Wasteland

Hell Above

By the end of the day we rolled into California. Mike and Jamie had been in Sacramento for the weekend when they were attacked, so we strapped down for another few hours. The rev of the truck covered the sound of breaths. No words had been spoken since Merida dropped that little bomb of hers. I could tell she was grieving over it, as she has been for as long as I’ve known her. But I also saw a new furrow in her brows. I think it was fear. And I could understand why she’d be scared. She just told me that she almost single handedly killed millions and ruined everyone’s life on this planet. There was no way for her to change that. I thought that just the zombies I had killed would taint my hands for the rest of my life; yet the millions of innocent people and zombies alike she had killed would stain her as a whole for eternity.

All of that definitely deserved some level of sympathy, I mean, she didn’t want this to happen. But it’s hard to look at someone who had made that mistake and feel for them. She basically killed my brother. It’s like when you’re in the school play in elementary school and somebody forgets their line. Yeah, we could empathize with them because we all know how embarrassing that is. Yet, most people just scowl and get annoyed with the kid for messing up. Merida messed up big time. And I couldn’t just let it go.

“We’re almost there. Arm up.” Jamie said, pulling into an exit off the highway. “It was this hole-in-the-wall sorta place.”

Both Merida and I grabbed our guns and knives—she her bow and arrows— and sat up straight with anticipation. My fingers traced the familiar lines down the handgun and it struck me as odd how much I’ve changed. I itched to bash a zombie’s head in again, and to claw my way out of a dangerous situation. Only a week before I cringed at the prospect of murder, but now I found that my fingers itched for it, my lungs yearned for the exhilaration, even my mouth drooled at the thought. This apocalypse had made me less human and more indifferent to where I stood. I just didn’t care anymore. A quiet, locked away part of my brain broke and screamed that this sensation in my body was wrong. But the now dominant part of me, the part that I listened to, felt only that it was right. The best thing for me.

I caught Merida looking. “What?” I asked gruffly.

“Nothing.” She shrugged and turned away.

“Here we are.” Jamie killed the engine on by a curb in a tucked away part of the city. We jumped out of the car, each of us landing as lightly as a cat from our recently acquired necessity to learn such skills. Immediately there was a gurgling growl. A swift shot from Merida silenced it.

“Let’s get in before we meet any more of them.” She said. She motioned to a small shop with a vintage purple sign that read Future Telling, Séance & Psyche Shop in flaky letters. Her eyes lit with recognition. She’s seen this sign before.

“Yeah. Right.” I pressed my shoulders into the glass of the door and pushed it open. A soft tinkle of a bell announced our entrance. We moved in slowly, out weapons pointed out in front of us. Once we were sure there weren’t any zombies manning the store Jamie called out, “Hello? Lady, you here?”

“Put down those nasty little weapons of yours.” Crackled a voice from below the counters. An old woman stood up holding a bottle of black liquid in one hand and a bunch of colorful bouncy balls in the other. “Valuable things in here.”

I glanced quickly around the store. There were shelves upon shelves of god only knows what. Potions, cards, crystal balls, figurines, charms for jewelry, etc. I ran my finger along one of the clear orbs and stared into it.

“Oh. Those don’t work, dearie.” The old woman clucked. “Especially not for you. Only I have the ones that work, and I can read them. You, unfortunately, don’t seem to possess they eye.”