End of the Line (Book 2): Stuck in the Middle (39 page)

             
“We’ll both go.”

             
Dena didn’t get angry which surprised me.

             
We both left the truck and walked to Eric. I let her go in front of me, keeping one eye on her, one on Eric. I didn’t have my sidearm out. He had no expression on his face as we walked towards him but he stood up.

             
She held the bag out to him. “It’s Maddie’s.” 

             
Eric reluctantly took the pack, grabbing it gently from Dena. He opened it and ruffled through. He took out a knitted hat. Maddie apparently liked to knit. Jim, Annemarie and Tanya all had something knitted by Maddie. She made a lot of blankets and sweaters for people at Costking.

             
“Thank you,” he said. He looked like he wanted to cry but not in front of us.

             
“Sounds like she was a great lady,” Dena said. “I’m sorry I never met her.”

             
“I’m sorry too.”

             
“Eric, we can take you anywhere but back to Harbor,” I said. “I don’t want to leave you here at the side of the road. I know Jim didn’t want that.”

             
“No,” he said, his voice deadpan and beaten. “I’ll stay here-- stay in one of the houses. I want to search for her body and bury it.”

             
I didn’t respond. I didn’t even know what his odds were. She could have been dragged a few feet or a few miles and in which direction? But this was a good a place as any to part ways.

             
I went back to the truck, got his shotgun which was empty and handed it to him.

             
“I left food and supplies in the truck for you and extra shotgun shells.”

             
“Thanks,” he said.

             
“Good luck.” Was the only thing I could think of saying.

             
“I don’t think we should have left him,” Dena said as I started the truck. Gwen, Frannie, Felix and Annemarie sat in the back to give Dena and me some quality time in the front I looked at the radiation counter that sat in a caddy next to me. I prayed the needle wouldn’t move when we got to Floral Park. Right now it stood at normal. If need be, I would leave the others and go myself. We needed those weapons.

             
“We had to do something. What he did was reprehensible. There had to be accountability. I didn’t like it, honey—and I think he knows he made a mistake, but it doesn’t matter, nine people are dead including Simon. That can’t be ignored.”

             
“Dad, these people were all masked. What if one of them was Gil?”

             
“Aisha didn’t think so. Gil was nasty but rarely left the estate and didn’t hunt like the rest of them.”

             
“Eric's part of our family.”

             
“I know but—“

             
“You might have done the same thing if Grace shot me or mom,” she said, not letting me finish.

             
“No—I understand why Eric hated her. She was always going to be the person who killed his mother. If, god forbid, one of you got bit, and Grace—took care of things. I may not be able to look her in the eye, I may be angry, but I’ll know she did the right thing.”

             
“You don’t know, Dad,” she said. “Grief can make you crazy.”

             
I paused. Dena wasn’t talking about Eric, but about me. My son Vincent had been twenty years old, a smart kid, a junior at Hofstra, but wasn’t as proficient as guns as me.

He was bit by a zombie while getting supplies.

Afterwards, I went to the upstairs apartment. I owned the apartments above the store and my family lived there before this happened. I went into Vincent’s room. Untouched except for the few things he took into the shelter. I stayed in his rooms for days. Until my dad came to me to remind me I still had Hannah and Dena.

             
“Dad, we live in a zombie infested world. You have to stop sheltering me. You have to stop putting me on a leash.”

             
“I have, hadn’t I?” I allowed her to come with us to save Grace and let her come on this trip.

             
“It’s a start,” she said, “but I’m going to be 17 soon. I’m not a baby. If I need to survive, I have to do things on my own.”

             
“You will—“

             
“Dad, things are different. This isn’t like giving me a later curfew. You let Aisha be on her own.”

             
“She’s different. She’s not my daughter. Besides, she isn’t completely without supervision. Tanya’s keeping an eye on both of them.”

             
“Dad, I froze.”

             
“What?” I asked, confused.

             
“In the cantina when the gunmen came in and started shooting, I didn’t pull my gun. I grabbed Simon, but they killed him already-- I hid under the table.”

             
“Honey—“

             
She began crying. “You’re always saying that if you have a gun, you need to use it when you have to. I should have killed them, but they were too many--”

             
I touched her shoulder with one hand and swerved around a pothole with the other.

             
“It’s not your fault,” I said and I believed it. Dena knew how to shoot. I taught her a healthy understanding and respect for guns but every situation was different.

             
“Yes, it is.”

             
“Honey, it is 100 percent Joel’s fault. He was crazy and his men were crazy for going along with him.”

             
“But every time there’s a mass shooting, you always say it could have been prevented if someone had a gun.”

             
“It’s not always true--”

             
Dena stopped crying and looked at me. I don’t ever think I admitted to my daughter I was wrong.

             
“Every situation is different. Nothing is a guarantee, honey, nothing. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you that.”

             
She didn’t respond. I saw a zombie, an old one. I stopped the truck and then relayed a message to Annemarie that Dena and I would kill it.

             
“Do you want to take care of it yourself?”

             
“No, and not because I need help from my father but because we need to do this together.”

             
I unbuckled myself and hugged her hard. I knew I had to let her grow up.

             
“Will everything ever be okay, dad?” she asked as I held her tightly.

             
“It may not be okay for a while,” I admitted, “But I think it will work out. If we all stick together.”

Epilogue: Full Circle

              We got to the store as dusk began to settle in. The counter was flickering. Probably not best to stay here long but it was late and I had a lot of guns to off load. Overnight wouldn’t kill us.

             
The front had been smashed but I had emptied the store as the flu epidemic began its full swing. To get to my gun storage and shelter you needed to break through a steel door. Whoever broke in didn’t get through. There were some dents indicting someone tried but the door remained locked as I left it. 

             
I had the three keys needed to open the door. I allowed everyone in. I had a basement shelter which
would shield us from the radiation. I let Tanya see backroom but I never allowed anyone other than my family use the shelter. I hadn’t even allowed Jim inside when he was hurt. 

             
I opened the door to the gun room. I turned to the others and saw Annemarie’s mouth agape. When we fled the bombs, I barely took my inventory.

             
I left almost all the shotguns. I mostly took rifles because they shoot fast and easy and the handguns because they’re small. Most of the guns were inventory for the store, but others were my own personal weapons and a few military grade ones I really shouldn’t have.

             
Now that we had a truck, we could take it all back. We’ll have an arsenal in case of future Joels.

             
“That’s a lot of guns,” Gwen said. I knew Gwen really didn’t like guns. Neither did a few other people. They didn’t complain about it, but they seemed nervous. Even Grace felt that Jim shouldn’t have a gun. She told me it would be more likely he would shoot himself.

             
“If you never want to touch one, I understand. But if you want to ever learn to use one I’ll be happy to train you.”

             
“I hate guns,” she said, then paused. “But I think we need them now—I’ll think about learning.”

             
“Annemarie,” I said. “Maybe we can find something a little bit more comfortable for you.”

             
She laughed. “I’m getting better.”

             
“What about you, Felix?”

             
“I seem to be pretty good at swinging a tire iron but I’ll take lessons. I suppose we should all learn.”

             
I didn’t ask Frannie. I felt bad for holding a gun on her, even if she did agreed. Better to give her some time alone.

“Now we have more ammo, I think I’ll start giving lessons to anyone who wants it.” I closed the door. “I have crates, we’ll pack everything we can tonight, load in the morning. Let me show you to the shelter.”

             
I hadn’t taken my big generator with me because of its size, but I took a small one. I brought a little fuel to have electricity for one night. It was pretty hot. I ran the AC on energy-save.

             
The sleeping situation ended up with Annemarie and Gwen in my bed, Dena stayed in her own, Felix slept on our sofa, and I slept in my dad’s room. I would visit his and Vincent’s graves tomorrow.

             
He had congestive heart failure. We stole two or three year supply of his medication at the drug store but he was living on borrowed time. There were no hospitals, not way to check his arteries. Two months after we met Jim, my father went to sleep and never woke up. Exactly how I wished him to go.

             
I didn’t even know the state of my health. Hannah gave everyone a physical, Dr. Phillips can do more, but there are no labs to check blood, no EKGs to check the heart, no way to check for cancer or internal bleeding or ulcers. No x-rays, MRIs, CAT scans, or even getting our appendix out.

Hannah had to pull slugs out of Jim and Stan. She tried on Dave. Taking out the one in his shoulder but couldn’t for the one in his gut.

              My son couldn’t be saved. The zombie grabbed his arm and bit it before I had a chance to shoot. A tiny bite killed him. Something Hannah could have fixed up in five minutes and he might have not even had a scar.

             
I was interrupted by ringing. It was coming from upstairs. Other people came out of their bedrooms to investigate.

             
I looked at the other people. I wasn’t imagining it. They heard it too.

I went upstairs to investigate. I heard others following.

It was my goddamn cellphone. I had left my cellphone behind on its charger. For the first six months I kept it charge hoping things would come back to normal. I forgot about it when it never rang. When I turned the generator back on, it must have started charging again. I picked it up. It read ‘Unknown number’. I clicked it on.

             
“Hello?”

             
“Call 800-555-1010,” said a recorded computerized voice, then it clicked off.

             
“What is it?” Annemarie asked.

             
“A recorded message to call an 800 number.” I called it back, thinking this was some weird fluke. Some call that never made it through two years ago.

             
“Hello,” said a voice, real, and female. “This is Donna Boyle of the New United States Republic. Who am I speaking with?”

             
I had no idea how to answer that.

             
“Are you there?”

             
“Yes.”

             
“And you have questions.”

             
“A million. Where are you?”

             
“I’m outside Pittsburgh, sir. Might I ask your name?”

             
“Mike.”

             
“Mike. I’m a former civil servant from New York. I’m with the scientists who bombed the cities. We are now working to get the technology up and running. We’re also tracking the survivors and combing the country killing the remaining zombies. It may take some time to get to you, but we’re here to help.”