This Isn't the Zombie Apocalypse

31. Maybe This Is the Zombie Apocalypse

It took ages for my body to finally get ahold of itself and stop shaking, for my body to lose that grayish tint, for my body to feel solid and real and alive.

It didn't help.

I felt sick to my stomach because—just like that—there were more lives taken. Most likely because of me and my sudden arrival. Put like that, it sounded vain, but my luck tended to be terrible. And tended to spread to make other people's luck terrible. Which was also terrible.

I thought, People died because of you.

Guilt clawed its way up my throat, and I pictured Emily running away, skittish and terrified; Denton, still angry and upset at losing his brother, gone in a second; Andrea and Hunter wrapped around one another in a last embrace; Darell slipping through my fingers, eyes surprised and sad all at once.

The last one really got me, because I could have saved one person. I almost had. But almost didn't count. Darell was still dead.

And I didn't understand why. My grip was firm enough, and I could have—although not easily—tugged Darell into the car. His hands weren't wet. The rain had stopped for just long enough, like it was giving me a chance to save him. Instead, somehow, Darell fell away as his hand went through mine, almost literally.

It made my head hurt. My stomach clench. My heart throb.

Sighing, I leaned back, reaching behind me to curl my fingers around the baseball bat. It was a real, solid weight, something to keep me tied to the earth, although it was useless against guns and Death.

It was terrible at soothing my aching self-conscious as well, but at least it couldn't go and die on me.

oOo

Apparently, nearly having oneself killed and having an aching self-conscious were great for putting me to sleep.

Soon, the constant motion of the car had lulled me into a fitful rest, where images flashed through my dreams. There was Charles, painting a self-portrait. My mom and dad cuddled together on our springy sofa to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Sarah passing a football, laughing with her eyes squinting in the sunlight. Andrea and Hunter dancing around a small, cozy living room. Telling jokes, eyes crinkled with delight, Denton was surrounded by loud, boisterous people, all smiling. Darell was listening intently to a cocoa-skinned woman recounting a long-past story from her childhood as she snip-snip-snipped at someone's hair. A man locked in a white padded room preaching about rebirth. Ana, tied to a chair, bleeding and screaming and crying. Me, listening to Death repeat a crazed, I'm fine, save me. I'm fine, save me. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'mfineI'mfineI'mfine—savemesavemesavemesaveme. And Life asking, Can you save yourself?

oOo

The car was off.

Sometime while I was sleeping, Calvin must have stopped driving to take a rest. The moon hidden behind a blanket of thick, heavy clouds, it was dark outside now, and a small, restless sort of guilt thrummed in my chest—because of course Calvin was tired. Exhausted, more like. He had gone through the same ordeal I had and then drove for many miles after. Calvin more than deserved a rest.

Even if he was snoring quite loudly. But, whatever. It was probably a symptom of OLD Syndrome or something.

Shifting uneasily, I eased myself back into the seat. My left arm was cramped, and I couldn't figure out why. It felt all stretched out and— oh, yeah, right. I reached back and gripped the cool metal of the baseball bat. It immediately soothed me, although I wasn't sure why. All this thing had witnessed was death. Killing. It wasn't used much for protection.