Life and Death
written by xisney
The sun glared at Charlotte's bed through the window, heating up her baby pink comforter. Charlotte's eyes fluttered open, her bluish green eyes peeked out from between her thick faint orange eyelashes. She stepped out of bed, stretching. Charlotte glanced at her clock, it read 10:43, and the sun made her assume it was morning.
She felt discomfort settle into her stomach. Charlotte stood stiffly. "It's a school day," she said to herself with lingering disbelief.
Charlotte dressed, her mind quickly whirling through her routine and what had changed in it. Her mom woke her up around seven to give her time to change, eat, and catch the bus. She missed the bus. Was something wrong? Maybe school was cancelled.
She looked out the window, but there were no signs the fog, heavy rain, or snow that usually made the school bus late. In fact, the streets looked barren, and Charlotte couldn't pinpoint any people loitering in the streets like they tended to do. When she squinted she could see some on the horizon, moving lazily.
Once dressed, Charlotte walked downstairs. "Mom!" Charlotte shouted as she headed towards the kitchen. "Mom, what's going on? Did you work the night shift again?"
Charlotte heard her mother grunt something in response. Usually her mom never stopped talking once Charlotte got her going. It was a comfort, having her mom chat madly around her. It meant she didn't need the fill the silence. She could just listen and feel included without the anxiety of forced conversation sitting on her.
But the anxiety crawled up her now.
She slowly watched into the kitchen, seeing her mom standing by the sink. Something about it seemed unnatural, the way she simply stood and swayed a bit with her feet perfectly static on the ground as if glued in place.
"Mom?" Charlotte asked, timidly.
Her mother's dyed brown hair quivered stiffly as she turned her head. Charlotte drew a hand to her mouth, stepping back. Her mother's eyes were glazed and her mouth hung open listlessly. A string of drool dripped from it as she took a step towards Charlotte.
Charlotte took another step back, her mind trying to comprehend what she was looking at. Her mother's arms outstretched towards her as if she tried to pull her daughter into a hug. But Charlotte knew a hug wasn't at the other end of it. Her mother groaned again as she lurched towards her.
Her mother's skin bothered Charlotte most. She was used to it being pale and freckled like her own, but it looked almost translucent. She could see her mother's vein's throbbing. The worst part of the skin was her mother's painted face. The make-up looked disturbingly natural against her sickly eyes and drooping mouth. Charlotte backed up against the kitchen wall.
Her eyes dropped to a bandage on her mother's arm. A deep maroon seeped out of it.
Every part of Charlotte told her to do something, but she just couldn't think of what to do. For a split second she thought maybe it would be best to accept her mother's embrace and become like her as well. At least they'd be together.
Then there was blood.
Charlotte screamed as her mother dropped to the floor.
She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed until her throat throbbed and her voice left her. She could feel it, her mother's warm blood creeping across her face.
Charlotte wouldn't know how long she stood there, screaming and hyperventilating. She tried screaming again as an arm wrapped around her, covering her mouth. "Relax," the voice said.
Charlotte squirmed and tried to escape. She didn't want anyone touching her or telling her to relax. If there was a time to panic, she thought this was the time.
She saw the man inspect her mother's arm, though he still covered her mouth. "She must have gotten bit on the night shift and came home without considering the consequences."
Charlotte relaxed against the man. "You know her?" she asked against the hand.
"Something like that," he replied, releasing Charlotte. "I'm Michael. I've known you and your family quite some time."
She tensed. It seemed strange for her never to have met him before, but she did feel that he was familiar, but in an eerie sort of way. She almost could recall him in her peripheral vision, lurking in the shadows of her memories. But she lacked any clear images of him, nothing like the image of him now. She felt as comfortable with Michael as she did with her undead mother.
Charlotte stared again at her mother sprawled out on the floor, dead. She tried to stop the tears welling up in her eyes. She knew what was happening. Thousands of movies, videogames, and books foreshadowed it. And she knew exactly what she had to do, as much as her brain begged her to crawl back into bed and wait for it all to pass. She mustered up all the shattered pieces of her courage into a small pile and said, "I need to find my father."
Michael looked at her with some surprise. She wondered what his original plan was, but something in her stomach told her not to ask.
Charlotte continued, "I need to make sure he's okay, and he always knows what to do."
"What if he's like her?" Michael asked, a smirk in the corner of his mouth.
She stared at him firmly, pushing back the fear in the form of bile rising in her throat. "Then I will help him the only way I can," she said.
Michael stared at her again, and she waded into his murky brown eyes. Her eyes darted away from his as fear wrapped its hand around her spine. She told herself to be cautious around this one. He may have saved her from her zombie mother, but she still knew very little about him. And she couldn't ignore the voice inside of her telling her something felt wrong about him – about as wrong as the dead rising from the earth.
Michael simply said, "That sounds like a good plan to me." He smiled in what seemed like a supportive way, as if she discovered the solution to a puzzle he already solved.
Charlotte wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweater and grabbed her baseball bat out of her backpack. She watched Michael from the corner of her eye sling his snipe rifle across his back and pull a trench knife out of his boot. She wondered how long he watched her mother through the scope, and she wondered if he waited to kill her – no, if he waited to release her mother until she was there to witness it.
"Ready to go?" he asked.
She nodded, feeling the confidence leave her with every step forward out of her house. Charlotte found the streets as bare as she witnessed from the window. The sky loomed over her with that perfect blue, spotless of any white smudge of a cloud. Even the birds sang from the trees, blissfully ignoring the horrors the humans experienced.
Charlotte peeked up to see Michael, his eyes constantly scanning, watching, waiting for something to threaten them. Charlotte clutched the bat close to her chest, habitually looking over her shoulder.
She felt relief. Usually when she was outside the house, she could feel eyes crawling up her back, but today it no longer felt like someone lurked in her footsteps. She almost felt silly checking over her shoulder, until she saw Michael shoot a zombie blocking their horizon line. Then she remembered her fear. As they passed the corpse, she thought she saw her mother's face on it.
As they made their way deeper into the city, Michael began shooting more frequently, picking off the zombies in the distance to keep any possibly of a swarm thin. She watched as Michael stayed in front of her, protecting her while still remembering all the twists and turns to her dad's office that she herself couldn't recall.
She almost didn't recognize it when they reached it. A swarm of zombies loitered around the entrance like a large group of smokers. They simply stood, swaying gently like her mother had, and stared up at the building. She squinted, observing that none of the zombies seemed to know a way into the building.
Charlotte felt Michael's hand on her stomach, gently pressing her back into the alley. She didn't like the way his fingers seemed to linger on the fabric of her shirt. He released her as he kneeled in front of her, reloading his gun. He looked up at her when he asked, "Are you ready to go in?"
She peered around the corner again, looking at the zombies loitering there. "How do we get in?" Charlotte asked.
"We break a window," he replied.
"But then the zombies could get in."
"They'll get in eventually anyway," he replied.
Charlotte hesitated. She didn't like the idea of letting the zombies swarm up the building – how would she escape with her father when zombies clogged all the escapes? But how else could she get into the building? She rubbed her temples, feeling Michael's eyes burrowing into her. He said firmly, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
She raised her head to stare back at him. A fear crawled along her again, one worse than the fear the undead forced onto her.
She didn't want to be with Michael.
The zombies began moaning.
But she didn't want to be alone.
"They knew we're here," Michael said. "We either get into that building or we find our own shelter and hide."
Charlotte swallowed. She definitely didn't like the idea of hiding out with Michael. "All right," she replied. "Do you have a plan to get into the building?"
"Break a window," Michael repeated.
Charlotte exhaled. She still didn't want to tear an opening for all these zombies to find her and her dad.
Noticing Charlotte's hesitation, Michael said, "I could break a window on the second floor and lift you up. I should be able to pull myself up afterwards too."
She nodded, her eyes avoiding his. She definitely didn't want Michael's hands touching her, propping her up, but she definitely wanted to see her father. "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "All right, let's go."
Michael stood up and peeked around the corner. Charlotte watched as he picked off another two zombies and then spent another two bullets on breaking a window on the second floor. He slung the rifle onto his back and pulled out his trench knife. He lightly grasped Charlotte's arm and pulled her out from the alley.
She gripped the baseball bat as Michael released her arm to head towards the swarm. The swarm began to shift away from the building, turning their slow movements towards Charlotte and Michael. And as she charged, Charlotte reminded herself that she needed to find daddy.
The fear pressed against Charlotte's blue-green eyes, and with every zombie head she smashed, she checked afterwards to see if the face was her father's distorted one. She'd dart out of the way of reaching hands, she'd slide out of the moist breath of gaping mouths, she'd swing and smash to get the glazed eyes off of her, and she suddenly felt very alive amongst the dead. Her calves throbbed. Her clammy hands struggled to keep a firm grip on the bat.
She almost hit Michael with the bat as she felt him underneath her, lifting her to the window he shot. He sat her on his shoulders, his fingers lingering only for a moment on her thigh, and she watched him slice the neck of a zombie as she smashed the rest of the window, clearing away the glass. She reached and grabbed the window, pulling herself through it.
Charlotte dusted herself off and stared at Michael as he sliced through the extended limbs. A "good luck" lingered on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't want to give it. She didn't want him dead, but she didn't want him with her. And if she was that close to her father, well, she didn't need him.
Before she could leave, he saw his fingers grasp onto the window. She saw blood as one finger pressed onto broken glass. She felt frozen, his murky brown eyes locked onto her as he tried to pull himself through the window, grunting.
And then he let out a yell. Charlotte saw Michael's face twist into pain before he clenched his teeth. He lost his grip and began to slide back out the window. Charlotte stepped forward, peering out the window to see the cause of his pain. A zombie chewed on his legs, and more approached the dangling limb. He flailed, trying to kick them off.
Charlotte jumped as he grabbed onto her leg, trying to pull himself forward. She looked back down at him. She didn't want to kill him. She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him up. He stared at her intently as she struggled to pull him up. She was losing against the zombies, and Michael struggled with his other hand to pull his body up.
But the whole time he stared at her.
She felt his arm wrap around her waist.
Heat rose to her cheeks as she saw him smile at her. It was a calm smile, a calculated smile, as if he had everything figured out. And suddenly she knew his plan. He wanted to take her with him. If he was going to live eternally with the undead, he wanted her with him.
They'd be together forever in afterlife. The zombies were proof of their eternity together.
She felt her feet slide forward with his weight.
She saw herself creep closer to the window.
But before Charlotte could drive her foot down to kick Michael off of her, his face relaxed. He simply murmured, "Charlotte," and he released her. She watched as he fell back out the window, joining the creatures he would soon become.
She walked away from him, feeling the tears building in her eyes. She reminded herself the zombies bit him, he was already gone. And her dad was alive – he had to be alive – somewhere in this building.
She heard Michael scream again as she moved down the hallway to the stairwell. She never thought he'd let her go, but some part of him must have cared more about her survival than their union. And she turned around and said a "Thank you" he would never hear.
Exhaling, Charlotte pressed open the door to the stairwell and began charging up the stairs. Once she heard her pounding footsteps echo throughout it, she stopped. She felt her ears reach out to listen. She heard shuffling. She heard distant moaning.
For once, fear didn't keep her still. She listened more, holding her breath. She tried to hear if the undead breached the building or if it was only their hollow sounds that did. Charlotte tried not to think of Michael trapped on the outside. She tried not to think about her and her father trapped on the inside.
She started climbing up the stairs again, running because it felt better. Charlotte counted the floors up to her father's, nine floors up. She pushed open the door and stepped onto his floor.
She spotted her father instantly, the figuring towering above his other colleagues. She rushed towards him, shouting, "Dad!"
He turned, his eyes bright as he recognized her. The pair rushed to each other, her father swooping her up into his arms. She felt him nuzzle into her hair, breathing her in. Suddenly, Charlotte didn't want a long embrace and discussion about how she reached him. She just wanted both of them to keep moving and to stay safe. "Dad," she whispered. "Dad, I think they followed me in."
Her father tensed against her. "Your mother?"
Charlotte just shook her head. "Dad, I think they got in."
She heard his coworkers start to chatter. She could hear them whispering, some of them accusing her of leading the undead here, of breaking them in. Her father set her down and squeezed her hand. He said, "Then it's time for us to get out of here."
He talked to his coworkers, and she felt tension cling in her legs behind her knees as they discussed what to do. She felt her father's hand on hers, keeping her close. She thought that when she found her dad, her fears would fade, but she only found new fears.
She wondered if perhaps she should have left her father here to live instead of leading death through his doorway. Charlotte squeezed her father's hand, trying to relax, trying to tell herself that everyone would be fine.
"We'll go upstairs and head down the fire escape," her father said. "They should have problems climbing and manoeuvring on the narrow steps, and they'll have to crawl out the windows to get to us. Those of you who want to stay and hide in the building can. Just arm yourself with whatever you can."
The group split in half in front of Charlotte's eyes and her father opened the window leading to the fire escape. Charlotte peered out the window, watching the zombies pile into the building. She wondered if she somehow caused the broken window on the first floor, but her father broke her thoughts by saying, "I don't think they'll spot us. We'll move quickly and quietly."
Charlotte gripped her bat as she stepped out onto the fire escape with her father. Several others stood behind her. The group moved in unison down the stairwell as quick as they could, their steps making a slight metallic noise as they made their way down.
She noticed the remaining zombies turned their heads like a flock of birds changing direction. "They've seen us," someone behind Charlotte hissed.
"We've got six floors to go," her father said.
Some people began climbing back up, and Charlotte watched as several of the zombies began gripping the ladder, trying to pull themselves up to reach Charlotte and the others. "What do we do?" she asked, her mind refusing to bring up any suggestions.
Her eyes widened as she saw the undead climb on top of each other, trying to crawl onto the stairs. She heard the fire escape groan under the new weight, and Charlotte's father grabbed her and the railing, holding on as it quivered and moaned under their feet. Charlotte felt sick, and she gripped tightly onto her father, burying her face into his stomach.
She tried to remember the feeling of him against her, his soapy smell penetrating the decaying flesh of the undead. She felt the wind whip around her as the fire escape groaned again, breaking off of the wall.
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut as she felt nothing but air envelop her and her father. She didn't know if they fell or if he jumped, all she could think about was to hold onto him.
She felt the force run through them as they slammed onto the ground. Her father coughed and gurgled below her, and she heard the feet of the zombies shuffle towards them. Charlotte felt her father's hand run through her thick red hair. "Charlotte," he gasped. "Open your eyes."
Charlotte obeyed and stared at him. She could see the feet of the undead surrounding them. Her father's one arm was broken and in the hands of a zombie. She wanted to hit the zombie, but she realized her bat must have slipped from her hands during the fall or perhaps she dropped it before, she couldn't recall.
But she remembered the way her father smelled, the soft texture of his dress shirt.
"Charlotte," her father said. "Run. Run and don't look back."
Her father screamed and she spotted the zombie sinking its teeth into the pale flesh of his broken arm. And Charlotte ran. She wanted to stay with him. She wanted to tell him that. She swerved through the reaching limbs of the undead. She wanted to tell him she loved him. She wanted to die with him.
But she hadn't been expecting that scream.
She hadn't been expecting the sudden proof of the vulnerability of her father.
She wouldn't be completely safe with him just like she never felt safe with Michael.
Charlotte only turned around once she found herself in an empty alleyway. She peered around the corner, watching the undead swarm around the fallen fire escape. She tried not to think about what they were doing, about what was happening to her father and the others.
She spotted Michael, with that translucent tint to his skin, simply sitting on the ground with a leg missing, his upper body swaying slightly. He held his rifle and stared at it, but Charlotte stared into his glazed eyes and she knew he had turned a while ago. He no longer knew what to do with the gun.
His head turned into her direction. She half-expected him to wave, but his arm simply reached out for her. His eyes locked onto hers.
And Charlotte tucked her head back into the alley quickly, away from his murky eyes. She felt her heart racing. She realized his eyes frightened her more before, when they were constantly roaming across his, calculating her and her actions. They were filled with desire. But his eyes now, they only held instinct and necessity.
She felt safer. She knew what went on in Michael's undead head, but what went on in it before, she couldn't tell. And now she'd never know.
The fear didn't leave her as she walked through the alleyway. And she felt loneliness creep across her as she tried to think of where to go next.
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