1_BR

A long time ago in a galaxy not so far away (I believe it was this one), io9 had a writing contest. I wrote, I waited, and as of the announcement on Tuesday, I didn't win. Still, it was a great experience, and I will keep doing the writing contests if they keep having them. It's a good way to exercise the mind grapes.

And, as I promised, I'm posting the story here.

~~~~~

1_BR

“You know, Todd, Christmas is in four days,” I say, breaking the silence of our sunrise breakfast.

Todd looks up from The San Francisco Chronicle, a few pieces of stale Frosted Mini Wheats pinched between his thumb and index finger. Swallowing, slowly, it’s obvious he’s trying to phrase this carefully towards me. “Do you have anything in mind, Marcie?” His breath comes out in a huff of warm air, a constant reminder of how much it sucks to not have utilities.

“Um?” Idly I push my little frosted rectangles around the tabletop, arranging them into a sad face. I really want the Lucky Charms I found in apartment 201, but we have to finish this box off before opening a new one. “I’m- not really sure.” Gazing into the frosted sad face, I wish it could give some suggestions, that and some milk.“We need to do something though, you know?”

I can feel Todd’s gaze on me as I sheepishly poke at one of the wheats. One of his larger fingers reaches over and pushes around the cereal that form the mouth. “Celebrating sounds about right.” Suddenly instead of a frown, it’s a smile. When I look up, Todd is attempting to mimic it, however his thin lips aren’t genuine. With the beard and shaggy hair he’s more like a caveman bearing his teeth. “It’s kind of a milestone.”

“True.” I glance down at the faded newspaper to the right of the cereal box. It’s become routine for him, ignoring the fact the date on the top reads June 18th and rereading a section each day as if it holds clues to the future. I can tell right now he’s on the article about the rapist and a bunch of others broke out of a transport van during the emergency evacuations of the police stations. There’s a mugshot at the top of the article, the guy has a face a toad would find attractive. “You know, we could break out the hibachi and that last can of chili? Or, do a grocery run and see if we can find something new? We haven’t even tried the fifth fl-”

Suddenly we can hear the galloping of nine pounds of domesticated feline. Bogart comes tearing into our tiny kitchen, grey fur fluffed as if he’s had a run in with an electrical current. Not even acknowledging us he skids, leaps onto the counter, then vaults his way up to the top of the unpowered refrigerator. Settling up there he hunches down on some cases of bottled water; ears pinned flat against his head, amber eyes wide in kitty fear. It’s the look.

That’s how we first met Bogart, back when his name tag said Pickles and we had yet to discover that DVD of The Maltese Falcon. He had wedged himself behind the fridge in 309, as his owner was shuffling against said fridge and wanting to snack on him. After we managed to brain the late Mrs. Rutherford we found him giving the same look. He followed us home, crying until Todd brought him inside.

Todd and I take a moment to listen for sounds of shambling, craning our necks towards the door. After a few agonizing seconds we’re on our feet, grabbing tee ball bats propped up against the front of the dead oven before tip-toeing out. Once in the dim hallway, we’re quick to slip on the bandanas we found in one of the basement units. I can hear Todd breathing heavily already as I pull mine up over my mouth and nose. I’m sure he can hear mine. The two of us are like rabbits. Twitchy, cautious, panicky little bunnies who would rather burrow deeper than take a stand against a world like this one.

I’m already flop sweating and it makes my grip slip on the bat as I pick it back up. While Todd checks the peep hole, my hands start to tremble at the wrists.

“I don’t hear anything.” Todd’s words crackle, showing his anxiety.

“He doesn’t get this wrong,” I remind him, keeping my voice low. “It’s a part of being a cat and everything. Senses.”

“They’re pretty loud though, especially now.” He swallows nervously as his fingers go up and push back the mass of overgrown hair. “Even the live ones.”

“A live one up the stairs?” My stomach knots up at the thought of one of the live ones having clambered up the mountain of furniture we spent two days putting on and around the staircase. “That would require coordination, which means it’d have to be fresh.”

“Fuck.” We both exhale at the same time, I may still lose my breakfast over this bit of imagery.

“Let’s... not think about that.” Todd checks the locks before turning around and nudging me back towards our living/bedroom. As many times before, we’ll open the window to the fire escape and set our emergency packs out on the rusting platform in preparation for the worst case scenario. Then, we’ll sit on the edge of the bed the rest of the day. Cowardly as this may sound compared to rushing out with guns blazing, waiting it out has worked for us so far. “Think about...”

“Christmas?” I supply, still whispering.

“I was gonna say Batman, but yeah, Christmas works- Hey Marcie?” He speaks in a normal un-cautious volume, his footsteps stopping. “I think it’s the fish.”

Looking down, I dig into my jacket pocket and pull out my mini flashlight. Once on and the beam is pointed at our entryway table I can see it’s true. The abandoned fish we rescued from 104, is no longer the lively brightly hued betta Bogart likes to chatter at. He’s a shade of lifeless grey now, no blood pulsating through him. Bloated and foggy eyed the fish is at an angle, fighting the gas that wants to make him float as he writhes about. Seeing our blurry shapes as his eyes are so decayed, he awkwardly charges the glass. He’s harmless and can’t bite, but he’s one of them.

My eyes sting as I pull my bandana down. I really liked the fish, he used to swim up and greet me. “Poor guy.”

“Poor little fish.” Todd’s just as mournful as he reluctantly picks up the bowl. Pausing, he gazes down into the mouth of it. “I’m sorry buddy.” His thumb pets the cool surface of the glass, smudging it with his print. “You shouldn’t have to be like this.”

The dead fish doesn’t care. Thrashing and flopping about, he rams the glass where fingers rest.

“It was pretty cold last night.” I remind Todd, walking into the bathroom. “Being tropical, he probably couldn’t handle it.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, plodding along behind me.

My attempts at reason don’t work well on myself either as I open our dump window. The rank smell of where we’ve been tossing waste curls up from below and into the room, making us recoil for a moment. I cover my mouth with my sleeve and watch Todd chuck the whole bowl out. Shutting the window we leave the bathroom in silence.

Bogart chirps from the kitchen, a thud telling us he’s off of the fridge now that the threat is gone. As I go take a seat on the rug, he trots over as if nothing has happened, vocalizing his need for attention.

“Not gonna finish breakfast?” Todd asks, meandering into the kitchen.

“I’ve lost my appetite.” Bogart gets up in my lap, purring and head butting my hands. Warm and soft against my chilled fingers, I gather the bundle of fluff up and snuggle him. My eyes survey our little studio, nearly overtaken by the stacks of books we’ve accumulated from breaking into other apartments hunting for supplies and ways to cure boredom. In the dim early morning light, it’s like a hoarder’s paradise. “Do you think we’re really safe here on the third floor?”

“That’s a good question.” He says at the table, picking up our uneaten pieces of cereal and depositing them back into the box for tomorrow morning. “The last live one we saw was two months ago.”

“That doesn’t really mean anything though.” I grab Bogart’s head between my two hands and rub the sides of his face. This sends him into the throws of kitty ecstasy. “I mean, say one day there are newly turned live ones out there, those ones still have some coordination.”

“Higher ground?”

“We could pick a unit on the fifth floor, barricade the stairs up to the third since we’ve picked the floors below clean.”

I watch his brows knit together, then his nose crinkles. “We could just move everything up there, I mean, we could even find-” Suddenly he stops, and his eyes get dinner plate sized.

“Todd?” I can’t help but get nervous when this excited grin spreads across his face, with the unkept beard he could be easily mistaken for a crazed genius.

He bolts towards the door, I can hear the locks being opened. “Come on!”

“What are you doing?!” I’m up, cat in in tow, and briskly following.

“Just come with me.” The door’s open now, and he’s got his bat slung over his shoulder. Todd has mine extended out to me.

Warily, I set Bogart down. Grabbing my bat I follow him out and up the stairs.

“Do you remember the For Rent sign outside?” He asks.

I purse my lips. “A little?”

“It was a one bedroom, newly renovated with a street view. On the fifth floor.”

“Space.” I can’t help but gasp.

“Lots of space.”

“I like the sound of this.”

“We deserve space.” He says as we hit the fifth floor. I can hear him smiling.

“A one bedroom means we’d have a living room we don’t have to sleep in.” I’m in awe of this concept, because let’s face it, we live in a shoebox right now. A shoebox that used to be very expensive back when the concept of rent existed.

“We can bring up that really nice couch in 407.” Todd’s practically bouncing up the stairs, the heavily layered clothing he’s wearing hide just how goofy his rangy body looks. My legs aren’t as long so I’m forced to pick up my pace to keep in earshot. “And some bookshelves! Ooo, for all the books so we don’t have to stack them in the oven.”

“We’ll be getting direct sunlight.” I huff, starting to feel winded as we reach the fifth floor. Todd bounds off with the grace of a newborn foal while I begin to take a slower pace. Suddenly we’re in front of a door that has the numbers 500 on it, with a key box locked onto the doorknob. “We’re just gonna break in the door? Sort of defeats the purpose of having it.”

“I can bring our old one up here and replace it, they all have the same hinges.” Sliding his bat off of his shoulder, his other hand catches the handle. Getting in the stance years of passionately loathed PE taught us, he brings the bat up and whips it down against the door.

I quickly join in and we alternate between swings. With the doors being so hollow, after one good swing on my part the growing dent caves into a lateral rift. Upon quickly breaking the thin wood that makes up the other side of the door, Todd reaches in and turns the locks. “We’re going to have a group milling in the lobby,” I point out.

“We can deal with that later. Right now? Brand new.” He says with a grunt.

“Brand new.” The words sound so foreign, almost fantastical, that I forget all the noise we just made. As soon as he extracts his arm, I grasp the cold knob and twist. The door sticks, but with a little muscle the expanded paint gives, and it opens.

The smell of new apartment greets us. Beyond a thin film of dust that covers the hardwood, it’s flawless. I wander in, slack jawed at the size and condition of the unit. “Wow.”

“This place is perfect.” He laughs in disbelief. “I mean look at all this space! And it’s new!”

I jog off to the small hallway, finding the open doors to the bathroom, closet, and finally what I am looking for. “Check out this bedroom! It’s as big as our living room!” I make a beeline for the shut micro-blinds, and upon reaching them I quickly twist the rod so they turn up to make a horizon line.

I instantly regret this. Our studio faces an alley, which is an exceptionally dull view of a loading dock. This street facing window offers a more concise picture of the city. Most of our block is rubble, the gouges left behind allowing for an even more complete view of the destruction that’s left San Francisco utterly desolate. Down below cars are scattered everywhere, one even protruding from the market on the corner. Then there’s the street, which is littered with bodies. They seem more numerous than the last time I allowed myself to look out.

The infected are a small number, yet present nonetheless. Gaunt from the decrease in prey, the skin stretches tight over thin sinew and knobby bones. Wandering towards our building from all of the commotion we just made, a pigeon swoops. Suddenly decaying heads jerk up, watching it. Slowly they shuffle towards the direction the bird’s headed. One half decayed french bulldog that is permanently stuck on the ground attempts to crawl with the rest as a flock of pigeons suddenly descend on it’s back, picking at the carrion as it drags itself along. I can’t help but let out a sigh of relief, and hope that the pigeon is dumb enough to land a few times on the sidewalk to entice them further away.

Todd’s body heat alerts me to him being close. “Do any of them look alive?”

“I can’t tell.” The live ones always have some color, that is until the infection pushes their bodies to the limit and they pass. Then it just keeps pushing the bodies until they rot to the point of not being able to move. We’re too high up to see those markers though as the group staggers down the street.

“At least now we can see where they’re headed.” He says shakily. “How they’re moving.”

“Maybe we should start training pigeons,” I say.

*

The next three days, it rains.

The sky curdles from azure to dead flesh grey, and the clouds lurch in like zombies. Swollen with rain, they trickle and burst. The rainfall during these cold winter days in the bay alternates between sheets of raindrops to a thin haze.

Whenever it comes pouring down, we relax more because of the window of opportunity it gives. Rain, like shots to the head and frosty temperatures, is their enemy. Poor coordination coupled with slick surfaces mean they often end up lying on the ground, wriggling like drowning worms. Or, they just stop and stand in one place with their mouths to the sky. They snap at it, because it’s moving, and when it lasts longer than a day they ingest so much their guts look like water balloons. Without the fear of our sounds drawing them in, we make noise that ranges from banging around furniture we haul up the stairs to carefree laughter.

On day three the rain pounds down, sounding like marbles hitting the roof. I finish hanging a tinsel wreath from 407 on the outside of our door and stare into our living room. Ours, ours, ours. It keeps on repeating over and over in my head. It’s ours and it’s all moved into, personal and homey if I do say so myself.

“It looks great,” Todd announces as he walks over with his hands on his hips, nodding his hirsute head in approval.

“We do good work,” I say while shutting the door and locking it. “Color coordinating, room arranging, art school was worth it.”

“True. The one upside to all of this is we don’t have loans to pay off.”

I know I’m supposed to take that in good humor, but all of a sudden the topic has me thinking how it didn’t used to be like this. I’m back to when we both had shitty jobs and goals to rise above said shitty jobs. I wasn’t going to shill foam shoes at a mall kiosk forever, nor was he going to make overhyped coffee for tourists. There were more people around than just us too.

“Hey Marcie,” Todd calls out understandingly to get my attention. He flops onto our semi-new sectional. “Let’s do something.”

Walking over, I collapse onto the other side of the sectional. “Boardgames or sex?” In all honestly those are your choices of doing something together in our situation. That said you can only play so many rounds of Connect Four.

I watch him really contemplate the sex part. “Um, not what I was thinking.”

“The offer stands for the rest of the day,” I announce with a shrug.

“Good to know. I was thinking though we should go look for some food in these units. We can have a really nice dinner to celebrate getting moved in. Could even get really fancy and heat everything up.”

“Hmm.” My stomach growls at the mention of something other than spoonfuls of peanut butter coupled with either cold tomato or chicken noodle. “Maybe someone left an unopened carton of soy milk, that stuff doesn’t expire for awhile.”

“Maybe some cans of roast beef?”

“Mmm. Green beans.”

“Canned fruit for desert.”

“I’m really loving this idea.”

“I could hook the laptop up to the car battery too so we could have dinner and a movie.”

“You’re spoiling me.”

“Well, it is Christmas Eve after all,” Todd says.

“I mean really, to make this perfect all we’d need is a hot shower.”

“Hows about a baby wipe bath?” I can hear the arousal in his voice with this idea.

“Oh yeah, ‘cause that’s sexy.”

“Bet I could change your mind.”

“Todd, I hate to-” Suddenly, it clicks. I practically fall off of the couch, popping up clumsily and barreling towards the door. “Oh shit! Oh shit oh shit!” Sliding to a stop in my socks, I remember what the rain is giving us as I jump into my boots and slip on a jacket. “Oh shit I can’t believe I forgot!”

“What?! Marcie?!” I can hear him tumble off the couch. “Hey wait!”

It’s too late, I’m gone and it’s his turn to follow. I’m out the door and in the hall, charging up the stairs to the roof. Flinging the door open a flash of lightening crackles across the night sky, illuminating the city’s scarred skyline. I wander away from the door, my first time out of the building in months.

“Marcie!” Todd yelps.

“There’s so much water!” I shout over my shoulder, but it’s lost to the storm as the thunder bellows.

“Huh?”

“Water!” I repeat.

“It’s called a rain storm?” I can hear his boots trampling over as I gaze into one of the recycling bins we had hauled up here during the first weeks.

“No, dork, our water.” Just when the lightening snaps across the city he reaches me and the open bin. “We did this months ago, remember?”

He peers into the bleached clean bin that is filling with clean rainwater. There’s a pause as he finally processes it all, excitedly bleating out. “Bath?”

“We do have a tub.” I grin from ear to ear. “Two person tub.”

“We do.”

“We can warm up some of the water.”

“Oo. But, after we find ourselves a fancy dinner for tonight?”

As the storm roars on I jump up and throw my arms around his neck. The two of us laugh giddily at the thought of a decadent night ahead.

**

That night after breaking into 509, I get my soy milk and Todd gets his roast beef. Paired with some fruit cocktail and apple chips, it‘s the best meal we’ve eaten in months.

The sunlight warms our first morning in the one bedroom after our little night of extravagance. I turn away from the lemon beams that make their way past the blinds and subsequently away from Todd’s warm, naked body. Curling around a spare pillow, my fingers clumsily pull the quilts up to shield my face from the sunlight I’m not accustomed to. I want to relish this false cocoon of safety for just a little longer.

“Sleep well?” His voice is thick with sleep, I can feel the weight on the mattress shift as he scoots closer. With a groan Todd drapes an arm over my side. He then presses a groggy kiss into my clean hair, nose sending out a tickling burst of hot air against my scalp. Though we did take pleasure in bathing, the musk from the sex it led to afterwards lingers on the sheets. “Merry Christmas.”

“Hmm. Merry Christmas.” I roll back over and face him, greeted with his drowsy hazel eyes. The morning breath that hits my face doesn’t even phase me anymore, not after all of the smells I’ve become accustomed to. Reaching up I run my thumb across a freshly shaved cheek and I marvel at how thin his face is now. Any fat that came from late night pizza binges has been burned off, leaving more angular plains shaped by the peaks of his cheekbones.

“That feels weeeeird.” He half yawns, leaning in for a sloppy but well intentioned kiss.

“I like it. No offense, but you looked like you should be fishing cans out of the garbage while muttering to yourself,” I say.

“Point well taken.” I can see it was a pretty well night on his part, he looks well rested for once. Reaching out he gingerly spreads his fingertips out on my stomach until his palm is curved around it. It’s grown bigger since the chronic nausea passed a few weeks back, big enough to start looking obvious and stretch out my shirts at the waist.

I can’t help it, I put my hand on top of his and watch him. Wondering if he gets remake movie nightmares as I do, or that he knows the same as I that this has sealed our fate.

The sigh Todd lets out is wistful, deflating him. His hand leaves my belly and reaches up to brush the hair out of my face. There is a pained smile that graces his mouth before he presses a kiss to the spot between my eyes. “I don’t think I ever said thanks for staying. Making sure I wasn’t one of them, just had the flu.”

“I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself up here.” I snuggle close, enjoying the body heat and honesty we’re allowing. “Seeing as hanging back to nurse your ass back to health saved me from getting stuck in a relief camp, maybe I should be thanking your immune system. Or, lack there of.”

“Hey, I haven’t had a cold since.” He says, pausing a moment as he draws little circles on my arm. “How about some breakfast?”

“You want to break into that can of chicken or wait till tonight?”

“What about some of the pineapp-”

There’s a knock at the door.

Bogart hurries into our room and slips under the bed.

We pause, gawking like a pair of deer caught in high beams.

There’s another knock, reassuring us we’re not synchronously hallucinating.

“There’s-” Todd’s mouth loses the rest of his sentence and just starts sputtering.

“Someone at the door?” I finish, untangling myself from his lanky frame and getting up.

“Do they knock now?” He asks, dumbfounded.

“I’m going with no,” I say. I’m already in my underwear and hastily throwing on the rest of my clothes.

“H’low?” A raspy voice calls out from behind the door.

“That didn’t sound dead.” Todd whispers as he zips his fly.

“I know you’re here!” The voice sounds pleading. “I saw your waste pile down below, fresh garbage! And you gotta wreath on this door!”

“What are we gonna do?” The two of us tiptoe to the door.

“Pretend we aren’t here?” He suggests, buttoning up his shirt.

“I can hear you,” the voice says. “Please let me in! Please!”

“What if there’s more than one?” I mouth, though at this point it doesn’t matter.

“Please show some charity, it’s fuckin’ Christmas!”

I look out our peephole. He’s shorter than Todd, stocky with a balding, wide set eyes and a large thin lipped mouth. He looks like a toad. The fingers of his right hand are tugging on the hem of his jacket. He’s definitely older, rougher than us, but the conditions outside are pretty harsh. Still, as plaintive as he looks, something about him makes my spine crawl. Getting out of the way I mouth to Todd “He looks kinda familiar.”

“Come on, man, help a fellow survivor out!”

“Maybe he lived around here?” Furrowing his brows Todd steps up and looks for himself.

“Please, please let me in! I just wanna little food n’ water!”

Todd steps back, looking as conflicted as I’m beginning to feel.

“What kinda people don’t help out on Christmas? During this?!” The man’s voice cracks, like he’s ready to cry. “There’s all these dead out here, and I just wanna stay the night! Is-is that really too much?”

I shake my head, but I know my face is giving away how much goddamn guilt is building up in me. “Maybe?”

“Just for the night?” Todd suggests.

“Yes!” The man cries. “Just for the night.”

I step back as Todd carefully unlocks the door. When he opens it I’m not too far away, prepared to ask our guest if he’d like some bottled water as Todd gestures for him to come in.

The way he looks at me though, changes everything. It’s the way Bogart looks at finches, or a lion at a baby gazelle. Suddenly I know his face and I know why the he’s still alive.

Todd sees the change too. He immediately slams the door to shut him out. “Fuck!”

With a growl the man catches the door and fights to get in. His eyes are still locked on me, telling me how desperate he is.

I run to the door and help Todd try to keep him out. Putting my hands next to Todd’s, I push back with all my might.

“Marcie-” Todd grunts. “Marcie go lock yourself in the bedroom.”

“Shuddup,” I snap, putting my shoulder to the door.

“Don’t be greeeeedeeeeee,” the man snarls, almost playfully. The amount of lecherous intent that drips from his lips makes me want to crawl into a hole and disappear.

“Marcie will you please-”

“Shut the fuck up Todd!”

At that moment there’s a heave from the other side and the man claws through the gap. I stumble backwards as Todd immediately throws himself at our attacker. After landing a punch they go down and start tumbling on the floor.

“MARCIE!” Todd screams as he’s a part of the mass of violent limbs.

I watch for a moment, stunned, trying to process it. Then I see a fistful of Todd’s hair getting yanked, and his face collides with the hardwood. His body slackens, and all of a sudden the man is on top, pinning him to the floor. His thick, scarred hands clamp around Todd’s neck.

“Sh, sh, sh.” He purrs. “Easy, son, just relaaaaaax.”

Todd starts gurgling, turning red as his feet hopelessly slide about. I can see tears streaking down his swollen cheeks.

I keep on walking backwards, until I’m flat against the kitchen wall. Tearing my eyes away I see our bats. Looking back at Todd and the man, my head spins and I make a dash. I grab a bat and rush in.

“Just let go,” I can hear him telling Todd, who’s nearly purple. “Just let go, son.”

His head is perfectly placed, not obscured in any way, just up in the air. I swing, but in that instant he moves. Hearing me he shifts up, making my bat slam against the side of his shoulder instead of his scalp. It’s enough though for Todd to be able to shove him off and gasp for air. As soon as he does, I strike him again, my wild swing landing across his ribs. Before I can get another blow in though, he grabs my ankle, snarling and tearing at me. I leap backwards, but it only aids him in dragging me down as I lose my balance. Swinging once more, it clips the side of his face as my knees hit the hardwood.

“You bitch!” He slurs, blindly reaching for me.

Sliding backwards I swing my foot forward and kick him square in the face. He collapses in a heap, wheezing, eyes rolling back into his head. I scramble to my feet and kick him again in the head before seizing him by the collar of his coat. Dragging him with difficulty a short ways over to the door, I let go once we’re out in the hall.

“You people.” The way he laughs gets my attention. It’s an amused chuckle towards weakness as blood bubbles through his teeth.

Feeling dread creep up my spine, I stumble back, into our apartment. My hand goes to the door, to slam it, to lock it, to get away, but I stop. I look down at Todd who’s barely conscious with blood gushing from his nose.

He looks up at me through bloated eyelids, grateful I’m alright. “He’s out there?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, picking up the bat. Looking at it I walk back out into the hall, shutting the door on my way out.

fin.