As The World Dies: Untold Tales Volume 2

As The World Dies: Untold Tales Volume 2 Page 22

Ken’s heart pounded in his chest like the fierce beat of his favorite song. It really hurt and he wondered if he was having a heart attack. Forcing a deep breath into his lungs, he handed Tito another screw. His trembling hand gave his nerves away, but Tito didn’t seem to notice.

Tito had snatched several pieces of wood off a lumber pile during their journey. Lenore held a thick L-shaped piece of wood in place next to the doorway as Tito used an electric drill to force the screw through the wood and wall, securing it. There were two brackets on the walls next to the door and one set in the middle of the door. Once their task was done, they would be able to brace the door using a two by four jammed into the four brackets. .

“Are you sure this will hold?” Lenore asked doubtfully.

“Yeah, I’m sure. But you shouldn’t wait around if they come. Bar the door, gun the engine and take off.”

“We’re almost on fumes,” Lenore reminded Tito.

“Yeah, I know. Go as far as you can. Hopefully, I’ll be back with my family in a few days and it won’t be no big deal,” Tito answered. “I’ll get gas then.”

“What about that CB? Can you fix it?” Lenore asked.

Tito sighed, wagging his head sorrowfully. “I’m not good at electronics. Besides, it might be that we’re out of range of anyone else. Or there ain’t anyone else out there.”

The grim expression on Tito’s face did not comfort Ken in the least. Though no one dared speak it, the truth of the matter was that Tito’s family was most likely dead. Ken didn’t doubt Tito would return though. He had classified Tito as a bad ass in his mind. Not only was the short Latino seriously hot in a bad boy sort of way, but he was good at taking care of business.

Lenore gave Ken a dark look and he realized he was staring at Tito’s back muscles straining under his shirt as he worked. Casting his gaze in the opposite direction from Tito’s chiseled physique, Ken blushed. He had seriously gone way too long without a boyfriend.

“Okay, let’s give this a try,” Tito said, setting the drill on the counter. “Lenore, head outside, and when I tell you, push against the door.”

With the short nod of her head, Lenore obeyed and Tito shut the door. Ken watched as Tito slid the wood brace across the door, shoving it between the three wood brackets.

“Okay, Lenore. Go for it!” Tito called out.

Even though Ken knew it was Lenore, he jumped when she hit the door. His already-racing heart sped up as she continued her assault. The door shuddered, but stayed secure.

“How hard are you hitting it?” Tito asked, leaning forward to watch the brackets.

“As hard as I can!” Lenore shouted from outside.

“Okay, stop.” Tito leaned against the counter and sighed. “It’s not going to hold for long, so you’re going to have to keep that in mind. But at least it will buy you time.”

Ken mopped the sweat from his brow with the bottom of his shirt. “Thanks, man. That’s better than having the door flopping open.”

Tito pulled the brace out of the brackets and the door swung open, revealing Lenore’s sour expression. “Lenore, I’m heading out now. You got plenty of food, water, shelter and weapons. You should be okay. You guys hunker down and I’ll be back soon.”

Lenore scowled even more while Ken took a deep breath of hot, humid air, trying to steady his nerves.

“Good luck, Tito,” Ken said at last.

Tito held out his hand and they shook hands. Ken wasn’t sure if Tito’s palm was sweaty from all his work, the heat, or his nerves. “Take care, Ken.”

Lenore stepped away from the doorway to let Tito exit and Ken followed in his wake. Grandma slowly stood, her hand still clutching her weapon.

“I need to go find my family,” Tito said to the old woman.

“I’ll pray for you. I appreciate what you did for us today. You saved us,” Grandma said, hugging him. “I’m so sorry about your mother.”

Tito clung to the older woman for a long moment before letting go. “This is a shitty ass day, that’s for damn sure.”

“Don’t get eaten,” Lenore said in a somber voice.

Tito moved to hug her, saw her expression, thought better of it, and offered his hand. Lenore shook it briefly, then handed him the bag of shotgun ammo and the shotgun.

“You better take this,” Lenore said crisply.

“You might need it,” Tito said, reaching out for the weapon and bag, but looking unsure.

“You’re going where there are a lot more zombies than here. And you’re coming back, right?”

Tito nodded solemnly, his hand closing on the weapon. “Yeah. We’ll be back.”

“Then take it. We got Grandma’s revolver and some ammunition for it.”

Tito slung the bag over his shoulder and held the shotgun in his hands almost reverently. “Thanks for this.”

“Just don’t die.” Lenore folded her arms over her bosom and glared at him.

“I won’t. And you take of yourselves,” Tito said, shifting on his feet, his eyes hidden by his sunglasses.

Ken could have been reading him wrong, but Tito appeared to be uncomfortable with leaving them behind. The other man hesitated for a second before walking over to the motor bike he had snagged earlier. Strapping the bag to the bike and figuring out how to secure the rifle, Tito’s face set into a look of sheer determination. He straddled the bike and without another word, he gunned the engine and roared down the hill, plumes of dirt tossed up behind the wheels. Ken watched as the hot wind caught the dust and sent it swirling across the ground like mini-tornados. He listened to the fading sound of the motorbike with a heavy heart.

“Chances are he ain’t coming back even if he does find his family,” Ken decided, depression settling over him like a thick mantle. Why would Tito come back to an old woman, a chubby grumpy girl and a flaming fag?

“No. Tito’s a man of his word. If he finds his family or if he doesn’t, he’ll come back,” Grandma decided, fanning herself with her hand. “Too hot to be outdoors anymore. I’m going in to sit a spell inside.”

“You really think he’ll come back?” Ken asked hopefully. He just couldn’t imagine continuing to survive without someone like Tito helping them.

“If he can,” Grandma assured him before climbing into the RV.

Lenore pursed her lips, glowering into the valley below. “I wouldn’t count on it,” she said after a beat.

Sighing, Ken followed Grandma into the warm RV. Cher was still in her carrier, but sleeping peacefully. He snagged a bottle of water from the well-stocked cabinets (thank you, Mr. Thames), before sitting at the small dining table. He wished they could run the air conditioner, but they were plain lucky they had had enough fuel to make it out this far. The luxuries of life were gone now.

Folding his arms on the table, he rested his head on his forearms. He wondered how long they would have to wait for Tito to return.

19.

Death Comes Again

--Six Weeks Later

The storms the night before had battered the small RV, but now that the morning had come, there was a cool breeze wafting through the tiny home. Ken rolled carefully out of his bed above the cab and dropped to the floor. Lenore was still asleep and snoring in the top bunk bed in the rear of the vehicle. Cher yawned on the dashboard of the RV, stretched, then went back to sleep.

Ken rubbed his eyes as he stumbled into the small kitchen. Their food supplies were dwindling, but Grandma had made some pancakes using the makeshift stove they had rigged over a campfire. The old woman always woke very early to make breakfast and instant coffee so she could sit outside and watch the sun rise. Grandma made the small RV feel like a home instead of a prison.

As usual, his nightmares were full of the rabid undead and his heart still beat harshly in his chest. He hated waking up from bad dreams. Since they had escaped into the hills, he couldn’t sleep without bone-chilling visions of the undead invading his mind.

Ken glanced out the open entrance to see the sun was just peeking over the hills. No matter how lovely the countryside was in the spring, he missed his old apartment. He missed civilization. He missed everything about the old world. He still couldn’t believe it was almost two months since they had taken refuge in the hills.

Stacking pancakes on a plastic plate, Ken sighed. It was difficult not to fall prey to the depression that devoured him if he obsessed about the precariousness of their situation. Even though zombies had not appeared in their area, he was certain the undead were still out there. What little reception the radio had the first few days after their escape had revealed a world in its death throes. After a week all that remained was static. Finally, they had turned it off.

With a sigh, Ken shook off the negative thoughts threatening to overwhelm him. Grandma always said to be happy for another day of life. He needed to remember her words when he felt this way.

Ken snagged a fork and headed outside to enjoy his morning meal. The old woman was seated in a plastic lawn chair facing the sunrise, her gray hair ruffled by the morning breeze. Ken plopped into the chair next to her and shoved the first bite of pancake into his mouth.