29. Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Shelby
Although I feel better, the following day, I still ache in all the wrong places. However, I can’t stand laying in this bed any longer and after cleaning up, I emerge somewhat refreshed.
I’m still processing the loss rolling through me in waves but it’s for the best because I wouldn’t want to raise a child in this world, thoughts which haven’t lessened the pain.
I always wondered if I had the capacity to love a child born out of a union with Ben. Now I know that I could but it’s a moot point anyway.
The house is silent when I emerge from the bathroom and I move toward the front windows, finding Lance and Nate in the pasture with the cows. There’s a huge trough on one end of the fenced area and the boys have a relay system going to bring water via buckets to the wide, rusty bin.
Since I don’t see anyone else, I backtrack through the house and stop at the open door to gaze outside. Nora kneels in the soil in the garden, chatting animatedly with Lottie. I don’t know much about gardening, but I presume they’re either weeding the area or planting something new.
Where are Amanda and Zoey? The other guys?
Touching my aching tummy, I prepare to step down into the grass when a low thunk brings me around and I approach the bedroom adjacent to the one Nora, and I share.
It’s silent for a moment while I wait for any further sound and I’m just backing away when I hear a muffled cry beyond the door.
“Harry?” I say, touching the knob. Much like my grandmother who had moments of clarity interspersed with confusion at the end of her disease, I suspect Harry is on the downward spiral.
I don’t know if Lottie understands what’s happening but my heart hurts for her and what’s no doubt coming, especially because in this world, family won’t be around to help bear the weight. Lottie is on her own, unless we stay.
When something crashes within the room, I call his name again, except he doesn’t answer and when I turn the knob it won’t budge. It’s locked.
“It’s for me,” Lottie says, and I spin, grabbing my chest. “Selfish. I know but when I’m out there, I can’t be here, and I don’t know what Harry might get up to.”
When she waves to the door before producing a set of keys, I step back while she unlocks it before pushing it open.
Mothballs, lemon and a hint of something else assail my nose as Lottie says, “Oh dear, you’ve gotten yourself into a pickle again, dearie. Shelby, can you help me get him back on the bed?”
The full-size mattress rests against the wall to my right, sandwiched between two antique nightstands. Opposite the bed a series of pictures rest on a gorgeous antique bureau covered in lace doilies to protect the wood.
“Of course,” I say, following her into the room.
To my dismay, Harry lays on the floor with his back against the side of the bed. When he looks between us with a furrowed brow, my chest clenches. How many times have I seen the same look in my grandmother’s eyes, and it broke my heart every time.
Lottie's a trooper though and she kneels beside her husband while I do the same on the other side. With a glance in my direction, she nods and says, “One, two, three.”
On three, I brace my shoulder beneath his armpit and lift him up and over to the bed. Surprisingly, he’s lighter than I expected and once he’s on the mattress, I smile, hoping to bring some color and light back to his vacant stare.
“Katie?” he says, and I glance at Lottie with a kernel of unease while she smooths his hair down before patting his cheek.
“That’s Shelby, dear,” she says before turning to the dresser. “Don’t mind him. You just look like his granddaughter is all. She was pretty as a picture too.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, backing away when she turns with a diaper in hand.
After eyeing me, she tips her head toward the door and says, “I got it from here. Thanks, child.”
Nodding, I turn to escape but pause by the door to gaze over the pictures. Amongst the images I spy a young woman who does look a bit like me and pointing to the picture I ask, “Is that her? Your granddaughter?”
“Hm?” she glances back and her brows furrow before she says, “Yes, that’s her.”
“She’s beautiful,” I say but when Lottie’s shoulders tighten, I fear I hit a sore spot and step into the hall.
Did her granddaughter die from this mess we’ve found ourselves in? How many people lost loved ones? How many more will die before this is over, assuming it ever ends?
Shoving the thoughts away, I step into the hall and stop once more before the series of photos, this time on the wall.
A young woman wearing a fancy hat and solemn smiles sits next to a dapper man who’s touching her shoulder. Beside it is another picture of the couple, both older but wearing the same smiles.
When Lottie appears at the door, I wave at the wall and say, “I love old pictures. They’re so beautiful.”
With a nod, Lottie shuts the door, closing them inside. When I hear the warble of her voice beyond the wood, I walk away, my chest aching at the loss Lottie can’t outrun.
There’s always an end, I just wish we had more control over the outcome.
Nora is still in the garden when I step outside and welcoming the sun warming my chilled skin, I wander in her direction. To my right, a series of trees create a breathtaking backdrop, and I admire the lush boughs in varying shades of green before turning to the garden and Nora.
When Bo, who’s lying beside her, wags his tail, she looks up and pauses, resting her hands on her knees. Although I appreciate her concern, I have to resist the urge to squirm while she studies my face. When I finally raise a brow, she chuckles and says, “You look better.”
“I feel better,” I say before nodding to the garden. “What are you doing?”
I don’t want to talk about what happened. As it stands the reminder continues to burn my belly and I’d like to think about anything but the loss still circling my soul.
Rolling her shoulders, Nora wipes the sweat from her brow before turning back to the tiny, ruffled rows of soil. “Planting. I know fuck all about it, but Lottie said this was a good time to get more in the ground.”
Thankfully, I’m not the only clueless person here and with a smile, I spin toward the barn, eyeing the rusted farm implements surrounding it in waist high grass before glancing at the field beyond.
Is that someone else’s land? Are they still alive?
“Where are Amanda and Zoey? The guys?” I ask.
“The girls are in with the chickens.” Shaking her head, she grins. “Bean, too.”
I try to imagine the plump little chihuahua hanging around chickens without causing mayhem before shaking my head.
Still, this doesn’t fully answer my question and crouching down, I run my fingers through Bo’s coarse hair. The dog’s tail thumps once more before he rolls to his back, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
Charmed, I oblige, rubbing his belly, as I ask, “And the guys?”
I’m trying to be casual but that goes up in smoke when Nora turns with a sly smile and says, “Cason went with Larry and Jason to search out materials to build a stronger fence.”
Ignoring the flush in my cheeks, I say, “They left?”
. . . Without telling me?
“They left at dawn,” she says with a shrug before turning back to the garden.
It doesn’t matter, Shelby. Cason will be gone in a matter of days. Pushing my roiling emotions aside, I drop to my ass and ask, “Can I help?”
“Almost done, you could . . . ” When she trails off, I follow her gaze and my stomach sinks.
Despite knowing that nothing about our situation has changed, I still let myself sink into the tranquility of this place and now the brutal burn of disappointment paints my chest in colors of gray.
Dressed in overalls with a faded red flannel beneath, I presume this is or was one of the neighbors approaching with milky eyes, rolling in the sockets while it sniffs the air.
Can they smell us? No fucking way. Right?
I can’t see any obvious sign of injury or even a bite to indicate how he was infected but the thing that stumbles along behind it, makes up for it in spades. So much so that it takes a moment to truly comprehend what I’m seeing.
The former woman’s hair hangs in greasy strands around her pale face, with a giant hole in the cheek, showcasing her flexing jaw and teeth beneath. One pale milky eyeball spills over the same cheek, bobbing with her jerky steps while her arm dangles by the sinew and muscle from her shoulder.
The other arm reaches for us with a disturbing amount of hunger and as if that wasn’t enough, the skin on her chest appears to be bubbling, perhaps from a burn, the reddened skin now blackening at the edges.
With a silent sigh, I rise. I guess my day of rest is over, if you could call it that. Nora follows and I silently agree when she says, “Fuck.”
After handing me a shovel, she grips the rake beside it and I force my feet forward despite the instinct telling me to run, not walk, in the opposite direction.
However, if this is where we are going to try and make our post-apocalyptic fucked-up home, I have to get used to fighting, not running, something I’ve obviously never been very good at it.
“I got Farmer John. You take, uh, her,” Nora says while I circle away from her, hoping to draw them apart.
It partially works when the dude in the overalls diverts to Nora where she waves that stupid rake in the air, but the victory is short because another of them stumbles from between the trees.
“Shit,” I mutter and swing the shovel toward the fumbling woman. Of course, with my puny strength, I only manage to push her back a step.
To my right, I spy Bo circling the woman and eye the third interloper, while I press the curve of the shovel against the woman’s chest and push her away again. This is getting me nowhere though and I have to do something like now before I have two of them on my ass.
Behind me Nora grunts and when I glance her way, I see the same struggle. These things don’t die unless you get them in the head but that’s not as easy as it seems when you’re dealing with a moving target who doesn’t feel freaking pain.
My mouth waters at the fetid stench emanating from my attacker’s mouth and summoning what strength I have, I lift the shovel and swing it at her head. She bobbles back, windmilling her arms before coming right at me again.
“Fuck,” I groan, swiping the shovel toward the ground as though her legs are the damn ball. She flips face first to the ground and I dance away while the third thing gets disturbingly close.
Although my heart hammers in my throat I don’t have time to worry about the fragile organ as I raise the shovel over my head and slam it into her skull.
Meanwhile Bo snaps at the other woman while the dull crunch followed by a pop inspires the bile hovering in my esophagus to bubble over and vomit stings my tongue before sliding between my lips.
The bitter tang burns my throat but a glance at Nora reveals her struggle with the farmer and now, I have to do something I really don’t want to do.
The mystery of what happened to Harry and Lottie’s granddaughter has been solved, and I can confirm that in real life the resemblance between us is almost uncanny.
She . . . it cocks its head and I rear back, my sweaty fingers slipping on the shovel. Her pale blonde hair still surprisingly shiny glints in the sun with her lips peeled back from her even, once white teeth.
Whoever turned her will remain a mystery, but the industrious little fucker took its time because bite marks cover her from head to toe, the round indentations left by the teeth blackened and swollen at the edges.
When she reaches for me, I pop out of my daze. Thankfully, Bo lunges, snapping his teeth but this thing must sense the weaker prey because she doesn’t falter and continues toward me.
Since it worked before and I’m not interested in experimenting, I swing at her legs, my vision narrowing when she drops before me with a grunt.
That’s me lying on the ground. I’m her. Why is she dead while I’m alive? I’m the one who allowed a man to dictate everything I did from what I wore to who I spoke with.
I’m the one who laid in a bed for three fucking days, tied to the bedposts while my husband tortured me. Why do I deserve to stand here while she struggles on the ground?
“What the fuck, Shelby?” Nora mutters and I hold out my hand, a useless gesture while she slams the pole end of the rake into the woman’s skull, ending her with a twist and grunt.
The surreality sends me back a step and I drop the shovel before covering my face while Nora’s panting breaths fill the void. It’s when I hear Zoey’s laugh that once more, I pop out of my daze and say, “We need to hide them. Her.”
Ignoring Nora’s sideways glance because—yes, I freaked out but what’s new—I wave at the woman and say, “That’s their granddaughter. It would be better if . . . ”
Nora’s brows furrow and her gaze moves beyond my shoulder to the house before she nods and says, “Take her legs.”
I’m not expecting the skin to be so cold, and I almost drop the body before we’ve started. When Nora slides her arms beneath its shoulder, I ignore my tingling fingers and do the same.
It’s not easy to hide a dead body, I should know but with two people, we’re able to get her just beyond the line of trees before Nora drops her end and it falls to the forest floor with a thud.
Wincing, I turn back to the other two bodies but my limbs already ache and I’m not sure I can lift anything with the way my arms tremble.
By silent agreement, we leave them for now and when Nora heads to the chicken coop on the other side of the barn, I pause beside the man, now staring sightlessly into the sky.
Who was he? Did he build a life that satisfied him? Are there people out there mourning his transition?
With a sigh, I go to move away before pausing when the glint of something catches my eye. After kneeling down, I assess the object peeking from the man’s pocket before gently pulling it free.
Formed into a heart, the little rubies adorning the brooch sparkle in the sunlight, and I wonder at its origin, and the shred of fabric it was once attached to, still clinging to the pin. Perhaps it belonged to his wife?
At the thought, fatigue fills my bones and although I have zero desire to touch his skin, I tuck that pin between his fingers before curling them around it.
As I walk away though, my mind wanders to the past and I shiver in the heat when darkness clouds my vision.