The Dead Survive Page 5

  She performed simple tasks around the house we shared with a few other women, and I tried to spend as much time with her as possible. There were some books left in one of the bedrooms, and I read her Anne of Green Gables and Island of the Blue Dolphins. The latter had some interesting parallels to our own survival situation. She no longer looked quite as haunted, but she still couldn’t bear to be in the presence of men, and her silence dragged on.

  One night, I was heading home after organizing a new stash of books on herbal remedies, and I passed by the gardens. Melissa rarely went out, but our housemate, Bethany, had apparently decided they needed some fresh air. I saw Bethany on the far side of the garden, talking to a man, while Melissa stood with her back against a storage shed, three teenage boys in a semi-circle in front of her, like a pimply pack of wolves. Her arms were drawn to her chest, her head down, and she was clearly terrified.

  “Get away from her, you little bastards!” I shouted, starting off in their direction. I could hear their taunts, things like “retarded” and “dumb” and “only good for one thing.” When I heard that last comment, a red haze clouded my vision, and I began to run. Before I could reach her, though, two of the boys were scrambling away, and the third was hoisted off the ground by a very large, very strong hand. Quinn.

  I skidded to a stop on the loose dirt, frightened by the scene before me. Quinn held the struggling boy, looking like some dark avenging angel. The wildness brimming in his eyes chilled my blood. He held his adolescent prisoner by the collar, almost strangling him. His other hand was clenched in a massive, potentially deadly fist. I went to Melissa and put an arm around her before turning my attention back to Quinn. “What are you doing?” I demanded. “Let him go.”

  Quinn continued to give the kid his death-glare for a moment before turning to me. With a deep breath, he lowered the red-faced idiot to his feet, but didn’t release him. “Did you hear what he said? And he was scaring her.”

  “You’re scaring all of us right now.”

  Quinn bent toward the boy’s ear, and I heard the deep rumble of his voice. He was undoubtedly saying things starting with “If I ever catch you near her again…” and then detailing several very painful consequences. I decided I didn’t want to know the specifics. I was glad the situation had been resolved without bloodshed, but I was worried about Melissa.

  When her tormentor scrambled away, Quinn turned toward Melissa. “You should stay back,” I told him. “She’s still afraid to have men too close to her. I don’t know what Bethany was thinking, leaving her alone like that.” I caught the negligent housemate’s eye across the yard and gave her the evil eye. She looked away, obviously aware it was a bad time to try to explain herself to me.

  Quinn stopped a couple of yards from the quivering teenage girl. He kept his focus to one side of her, much as I had that first awful morning at the hotel when I told her I was only going to clean her wounds. “It’s okay, Melissa. I won’t hurt you. Did those boys do anything to you?”

  She didn’t answer, as I’d known she wouldn’t.

  “I appreciate your help, Quinn, but I should get her home now.”

  “I hate that she’s scared of me.”

  “It’s not you. It’s not anything you did.”

  “I know, but…” His voice caught, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t see the shimmer of tears in his eyes. “Before, I had a sister just a little bit older than her.”

  Looking at the two of them, I saw how that could be. Their dark hair and high cheekbones were similar, though Melissa’s eyes were a soft gray to Quinn’s nearly black ones.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “We’ve all lost so much.” I thought again of Matt, and Skip, and my unsuccessful attempts to reach my parents. So close to the epicenter of the outbreak, I had little hope they were still alive.

  “I looked for her before I came here, but I never found her. Our house was torn up, looted, so I went to our gran’s place, but nobody was there. The barn was burned, and the cows were all gone.” He glanced at Melissa, who was listening intently.

  “Maybe she’s okay,” I said. “Maybe she found a place like this.” Hope was one of the few things people could offer one another these days.

  He gave a small shrug. “Maybe. I sure hope so.” He paused, leaning against the shed, then continued. “Our dad drank a lot. When he’d get bad, especially the last year before he left, Sabrina would hide in her room, curled up with a blanket between the bed and the wall. He’d be downstairs, yelling and throwing stuff around, taking a swing at Mama if she was around, but she usually made herself scarce when he got that way. I’m not a little guy.” He smiled ruefully. “And I wasn’t back then, either, but fighting him only made it worse. Unless I was ready to kill him, which I could never bring myself to do, we just had to wait till he passed out. Sabrina would cry for hours after, and I only knew one way to calm her down.”

  “What was that?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “Take her home. I need to talk to somebody, but I’d like to come by later. I have an idea.”

  I started to argue, but Quinn strode purposefully across the yard and around the corner of the house, out of sight.

  I took Melissa home, followed shortly by a very apologetic Bethany. I waved off her rapid-fire explanations, not really caring why she’d done what she’d done.

  “I know, I know, Bethany.” I reached under the kitchen counter for a pot to boil some potatoes on our propane cook stove. I thought I still had a few eggs in the cupboard, and some wild onions. Dinner.

  Bethany anticipated my menu plan and retrieved the eggs, along with a can of Spam. For some reason, Melissa really liked Spam. “I was just talking to Todd, and…”

  I interrupted. “I know you need to get out sometimes when you’re not working. You need to have friends and some kind of life. We all do.” Not that I had the faintest idea how to go about it. I put the pot back and exchanged it for a skillet. I’d fry the potatoes and onions with the Spam. Our other two roommates were on guard duty this evening, so this would be plenty for the three of us. “And I guess I’ve been leaving Melissa alone too much. But she’s okay here by herself, Beth, if it’s not for too long. All I ask is if you do take her with you, please don’t leave her alone, okay?”

  Bethany nodded and gave Melissa a hug and a murmured apology, and we set about preparing our meal.

  After dinner, I was reading to Melissa in her room when a knock sounded at the door. I opened it to find Quinn holding a battered guitar case. I hesitated; no men had been to this house, at least not since I’d been here. Then I shook it off. He hadn’t waited for me to agree to his visit tonight, but I’d known he’d come. It was okay. I could do this.

  I stepped to the side and motioned for him to enter, which he did with a small smile. “I’m guessing you didn’t run away from home, and that’s not an oddly-shaped suitcase.” I congratulated myself for forming a full sentence that wasn’t quite as lame as it could have been.

  Quinn’s posture relaxed a little, as if he’d been unsure of his welcome, which I guessed he’d had a right to be. “Two of the guys in the house next to mine had guitars, so I asked to borrow one. I had to promise to scavenge some new strings next time I’m out, but it’ll be worth it if it makes Melissa feel better.” He stepped past me into the living room. I followed, and it felt as if the oxygen level in the space had dropped sharply since I’d passed through it a few moments ago.

  “Okay,” I said, “but not in her room. Out here where there’s more space.”

  He sat on the couch, and I went to get Melissa, whispering a quick explanation to Bethany along the way.

  We returned to find Quinn had taken the acoustic guitar from its case and was in the process of tuning it. At first, Melissa stood across the room, but soon moved to the opposite end of the couch as he strummed softly on the old guitar. Once it was tuned to his satisfaction, he began to play, the instrument balanced on his knee.

  I recognized a few 60s folk songs and co
untry ballads, but it wasn’t until he began to sing that I saw Melissa respond. It took me a moment to identify “Imagine,” John Lennon’s soulful plea for peace, and my first reaction was shock that someone so imposing could play something so gentle and beautiful. Then I chastised myself, looking at Quinn through newly-opened eyes.

  Melissa was looking at him, really seeing him, as his thick hands moved over the fret board and strummed the strings, making the guitar seem impossibly fragile. I silently implored him to keep playing.

  He started the song again, and Melissa inched closer. By the time he’d played the song a third time, singing along softly, she was sitting right next to him, her head lightly resting below his right shoulder as his fingers plied a makeshift pick over the strings. When he got to the final chorus, I realized Melissa was singing, barely more than a whisper, but singing along with him.

  I was flabbergasted. This might be the scariest-looking man in the Compound, and she’d just seen him on the verge of beating the hell out of another person. Yet he’d gotten more of a reaction from her than anyone else since we’d been freed from the hotel. I supposed the fact that his anger had been in her defense made a difference, even if it had been frightening at the time. I needed to think about that later.

  He played a while longer, and sometimes Melissa sang along in her small, sweet voice. I let the tears flow down my cheeks without shame. When he rose to leave, I followed him to the door.

  “I don’t know what to say.” I glanced back toward the living room, where Melissa hummed softly to herself. “It’s like a miracle.”

  Quinn smiled sadly. “I don’t know about that. I just know if Sabrina is still alive somewhere, scared, I hope someone is singing to her.”

  I didn’t think about it, but I leaned into his strong chest and lifted my arms to rest my hands at the back of his neck. I felt him tense for an instant, before his arms wrapped loosely around my waist. My heart raced, being so close to him, to anyone, and I whispered, “Thank you.”

  I felt his lips brush over the top of my head, and then he was gone. I took Melissa back to her room and read to her until she fell asleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Quinn came by often to play for Melissa. After one visit, we left Melissa reading in the living room and went to the kitchen. I got some leftover biscuits from the cupboard and a small container of rough butter from inside the inoperable refrigerator. It wasn’t that good, but Liz had found some books, and a few of the women had “adopted” a cow and some goats, and were learning. When the salvaged solar panels were installed, and the wind turbine the construction team had devised was complete, we might have enough electricity in this area of the Compound to run small appliances, and maybe keep a few things refrigerated.

  I also spotted a bottle of honey and added that to our snack on the table. “I love to hear her sing,” I said, drizzling honey on a biscuit. “She’s still not talking, but I think she will, in time.”

  He took a bite of a biscuit, then dabbed honey from his chin. “I think she will too. She’s not afraid of me anymore.” This was accompanied by a buttery grin. “And she seems a little more interested in what’s going on and what people are doing.”

  I agreed.

  He continued, “Ellen, have you noticed the way she moves her fingers sometimes when she’s singing?”

  I thought about it a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I’m too busy watching her face light up when she sings. Why? Do you think she’s playing air guitar?”

  Quinn gave a slight snort. “No, not air guitar, but I’ve got a hunch.” He swallowed a second biscuit almost whole, chasing it with a glass of water. “Wait here about ten or fifteen minutes, then bring her to the blue house across from my place, okay?”

  I was confused, but agreed. He was almost buzzing with excitement, and I wondered what he was planning. He scooted out the back door, and I went to tell Melissa we were going out for a while. I didn’t see the look of apprehension she usually wore when I told her we needed to go somewhere, and I couldn’t hold back my smile.

  When we got to the blue house, Quinn led us to the living room where an upright piano gleamed against one wall. “I saw it when I was working on the windows. I asked, but none of the people who live here know how to play.” He smiled at Melissa. “I bet she does.”

  I’ll be damned if he wasn’t right. Again. Melissa stared at the piano for a moment, a look of wonder spreading across her face, before approaching it reverently and seating herself on the bench. Her fingers hovered over the keys, and she began to play. I recognized hymns, among some more recent popular songs, and a few of the house’s residents appeared to listen. After a while, Quinn ushered them to the kitchen, and returned a few minutes later with a proud grin on his face.

  “The piano is hers. I’ll get a couple of guys to help me move it tonight.”

  “Really? How did you talk them into that?” I could barely contain my happiness for the frightened, damaged, but healing girl seated at the keyboard.

  “No big deal. I’m going on a scouting trip tomorrow, and I promised to look for a few things for them.”

  I couldn’t help it. I burst into tears and gave him another hug, this one even tighter than before. Quinn walked us back to our house, and I thought he might shed a tear or two himself when Melissa timidly slipped her hand into his as they walked.

  He helped us move some furniture around to clear the perfect spot for Melissa’s piano, and I asked him to stay for dinner. Just as the last dish was cleared, his friends showed up, rolling the piano up the sidewalk on scavenged furniture dollies.

  Melissa beamed and bounced on her toes as the instrument was carefully positioned in the living room. Quinn stayed and listened to her play for an hour before he went home to pack his gear and get some rest for his journey.

  He left on his expedition the next day, searching for tools and parts he needed to help maintain the various pieces of machinery at the Compound. He took four men with him, but I was still worried.

  We withstood attacks almost every day, whether small groups of zombies or looters, or larger zombie swarms, and I’d seen Quinn fight many times. That was, in part, why it was so hard for me to get past my underlying fear of him. He fought wildly, with deadly accuracy and little regard for his own safety. If an attack came when he didn’t have advance notice to put on his makeshift armor, I could see that demon tattoo on his back, glistening with sweat and splashes of blood.

  He’d never been anything but kind to me, and he’d shown incredible compassion for Melissa. Still, I retained enough foolish stereotypes from our fallen society to make me equate “men like him” with danger. I didn’t feel threatened when I was with him—quite the opposite. But if I caught a glimpse of him across the Compound, or doing weapons training in the field at the end of the street, I sometimes felt a shudder of foreboding.

  After allowing myself to touch him those few times, for those hugs I probably needed more than he did, I wondered exactly what danger he truly posed to me. I found myself both anticipating and dreading his return. I was doing better interacting with the general male population. They were all very respectful, and even though I knew that could just be the face they chose to present to the world, none of them struck the chord of menace in my core that Quinn did when I first laid eyes on him. I got more confused when I realized that probably said a lot more about me than it did about him.

  ***

  It was nearing dusk a little over a week later when a commotion broke out near the main gate. It was more fortified now, but remained a regular target of attack by both determined zombies and what we now called marauders. Though I’d been trained in basic battle skills, I wasn’t a regular combatant. I was stronger from all the physical work, but my resolve was still too unpredictable, and when I explained this to the council, they’d agreed I would better serve in a supporting role. That evening, I went to find out what we were facing, and if there was anything I could do to help.

  I was shocked to see Q
uinn and his party emerge from the forest and race toward the gate, with a small, mixed group of zombies and marauders converging on them. I surmised the marauders had staged an ambush, hoping to steal whatever our scavengers had collected, and the zombies had been nearby and attracted by the noise and motion.

  Quinn was running, carrying a large cloth bundle, when the first marauder closed in on him. He quickly deposited the bundle at the base of a large tree, and turned on his attacker. I watched Quinn fight, whirling, swinging his machete with deadly intent.

  This appeared to be a less well-established band of marauders, as only one of them had a firearm. He pointed his weapon at Quinn, and I screamed a warning, though I was sure he’d never hear me over the din. Quinn’s companion, Marcus, noticed the situation at the last instant and raised his bow. He wasn’t in time. The marauder pulled the trigger, but the weapon bucked and misfired. The man clutched his injured hand to his chest, and was then taken out by Marcus’s well-placed arrow.

  The threat of a gun now neutralized, Quinn turned his attention to three nearby marauders, who were armed with what I’d learned in weapons training were Bowie knives. They were no match for Quinn’s machete, and he dispatched them all with powerful strikes to the head, before the first zombie reached him.

  His team was also fighting, taking on a final pair of marauders and a few remaining zombies. I watched one of the men fall, a large slash wound to his thigh. Quinn came to his defense and swung his machete, spilling the marauder, and most of his entrails, to the ground. I was sickened, but couldn’t turn away until the last threat had been eliminated. It felt like ages, but was probably only minutes before the flow of zombies from the forest seemed to be exhausted.

  Quinn returned to the tree to get his bundle while his friends raced for the gate, only to have one more zombie emerge from the cluster of trees and lunge for him, clutching at his arm before Quinn jerked and sent the zombie staggering past. He turned and swung a final time, and the zombie’s head left its body and fell to the ground, rolling to a stop in a clump of grass. I didn’t know what was in that bundle, but it had nearly cost Quinn his life.