Don't Whistle Past the Graveyard

Ch. Thirty

Looking back on it now, I should have been more suspicious. It just didn't make sense for the universe to right itself the way it had.

We woke up the next morning, Kyle was fine. His hand hurt like a son of a bitch, but it wasn't infected, he didn't have a fever. Everything was just freaking peachy.

Then, because that wasn't enough, we found a bunch of supplies. I'm talking food, water, gas, clothes. Anything and everything you could want. Including weapons.

I actually vote that it's a good thing that a machete was a clichéd weapon in any zombie story before, because we found like three. People just "preparing", right?

A machete is actually a pretty good weapon for someone my size, which is to say, about five-six. Machetes are less likely to get stuck than say, a hatchet, and the length of the blade makes it easier to swing through something.

There were plenty of zombies to practice on.

Needless to say, we were feeling pretty good about life, so we decided to just keep going. Just ramble on if you'll forgive the Zeppelin reference. We were actually about as close to great as you'll ever get in the apocalypse.

So of course it had to turn sour, because why on earth could it just go right for once?

We had probably been moving for about three days after leaving that town, and spent those nights outside. You know, there's more open space in the northeast than I'd ever thought, but that's kind of an off track observation.

Anyway, that morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee. Honest to God coffee and all I could think was, Son of a bitch. Did I die in the middle of the night and somehow get to Heaven?

I opened my eyes and sat bolt upright, scrambling out of the truck to find Shane over a fire, pouring himself a cup of hot, black coffee from a kettle we had found along with some other camping supplies.

He smiled at me and handed me another cup, pouring for me. "Instant coffee packs. I just found them."

I took a sip, not even caring when it burned my mouth and sat leaning against Shane with a sigh. Kyle grinned at me from across the fire nursing his own cup. I smiled back, then frowned at how pale he looked. I just shrugged it off though because he'd had the last watch of the night. 

Like I said at the beginning, we know pretty much everything about each other. When Kyle is tired, he does tend to look pale, and I knew that by then.

And I didn't want to borrow any trouble by automatically jumping to the conclusion that something was wrong.

The apocalypse life lesson here: It pays to be a pessimist.

We sat there, enjoying the morning, content to just relax and be with each other.

I realized something might not be completely right when Kyle turned his head and the side of his neck was red.

I knew something was wrong when there was the sound of a branch breaking.

Kyle bolted to his feet, then swayed, having to catch himself on a tree to keep from falling over.

Shane and I had stood up as well, and I watched as Shane looked between where we'd heard the branch and Kyle. He looked at me and I said, "Go."

He nodded and took off toward the sound, while I went over to Kyle. He shied away from me and said, "I'm fine. Just a head rush."

"Kyle, let me look at something," I said, making him sit down. I pressed my hand against his forehead. He felt warm, but nothing like the boiling fever that accompanies turning into a zombie. I tugged at the collar of his shirt and frowned when I saw that the skin of his shoulder was red.