The Last Letter Read online

  I was just getting used to this peaceful view.

  Oh my God.

  Morrigan, they’re coming.

  There are so many. Dozens. Hundreds.

  What are we going to do?

  Laura

  12

  Dear Laura,

  Jacob broke in. I was reading your latest letter in the kitchen when the glass in the upper hallway busted out. He’d used a ladder, then broke it out with a hammer. At least he didn’t break in downstairs and make the house vulnerable, I suppose.

  Poor Tandie was so scared. I told her to grab her bag and wait in the garage. If anything went wrong, I told her to raise the door and bail. She took Heathcliff with her.

  So, there I stood, squared off with our savior. He came to save me once again.

  “Come stay with me.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  He rushed me, took my face in his hands. “Because if you don’t, I’ll set yours and Herb’s house ablaze. You’ll lose your friends and that little girl you saved.”

  I cut my eyes at him. He still held my face, was squeezing my cheeks.

  “Yes, I know about her. I’m always watching. I know about your little drone, too. I just didn’t care. Mice will be mice and entertain themselves.” He laughed. “Why would you think having a pen pal during the zombie apocalypse was a good way to utilize your time?”

  His breath was rancid. His skin was sour and slick with sweat. I pushed him away, braced my back against the wall. “We are getting out of here. You can have it all.”

  “I’m going to have it all anyway.”

  We stared at one another. Every muscle fiber was coiled, ready to react.

  “Come stay with me at Barrone’s house. You can bring the girl. It’s safe there.”

  “It’s safe here, thanks.”

  “It is until I open your front door with a chainsaw.”

  I looked towards the garage where I knew Tandie waited. “I don’t trust you.”

  “Come by yourself first. Talk to the detective. See the resources. He has enough munitions and food supplies to survive for a long time. If we continue to make runs and stock up, well, we’ll be in really good shape.”

  “There’s too many of them.”

  “I have my four-wheeler. I’ll take care of us.”

  I didn’t trust him, but I didn’t have much of a choice. “I’ll be back,” I called downstairs. “Just a few hours. Don’t worry.”

  The knob on the garage door rattled, then the door swung open. “Don’t leave me.” Tandie’s eyes locked with mine. They were wet, pleading.

  “I have to go. You know the plan. If I’m not back by sunup tomorrow…” I didn’t finish my sentence. I just nodded, fought back my own tears. “I’m going to the detective’s house. It may be best if we all move down there.”

  She bit her lip, squatted, and hugged Heathcliff’s neck.

  After Jacob and I made it down the ladder, I pulled it away from the house and dropped it in the grass.

  “We are bringing that with us.”

  “No, we aren’t. When I get back, Tandie might not hear me and drop the rope. I’ll need it to get back in. We can bring it when we move, if we move.”

  He looked at me the same way my mom would look at me when I told her I wasn’t going to school. We both knew we didn’t have time to argue. He sighed, then turned and jogged to the front of the house. He was on his four-wheeler with the engine turned over in seconds. I knew he wasn’t going to wait. I jumped on the back just as the wheels started to move.

  When we reached the detective’s house, Jacob made quick work of opening the front gate, then handed the chain and padlock to me and instructed me to lock it up after he pulled the vehicle inside. The thick crowd of deads was on the gate in seconds, shaking it, rattling it, trying to get in. I watched them shove and push, snap at the air, step on one another when it was convenient. They looked like angry animals in cages at the zoo, only we were the ones in a cage.

  Once he’d parked, he made a grand sweeping motion with his arm, indicating I was to walk up the walkway. He fell in line behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I crossed my arms and soothed the goosebumps. On the stoop, he leaned in close and reached around me to slide the key into the deadbolt. I tried to move out of his way and out of his radius, but he held me in place with his free hand. He was intruding on my personal space, and I didn’t like it.

  I was instantly hit with the smell of old wood and stale sweat when the door swung open. They mustn’t have been opening the windows at all throughout this ordeal. The house desperately wanted to breathe.

  “Where’s the detective? Let’s get this over with.”

  Jacob placed his hand on the small of my back and pushed me inside. He dead-bolted the door, pocketed the keys.

  “The detective’s dead.”

  I froze. I knew panic was visible on my face. Of all the scenarios I imagined, that hadn’t been one of them. I didn’t know what to do. If I ran, he could shoot me. If I managed to turn a corner before that happened, I didn’t know where I’d go, how I would get out. I took steps back, clenched my fists, held my breath. “What happened?” It was hard to not choke on my words. My throat was tight.

  “I could tell you he turned so I had to, but that would be a lie. There’s no point. I killed him. I wanted his resources, and I wanted his house.”

  I swallowed, took several more slow steps back. He walked forward in pace with me.

  “Did you really think I would build this fence for him?”

  I stopped walking, squinted my eyes. I wished I had my gun. Where did I leave it anyway? On the kitchen table? Not that he would have let me bring it, I’m sure.

  “The government can’t fix this. This is officially a new world. New world means new rules, new ways of thinking. Laws will be rewritten. You have to fight to survive or be killed.”

  I shook my head without meaning to.

  “Your neighbors died because they were weak, because Tyler wasn’t capable of protecting his home. He was soft.”

  I tried to calm my pounding heart. I knew I would have to do something to remove myself from the situation, but what then? He threatened to set our houses on fire. If I ran, I was terrified he’d go straight to Herb’s with a gas can and a box of matches.

  “Whether you like it or not, people are going to organize. People are going to plan. This is my plan. You can be a part of it, or you can lose everything. It’s your choice.”

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t move.

  “I loved Tess. But love really isn’t a concern anymore. Strength and loyalty are what matter now.”

  What was he saying? Was I hearing him right? Was he asking me to replace Tess?

  “I know you can take care of yourself,” he said. “You’re resourceful, dependable, driven, strong, calculating. Unfortunately, Tess was none of those things. She wanted to be, but she wasn’t. That’s why she died.”

  I swallowed, chewed on my tongue.

  “You can bring your dog and the girl.” He took a step towards me. “You can bring your clothes, your family photos if you like.” He took another step. “There wouldn’t be any pretense of an actual relationship between us. For now, we just work together to survive, and when the time comes, we do our part to help the population.”

  My face showed my repulsion. It felt like I’d swallowed a slug.

  “You already saved the girl. That’s great. She’s obviously at least somewhat resourceful. We can teach her more. Then when…”

  “What about Laura?” I interjected. I took a step towards him. “What about Herb?”

  He smirked. “Laura and Herb are dead weight. They can’t survive this alone. We don’t need more people to protect, more mouths to feed. Our time will be better spent training the girl.”

  “But Laura is my friend. And Herb…”

  “Is an old man with cancer who is going to die soon anyway. Laura is a delicate pansy who somehow managed to lock herself in
before the storm came. We don’t need to waste resources on them, period.”

  It was all I could do not to let my face react. Waste resources? Giving someone food to help keep them alive was a waste? Had he seen such low value in human life before the apocalypse? I couldn’t betray you and Herb. But if I denied him to his face, he intended to ruin us all. I took another step forward. “What happens if I say yes?”

  “We go get the girl and your shit right now, while we can. That’s it. We’ll divvy up chores and other assignments once you two are settled in. I assume she knows how to clean?”

  I held eye contact, nodded. I willed my face not to betray my intentions. I took another step forward. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t look towards his hips. I couldn’t appear too apprehensive or too accepting. Too far one way or the other, and he would know. If my memory served me right, he kept it on his left side. But I had to be sure.

  I took another step forward, closing the gap between us. I softened my eyes, then licked my lips and let them remain parted. “And you’re sure you--” I swallowed. “You’re sure you want me…here?”

  He nodded, raised his left hand to my face, wrapped his hand around the back of my neck. He pulled me in for a hard kiss. He didn’t part his lips. He just pressed them firmly against mine, grinding my lips against my teeth. I winced from the pressure. When his other hand came up to grope a breast, I made my move. I opened the button, gripped the butt, then pulled his pistol from its holster. I slammed the base of the grip against his left cheekbone, then watched him fall to a knee and spit blood. I slid the rail to make sure the gun was loaded, checked the safety.

  “You fucking bitch!”

  I smirked, shrugged.

  He spit again, cursed. He made a half ass lunge for the gun. Without hesitation, I shot him in the shoulder.

  “Ahhhh, FUCK.” He sank to his knees holding the seeping wound. “Mmmm, grrrrr. That fucking hurts.”

  “I’m sure it does.”

  He sat there rocking and holding himself for a moment. I could tell he was trying to catch his breath, steady himself. He looked up at the gun, then to my eyes. “What now?”

  What now? I couldn’t trust him, so I couldn’t just leave him there. I didn’t have any zombies on hand to feed him to. I couldn’t just tie him up and leave him. He would wiggle his way out eventually. “You don’t play well with others, do you?”

  He laughed, shook his head. “Not really. Never have.”

  I checked my aim, then squeezed the trigger.

  I felt more guilt after shooting the clerk in the grocery store.

  I stood there in the entryway for a while, silent, listening. He’d said Barrone was dead, but Jacob said a lot of things. If Barrone was in the house and alive, he would have heard that. Was he upstairs listening for me to make another move?

  After counting how many rounds were left in the gun and finding an extra clip in Jacob’s pocket, I slowly searched the house. His creaky ass wooden floor wasn’t cooperating, though. I was not stealthy. I finally found Barrone, bound head to toe in plastic wrap and lying at the bottom of the basement steps. Old, dark blood was pressed between the body and the wrap. Some of it was seeping onto the floor. He couldn’t have been dead for long. I didn’t want to risk him getting back up. I unloaded two rounds into his head, then checked the rest of the house.

  Barrone really did have a stash. I’ve never seen so many guns in person. There were four different styles of shotguns, enough AR’s for a small infantry, .45s and .22s, and even two Desert Eagles. In a side, walk-in pantry, there were shelves full of canned and dehydrated goods, boxes of MRE’s, first aid supplies, medicines and ointments, and two pallets of water. I took Jacob’s keys, pulled both of the bodies out to the fence barrier, then locked everything back up. I’m home now, and I’m preparing Tandie. We are getting ready to take the four-wheeler back to the detective’s house.

  I think we need to stay down there for now. I know we eventually want to get to Herb’s boat and get out of here, but there are too many of them. Navigating the four-wheeler with all three of us on top will be tricky enough, but with how many deads there are right now, I don’t think we would make it. I think they’d snatch one of us off. It’s probably best for us to stay put and use up some of these resources while we wait for this hoard to move through and hopefully out of the neighborhood. I don’t know. It’s like they all started migrating together after the fire went out.

  I am going to take the drone with us. Once I get down to Barrone’s house and get Tandie settled, I’ll post up with a pair of binoculars and watch Herb’s house. Just find a way to visually signal me when you’re done with your letter so I can fly it back. Unless you say otherwise, I’ll hop on the four-wheeler and come get you. Make sure to pack the boat key.

  I guess that’s all for now. I’m about to attach this to the drone. If all goes as planned, I’ll see you soon!

  With all my love,

  Morrigan

  13

  Dear Morrigan,

  I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. It’s been five days since I received your last letter, and still you haven’t come. I don’t know if you’re alive or dead. Or worse. My hope is that you and Tandie are safe in Barrone’s house, that you’re just waiting out this herd, but I fear you might have tried to fight your way through them to make it to me, and now you’re one of them.

  I can’t let myself believe that. I have to believe you’re still alive, and one day soon you’ll read these words.

  Herb and I are trapped. Locked up in his bedroom. He was right about putting in all those deadbolts. Now here we are, both of us waiting to die, with nothing between us and the dead but a single door. How long till they bust through the drywall and start shimmying through the studs?

  For days we didn’t talk. We didn’t even whisper. We passed notes back and forth. But Herb’s coughing is so bad, I had to move him out on the balcony. When he had his last coughing fit lying on the bed, the dead in the hallway went nuts. I was sure they would break the door down.

  Right now, I’m sitting with him out on the balcony. We’re chatting, as much as he’s able, and the dead are forming quite the audience below us. We’re arguing about who’s going to die first. He thinks it’ll be him because he’s old and coughing up blood and likely riddled with cancer.

  He’s wrong though.

  The dead inside the house have finally calmed down the past couple days. I can still hear them bumping around out there, groaning, hissing, pounding on the walls, but it’s not as bad as it was. At first, it sounded like they were going to tear the whole house down. That poor china cabinet didn’t last long, but somehow that grandfather clock is still ticking.

  It happened when I was picking up your letter. The drone drew them in. I guess it was fine when there were only a handful of the dead milling around, but dozens and dozens? A whole section of fence just suddenly fell over. They came at me so fast. I ran inside and locked the door, and in seconds the first one slammed into it. I tried to grab some food from the kitchen, but a window shattered. Then another. They were screaming. It sounded like the screams of someone being murdered.

  When I finally got a hold of myself and bolted through the door into the hallway, I slammed into one of them. I pushed him off, but he held onto my shirt, and I screamed and pushed and fought. I couldn’t breathe. God, the smell. I don’t know how I managed to get away, but he was right on my heels. As I ran up the stairs, he grabbed my ankle and pulled my shoe off.

  It’s kind of funny. As many times as you’ve griped at me for not tying my shoes . . . if I’d tied them that day, he would have gotten me.

  It’s a weird feeling, knowing I’m going to die. Herb doesn’t seem to mind so much. Then again, he’s in a lot of pain. His doctor had him on hydrocodone, and it ran out a week ago. The only relief he gets is his weed--there’s still plenty of that--but he has a hard time inhaling.

  Still, all he talks about is how warm the sunshine is, how nice the breeze f
eels, how lucky he is to spend his last moments staring at a “pretty girl.” His words, not mine. I don’t know if I was ever pretty, but I’m five days without food and God knows how long without a shower. I stood in the bathroom this morning and looked at myself. I can see my ribcage. My cheeks look sunken in. My hair is stringy. I have bags under my eyes. And I’m so pale that I hardly recognize myself.

  It’s weird, though. I’m not even hungry. Two days ago, I was so hungry I cried until I passed out. Now I’m just numb.

  I finally told Herb the truth. He claims to have known it all along, but he’s full of it. I hid it well. I wasn’t even sure what was happening until yesterday. It was just a scratch, after all. A single fingernail that grazed my ankle when that dead man yanked my shoe off. It looked infected almost immediately. Swelling, heat, redness, but no more than if I’d scratched myself with my own dirty fingernail. Herb’s an old man. He has plenty of medicine, including topical antibiotics. I scrubbed it constantly with anti-bacterial soap, poured peroxide on it, everything I could think to do, and the next morning all signs of infection were gone.

  It started with lightheadedness. Spacing out for no reason. Tunnel vision. I just thought it was my anxiety. Then fatigue, cold sweats, fever. I never experienced nausea. No bronchitis, no coughing, no runny nose. If anything, I felt like I was drying up inside. Constantly thirsty, but like I said, my hunger has diminished, not grown. Strange, isn’t it?

  I feel like I’m in a dream, disconnected from myself. Numbness is the final stage, I think. If I don’t keep my eyes on my pen, I’ll drop it. I can’t feel my fingers. I can’t feel my skin.

  It was just a scratch. It didn’t even draw blood. I suppose some blood vessels had to rupture in order for the virus or bacteria to work its way inside me, but when I didn’t wake up dying the next morning, I thought surely everything would be fine. After all, your neighbors turned faster than that, didn’t they?