulders. It’s like a little canyon with one entrance. I can put my back to the wall and watch the opening. I think I could shimmy up to the top if I needed to get out, too.