Twenty-Two
I slept on the dust-coated pew uncomfortably all night. By the time I woke in the black morning my hair was almost completely white and my back felt like it had been broken. It turns out that sleeping on your side doesn’t help in the least, needless to say.
I’m not the first one up when I lift my head. Jagger moves quietly around the church, looking for things to gather and occasionally opening a book. I think he’s reading the bibles, but I don’t understand why he keeps switching between copies. In fact, he’s not even finding what page he was on. He just opens, reads, and closes.
I scratch my bandaged head and cringe at the pain when I realize I’ve moved upright too past. I’m still throbbing but in an apocalypse I can’t just go to the drugstore to get expired prescriptions.
“You okay?”
I meet Jagger’s eyes in the darkness of the main room and nod once. It’s a half lie, to say the least. Physically, I’m sore, throbbing and cringing in pain. Mentally, I can’t remember my past, know that I’ve been lied to about it and I’m pretending not to know what I do. But overall, I’m alive. And to me, that’s okay.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he closes a book on the sermon’s stand. He doesn’t move from his spot but quietly drops his hands to his sides.
“Reading.”
I place my palms on either side of me to balance myself and look around me as my eyes adjust. Cole is sprawled on his back on a pew to the far left, the left side of his body hanging off it. His fingers finger on the cold floor but he’s completely unaware that he could topple over at any moment because he’s snoring softly.
“I mean you’re reading system,” I murmur when I notice that Bullet is lying beside my feet and Jack is nowhere to be found.
“Jack is upstairs. The baby is over by Cole.” I wander my gaze over to see a pile of tattered fabrics making a make-shift cradle for the toddler. I can’t see him exactly from the angle, but I know he’s there, sleeping silently. “And to answer you, it’s not really a system. I just open one of the bibles and read what passage I open to.”
“I didn’t know you’re religious,” I murmur quietly as I try to dust off my hair. It feels like there’s a bird’s nest in the back of my head.
“I’m not.”
I raise my eyebrows but don’t say anything. Upstairs, the wood creaks and I wonder what Jack’s doing upstairs.
“I’m just seeing what I need to know,” Jagger tries to explain. “Like some greater power is telling me things by showing me whatever passage I open to.”
“Like God?” I joke.
Jagger smirks a little. “Like fate.”
Slowly, I rise to my feet and carefully hold onto the pew in front of me. With a stiff back, sore, aching feet and a probable concussion, first morning movement is the worst. I take small steps until I’m standing beside Jagger, looking over his shoulder at the closed bible. Even though we still haven’t talked, last night when he assessed my head I felt like things were back to normal and had some sort of epiphany.
What if Jagger never told me because of apparently I left? What if he was hurt and he’s saving me from whatever hurt I may have experienced? I still don’t know what happened and I don’t think learning from someone else will change anything. How can I make judgement on something that happened when I myself can’t remember it?
“Open it.” I move a few inches closer until our arms are brushing each other.
Jagger takes a small breath and opens the black book, creating an old odor in the air. His fingers lightly brush the yellowing pages before he looks down at what passage he’s come across.
I squint, trying to read the words but they’re all blurred. I can’t tell if it’s from just waking up in the dark or my concussion, so my best guess is a mix of the two.
“What one is it?” I wonder.
“Matthew 27:51-53,” Jagger says. “And behold the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And the earth shook, and the rocks were split. The tombs also were opened. And many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised, and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many.”
A frown forms on my lips. “It sounds like fate is making some kind of joke.”
“A mean joke.”
“A very, very mean joke,” I reply, slamming the bible shut. I feel a smile creeping its way up my mouth but I don’t show it to Jagger. “That was a practice one.”
Slowly, I open the bible to a random page and get Jagger to read it for me. Though he’s reading the bible, something I’m not sure if I’ve ever read before, he doesn’t sound like he’s reading what’s in front of him.
“John 1:3. All things were made through him. And without him was not any thing made that was made.”
I stare blankly down at the blurred ink before closing the book. “Fate sounds like he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
After Cole wakes up he and Jagger begin to scout where to head to next and estimate how long it will take to get us to whatever tunnel will drive us to the military base. With time to myself, I decide that I need to go spend time with Jack. We haven’t had a moment alone since we sat on the ground watching his pistol spin and with the recent events, I’m worried about him.
I also need to apologize for slapping him across the face.
Each step squeaks on the twisting staircase up to the top of the church. I think I expected some kind of attic to be up here, and on the way there is a door to what must be it, but I know that’s not where Jack is. Continuing on, the air becomes a little colder and a little fresher compared to the mustiness of the church. It also grows darker until the only light is from two small rectangles coming from the edges of a wooden trap door in the ceiling.
I grab a circular, cold metal handle and shove it upwards. It makes a creaking sound mixed with the sound of metal groaning and the wooden door suddenly is replaced by the dark morning sky.
I set it down gently and blink a few times in the fresh air. It’s dark out but still lighter than it was on the staircase.
The wind whips my hair past me and into my face. It’s strong up here and when I crawl onto the stone flooring of the square I’m in, it becomes worse. Looking around, I see that I’m at the very top of the church. A large, metal bell hangs in front of me, rocking gently in the wind but not daring to even make the quietest of sounds.
For whatever reason the wind and height makes me nervous to stand so I crawl across the cold stone. My knees protest the rough, hard ground as they scrape against them but I still don’t stand up. I work my way around the right of the square, trying to get past the bell. When I reach the far corner, I see Jack.
He’s sitting against the small stone wall, letting his back slouch against it. His head hangs down, letting his hair that’s grown longer than when I met him fall into his eyes. It blows in the wind gently but still conceals them completely. Even though his bent knees block my view, I can tell he’s spinning his gun on the other side of him. I hear the small metallic sound as he turns it. The very sound of it tells me that things are bad.
“Hey,” I murmur, settling into a spot on the wall. I’m facing the side of him, vouching for the wall I’m on rather than his. The tenseness radiating off his body tells me I shouldn’t move any closer.
After I’ve crossed my legs I place my palms on the white dress between my thighs. The stupid thing won’t stop blowing in the wind and I suddenly wish I picked up clothes at Wal-Mart instead of using the space for mostly food. I could really use pants.
By now everyone should know that talking in serious or sympathetic situations isn’t my thing. For whatever reasons I never know what to say and with Jack right now, I know he’s not going to do much of the talking. So I decide to suck it up and push out the words, even if they’re completely stupid.
“I’m sorry I hit you.”
Jack doesn’t respond and again I’m at a complete loss for words. I apologized; he didn’t accept nor deny it. Now what do I say? I’m sorry Emily is gone? I’m sorry that it’s a zombie apocalypse outside? I’m sorry that you’re not okay?
“Are you okay?” My voice is quiet but my tone is concerned. I try to meet his eyes but he still doesn’t look up. Honestly, it scares me how broken he is. Our whole group is collapsing. Cole lost Emily, Jagger is starting to accept defeat and Jack just isn’t Jack.
How can I hold us all together?
“Jack?” I move my legs and somehow manage to hug them to my chest without completely showing Jack everything, even though he’s not looking. For a moment, I consider just removing my arms. Would doing something so ridiculous make Jack talk to me, even for a moment? “Are you okay? Please, answer me.”
I don’t come across as demanding at all. If anything, I sound one-hundred percent desperate. I’m scared and I refuse to admit it to myself. I’m scared for Jack. I’m scared for Cole. And now, because of yesterday, I’m scared for Jagger. What is happening to us? Why are we just giving up on the fight for our lives? Why are we letting ourselves lose ourselves?
Suddenly, Jack tilts his head up slightly. The gun stops spinning – I can no longer hear its sound. Brown strands of hair continue to hide Jack’s eyes from me but the expression on his face is clear. He’s numb.
And anger somehow becomes worse with numb.
“Can I ask you a question, Sloane?” His voice sounds darker; deeper. It’s cold and monotone, but somewhere, deep inside it, I can hear the old, scared Jack.
My voice falters in response. “Sure.”
“Why are we doing this?” I don’t know what to say so I keep quiet. I’m no good at talking and it seems that Jack wants to now, so I let him continue. “Why are we going to Fort Saunders when death is unavoidable, when the virus will eventually kill us all? Please Sloane, explain this to me, because I don’t understand.”
Each word is angrier than the last and I’m completely speechless. Somewhere I know Jack has a point but I refuse to believe it.
“I-“ I can’t form anymore words, if the small stutter even counts.
Why are we doing this? We’re trying to live, trying to make it to the military base. But what happens then? We live happily in a confined space until we grow old, possibly have kids to carry on humanity, and then die? Or do we train to fight zombies until either all of them or all of us die?
“We don’t know the virus will kill us all,” I finally settle on. What else can I say to his mostly valid points?
“We don’t know that it won’t,” he mutters.
Touché.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to him to make him change his mind or make him feel better. Judging by the way he’s acting, I don’t think there is anything. Jack has made up his mind on his outlook and now he’s trying to preach it on me, whether it’s intentional or not.
“We’re going to get through this, Jack.” For once, I really do believe my words. Somehow, we’ll get through this and things will be okay. We’re going to the Fort, and maybe it will be horrible, but we have options. And right now, we’re on our way to explore one of them. Even if the other might be living out here in zombie-world.
Jack turns his head towards me and the wind throws his hair out of his eyes. “What if we don’t?”
“We will-“ I start but his voice overpowers mine.
“What if I don’t want to?”
At first, I feel like I can’t speak. He’s saying exactly what feared and now I have to face it. But as soon as I part my lips the words flow out, both angrier and desperate fighting for control.
“You can’t say that,” I snap louder than I should. “We’re going to get through this. We’re young; we have our whole lives ahead of us. We’re going to somewhere that’s safe and things will be okay. You’re upset, and I get that. You lost someone recently, you lost your whole family and everyone you knew before, and now you have to live with it. But I promise you that we will get through this, together.” I reach for his hand and grasp his cold fingers between mine.
Jack’s eyes are wild with fury as he stares at me, wrenching his hand from my grasp. He shakes it a few times, as if I’ve given him some kind of germs.
“Do you not get it, Sloane? I. Don’t. Want. To. My parents are dead. My family is dead. My friends are dead. Everyone I knew is dead. My best friend, my neighbour, my teacher, the lady who cut my hair, everyone. Emily is a zombie, and soon we’ll all be dead, even her.” He smirks a little but it’s dark. “And I’ll be dead too.”
My right hand twitches and I can help myself. I slap him again for the second time. In a moment I’m across the small space between us and frantically grasping his shoulders. I shake him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
“Wake up,” I cry, feeling defeat dip its way into my and settle into a pit in my chest. I keep shaking him back and forth, hoping that eventually he’ll just grab my hands and stop me and tell me he’s fine. “Wake up, Jack, wake up!”
Hands eventually have to pry me away from grasping his shirt. They aren’t Jack’s hands and I don’t care to find out whether they’re Cole’s or Jagger’s. I’m crying, not understanding how but the tears are streaming down my face. I’m being moved but can’t see past the blur of the salty tears and my concussion. Eventually someone spins me around and my face presses into a chest.
Immediately as my forehead hits the fabric I begin to sob.
I sob for Emily, who’s no longer with us. I don’t know how to treat her death and I think it’s what makes it worse. Is she even up in heaven, or does her soul remain in her zombie body? I wonder if she knows what’s going on, if she’s aware, or if we should have just killed her so she wouldn’t have to live that way. Her sorrow mixes in with Cole’s, who lost the girl he loved, the girl who was possibly the one. He will never get to explore their future together or get married and have kids. Their lives together have reached the end of their rope.
I cry for my lost past, my uncertain future and completely messed up present. I don’t know who I am, who my family is or if they are even alive. I’m all alone.
I bawl for Jagger, who seems to be slowly giving up all the hope he’s been holding onto and sharing with everyone. Also for the child who has no mother, has no father, and really has nobody at all. Even for the dog who takes the whole life so lightly.
I’ve been holding all this in, not mourning nor grieving the loss of all the things that I’m losing. So when I weep for Jack it’s stronger because he’s the reason I’m finally letting everything spill out over the edges.
We’re teenagers who all at some point had normal lives. We were born into homes our parents put over our heads and grew up with lives that were perfect compared to now. We woke up, showered, went to school, came home, ate and slept. Then we had everything, now we have none of that and have to struggle to survive on top of it all. We never thought we would have to survive a zombie apocalypse. Not once.
Really, we’re just kids. Kids who lost almost everything.
And now we have to survive.