Free Redemption of the Dead by A.P. Fuchs Page B

a couple weapons. I also found the SUV
those keys belonged to, so the vehicle’s in the driveway, half a
tank of gas.
     
    She picked up the keys, then went back
to the note.
     
    About our fight, I’m still
sorry even though I know I’m causing another one by doing the same
thing that started the first.
    You’ll be safe in this house. Don’t try looking for me.
Just stay here, keep making sure the doors and windows are secure,
stay out of sight. For food . . . I’ll leave that to you. If you
can tough it a day or two without it, I’ll bring something with me
when I come back.
    Hope you’re not too mad,
and if it’s any consolation, I will miss you.
     
    Joe
     
    “Oh no, I’m not mad,” she said, “I’m furious !”
How dare he do exactly what he said he wouldn’t? What could
possibly be so important he not only decided not to include her in
this little walkabout of his, but didn’t even tell her what it was
about?
    “I swear,
once I get my hands you, I’ll tear you to pieces.” She crumpled up
the note. “Hope the undead get you first.”
    Her heart ached. She didn’t mean
it.
    W hy did you do it? I
don’t want you to get hurt. “I
never want you to get hurt.”
    Tracy sat at
the kitchen table for over twenty minutes, lost in disbelief at his
abandonment. Someone of his skill and experience should know how
stupid a move it was.
    There was no way she was going to stay
put for a day or two while he sorted out whatever it was he needed
to deal with.
    “But I don’t want to go out there,
either,” she said. She wasn’t scared, but after having Joe by her
side for a while now, going it alone didn’t feel natural
anymore.
    She supposed, though, that that’s the
way it had to be: always alone. No one to trust. No one to
help.
    Only herself.
    * * * *
    Joe kept to
the side of the road, dodging in and around cars both parked and
crashed. Some of the undead were completely oblivious to his
presence. A couple of others saw him, but their stride was so slow
he easily outran them. Only thus far one had attacked him, a blonde
with half her hair torn out, ripped lips and an absent nose. Joe
had taken the paring knife and jabbed it in her eye, hitting the
brain, making short work of her.
    His stomach
sat in unease as he traveled toward April’s apartment, upset at how
easily and callously he was able to take down the undead, often
forgetting they were once humans with lives, dreams, families,
hopes.
    It took
nearly four hours to get there, to April’s street back in the city.
The dust from the other day still hung in the air and Joe was
finally able to see from what: a building that had been torn down
by one of the giant undead. Sadly, the giant creatures were still
out there, their heavy footfalls shaking the ground every time they
took a step. Once in a while they’d let out a foul call, harsh and
primal, like a yelping injured bear.
    Legs sore
and thirsty as all get out, Joe finally turned onto Broadway.
April’s place wasn’t far from here and, thanks to the throng of
jammed cars long-since abandoned and the rubble, Broadway was the
perfect avenue to worm his way through, concealed from any undead
soul looking for him.
    Each car he
passed told a different story, their crunched shells and chipped
paint statements of violent accidents by panicked drivers. Blood
spatter decorated many of the windshields, the majority of them
cracked or even missing huge chunks of glass. Flat tires, open gas
tanks from syphoning thieves, absent doors and broken mirrors all
told of the day chaos ruled the street. Most of the vehicles were
stained gray from the Rain. Others weren’t as bad, probably having
been in a garage then used right after the fact once it was noted
people weren’t people anymore and many had become the walking
dead.
    A child’s
backpack sat beside a red-blotched-gray Toyota, the Barbie backpack
propped up against the rear passenger door of the four-door vehicle
as a lonely memorial to a little girl