The Last Letter Read online

  In the relative cool of his kitchen, I realized I’d peed my pants.

  It took me a while to recover from that experience. Herb did his best to cheer me up, but I couldn’t feel comfortable until the dead stopped trying to tear down the fence. I swear, Herb acts like nothing has happened, even in the wake of that close call. He just sat in his recliner, with me shaking like a leaf on the couch, and lit up a joint. He kept talking about how he “saw ol’ Bill from the gas station this morning,” but he was talking about dead Bill. Undead Bill, whatever. He actually chuckled and said something like, “He’d be pissed to know he died in that work uniform. Still had his nametag on, too.”

  One joke after another. Casual conversation. Remarking on the weather. Telling me about his tomato production this season.

  We smoked a joint. Then I went and took a cold but amazing bath. I still can’t believe the water hasn’t shut off yet. How is it possible? Aren’t there pumps somewhere that require electricity? Is someone keeping the water going with generators? I don’t know how things like that work.

  After my bath, Herb fed me. I got to eat a fresh tomato from his garden. It was the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten, and I don’t even particularly like tomatoes. It tasted so rich, like I was paying attention to the flavors in a new way. I don’t know.

  He has tons of squash, too. We’re having that for dinner. I’m writing all this down now because I know after I eat again, I will be fast asleep. I’m exhausted, and since I took that bath, I’ve managed to relax a little. It’s so much quieter here, at least when he’s not talking. Thicker walls, no broken windows, no hole in the roof. He keeps a clean house. Surprising for an old pothead. It definitely doesn’t feel like the apocalypse in here, though there’s something creepy about the sound of the grandfather clock. You can hear it from any room in the house.

  I feel much safer here, though. It helped a lot when he showed me his guns. He has a .22 revolver, a shotgun, and a rifle. I can’t remember the caliber. Bolt-action, whatever that means. I don’t know anything about guns.

  He also showed me his medicine cabinet. [two lines scribbled out]

  You should see his weed stash. It’s like he knew all this was going to happen and stocked up in advance. Unreal. He does most of his smoking from the upstairs balcony, right outside his bedroom. After he showed me around the house, we sat up there for a bit. Every day, at the same time, right at four p.m., he sits up there and watches the house directly behind his. The guy who lives in that house is his friend. Donald, I think. Donald used to come over and smoke with him at four p.m., but now he raises the mini-blinds on his kitchen window just to signal to Herb that he’s still alive. I think Herb said he’s eighty years old.

  I didn’t leave a note for Jacob. He’ll find out where I am when he stops by here. I told Herb about my suspicions. He doesn’t trust Jacob either, so he’s going to have his pistol on his hip when Jacob shows up. Right now, I want to give Jacob the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’s stressed and afraid and the thought of carting me somewhere safe was just one task too many. Maybe he didn’t realize the direness of my situation in that house.

  I guess I’ll find out in a few days.

  Dinner time is coming up, so I’m going to cut this short for now. I brought my envelopes, so this one should be sealed up too, just like the last one. After I eat, I’m going to try to get some sleep. Herb and I pulled a twin-size mattress into his bedroom. He offered me the spare bedroom, but I’m happy to sleep close to another living, breathing human. Plus, he has six deadbolts on his door as a last resort if the dead ever get inside the house. The balcony is a potential escape route. He has a knotted rope tied to the rails.

  If the old creep would quit with the it’s-on-us-to-repopulate-the-Earth comments, this situation would be absolutely perfect. I told him human civilization isn’t worth it. He chuckled. He chuckles at everything. I sure wish I could too.

  With love,

  Laura

  8

  Dear Laura,

  Turn off the power to the drone immediately.

  Sorry to sound pushy. We can’t recharge it.

  Anyway, hi. It’s nice to watch a letter depart and know it’s going to follow an unbiased course towards you. I don’t understand Jacob, why he’s working so hard against the grain, why he’s trying so hard to control everyone and everything. It’s like he’s setting up a game of chess, and we all have our part. I’m glad we don’t need him to run letters anymore.

  If you’re reading this, it means Tyler was able to fly his fancy ass drone down there. I’m glad you went to Herb’s. It’s nice to know you’re safe, and that you’re eating fresh vegetables. You know that makes me happy. Jacob said he was concerned about you being at Herb’s. He didn’t elaborate; that’s all he said. Oh, and that he dropped off your letter and care package. Is there something wrong there? Why would he be concerned? It’s probably best if we completely eliminate him from our communications at this point. We can tell him we don’t want to talk anymore or something, and we’ll just use this drone as long as we can. As the batteries die, we’ll plan our meet up. We can’t keep sitting around to find out what Jacob is planning. We have to do something.

  The letter you sent to me that was sealed and signed…it was delivered in a sealed envelope with a signature on it, just not your signature. He forged it, like a schoolchild trying to get out of class. He actually took the time to go home, read your letter, put it in a new envelope, then sign it as if I wouldn’t notice the difference.

  I noticed. I just didn’t say anything until now because I knew he’d be reading my letter, too.

  Tyler says he thinks we can get several small flights out of the drone since we are so close, and he has almost a full charge on it. He’s going to be waiting tomorrow evening to fly it back over here. Just attach your letter, turn it on, then stand back. Be ready as soon as the sun drops below the horizon. We have to time this just right to preserve as much battery life as possible.

  What are we going to do, after I come to you guys? Are we going to try and get out of the city, or are we all going to hole up in someone’s house? After cutting Jacob out completely, things are liable to get confrontational. I would feel safest in my house if we decide to stick around, but we’ll have to coordinate it to get everyone here. The rope isn’t the easiest method of entry.

  Why are decisions so hard in the apocalypse? I’m afraid I might be wrong.

  Jacob also said he’s been to see Detective Barrone. He said he was low on ammo, so he went by to ask if Barrone would be willing to trade. The detective gave it to him “for free,” but also told Jacob if he brought him chain-link fencing and posts to build a barrier around his property, he would give Jacob all the guns and ammo he could use. How the hell is he going to carry enough supplies for a full fence on his four-wheeler? And here’s the kicker: he’s going to try it. I told him it’s a horrible idea. I pleaded with him not to go, reminded him that the whole neighborhood has been depending on him and his four-wheeler. He just said, “Well maybe it’s time for that to change.” I don’t know what to do. I’m glad I stocked extra goods for now. I may go on a run myself one day and look for another ATV— that can’t have been the only one.

  There’s something I have to tell you.

  I went to see Margaret.

  I was watching her house, had been for a while. I still hadn’t seen any activity over there, but, at the very least, I wanted to find her seed stash (and maybe a homemade canned jar of pickled okra, because I had a random craving for some okra the other day). I was watching the neighborhood at dusk, and there was a window of opportunity, a serious lull in movement, so I went for it. I lowered myself down the rope, crept to the front of my house, tiptoed across the street as though I might hit a creaky floorboard, then climbed up her lattice. I tapped on a window first, then knocked. After several minutes, I decided to start looking for anything that might be open. Nothing was though. I smashed a window with the butt of my gun.


  This is where the bad news starts.

  I cut myself. Not “sliced a tendon deep,” but I had to double check to see if I was looking at my bone. I was able to tie it up and suppress the bleeding at the time, and I’ve cleaned it and given myself a few sutures since I got home. Once I stopped dripping blood everywhere, I collected myself and realized I was in Margaret’s bedroom. The stale smoke smell was overpowering. I didn’t even know she was a smoker. I always chatted with her across the street while we collected mail or watered our lawns. I guess she only smoked inside.

  Her cheap wooden bed frame was chipped and leaning on the wall, and her bed was unmade. The sheets looked clean but rough. She had a box TV set in her room with legit bunny ears on it and the old turn dials. I hadn’t seen one of those in a long time. I turned the knobs on the set and was instantly taken back to my childhood. My parents could always tell when I’d snuck in to watch TV past my bedtime because I never remembered to put the dial back on the channels their station.

  Margaret’s door opened then. There stood her eldest nephew. You remember that guy, don’t you? We met him last summer at the neighborhood barbecue. I didn’t know he’d been staying with her. His jaw was dislocated, and his knees were bent the wrong way. He still had his eyeglasses on. That I don’t understand. I only need glasses at night, so I don’t have to deal with them full time, but my glasses are always sliding down my nose. How is it he’s been dead for weeks, and his glasses are still on his face?

  He stared at me for a few seconds, as if trying to sort out what had changed in the room. Then his eyes locked on mine, and he lunged and closed half the distance between us. His mouth opened wide, and he screamed in bloody bursts. I screamed too.

  Before I knew what I was doing, my gun was in my hand. I missed my mark and shot his shoulder, causing him to pause for a moment. I shot off another round immediately. His face opened before he fell. I knew two things at that point: Margaret was probably dead, and I had definitely drawn attention to myself.

  I moved quickly. First, I grabbed all of her medicine from the bathroom cabinets - I didn’t have time to read labels - then I did a quick run through her guest bedroom, which turned up nothing useful but a blanket. When I came out of the room, there was another dead waiting on me. A little girl, no older than eight. Laura, it was horrible. I can still see her. The skin was missing from half her face. Her dark hair was in tattered braids, and both of her knees were skinned. I aimed my gun at her, held it steady.

  I don’t know if I can take this.

  All these people.

  Staring into that little girl’s eyes made this whole event sink in like it hadn’t before. It’s as if all hope left me in that moment. I didn’t know I had any hope left, but I must have, because I felt it leave me then. There I stood, in my neighbor’s house with a loaded gun aimed at a little girl. Was she craving a candy bar as her undead self drooled over the thought of tearing into my flesh? For a moment, I felt like letting her take me. Even if they’re undead, it’s hard to accept that I’ll have to continue slaughtering others so that I can continue to exist.

  She finally lunged at me.

  I shot her.

  Margaret wasn’t far behind. She was nearing the top of the stairs as I approached. I shot the old woman three times before she fell. She tumbled down the stairs, and the loud, flat sound of her body connecting with the tile made my stomach churn. The snap of bone was unmistakable. She had two bullet holes already that weren’t from me.

  I didn’t want to stick around much longer. I assumed most deads in the area had already heard me, so I rushed to the kitchen, intent on finding those seeds. There was blood everywhere— on the floor, cabinets, counters, in the sink. I cracked her fridge to see if anything kept, then instantly wretched and vomited when the smell hit my nose. I found canned goods in the pantry, though, plus her stash of seeds tucked in a drawer. I took all of them, bundled everything up in the blanket. I decided not to worry about exiting the way I came in, since the pretense of anonymity was gone. I had my hand on the front knob when I heard it. There was a cry from upstairs.

  “Don’t leave me.”

  I froze. Deads can’t talk right? Still, precautions and all…

  I made sure one was in the chamber, then started back for the stairs.

  “Hello?” I was on the second step when I noticed the attic access panel was open when it hadn’t been earlier. I aimed at the hole. “Show yourself, or I’m leaving.”

  “I’m here. I’m here.” A girl who turned out to be one of Margaret’s nieces dropped out of the ceiling. “Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.”

  I lowered my weapon and motioned for her to come to me. “Honey, come on, we don’t have time.”

  She ran down the stairs. When she was beside me, I took her hand, cracked Margaret’s front door, took three seconds to look around, then opened it wide. I held her hand tight, and we both ran. The thing I remember the most is the sound of our shoes slapping the asphalt.

  There were two deads roaming around near my rope. Can they smell that well? Could they still smell me on it? I wonder if, given enough time, they could figure out how to climb up.

  I shoved Margaret’s niece behind me, then shot them both. It took five rounds total. I’m not the most accurate shot from a distance. When I got closer, I could see one of them was Gene, an old coworker of mine. We worked together for a few years before he had a second kid and got certified in web security. I say all this because I’m pretty sure he moved his family to the Plurnon Estates after his pay increase, and those are over twenty miles south of us. That gives us an idea how far they can travel, and at what speed. I wonder if there’s a migration pattern. And if there isn’t one yet, how long will it take to evolve? Sorry. My science brain.

  So Tandie, Margaret’s niece, is here with me now. Poor thing. She’s been hiding out over there all on her own. She was staying with Margaret this summer with her brother and sister while her parents were out of the country. She said she woke up one day to Margaret crying. When she tried to check on her, Margaret kept hugging herself and wiping her face. She said she was going to check the mail. This was obviously a crazy idea, but no amount of pleading altered her course. A dead latched onto her neck while she had her hand in the mailbox.

  Tandie and her brother were able to drag Margaret back inside. It took her two days to change, and when she did, she went into a rage. Tandie’s siblings had been attacked before she even got out of bed. She said she grabbed her bag, stuffed it full of water bottles and energy bars, then climbed into the attic. She’s pale and thin and looks barely alive. She’s eating a whoopie pie and some chips now, and I just got some soup simmering over the fireplace.

  I want to get as much food in her as possible so she has plenty of strength in case we have to bail soon. I feel bad for her. She is young and scared. I remember how invincible I felt at twelve, like I could take over the school and then the world if only I didn’t have a bedtime. Life isn’t and will never be that way for Tandie, no matter what happens. Her life is forever changed.

  I guess that’s all for now. I am going to get this to Tyler so he can deliver it. I wish I knew how to fly it. Remember, sun down tomorrow for your return letter.

  See you soon!

  Morrigan

  9

  Dear Morrigan,

  I have so much to tell you, but first let me say I’m happy you found that little girl. I was mad at first that you would risk venturing out on your own, but if you hadn’t, she would have died up there. Maybe she and I will be able to trade attic stories soon. For me, the worst part was hearing them banging around down there below me. I can’t imagine what it would be like to know it’s your own family.

  Herb was so excited when the drone came flying down to his porch. He read some of the letter. He thought it was for him. That was his excuse, at least. It led to a discussion about Jacob, and he agrees that we need to cut Jacob out completely. That means not even accepting supplies from him.r />
  I have some things to tell you about Jacob.

  After he found my house empty, I assume he saw the ladder and put two and two together. He came over here immediately and pounded on the door without regard for all the undead milling around the neighborhood. Herb shouldn’t have let him in, but then again Jacob might have broken down the door. He was in a rage. When he stormed through the house looking for me, the china rattled in the cabinet. I heard Herb calling after him, telling him to stop, and then Jacob screamed at him to mind his own business. Then, in a calmer tone, Jacob said, “What the hell do you think you’re gonna do with that thing?”

  The stomping grew louder and Jacob came through the doorway into the kitchen and stopped. He stared me down for just a moment, then rushed towards me. I thought he was going to do something--hit me or drag me away. Instead, he put one hand on the back of my chair and the other on the bar top, then he hovered over me. It’s hard for me to remember everything he said. I was scared, and when I couldn’t answer his questions, he got impatient. I fall apart when someone is yelling at me, so it’s hard to recall every word. He called me a bunch of names. He said I was stupid, that he’d wasted his time bringing me food because I’m trying to get myself killed. I tried to say something then, but he screamed, “SHUT UP!”

  Then I heard the hammer click on Herb’s pistol, and Herb said, “Buddy, I’m counting to three, and when I get to three, I’m pulling the trigger.”