The Happy Zombie Sunrise Home

Chapter 10 - Okie

It took longer than we thought to reach the safe house – the stop for fuel had slowed us up, of course, and the bit where I had to be rescued which I was already thinking was so stupid and like a baby. Who needs to be rescued? Like, a baby. My mom would have said: “you have to learn to look after yourself in this life, Okie.” Of course, she was sitting in the back of the van moaning and covered in blood. So maybe she could have used someone to look after her.

We drove on through the dusk, north and then west, along open empty roads with cars dumped by the side or on the median strip. A few times, there were huge trucks, sometimes tipped over, contents spilling out. One time we came towards a supermarket truck with a happy picture of, like, fruits and vegetables and stuff on the back.

“Hey,” I said, “we could stop and see if there's any fresh stuff in there.”

Hughes looked at me.

“This isn't The Road, kid. Plenty of food all around. No one left to eat it.”

“Don't be a dumbass,” I said, “there could be something useful in there.”

He turned on his headlights at high beam. Slowed down. Angled the car so the light was shining right into the truck. Inside I saw there were twenty, thirty people. Some of them parts-of-people. They were chowing down on something alright, some huge glistening mound of something heaped up around their feet. I don't know what it was.

He turned the car away.

“Alright,” I said. “I see what you're saying, old sport.”

We'd been doing Great Gatsby in school, now that the schools had reopened. Some people said it was dumb to be learning anything but anti-zombie drills, but how long can anyone spend sticking an ax into a dummy? Anyway, I like how Gatsby talked, like he didn't give a damn about anyone. I often want to feel like that. When my mom's yelling at my dad and my dad's just taking it, or Grandma Clio is telling me what she thinks about my mom. It's alright old sport, I want to say, let's just get drunk instead or something.

He gave me a weird look, but he didn't say anything, just kept on driving. It was getting darker and darker – hadn't been any street lights for months, and certainly not in the dead zone there between green areas. He kept his high beams on. They felt comforting and bright, sweeping out a wide semi-circle of sight in the gathering gloom.

I stared out of the side window. Couldn't see anything but my own reflection. A little smear of blood on my forehead, I noticed. Could have been zombie, I guess, or mine, or maybe just a bit of mini-weiner juice. Without really thinking about it, I pushed down the little button and locked the door. As if that'd help – I've seen footage of zombies smashing through car windows with their heads.

“You OK?” said Hughes.

“Me?” I shrugged, and I wanted to say: I'm fine don't worry about it totally completely fine. But the words sort of caught in my throat.

“Not long now, kid,” said Hughes, “maybe another forty-five minutes, then we'll be at the safe house. There'll be a hot bath waiting for you, and a nice cosy bed, and tomorrow you'll see your grandma.”

I scooched across the seat and put my head on his shoulder. His body stiffened a bit, then he relaxed, lifted up his arm, let me rest my head on his chest. I didn't sleep. I just sat there for a long time, under his arm, listening to the sound of another human heart.

I phoned Grandma from the safe house. It was late, later than I know she usually stays up but she sounded wide awake, even excited. She told me about her rhubarb discovery. I thought about the seven jars of her rhubarb preserves my mom had stuck at the back of the cupboard in the kitchen. If only I'd known, I'd have brought some. But there they were, a zombie-filled wasteland away. Anyway, she was all kitted out for her trip the next day, and it sounded like she was looking forward to it.