The Last Letter Read online

  I suppose that’s about it for now. I hope you’re okay over there. I’ll look forward to the next time I hear from you. I send all my love and well wishes.

  Your old fashioned penpal,

  Morrigan

  5

  Dear Morrigan,

  Why on Earth would you go on a supply run with him? It’s too dangerous. The roads are clogged, and you don’t know when a big wave of those things will come through. I’m so mad at you right now.

  I guess there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s already over. When Jacob dropped off your letter, all he would say was that everything went smoothly. I spent a whole day thinking you were dead, so please forgive the sloppy handwriting. I am still shaking.

  Let me tell you how things are going over here. I’m sure Jacob will have mentioned it, but you know that big ash tree in my back yard? The one my landlord kept saying he was going to have cut down because it was dying? Well, part of it fell on my house.

  You should see the size of it. I don’t think you can even call it a branch. The trunk splits into two, so basically an entire half of the tree demolished the back left corner of the roof, and now my kitchen is filled with branches and the whole house is flooded--except for part of Stacy’s room because apparently the floor isn’t level. This house is such a shithole.

  Now, every time we get rain, it’s going to flood more. There’s a big gaping hole at the corner where it hit--it took out part of the roof and part of the wall. Where the two walls join, there’s a split going almost all the way to the floor. The ceiling is sagging. Everything is damp. If the dead learn to shimmy up a tree trunk, they can climb right in.

  Jacob says it’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fucking fine.

  I need to get out of here, Morrigan. I thought for sure Jacob would agree. I mean I can see the sky from my fucking kitchen. He doesn’t have to live here, suffering this humidity, breathing in the mold that’s going to form with lungs that already burn from inhaling fiberglass, listening to the moaning of the dead who clearly can smell me through that big gaping hole.

  I moved back into the attic, by the way. I’m too scared to stay down there. The good news is I have a sunroof and a nice breeze now. Oh, and I can crawl out onto the roof. That’s where I’m sitting as I write this. I can see all across the neighborhood. There are two dead people in my back yard, three in the front--nope, one just wandered out into the road. I don’t see any around your house, but beyond it there are dozens. Some of them are just standing still, teetering a bit, like a drunk person who’s close to passing out. One thing I don’t see is some big vein of the dead separating our houses. Did you notice? That’s a bit strange, no?

  I wish I could get drunk right now. It’s actually a nice day. The warmth of the sunshine in contrast to the cool breeze. A bottle of wine would do nicely. And a friend to share it with.

  It would have been nice if you’d come here instead of going on that run. Just saying.

  I don’t get why he let you go all the way to the grocery store with him, but I’m stuck here. It’s not fair. I don’t care if he thinks it’s too dangerous. Who the hell is he anyway? It’s my decision.

  And just so you know, Herb agrees. He spotted me sitting here a little while ago, and I stopped writing to talk to him. He thinks I need to get out of this house. He says with the flooding--and with more storms coming--it’s going to be dangerous to stay here. Black mold, for one, but he also said the water and humidity will weaken all this plywood fast.

  He said I can come stay with him. He’s right next door, and the dead haven’t gotten through his fence. He gets to walk his back yard and tend to his garden freely. Here I am, living in dire conditions, and all it takes is a quick dash over to Herb’s front gate, and I’ll be sitting in his back yard smoking a joint and eating fresh tomatoes.

  Something else I just learned: Jacob isn’t distributing the food he collects evenly. All he’s given Herb is a bag of pinto beans and a couple cans of corn. He’s playing favorites in the apocalypse. How charming.

  I don’t trust him. You might think I’m just angry and stressed out, but I’m telling you there’s something wrong. Why would he insist that I stay put? What’s the problem with me coming to you? More importantly, why does he care so much? It’s like he wants to keep us separated.

  I’m going to seal this letter in an envelope and tell him no hard feelings, but it has personal information I don’t want anyone else to read. We’ll see if it arrives with the seal broken or not in an envelope at all. The envelope will have my signature on it, so he won’t be able to stick it in another after he reads it--if he is reading these letters.

  I think he is.

  Jacob, if you’re reading this, fuck you. I’m getting out of this house.

  With love,

  Laura

  6

  Dear Laura,

  I am sorry. You know me. I was just trying to get as much control of the situation as possible. I wish I had my own vehicle to navigate these clogged roads—then we wouldn’t have to worry about Jacob anymore. I would grab our own supplies and come kick it with you and Herb. Hell, I’d probably even share a joint with you two. That’s not my thing, but why not, considering.

  I’m surprised Jacob wants you to stay put. Let me know what you decide to do. I don’t know. I feel like a gaping hole is the opposite of fine, but he’s helped us thus far…even if he has been a little abrasive. I’m sure he has his reasons. Since you mentioned it, I have done a bit of my own watching, and I haven’t’ noticed a vein of deads flowing through the neighborhood, but maybe it’s at varying times. Maybe we are just missing it.

  The couple next to me is still well. I haven’t seen any activity from Margaret, but I really want to know if she’s alive. Jacob said he knocked and got no response from her, but I want to see for myself. I may wait for a lull in activity and make a run for it…as long as no deads are around. I can climb onto her awning via her lattice and hopefully get into one of her second story windows. Don’t worry though, I’ll double and triple check and be very careful. If she’s in good shape, I’m going to try and bring her back with me; I have plenty of food for both of us.

  The run with Jacob was obviously successful, even if it wasn’t smooth. It started rough. He almost left me. I was two feet away when he started to take off. I had to run after him and jump on the back. When we got to the store, he threatened to leave me if I took too long. Leave me at the grocery store with no way to get home. I just don’t understand. He is so concerned about our well-being that he doesn’t want you or me to try to get to one another, but he would leave my fate to the winds if I wasn’t back at the four-wheeler in ninety seconds. Let me tell you, I ran like hell. I grabbed rice, beans, corn, yams, green beans, peas, spinach, sardines, spam, beef and turkey jerky, ramen noodles, a variety of soups, broth cubes, and some bread that somehow wasn’t moldy yet. I got plenty of Oreos and Hostess muffins, too. That way you won’t feel like you’re being poisoned by all of the healthy food.

  When I went to leave…

  I was avoiding this, because I know you worry, but I feel like I’m hiding something by not telling you.

  I almost got bitten.

  Laura, I was so scared. My eyes are watering, and my stomach is getting tight just thinking about it. I’m not ready to die but, even worse, I don’t want to become one of those things. The thought of not having control, of hurting other people. The whole ride home with Jacob, I kept imagining what I would have done if she had bitten me. I don’t know if I can kill myself. I probably would have given Jacob my guns, made him promise to bring you to my house so you could take care of Heathcliff (he can’t betray a dying wish, right?), then asked him to shoot me. It makes me feel like a coward, how scared I was. All these years running into dangerous situations…this was the first time I really lost myself to fear.

  Just before the attack, I was thinking how surprised I was that the supply run was going so well, and suddenly, as if the universe could hear my though
ts, a teenage girl appeared from the back produce area. She was still in her khaki pants and green work apron, though the strings had come undone. The skin was peeling from her left cheek, her right arm was broken and dangling, and she was covered in blood. She looked lost at first. I could see the person she used to be in her eyes. It didn’t last long, but for a few seconds, I saw a normal teenage girl, one worried about grades and boys and what her friends thought about her. I saw a young woman with a family at home who loved her and was proud of how much she’d grown. I almost expected her to ask me if I needed help with anything. She didn’t though. She drooled bloody saliva and grunted. Then she screamed so loud that I froze. I fucking froze.

  Her hands were on me before I came out of it. I had flashbacks of my childhood from when my little sister would pester me. She went through a biting phase when she was seven, and I remember jamming my hands into her chest and forehead, trying to hold her off while she snapped and drooled and stuck her tongue out at me like a crazy person. That’s what this was like.

  She almost bit me, several times. I didn’t count. I had too much of an adrenaline rush to really think…it didn’t even feel like I was in control of my own hands. I finally worked my gun from its holster and managed to kick her off of me, then aim and shoot.

  The left side of her head warped from the bullet. She dropped to her knees, shook, then fell back. I didn’t even have time to think about what happened. I had to get to Jacob before he left. Fuck. I killed someone. What if this isn’t permanent? What if everyone is going to turn back one day, and now I’ve killed this girl?

  I need to step away for a moment. I’ll finish your letter after I snuggle Heathcliff.

  It’s time to toughen up, right? This is an apocalypse. I have to survive. We have to survive. If I hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t be writing this letter to you right now. I did what I had to do.

  I hope you’re enjoying your care package. I tucked everything into a box. I actually managed to swipe four bottles of wine while I was there, so I sent two of them. I was thinking of the nights we would share a bottle of red and snack on cheese while we watched America’s Got Talent. The real cheese was all spoiled at the store, but I sent some crackers and canned cheese to go with your wine. Better than nothing I suppose. I also loaded you up with chocolates and your favorite chips, because who cares about calories and cholesterol anymore, am I right? Oh, and the silly putty. Random, I know, but it was there. I thought it would be something to mess around with. Jacob is supposed to ration out the rest of the supplies.

  Random thought: one thing I didn’t realize would be an issue in an apocalypse is boredom. There are moments of terror and excitement, but I have spent so much time bored, like eyebrow plucking bored.

  I’ve read all of my books, doubly read any newspapers and magazines I had laying around. I jog inside for an hour every day now. I’ve cleaned my whole house, reorganized all the rooms, and finally finished scraping the wallpaper out of the dining room. I’ve even taken to painting my nails to pass the time, and you know I’m not typically that level of girly. I still had a few shades from the weddings I went to last year, though.

  Ugh. Weddings. I hated going to weddings. That’s something I won’t miss. Putting on a dress and curling my hair only to sweat off all my makeup in an hour, then spend the entire reception defending my lack of an advanced marital status. My rose has withered, my plumpness pruned. I’m past my prime and shall never be married. Whatever. Just because I’m still single in my thirties doesn’t mean I’ll stay that way forever. I planned on saying yes to that certain someone one day. I just hadn’t found the right connection. It would be nice not to be alone right now, though.

  I’m sipping on a glass of wine and nibbling on a square of sea salt chocolate. Heathcliff says hi. He even drooled on the corner of your letter to leave his own mark. Consider it a slobbery kiss.

  Here’s to hoping you are well. Stay alive please. You’re a reason for me to keep going.

  With all my love,

  Morrigan

  P.S. I forgot to mention. I grabbed some children’s walkie talkies at the store and tried them out when I got home. I didn’t think they would actually have the reception to reach between our houses, but I had to try. No luck though. They’re crap.

  7

  Dear Morrigan,

  When Jacob came last time, he was clearly angry that I’d sealed my letter in an envelope. He made a smart-ass comment when I gave it to him. I can’t remember exactly. Something like, “You’re a little paranoid, aren’t you?”

  I tried to reason with him again. This time he got in my face and told me I’m ungrateful, that I don’t know what I’m talking about, that the decision-making is his department and sitting around being useless is mine.

  I was stunned. I couldn’t say anything back to him. He looked like he was going to hit me. On his way out, he said, “When I come back, I better find you here.”

  As soon as he climbed out the window, I packed up my food, notebook, and clothes--and, yes, I got the bell out of the closet. I climbed up to the attic and out the gaping hole onto the roof. I didn’t even have a plan. I just knew I wanted to get a full view of the neighborhood before venturing out into it, even just to Herb’s house. But I also wanted to gauge how hard it would be to make it to you.

  The more I studied, the more afraid I became. There were two in my front yard, three more directly across the street. Another milling around in front of Herb’s gate. I kept spotting more and more of them, like stars appearing in the night sky the longer you stare at it. They looked spread out, but I started to imagine them all suddenly turning and coming for me, how quickly twenty of them could condense and trap me. The speed of them clearly varies. Some look like they can barely stand, and some lurch after squirrels like track runners when the gun goes off. I wonder if they start out fast and strong when they first turn, then weaken as their flesh rots. In any case, it’s hard to differentiate between the fast and the slow.

  I must have been on the roof for an hour when Herb noticed me. I didn’t even have to say anything. He saw my backpack, that I was scanning the neighborhood. He opened his window and called out, telling me to give him a little time.

  I sat there waiting at the edge where the roof peaks, my legs dangling off the side. Some of the dead wandered over and formed a little mosh pit below me. One of them was a police officer. He looked like he’d been shot. Another was the lady in the bathrobe. Her skin had turned darker since the last time I saw her. Another was a guy with his head shaved bald and a big, bushy red beard. He had one of those backpack carriers for babies strapped to him. No baby though.

  They started beating on the side of the house. I could feel the vibrations. The sound drew more in. By the time Herb appeared, the little side yard between my house and his fence was packed full of them. A teenage girl with half her scalp ripped off. A little boy who’d been gutted. A woman with both arms broken at the elbows. It was just like I’d imagined. Didn’t take long at all. If I’d made a run for Herb’s gate, they would have gotten me.

  Herb pulled his car through his yard and parked it right up next to the fence. Then he went to his garage and brought back a ridiculously long extension ladder and dragged it onto the hood. He made some joke about me having to pay to buff out the scratches.

  “Back up, and be ready to catch it if it slips,” he told me. I didn’t even know what was happening. How could I catch a big falling ladder?

  It took everything Herb had to stand that thing up and hold it steady while he extended it. It almost fell back on him. When he let go, it came sailing towards me, and I just backed away thinking it was going to hit me in the head and knock me off the roof. It hit the edge of the roof instead, then bounced and started to slide, but somehow, by some miracle, I grabbed it and stopped it from falling.

  It barely reached the edge of my roof with only a couple inches to spare. Down on Herb’s end, the second rung was braced by a fence post, so at least the ladder wouldn’t
slide backwards. It was just the sliding left or right that was the problem, the lack of a brace on my end.

  I held onto the edge of the roof as I stepped onto the ladder. It didn’t feel secure at all. I was shaking, and the ladder shook with me. My backpack kept pitching to one side. God, you’re going to be so mad at me when you read this. What choice did I have, though? Herb’s front gate was out of the question. The other option would have been to jump off the roof to my back deck and climb over the fence from my back yard. But the fall could have broken my ankle.

  This was the best bet, and I’m writing to you now, so I obviously made it down, but not before the ladder slipped. See, since the legs were barely long enough to reach the edge of my roof, the ladder bowing under my weight was too much. It slipped off the overhang and fell several feet before catching on the side of the house. I lost my balance and screamed. For a moment, it felt like I was falling.

  Then I froze up and clung to the ladder and sobbed. Herb called out to me, though his voice sounded so distant I couldn’t make out his words. All I could hear were the dead. Their growls and moans and gnashing teeth, right below me. Just like when I was in the attic. I felt the vibrations caused by their fingertips scraping the ladder.

  I got moving again only because Herb kept calling out to me. My grip was failing, and I knew I would soon fall. I just closed my eyes and took one step at a time. With the way the ladder bowed, the last half of the descent felt more like crawling backwards than descending. They were grabbing at my shoes, and when I opened my eyes, I saw hands within a foot of my face. Then I felt hands grabbing me by the hips. I screamed, squirmed, tried to climb back up, but Herb’s voice finally registered, and I realized it was him.

  One of the dead got hold of my shirt and started pulling on it. I recoiled, and Herb hooked his arms around my waist and pulled me over the fence. I collapsed on the hood of his Cadillac, bawling like a baby. Not for long, though. The metal was blazing hot, and the dead were now banging on the fence. I heard a heavy sigh from Herb and looked up to find him working to retrieve his ladder, but the dead had a firm grip on it, so he just pitched it over the side. Then he led me down to the yard and into his house.