Joseph Love - Kill Town, USA

“I will, too.”

“You need to go on.”

“And you need to come with me.”

“I can’t. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes less sense to split up.”

“We’re already split up.”

“No.”

She held up her arm. “You know we’re split. Now or later.”

“As long as possible.”

“What’ll you do when I…”

“You know what I’ll do.”

“You’ll do what’s right.”

I kissed her forehead.

“We need to find more food.”

“I have a feeling all the houses we find will be the same.”

“If we find any more.”

“Maybe they left a truck or something here.”

“That’d be something.”

“We’ll look tomorrow.”

We stared into the fire. I put my head back on the sofa. My neck cracked and I closed my eyes. I fell asleep for about twenty minutes, but Audrey was still awake. The fire was almost dead.

“You shouldn’t worry.”

“I don’t want to turn into that thing Sewell’s wife was.”

“You won’t.”

“It wasn’t human.”

“You should stop worrying. You’re born and you die.”

“And you ignore it?”

“Every day like I’ll live forever.”

There was little to do for her except sit and hold and caress.

As I fell asleep the second time, the front door rattled.

Audrey stirred and leapt from the couch. She grabbed the Winchester. The front door clattered. The walls shook. Audrey stood frozen over the couch. She steadied the rifle.

The room was the orange of embers from the fireplace.

The door swung open against the chain.

“What do you want?” She yelled.

“Shoot,” I demanded. “Don’t talk, shoot.”

A bright blue light flooded the doorway.

“Undo the chain, ma’am.”

“Who are you?”

“A spotter saw smoke from this house. You’re inside a cleared area.”

“I don’t know what the hell a cleared area is.”

The flashlight bounced nervously. She could have shot straight through the door, but she danced from foot to foot. She kept the rifle still, an inch away from the door.

“We cleared this area the day before yesterday. Everyone’s gone except you. What the hell is that?” He shined the light on Audrey’s arm, the bloodstain on her sleeve. “Undo the chain, ma’am. We can help you.”

“Are you arresting me?”

“Is anyone else with you?” He pulled the door shut before ramming against it with his shoulder. A picture fell to the floor. The chain barely held. His radio squawked. He rammed the door again. The chain was almost off.

“One squatter, possibly more, likely infection,” he yelled into the radio.

He rammed the door a third time.

The chain gave. The door struck the muzzle of the rifle.

Audrey fell on her ass.

She fired.

The man fell to the floor. His flashlight rolled away and stopped against a doorframe. It shined back at him. He was a young guy, twenty or so. He wriggled on the floor, clutching his gut.

Blood gushed out of his shirt and through his fingers. He stared at Audrey slack-jawed, silent. There aren’t words when you’re shot like that. There’s nothing when you’re shot like that but drumming in your ears and cold in your heart. He died without a sound.

He wore a belt with two gun holsters, cop-issue 9-millimeter Glocks, a pair of handcuffs, and eight extra clips. His radio was bulky, something they probably used in Viet Nam. It had landed on the porch, chirping with constant activity.

Audrey looked out the foyer window. “He left a truck running in the driveway.”

“We need to go,” I said. “Before they send the whole army.”

We took his guns, clips, cuffs, and flashlight. We crammed the remaining rations in the pack and loaded the truck. Audrey hopped in the passenger side. It was a straight shift. I stared at my feet. “I don’t think I can work the pedals.”

She climbed over my lap and sat behind the wheel. The heat in the truck was nice, but I missed the fire. The couch. The quiet.

The truck slid and skidded down the driveway. We plowed through the steel gate and went sideways into the ditch. It stopped as soon as she let off the gas. The engine stalled. She cranked the motor but it wouldn’t catch. The sour smell of gas leaked into the cab.

“Flooded,” she hit her head against the steering wheel.

“You ought to see if we’re stuck otherwise,” I said.

She hopped out with the flashlight and circled the truck. I watched her kneel in the ditch and dig at the snow. It was cold, but I only admitted it to myself. I was tired of running.

Barely visible in the headlights was a girl, not ten years old, in white pajamas. Like the rest of them, her face was filthy with blood. The white gown dripped in the snow. She stood just behind Audrey. I crawled across the seat and fell out the door into the snow.

“Get up!” I yelled.

Audrey looked up, panicked, and scooted through the ditch on her knees. The girl in white pajamas followed her, mimicking Audrey by moving on her knees. The girl was fast, not two steps behind Audrey.

Chasing her was like a bad dream. I tried to stand. To run. But there was only cold air and pain. The girl was already on top of Audrey when I got to her. The tiny fingers wrapped ferociously around Audrey’s forearms. I took the rope saw from my back pocket and wrapped it around the girl’s neck. I felt every bit of cartilage and muscle as it tore through, vibrating through my fingers, my body. I felt it in my heart. Not beating, but shaking.

The girl fell to the snow. Her head, connected by a scant piece of skin, twisted to the side. Audrey was sick in the ditch. My hands dripped. I picked up handfuls of snow, wiping away the thick, black blood. I dropped the saw and we climbed slowly into the truck. It started without a problem. Audrey twisted the wheel side-to-side, feathering the gas. The truck rocked back and forth and lumbered out of the ditch.

We drove slowly in four-wheel drive, following the winding road west. At least, I thought it was west. I could hardly stay awake. The road was dizzying.

“I have no idea which direction you’re going.”

“Me either.”

“Yeah, but how much gas do we have?”

—

“How much?”

“It’s already on Empty.”

“We might be backtracking.”

“Or we’re dead on.”

The road opened into a white horizon. I reached across the seat and poked her leg.

“You can see the stars.”

She glanced up. “It’s totally clear. When did that happen?”

“Think it’ll be sunny tomorrow?”

“I kind of like it when it’s cloudy.”

We followed the road several miles, mostly straight and flat. A gibbous moon lit everything in perfect yellow.

She slowed down.

“Are we out of gas already?”

“No, look there. It’s a barricade.”

Ahead were concrete dividers high as the bumper and three rows deep.

“Must be a straight shot out of town.”

“Can you go through the ditch?”

She steered off the road and drove alongside a fence parallel the ditch. The front tires flatted and the truck sank. Audrey opened her door and shined the flashlight down.

“It’s a bunch of two-by-fours with nails in them.”

I stretched out my good leg and pressed her foot with mine. The motor roared, the two-by-fours flopped and banged against the truck. The steering wheel drifted left and right, the motor strained. We passed the barricade and Audrey swerved out of the ditch. The tires were gone. The rims scraped and squealed against the icy asphalt. The truck died less than a mile down the road.

Laden with supplies, Audrey and I walked cautiously along the highway. Shortly, she took my hand in hers. Our fingers stuck together. In the ditch ahead, we saw a large cluster of highway signs scraped free of snow and ice. The large one read: