The Last Letter Read online

  I could feel Jacob’s breath on my ear as he whispered, “I left your care package at your house, just like she asked.”

  Finally, his looming shadow faded away, and I heard him leave.

  “He tries to come back here again, I’m gonna kill his ass,” Herb said after Jacob was gone, but he was shaking. I could hear the fear in his voice. I don’t know if he really has it in him to shoot somebody.

  Herb isn’t well, by the way. I realized it the first night I stayed here. At night, his breathing gets shallow, and he has these deep, dry coughing fits. I found blood on a washcloth in the bathroom. When I asked about it, he said not to worry, it’s nothing. I tried to press the issue, but he just changed the subject over and over until I gave up.

  Anyway, Jacob came back the next day, but not to visit or bring supplies. Herb caught him rummaging around in the garage. Instead of confronting him, Herb just let him take what he wanted--not only to avoid conflict but to find out what Jacob was after. It turned out to be a post-hole digger.

  Later that same day, Herb called me upstairs to the spare bedroom. It has two windows: one that faces the road, another that faces my house. From that window, there’s a clear view to Detective Barrone’s. Sure enough, just like you mentioned in your letter, a big roll of cyclone fencing lay in the driveway, along with bags of cement, a wheelbarrow, and a bunch of long metal poles. We sat there and watched Jacob moving around the perimeter of the yard digging post holes while Barrone stood guard on his roof with a rifle. The neighborhood looked pretty clear, but at one point, Jacob had to stop because two of the undead came after him. He killed the first with a blow to the head using the post-hole digger. Barrone shot the other one. Headshot, clean, and he did it standing. I guess the detective is also a marksman.

  After that, Herb went to lie down, but I stayed and watched until Jacob quit for the day. He wound up digging holes from the corner of the house to the road, then halfway between his driveway and the neighbor’s. He mixed concrete and water in the wheelbarrow and got poles set in every hole.

  That was two days ago. As of right now, the entire front yard is fenced in. Jacob’s been working like a dog, out in the open, and the attacks have been getting more and more frequent. I don’t understand why he’d go to all that trouble for the detective. You said he mentioned a trade for guns and ammo? Still, it seems like it would take less effort to go find some guns at a pawn shop.

  Unless places like that have been picked clean. What do I know?

  I guess he’ll be doing the back yard next, and then Detective Barrone will be safe and sound while we rely on plywood and two-by-fours. Herb hasn’t done enough to secure his bottom floor. He thinks his fence is going to hold up, but it’s wooden. If enough of the undead pile up against it, it could break. Or another car could come crashing through the neighborhood. Or a tree branch could come down. Barrone doesn’t have that problem. His yard is huge and there aren’t any large trees that could compromise his new fence. Must be nice to have Jacob committing all his energy to making sure he’s safe at the expense of everyone else.

  I keep thinking about taking one of Herb’s guns and just making a mad dash to your house. If this were like the movies and all the undead were sluggish, I’d do it, but some of them are so fast. I think it’s the ones that haven’t been dead that long, like they slow down as they decay. Does that mean there’s a time limit to this? Won’t they just fall over once their muscles fully deteriorate?

  This morning, I woke up before Herb and snuck out to the back yard to pick tomatoes and squash and cucumbers and bell peppers. The sun was still low on the horizon, and the grass was dewy. I took my shoes off and walked barefoot. It was relaxing. The least-anxious I’ve felt in a long time. I didn’t hear the moaning of the dead. I didn’t hear distant gunfire or helicopters. It was almost like a normal morning. I started thinking about Stacy, how Herb used to bring us his extra produce. We used to chop up veggies really fine and then mash an avocado with olive oil and spices and stir it all together. It was so good.

  Thinking about Stacy made me think about my parents, my other friends, my co-workers. I want to get out of here. I want to go home and find out if my mom and dad are still alive. If they are, I want them to know that I am too. We can’t just stay here forever. We’ll run out of resources. Or the neighborhood will get overrun. One thing all the movies teach you is that it’s definitely not good to be in a city.

  Remember those lines I scribbled out from my last letter? I made sure it was impossible to read through the scribbling, just in case Jacob decided to open the envelope and read it. I started writing it before I realized he doesn’t need to know.

  Herb has a boat on the river. It’s only about five miles from here. It’s fueled up and ready to go. He says there’s even a little bit of food and drinks on it. Non-perishables. And plenty of fishing gear. Herb said he’s too old to go on an adventure, but if we decided to give it a try, he would give us the keys.

  Do you think we could make it?

  It’s getting close to sundown, so I’m going to cut it short. I can hear Herb coughing his lungs out. I need to go check on him. I hope Tandie is doing okay, and I hope your cut is healing. Please don’t risk coming here until we work out a plan. Now that you have the drone, we can write each other every day. Jacob should be occupied with building the fence around Barrone’s back yard. Maybe he’ll forget all about us and leave us alone.

  Say hi to Heathcliff for me.

  With love,

  Laura

  10

  Dear Laura,

  My heart breaks more with each day that passes. I don’t have any good news for you.

  You’re right. We need to get out of here, but we can’t leave Herb on his own with how Jacob has been. I’d be worried he would outright murder the old man so he could take his guns and his food. Talk to Herb. Try to convince him to come with us. Regardless of what he says, get a bag packed for both of you with enough food and water to last a week, a dry change of clothes, and maybe an extra pair of shoes. I’m going to do the same for Tandie and myself.

  If you’re reading this, then the letter was successfully delivered, but I’m sure you noticed the drone’s path wasn’t as sure of itself. Shit. I’m crying already. I’m glad Tandie is asleep. I try to hold it together for her. I don’t want to lie to her about the gravity of the situation, but I don’t want her to see me like this either.

  Tyler and Stella said they had their lower level well barricaded. They said Jacob helped.

  I kept trying to get someone’s attention after I heard the commotion, after I heard the shots. I got no response after a few hours, so I otherwise occupied myself, but I left the upstairs window open so I could hear in case there was any more activity at their house. I thought they’d both been killed.

  Several hours later, Tandie and I were downstairs reading when it sounded like someone or something was crawling in. I sent Tandie to the basement to hide until I signaled her otherwise. I was relieved to see it was Stella trying to get my attention by tossing pinto beans in the open window, and they were bouncing on the hardwood floor. Then I saw her red, swollen eyes, her handful of knotted tissue.

  She said they both heard the wood splinter, then the sound of rummaging downstairs. She wanted to jump out of their window and run to my house, but Tyler insisted on protecting their home. He said Jacob was right; he was a man and needed to act like one. He told her to lock herself in, then he went after them with his shotgun.

  I heard the blasts, but I didn’t want to run into an unknown situation and risk leaving Tandie on her own. I keep asking myself if I should have gone, if I would have been able to help.

  Stella thinks he died pretty quick. She heard the shots, then stuck her head out of the bedroom door in time to watch him fumble shells out of his pocket, then get his throat ripped out by a middle-aged woman in a business suit. She said, ‘I keep thinking about her rose-tinted nail polish. It was still vivid, though it was worn and chipped. It’s jus
t the perfect representation of this whole zombie thing. Life was one way, and it was beautiful, and while some things still seem as bright, they’re really all fucked up, and they’ll never be the same again. No one is going to fix it.’ Then she started crying. When I told her to pack her bags and run over, she showed me the bite.

  A large, jagged piece of flesh had been ripped from her abdomen, just at the base of her ribs. The skin and wet tissue was black and rotten, while the skin just outside of the immediate damage area was red and bruised and inflamed.

  Stella said the dead business woman didn’t notice her in the frenzy of the attack. When she wandered into the kitchen, Stella grabbed two shells out of the nightstand, then tiptoed downstairs to get the gun. “I should have just left,” she sobbed out. “I don’t know what I thought I was going to do with that gun.” She said she threw up when she saw Tyler, then started sobbing. The dead heard her.

  Stella tried to run upstairs, but the woman tackled her before she was even halfway there and tore into her core. She was able to rack one of the shells while the woman was chewing on her ribs, then she kneed her in the chest, which caused the woman to stumble enough that she fell back down the stairs. When she stood, Stella aimed for her head and squeezed the trigger. “It doesn’t matter though. I should have let her eat me.” She chewed on the quick of her bloody middle finger. “Tyler’s dead. I shot him after I shot her to make sure he didn’t come back.” Her wedding and engagement rings were covered in blood. I couldn’t stop staring at the red gold. “I guess it’s my turn now.”

  Heavy sigh.

  Stella killed herself this morning, just after sunrise. I told her I would be awake, that I would watch the sun from my own window with her, though we couldn’t watch it together. Our east facing windows aren’t on connected sides. Not too long after the sun was fully over the horizon, I heard the shot.

  I cried for a long time, then cleaned myself up and made breakfast. The light feels dim over here, Laura. I want to leave. I’m going to deliver this letter, then wait to receive your response, but after that, we are running. There’s no point in remaining separated, and there’s really no point in sticking around here. Once we are all together, we can decide if we want to attempt the journey to Herb’s boat on foot or if we think it would be best to look for our own ATV to make the trek. Either way, I’ll wait to receive your return letter before we run. Please let me know if you think Herb’s front gate is the best method of entry. I’ll have Tandie and Heathcliff in tow, so I want this to be as seamless as possible.

  I keep thinking about standing in the garden with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve been outside without having a path and purpose, without watching over my shoulder. I took so much for granted before this. Some days it feels like it would be easier to breathe without air than it’s been to endure such confinement, such fear and paranoia. It’s going to be liberating when we pull away from the dock on Herb’s boat.

  I’m getting ready to attempt to fly this letter. Stella tossed the remote to me before we said our goodbyes. I’ve practiced with the drone a little, but I was afraid of running down the battery. I’m sure we don’t have much left. Tell Herb thank you for me, for being there for you. I’ve told Tandie about you both, and she’s excited to meet you guys. She’s especially excited to eat a fresh tomato, so if there are any left, please save one for this little sweetie.

  I guess that’s all for now.

  Talk soon.

  See you soon.

  Until then,

  Morrigan

  11

  Dear Morrigan,

  Last night, Herb and I sat on his balcony and watched a fire burn in the distance. At first all we could see was the glow of it, but eventually the flames rose up over the trees. We made a game of guessing which building it was. The mall, the elementary school, the storage facility. Herb thinks it was a gas station, maybe the one at the end of Poplar. He’s probably right. This morning, the fire is still burning, the sky is filled with black smoke, and I haven’t seen any sign of the dead.

  I’m sitting by the window as I write this. The neighborhood looks clear. If not for that burned-out car, Barrone’s new fence, and some tree branches in the road, things could almost pass for normal.

  I think the dead are drawn to the fire. Hopefully it keeps burning. Maybe it’s a lucky break.

  I’m sorry about your neighbors. Herb said Tyler bought weed from him once--for a friend, he thinks. He couldn’t quite remember, but he seems to think highly of him.

  Whatever is wrong with Herb is getting worse. I think it’s lung cancer. He keeps coughing up blood, and now he’s sleeping all the time. He’ll get up and wander around the house for half an hour, and then he gets winded and has to go lie down. He wheezes in his sleep. Sometimes it sounds like he’s gasping.

  I brought it up this morning, but Herb is Herb. He talks about dying like it’s a trip to the post office. Just something he might do soon. No big deal.

  I know what you’re probably thinking. That he’s been bitten. I promise that’s not the case. I thought the same thing. I asked him. He wouldn’t lie about it. He even offered to strip down and let me inspect him. The old bastard is still cracking jokes even near the end. Needless to say, I declined.

  There’s no way he’ll be able to come with us. He said it himself. He’s too weak, and he probably doesn’t have much time left. He said we can take his rifle and shotgun, but he wants to keep the revolver so when it gets to the point that he can’t walk or the pain becomes unbearable, he can put an end to it.

  He wants me to do it for him, right before we leave. I can’t. When he asked, I just sat there shaking my head, and he started laughing. I asked what was so funny, and he said, “You’re crying. Been a long time since a young lady cried over me.”

  When he fell asleep, I went out to collect vegetables from the garden and wound up out there for an hour pulling weeds. Kind of pointless, but I enjoyed it, apart from the smell of the smoke. It felt good having my hands in the dirt. It felt good to restore order, to give the plants room to breathe, room to grow. Soon the garden will be overrun with crabgrass and clover and dandelions.

  And the dead too, I suppose. The fence won’t hold out forever. I walked along the fence line before I came inside, a full lap around the front and back yard, peeking through the cracks to look for the dead. I haven’t seen a single one today. Maybe they’re being drawn to that fire from all around, and when we make our escape, the path will be clear, at least for a little while.

  Before I sat down to write this letter, I went to take a bath and found that the water has finally shut off. Figures. Herb is dying, the sky is black, and the tap is dry on our last bit of luck. On top of all that, I don’t feel so hot. Well that’s a lie. I feel really hot. By the time I finished weeding, I was sweaty from head to toe. This is what I get for taking the water for granted, getting used to it being there. Just when you come to trust in something, it disappears.

  Sorry. I’m being pessimistic. I think it’s because of the bell. Remember, the one that belonged to my grandmother? You told me to keep it handy in case I needed to signal you with a loud noise. Well, I put it on Herb’s nightstand yesterday. I told him not to use it unless it was an emergency, and he just had his worst coughing fit yet.

  The sound of that bell sent a shiver up my spine. I caught myself anticipating my grandmother’s voice. That would have been scarier than all the undead in the world. I keep having nightmares about her. The bell ringing, her shrill voice, and when I come into her room she’s sitting up in bed. Then she lunges at me.

  Herb wanted water, so I ran to the kitchen, having forgotten there’s no water, and tried the sink. Then I searched through the cabinets hoping he had some stored in gallon jugs. Thought I found one, but it was vinegar. The only thing I could think to do was get water from the back of the toilet.

  He barely choked some down. It got pretty bad. I thought he was going to asphyxiate. Finally it passed, and now he’s too weak to g
et out of bed, which means I get to look forward to hearing that bell again. I’ll probably stay with him as much as I can just to avoid that.

  Right now, I’m in the spare bedroom watching Detective Barrone’s house through the window. I haven’t seen anything of him or Jacob. I still can’t believe I haven’t seen any of the dead today. I even used the rifle scope so I could search far down the street. I wonder how the fire started. Do you think someone lit it on purpose to attract them? I guess it could have just as easily been an act of vandalism. This is the end of the world. Might as well set things on fire.

  After I attach this letter to the drone, I’m going to pack my things and sit with Herb the rest of the day. I’ll be ready to go. If the drone has enough battery life left, send me another letter and tell me when you’re coming so I can be there to unlock the front door. I think the front gate is definitely the best mode of entry, as long as it’s clear. Otherwise you’d have to find a place to hop the fence.

  I’m sure you’ll have your own supplies, so I’m only packing what I can reasonably carry. Herb told me to take anything I want. He has some canned goods and some vegetables preserved in mason jars. Bags of rice and pinto beans. He also gave me a pocket knife, the shotgun, and the rifle. The rifle has a sling, so I can strap it to my back and carry the shotgun. Otherwise I’m only bringing what I can fit in my backpack.

  It’s almost time to send the letter. I stopped for a few minutes to make sure there’s nothing else I want to say, and I spotted one of the dead. It’s coming up the street right now. Looks like a teenage boy. Black hair, bangs in his eyes. Probably the type who loved zombie video games. It looks like the dead had his neck and shoulder for dinner.

  Now I see two more behind him. A man and woman. They could almost pass for his parents. A family stroll through the neighborhood with an impatient son who’d rather be holed up in his bedroom.