Twinkle Twinkle Little Knife

May I sleep with you tonight?

Underneath my pillow so safe

Like a diamond glinting bright

Twinkle Twinkle Little Knife

Keep me safe, I’ll treat you right

Chapter Seventeen

There is blackness. I open my eyes, and I wish I hadn’t. I feel like I am about to lose my lunch even though I can’t remember the last time I ate. It’s dark, but the stars above my head are shaking in my vision. I close my eyes again until my head stands still.

I look around me. I see Carl sleeping to my right, and I feel comforted by this. He is a good brother. I look down and see my legs propped up on a dry rotted log. I am under a jacket, but it isn’t Carl’s or mine. At my feet I see the furry shape of Persistence sleeping. How he found us is beyond me.

I look to my left and see another sleeping shape. They are turned away from me, but it is definitely a man. Maybe it’s Dad, I hope. I try to prop myself up using my right hand, but I manage to move my left arm in the process and a whimper escapes my mouth. The man to my right sits up suddenly and turns to me. It’s Tom.

Tom is kneeling by my side in an instant. “Zoe! You’re awake! How do you feel? You lost a lot of blood, and Carl said you ran like a mad man for about a mile after you were shot!”

I try to remember that, but it seems fuzzy. I remember running and I remember the farm and, “Tom, my Mom’s dead.” I start to cry.

He leans over me and puts his big hand on my forehead and smooths my hair back in a repeated soothing fashion as I cry. I manage to make my mind think logically to calm myself down, “ Tom, where did you go?” I say through the tears.

He takes his hand off my forehead and leans back a little onto his heels, “Well, when the horde came following those dicks I ran upstairs to grab the bedding and clothes, and Lila and Emily went to the kitchen to get the food packed up. We knew we had to get out fast and we figured we could grab everything and then grab you guys. But we were wrong. I guess one of the zombies came in through a window downstairs because I was stuffing a blanket into a backpack when a really nasty looking one came up behind me. I took him out, and I saw that there was fresh blood on his mouth. I panicked thinking that it was you and ran downstairs. I met Lila running upstairs. She said we had to get out. She told me that everyone except her and me were dead. So we slipped out the back door and ran.”

“She told you we were dead?” I can’t wrap my head around that.

“Yeah, well she saw Emily get bitten and turn and she said she saw her go into the living room where you guys were. I guess she assumed that-,”

“I’ll kill that bitch for assuming!” I shout, and it gives me a headache. In a normal tone I say, “Where is she?”

“Actually Zoe, they have her,” he looks down to the ground. The starlight casts dark shadows on his lids.

“They?” I suddenly regret calling her a bitch.

“Yeah, the guys at the farm house. While we were running we ran past the SUV, and there were a couple more of those guys waiting inside of it. They jumped us. I got away, but Lila, well I think they took her back to the house. Persistence bit one of them in the arm when they attacked her, but he ended up getting kicked pretty hard.”

“And my dad?” I ask, biting my lip.

Another voice appears out of the dark, “We don’t know where Dad is.” Carl is staring at us with his arms folded across his chest. “Now be quiet, I’m trying to sleep.” He rolls over, stirring up leaves.

Tom and I whisper to each other now about everything and nothing. I am trying to keep my mind away from my mother, and I know he is trying too, but eventually it comes up. I tell him how empty I feel, and how pissed I am that she is in that house. Then I tell him how I shot Emily. I cry and he lies down next to me on my good side.

I lay there in his arms with a jacket draped over the two of us. It feels good after the end of three years of Hell to know it is over and just cry it out to someone. I feel as though I should pray, I know I should, but I can’t bring myself to do it, and I use Tom as an excuse not to.

He holds me until I fall asleep.

The next morning I wake up in Tom’s arms. He has a peaceful smile on his face as I look up at his closed eyes. Then he moves slightly and puts pressure on my bad shoulder. I slide out from under him as fast as possible. I lay there on the ground, holding my throbbing shoulder with my opposite hand. It hurts so badly now that I am awake.

I look over to my right and see Carl is still asleep, as well. I get up and rummage in the few bags we do have in search of any pain medicine, even though I know we gave most of it to Mom before the end. I wake Persistence up with my movement. He yawns and stays by my feet as I move around our makeshift campsite. He looks at me wagging his tail and wanting breakfast. Only he is going to have to wait.

I finally find half a bottle of Ibuprofen at the bottom of an emergency bag Mom packed. I think it is the last we have. I take four, swallowing the pills without water, knowing it isn’t going to help the pain much. I sit back down on the ground and try and think. I feel as though I can do nothing. I have no motivation to move, pack, talk, or cry. I find myself wishing I were in a white room with no walls, windows, or even corners. I feel as though that is the place I belong in right now.

I sit on the ground, visualizing my white room while the sun rises through the trees. Carl stirs as the first strips of light pass over his eyes through the branches.

He rolls over and his eyes find me.

“Zoe, your bandage bled through,” is all he says to me, and he lies back down, placing his arm over his eyes. I look down and see my shoulder, covered in makeshift wrappings, has a red blotch in the top center. It is mostly dry, but the center is wet, I hope it isn’t still bleeding. I wonder who dressed the wound and what if anything they used to clean it.

I take my good hand and slowly start to peel back the rags that look like parts of a backpack and one of Carl’s old shirts. I start to peel back the final layer and have to stop because I feel it tearing open the flesh around the wound. A little trickle of blood flows down my arm. I take off my tee shirt, and sit in my undershirt, tearing the black fabric into strips. I look off absentmindedly until I feel something warm and wet on my hand. Persistence is licking me, reminding me that he is hungry. My own stomach growls in agreement. I carefully bandage my arm as best as I can with one hand. Tom wakes up soon after I finish.

He fumbles around and wanders off into the woods behind some brush. I get up and roll Carl over with my foot. He wakes up after I roll his face into the sunlight.

“Dammit, Zoe, I’m up!” He throws my foot off of him and pushes himself to his hands.

“We need to get ready,” I say.

“For?” He looks pissed off. Tom comes back through the trees, looking wide-awake now.

“We need to find Dad, and we need to get Lila back. We have to, I don’t know, make some sort of plan!”

“How about first, you calm the Hell down, Zoe,” Carl says. “Maybe we can find some damn food first before we go charging in to save your friend.”

“My friend?” I sneer. “You think you have no ties to her because she is my friend? Well news flash, bro, the world has gone to shit. Human beings need to help human beings, end of story.” I have my good hand on my hip as I finish my sentence that has grown in volume. Carl stands up and wanders off into the woods. I turn around so as not to be able to watch him walk away. I know how he feels. There is never a break. After someone dies you have to keep going there is always something to do. Even if things were normal, I’d still have to go to school and talk to people and worry about others no matter how much I just want to sleep and cry.

I hear Tom behind me starting to put a few spilled out items into the bags we have. I wait a few moments so that I am able to hold back the tears I feel welling in my eyes. Then I turn around again and pick up the jacket Tom and I used last night as a blanket. I suppose this little clearing in the woods is our camp until further notice. We may as well do what we can. Tom must have the same idea. We move silently, but as a team. Logs and dead grass are pushed farther and farther to the side of our clearing.

Carl reappears an hour later. In the hood of his jacket and his front pockets I see an assortment of dandelions, purple clover, mustard leaves, raspberries and mulberries. He dumps them out on top of a book bag Tom has emptied out while he takes inventory of our supplies. “All the fields around here are lined with wild raspberry bushes and those mulberry trees, and I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sure you can eat dandelions,” Carl says without making eye contact. There is no energy in his voice, and it breaks my already hurting heart.

I want to apologize about earlier. Carl and I need each other now, more than before, and he needs me more. I am his older sister. I am his caretaker now. I’ll have to be more responsible, mature fast so he can enjoy being young. One of us should despite this shitty world.

I feel as though I am numb, going through the motions of life. I eat, but taste nothing of the bitter earth Carl has gathered. I find a creek, boil the water, and I drink, but my throat doesn’t feel the satisfaction. We sit and we plan, but it is pure logic flowing out of my mouth, no heart or feelings toward my lost friend. We walk back toward the farmhouse, but my body and my mind are separated, thinking about Emily’s and my mother’s sallow corpses.

“We need to see where they are. Start looking for movement in the windows,” Carl says. We are on the edge of the field, and the sun is high in the sky. Our little band stands on the tree line that lines the field. In the thick of the bramble we have been able to stay hidden on our approach to the property. The sun is glinting off of the windows, making it impossible to see inside at a distance. I scope out the roof, remembering how easy it was for us to be up there. If they were smart they would have a guard posted from that vantage point. Of course, I’m not too bad of a shot, so taking down their guard might just make my day, but my anger is not satisfied as the house is still.

We wait in the thicket for a couple hours. A few yards back into the little tree line a plethora of wild black raspberries is growing. The summer heat is intense today, and sweat beads keep forming on my upper lip. I lick my lips and they taste salty in comparison to the sweet berries. Tom and Carl look as exhausted as I feel in this warm, muggy heat. Around one o’clock or so, we see smoke rising from the other side of the farmhouse. The smoke is fuzzy in the heat, playing tricks on my eyes. There is a slight breeze and the stench of burning flesh makes my eyes water.

I feel sick to my stomach. They are burning my mother along with the zombies. She should have had a burial, or a proper cremation. She deserves a service, a prayer, respect. The sickness in my stomach turns to rage. I take my machete off of my back and swing it into a tree, slicing clean and deep. The maple leaves above give a little shake. Tom’s eyes widen and stare at me; he is only a foot away from the tree I decided to vent on. I hear the sharp shh from Carl a few feet away in the berry thorns. I can only imagine the glare he is giving me right now, but I don’t look up. I wonder if he has put two and two together in the same way I have about the smoke.

We decide to wait until dusk to seek out Lila as we need the cover of the growing shadows and finding her inside will be easier, if she’s still alive. The day drags on. In the heat my eyes begin to feel heavy. I am sitting back against the maple tree I struck earlier, comfortable and close my eyes while I wait for dusk.

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I am riding my bike in a subdivision. The sky above me is black, no stars, no clouds, no moon, but everything is lit up as though there are fluorescent lights on them. The colors of the houses seem brighter than usual and the grass and gardens are almost neon. The homes are nice, but very uniform. I ride my bike in silence, admiring the vibrant flowers.

The neighborhood is silent and empty as far as I can tell. The dark windows of the homes are a stark contrast with the bright colors of the paint and siding. A little farther down the street I see a family gathered around a small pond. They are staring into the blue water and crying. As I approach the family they look up at me. I am taken aback.

I see a young girl about five years old, with blonde hair and a bob haircut like I used to have when I was a kid. She is wearing a pale pink floral dress that I remember wearing one summer day to a birthday party. Next to her is a near replica of Carl as a toddler. His brown eyes are unblinking as I drive my bike past them. The dad, my dad only younger with a clean-shaven face, is behind them; his hands rest on their shoulders. They watch me as I ride past, unblinking

I want to stop my bike and go to the family. I know they have lost their mother, and I want them to know I can feel their pain. I know they think no one understands them, but they are wrong. I understand! I can’t stop my bike though. My legs keep pedaling, and I can feel the eyes of the family around the pond searing into my back as I continue down the street. They are angry at me for not stopping, angry at anyone for not stopping and not understanding.

I wake up to the sound of Tom dropping ammo on the ground next to me. “Sorry, Zoe,” he says. I rub my eyes and look up into the trees. The sky is pink with wispy clouds that look like someone took a wiry paintbrush to it, a stark contrast with the black sky of my dream.

I stand up and stretch from side to side. My shoulder hurts, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. The wound was shallow enough that my bandages are dry now with caked blood. I check all the straps I have on me and make sure all of my weapons are secure. I tuck my pistol back into my belt loop, as it was resting on the ground next to me while I napped.

In a few minutes we are all ready to go. I pull a piece of rope out of my bag and tie Persistence to a tree. He looks at me confused having never been leashed before, but we can’t have him being seen. We skirt around the edge of the property slowly, each darting from bush to bush one at a time. Finally, we reach the part of the house that is under the bay window in the living room, where Mom died. We are all on our hands and knees below the windowsill. “I think we need to split up. I can climb the windmill to look in the upstairs windows,” I say.

Carl shakes his head, “No, with your shoulder, Zoe, I think you should stay down. I’ll go up.” I feel sad for no reason. It is illogical, but I really want to climb the roof again. It makes me feel adventurous, as if this wasn’t that way already. But we split. I begin a slow trek around the house towards the front, Tom to the back and Carl to the second floor.

In the twilight the coolness begins to set in. There are only a few feathery clouds left hanging in the sky, and in the east I see stars begin to appear in the murky black. The wind is blowing more now, and the humidity of the day is slowly washed away with every gust.

I crawl to the kitchen window. I slowly stand and peer over the ledge. There is no one. A single candle is going in a large mason jar on the table, but there is no movement in the growing shadows. I let out a slow breath. I crouch back down. I look out at the yard. I can see the shed where the litter of kittens is, or was. I wonder if the zombies would have eaten them, or left them alone in the mass chaos that took place here yesterday. Behind the shed is where the corpses must have been burned earlier in the day. I catch the faint scent of the disgusting ashes with the next breeze.

I am waiting too long. I have to move on. The next window to check on this side of the house is on the front porch. I move slow and low, as I round the corner to the wooden porch. It is eerily quiet. It is as though no one is even in this house anymore, but that can’t be true because of the candle and the fire. Something feels wrong, but I tell myself that I am just being paranoid. The front porch will leave me open and a little trapped with the railing when I step onto it, so my nerves are on edge. I take in a deep breath and slide my legs, then torso, and then head through the spaces in the railing on the porch. I sink onto my hands and knees as I crawl up to the first window. There is a tiny crack in the curtains. I move my hands to cover my eyes to be able to focus into the darkness.

I hear something, maybe footsteps. I look harder, but see nothing. Then I hear it again, but they are louder. Not in the house. I whip my head around the side of the house I just came from. There is a man from the band that attacked the house. He looks as if he hasn’t bothered to clean himself in days. He smiles at me through his unkempt gray and brown beard. In that second I look at his build. I can’t fight him, but I can outrun him. I jump up onto my feet. I turn and right as I take the first step the front door opens and an even bigger man steps out, nastier looking than the one behind me. I run right into his arms.

He closes them tight around me so it makes it hard to breathe. I notice the pungent smell. I don’t think he bothered to wash off his hands after he burned the corpses. I struggle, but he holds me fast. I go to scream, and his hand clamps down over my mouth and nose. I panic. All I can feel is my heartbeat getting faster, and all I can think is how I’ve made things worse. Heartbeat, failure, heartbeat, failure. Then in a split second I am spun around and the first man comes at my face with a black bag, and everything goes dark.

My arms are pinned behind my back harder, and I feel the searing pain in my shoulder come back tenfold. Then there is a rough rope rubbing on my arms, wrapping around my wrists and then it is pulled tightly and swiftly around my chest, and the wind is knocked out of me. I try to move my arms when I feel the man’s zombie stained hands let go, but the ropes hold fast. I don’t have time to struggle much before I feel hands grab me by the waist, and I am flung over a shoulder like a sack of flour.

The only thing I can think is I can’t think straight! I scream it in my head over and over again, making the thought louder. I feel my body squirming, but my mind isn’t focusing on what I am doing. I know I need to make a plan, make noise, but I can’t do any while thinking of everything. I feel the man’s hands loop over my legs and pin them down. I hadn’t even realized how much I had been kicking. I feel the up and down motion of going up the stairs. A few more footsteps on the landing and I am tossed off his shoulder, and onto a hard floor. My head bangs against a sharp corner on my rough landing, right next to my eye. I feel a small trickle of blood drip from my eyebrow. I feel another rope slide through the bindings on my hands to hold them above my head. Hands reach into all of my pockets, pulling out my knives, my machete is taken out of the sheath on my back, and my gun is slid out of my belt loop; I am weaponless. Then the door slams, and it is quiet.

I sit there on the floor and focus on my breathing. In and out, in and out until I have it at a normal pace. The air in the black cloth is heavy. I begin to move my body consciously now. I feel knot upon knot on my hands. The more I move the more the friction tears up my wrists. I resolve to try and see before I do anything else.

I can feel the ends of the sack touch my arms; given the length I assume it is a pillowcase. I try moving my head back and forth, but I can’t get the sack to slide up even a little bit. I lean to the side where I hit my head. I find what feels like the corner of a cabinet. I lean back as far as I can go and I find my back on something cold. I move forward, rubbing the case. Slowly, but surely the case moves up my arm, shoulders, and neck inch by inch. I get it over my head, and it falls into a black heap on the floor by my legs. It is dark, but I can tell I am in the upstairs bathroom. The cold object behind me is the toilet, which as far as I can tell is what I am secured to.

My eyes adjust to the starlight streaming in through the little window that is in the shower. I try again to maneuver my wrists out of the bindings, but they are held fast and the rope is so coarse that every time I move I feel the flesh rub off. I resign myself to listening. At first it seems quiet, but after a few moments of listening I can hear faint laughter from downstairs. About an hour passes by with just spurts of laughter from the monsters downstairs. The laughter comes less frequently now, and a set of feet leave the downstairs. I hear the stairs creak.

I tense myself, waiting for the door to open and to see one of the vile men in the doorframe, but the feet pass my door. I hear the footsteps fade to the bedroom Emily, Lila, and I shared at the end of the hall. A few moments pass, and then I hear her. Lila screams. Terrified screams. I tense up; every muscle in my body feels wired. I pull on the knots, but nothing. I only cause my flesh more damage. In mid screech she stops. It is silent. A few minutes pass, and the footsteps pass my door again and head downstairs.

The night passes away slowly. I can’t sleep, and I am hungry and thirsty. My eyes are stinging as the first red appears in the sky through the tiny bathroom window. I stare out at the fading stars. There is a bird chirping and something else. It sounds like something sliding into the bedroom window next to the bathroom, and then I hear footsteps. I don’t understand this, I think back and I don’t remember any footsteps coming up the stairs. I had assumed they were all sleeping downstairs to be safe since they hadn’t captured or killed all of us yet. Could Carl have been on the roof this entire time? Did he see me through the window when I wasn’t looking or is my location still a mystery to them? I listen and hear the footsteps walk to the room Lila is being held in. The sound of a zipper being undone has me freeze from the inside. Then there is quiet again. The sky is turning yellow now, as the sun breaks the horizon. I hear the same sliding noise from the room next door again. This time the footsteps get louder until they are outside the bathroom.

The handle turns slowly, quietly. The gray door inches open until it is just wide enough for a figure to slide in through the early morning shadows. It is a woman, I feel myself loosening. I narrow my sore eyes to make out features in the dark. It’s Susan.

“What the Hell are you doing here?” The words slip out of my mouth without my say so. Even as a potential rescue, I cannot hide my loathing of this woman. She says nothing, just makes a heavy sigh and leans down next to me and pulls out what looks like a kitchen steak knife. She begins sawing through the ropes around my hands.

I clear my throat to get her attention. She glares at me in the shadows, her eyes inches away from mine, “Be quiet. I am here to help you because then you’ll help me. I need a group, I’m a scientist, not a survivalist, and you will have to do.”

“Why would I help you?” The question sounds stupid as I say it. She just looks at me and continues sawing away. My hands are finally free, and the sun is up. The light shows the circles under Susan’s eyes. She looks dirty and hungry. She wasn’t kidding; she needs help.

I untie the rope around my torso and ask, “Did you already get Lila out?” She nods into the mirror. She is examining herself now. I stand up and I freeze. I hear footsteps on the stairs. Susan turns from the mirror and gives me a terrified look. With her eyes wide and ragged appearance she almost looks like a zombie.

We hear the footsteps pass the door. The creator of the footsteps is grumbling trying to shake off the early morning. Then we hear the click of Lila’s door handle. We can’t fit through the little window in the shower. I motion for Susan to open the bathroom door. She inches it open hesitantly, and then shuts it immediately. I give her a quizzical look, and she puts up two fingers. There is a crash. It sounds like the dresser has just been thrown against the floor. Then there are running footsteps to our door.

It is flung wide open, pushing Susan, and there stands the man that put the pillowcase over my head yesterday. He is fuming, eyes wide, and mouth agape. Susan backs into me. We are standing side by side at the edge of the bathtub, cornered. I hear more footsteps. Soon all four men are in the doorway, staring at us like you would stare at an escaped animal at the zoo. There is a moment when nobody makes a move. Then a balding man in the back, wearing a leather vest steps forward with a pistol in his hand, pointed at us.

Without a second's hesitation I feel Susan grab my arm and push me in front of her. I stumble as I graze the toilet bowl. “Trade!” She shouts. They look at her, and in that instant they look she draws a handgun from her boots and aims straight at the four men. “I’m fast with a trigger!” She continues to yell unnecessarily loud in the little bathroom. “Take her, kill her, I don’t care. I’m just a hired hand, but let me walk away and none of you will have a bullet to dig out.” I look back at her, dumbstruck, and I see her shake.

That spineless, heartless bitch. I feel a heat start from my stomach. I clench my fists and dig my nails into my palms. I want her dead. One of the men lets out a laugh and the others join in, I whip my head back around. In that instant, I don’t think. I just do.

I see a toilet plunger behind the toilet, just to my right. I grab it and twist back around and smack Susan across the face with it. She drops her gun to the floor. She is slow to move, and I raise the plunger again and crack it on the top of her head. She pathetically raises her hands to her face. I switch the plunger to my left hand and swiftly punch her in the stomach, and watch her go down. I hear her jaw crack on the ceramic bowl on her way down. I start swinging at her over and over again with the handle of the plunger: her back, her arms, her legs, her skull.

I can sense the bastards behind me just staring, awestruck. Susan is screaming for mercy, but this bitch doesn’t deserve mercy, and I deserve an outlet.

“Please!” she half screams half coughs. Gunshot. I feel glass hitting my face before I actually recognize the noise. I look up from my victim and see the little window in the shower is shattered. I turn and see the fat bald man that was holding us at gunpoint go down, a gaping hole in his neck.

There is chaos. I hear, “Get down!” Shouted from the hallway, the clicking of a shotgun being loaded. I automatically leap over Susan’s body and into the bathtub, still holding the plunger up in the air. I hear two subsequent shots go off, I feel the plunger shake, and half of it drop into the tub next to me. There is the start of a yell that is quickly cut off into gurgling. I look up; the plunger is now a stick, with a sharp point. I peer my head over the bath. Carl, Tom, and Lila are standing in the doorway. The five men lay at their feet, three with distinct exit wounds in the backs of the heads and necks, and one face up with a gash in his throat. I have never been so happy in my life.

I run over to them and we all back into the hallway. I hug each of them. I hug Tom last, and he bear hugs me so strongly that my feet lift off the floor. I look over his shoulder and see Brian walking up the stairs. “My God,” I say in a breath. My little group turns around and watches him walk over to me. He simply stops in front of me and smiles a beautiful grin. He grabs me into a hug before I can do anything. My arms stay still at my sides. He lets go, and holds me out at arms length. “I love you, Zoe. I’d do anything for you.” I open my mouth to speak, but I have nothing to say. I am so tired and my rage is gone, taken out on the worthless piece of shit Susan is.

“Help!” We hear from the bathroom floor. “Please, help me,” Susan coughs. We all walk back to the doorway. “I’m sorry!” I see Susan whispering to the floor. Blood spatters cover her back. Brian pushes through us, walks over the corpses and over to Susan.

“You’re sorry?” He asks cynically. “You try to kill one of us, and you’re sorry?”

“Yes!” She yells pathetically still facing the floor. Brian bends down and heaves her off the floor. She stands facing all of us. She has blood trickling from both eyebrows, and one of her teeth is now gone from her top row from hitting the toilet. She looks unrecognizable, and I feel a pang of guilt in my stomach when looking at her; I don’t even know what I would have done in her position when the men entered the bathroom. She stands staring at us for a moment longer. I can see the regret in her eyes.

Brian bends down and picks up the half of the plunger that was shot. He flips the stick in his hand like one might casually flip a pen at an office. Susan glances at him and then back at us. She opens her mouth as if to speak, and Brian twists his torso in one flawless motion. Plunging the sharp wooden handle through Susan’s eye socket. She falls backwards into the tub, motionless.

Brian turns back to us, “See?” He says, “I’d do anything for you.”