Fighting to Survive

“And I love you,” Lydia answered with the gentlest of smiles. “Be happy, Katie. Be happy and live your life.”



“Lydia,” she sobbed, desperately missing her.



Lydia kissed her lips, then drew back and disappeared.



Katie awoke with a start, her hand flying to her mouth. She could almost feel the softness of Lydia’s lips on her own. The sun was higher in the sky. Light was pouring through the slit in the curtains.



Beside her, Travis was on his elbow looking down at her. He looked worried and he slid his hand over her hair tenderly. “Are you okay?”



“I dreamed of Lydia,” she answered truthfully.



Travis nodded, his brow furrowed. “I know. You said her name.”



Katie rubbed her brow and took a deep breath. “It was odd. It was like she was really here. Not like my other dreams. I really felt her here, with me. It's so odd.”



Travis stroked her arm. “She's a part of you, Katie. Of course she's going to haunt you in some way.”



She could see the tension in him, his worry and his fear she would push him away. “You don’t have to compete with her ghost,” Katie assured him.



“I don’t?” Travis’ voice was strained. “Are you sure?”



Katie smiled and took his face between her hands. “I’m sure. I’m very, very sure. If for no other reason than I know she would want me to be happy, to live my life, to not be afraid or sad.”



Sighing with relief, Travis wrapped his arms around her. She nestled into them, and for the first time in a very long time, felt at peace.



Chapter 9



1. Shuffling the Deck



Nerit's morning started as simply as her night had ended. Sliding off the bed, she opened up the curtains to take in the first rays of dawn and check the street for zombies. She noted a few wandering around and mentally made a note to deal with them later. Then she took a long hot shower that helped loosen up her stiff joints and spent all of five minutes combing and braiding her long hair, applying a bit of mascara to her lashes and some lip gloss to her lips. It was the only makeup she ever felt she needed.



Dressed in olive green jeans, hunting boots and a green T-shirt under Ralph's jacket, she made her way down to the dining room for an early breakfast. The room looked nothing like the scene of bloody chaos of the day before. Under the ornate rug had been a very pretty but faded tile floor that a few volunteers had spent all night moping and polishing. Now it gleamed under the chandelier lights.



Old Man Watson and several of the other elderly people were gathered at one table, eating their oatmeal and toast. He smiled at her warmly as she passed and gave her a little wave. His hearing aid had stopped working soon after the zombies first appeared and she suspected he had no clue what was going on most of the time. He just seemed happy to sit and watch people talk and read the old newspapers out under a tarp on the construction site that had been raised up to give people shade.



As Tucker, her old dog, wandered in behind her for his breakfast, the old man reached out to pat his head and call him a good dog.



The early morning breakfast crew laid out breakfast on a buffet table. Oatmeal, toast, eggs from a mix, and dry cereal with large chilled mugs of powdered milk greeted her. She served herself a bit of oatmeal and eggs and sighed as she poured out the thin milk. She missed whole milk and fresh eggs. A glass of orange juice topped off her breakfast. She sat down at a nearby table.



Her old dog went over to one of several food bowls put out for the dogs and started to eat, looking just as weary in his bones as she did.



“Can I sit here?” a voice asked.



Nerit looked up to see Jason and smiled warmly. “Of course!”



Jason sat down, a cloud of sullen teenager angst, and stabbed his spoon at his enormous bowl of cold cereal.



Jack strolled over to join Nerit's dog at the doggy bowls, Jason sighed.



“Juan lives with us now,” he said out of the blue.



“Yes, I know. I heard,” Nerit answered. She spooned some oatmeal into her mouth.



Jason sighed a little more dramatically. “I don't understand why.”



“Well, your Mother is doing what many people are doing right now, living her life in a kind of desperate rush. Death could come at any time. When you know that, you want to grab life and enjoy it before it ends,” Nerit explained. “I think you will be seeing many people doing just that. Especially now that we have what feels like a safe and comfortable home.”



Jason frowned a bit as he chewed his cereal. “I guess. It just feels weird. They talk in Spanish to each other a lot and I feel left out.”



“Ah,” Nerit said, understanding. “Well, why don't you ask them to teach you Spanish or at least translate so you don't feel left out?”



Jason shrugged again, then said, “It just feels so different now. I don't like how it keeps changing.”



“Neither do I, but we have to do our best.”



Jason hoisted his large backpack up onto the table. He pulled out a book and some notebooks. “Well, I've been working on weapons ideas to keep my mind off of…you know…stuff and to make myself useful.”



“Really? Like what?”



Jason opened up a notebook to show her his notes and illustrations.



“We really can't use fire in the fort. It's way too dangerous. We could end up setting our own stuff on fire. Burning down the hotel would not be good. But outside the fort, we could make some sort of firetrap. I was looking into making concussion grenades to rip the zombies apart and maybe doing some stuff with shrapnel to rip up their bodies. I noticed the more fucked…um…messed up ones are slower. Easier to kill.”



“Yes, yes, they are,” Nerit agreed.



“Shelley's little brother came up with a lawnmower-woodchippertype machine to chew them up.” Jason showed Nerit the crayon illustration complete with zombies getting ripped apart by a large lawn mower. “It got me thinking. We could take apart some lawnmowers and use the engines and blades. Not sure how yet, but working on it.”



Nerit looked over the drawings and the notes. “Very good ideas.”



“Yeah, but not sure how to do some of it.”



“Maybe Juan could help you, or Travis.”



Jason peered at her from under his bangs. “I guess so. I just don't think they'll listen to me.”



Nerit laughed a little. She had forgotten how absolutely moody teenage boys could be. “Oh, I think they will. We need all the clever ideas we can get to survive this.”



“Maybe. I just think it’s cool that you know what you gotta do. I want to help, but I'm just a kid. I have ideas, but…”



“Jason, I really do think they will listen to you. You're a smart boy with clever ideas. That is better than an old woman who only knows how to shoot a gun.”



“Maybe, but you can shoot the eyes out of a fly. I just come up with ideas and don’t know how to make them work right.” Jason shoved his heavy bangs out of his face and frowned more.



“Well,” Nerit said slowly, “that is why you should talk to Juan and Travis. I think they will be able to help you figure it all out.”



Jason fidgeted with his notes, then finally agreed. “Yeah, I guess.



I’m just used to older guys not listening to me. My Dad never gave a rat’s ass what I thought or said.”



Nerit took a long sip of her orange juice, pondering her response.



“Well, Jason, I think you need to do what your mother is doing. Make this a new life.”



Jason stared at her, then ducked his head down. “Yeah. I guess.”



Shoveling more cereal into his mouth, he looked up at her through his bangs. She could tell he was considering her words.



Nerit stood up, stretching her still stiff body, and picked up her rifle.



“I will see you later, Jason. I need to get to work.”



“Thanks, Nerit,” Jason answered. “You know, for listening.”



She nodded and walked on, her dog falling into step behind her.



Today she felt stiff and ungainly. Nothing seemed to work just right. It was hard for her to accept her age when most of the time she did not feel her years at all, but today she did. That she had sat down alone and not with the other seniors had been deliberate. This was not a time for her to give into time, but to fight it. With Mike gone, she had a role to play.



Approaching the front desk, she found Peggy typing away on a computer. People still remained on the Internet where there was still service. The Mayor had told her that several servers were up because the workers barricaded themselves into buildings and were trying hard to keep the Internet up and running-so information could be exchanged between the surviving scientists. There were forums to contact other survivors, Peggy often logged onto them to monitor other groups. It was stressful whenever another group vanished off the list. News was hard to come by. No one had any idea if there was any semblance of the government left. The Internet was rife with rumors.



“Do you have the duty roster?”



Peggy started, then laughed. “Gawd, you gave me a fright. Yeah, right there. I updated it like you asked.”