VII: The Doctor

I know what you're thinking: Kid! You're going out, into the open, at night?! You'll get yourself killed!

Believe me when I tell you that regardless of the condition of the environment - day, night, sunny, rainy, you name it - there is only one surefire, ultimate condition you need to worry about: whether or not there are zombies in the area, and whether or not they are close enough to change your status of vitality.

Okay, fine... two surefire, ultimate conditions you need to worry about. Technicalities aside, it really doesn’t matter what the sky looks like or what the sky is doing, when there are much nastier things to worry about on the ground level.

So when Singer and I heard the tell-tale shuffle of a member of the undead, coming from somewhere in front of us, I was none too concerned about whether the sun was out or if it was raining.

“It came from over there!” Singer managed to shout without truly raising his voice. He pointed in front of us, where an ice cream truck had been pushed over onto its side.

The sound had indeed come from over there: a nasty, shuffling sound that seemed to precede the revealing of the thing which made the sound. And true to fashion, the creature came around the side of the ice cream truck; as the light of the moon, playing peek-a-boo with the post-stormy clouds, set onto the undead thing, we were able to make out some more distinguishing details.

“Oh,” I muttered, “you have got to be kidding me…”

From the zombie’s slow gait, it occurred to me that it was fresh off the line; the more experienced of the undead, like those who came about on the Day Everything Changed, had a little more speed and much more pressing determination to acquire their next meal. As it was, the zombie in front of us came at a speed of step-drag-moan, step-drag-moan. Upon making the initial observation, I said a silent prayer for the recently-turned and proceeded to take in a little more of the thing’s appearance, thus eliciting the response.

Shambling toward us used to be a man in what looked to be his mid-fifties. His brown hair had been cut short, in a professional style; I could imagine what the overall effect was supposed to be, if a comb had been run through it and if the large chunk that was missing had been covered over. A pair of glasses hung from a metal chain around his neck, one of the lenses shattered while the other seemed to have popped out altogether. And covering the otherwise businesslike attire of button-up shirt, tie, and dress slacks, was a nearly pristine white lab coat.

If the lab coat hadn’t been a dead giveaway as to the creature’s previous life, the stethoscope around its neck, as well as the name tag pinned to the coat’s pocket were the deciding factors.

Reaching into the person I was before the Day Everything Changed, I shouted, “It’s the doctor!”

Singer unknowingly took the silent cue. “Doctor?” he said. “Doctor Who?!”

I grinned as I could imagine the guys back at Ye Olde Commik Shoppe laughing their heads off at such a simple joke. But in times like these, one needs a sense of humor; and even if Singer didn’t get the joke, I was set for the next few hours.

“Hold up,” I said, as I positioned my backpack around so I could get into it. “I got this.”

This was the pack that had the list, assorted items I’ve been carrying since the Day Everything Changed, and my half of the items from Murray’s Mart. I had what was needed to take out this shuffling zombie physician, and after a few blind grabs, I was rewarded with something round. I grabbed it, pulled it out without looking at it, and threw it as hard as I could at the creature.

The object collided with the zombie’s head with a satisfyingly loud thud. It bounced off, in Singer’s direction, where it landed on the ground and rolled toward his foot.

Singer looked down at the object resting peacefully next to his foot, shook his head after a moment, then looked back up at me. I may have been mistaken, but there was a bit of incredulity attached to that expression.

“An apple?!” he said.

I shrugged, in a very nonchalant fashion. “Well,” I looked at him, “It was worth a shot. You know what they say…”

It took him a moment, one where he was looking at me as if I had lost my mind, but he finally managed to get the joke. He snorted, reached over his shoulder for his trusty crossbow; in a few fluid motions, he loaded the bow, aimed, and fired a direct hit through the zombie doc’s cranium.

The thing swayed for a moment before finally crumpling to the ground.

He looked at me, replacing the crossbow behind his back, and smirked.

“What?” I said, feigning offense. “I said it was worth a shot.”

Singer proceeded to collect the spent arrow, strutting toward the zombie and pulling out the arrow with all of the yummy gore that went with it. After cleaning the arrow, he marched back in my direction, sheathing the arrow as if it was by now an everyday habit.

Action hero, all the way.

“You know,” I said, getting the backpack situated, “you have to branch out more. We can’t keep using that crossbow as our effective go-to. At some point, it’s just going to get boring!”

We started walking again. Singer let out a light chuckle and said, “Until it loses its quality effectiveness, I’ll continue to use it. I prefer boring if it means I get to stay alive.”

I thought about it for a moment and shrugged. “Fair enough.”

VI: The Weatherman

Singer and I had just finished scavenging the market and were starting to inventory our picks, when it started raining. Thanks to the amount of time it took us to go through the entire store, along with the limited light in the place already, it had grown much darker since the attack of the spaceman; a slight rainstorm didn't help the light, and we had to squint at our wares via candlelight.

Contrary to stories you may have heard or read, rain is not always a sign of bad things to come. It's definitely not a device used in my story, so let's get that out of the way. Rain is just a weather condition, and the reason why I bring it up is because that's what the weather was like on the night I met Singer. Bad things can happen in broad daylight, just as much as they can happen when it's "dark and stormy"; ask Singer: when he found Promise, he could distinctly hear birds chirping outside, and when he finally made his way out of that school, the sun was blindingly bright.

"It was like the day was laughing in my face," he had said while telling his story. “And it hurt.”

And now here we were, surrounded by lifeless corpses, some having stayed down the first time while the rest needed further convincing that they were down for the count. One would think the aroma in the market would have smelled putrid; however, thanks to the change in the weather and a few broken windows, a nice breeze had pushed through, clearing the area of the horrendous smell. It didn't necessarily get rid of it, but the smells became barely tolerable.

Which was good enough for us.

Singer, having set all the items from his collection into the center of our makeshift pile, tossed his bag to the side and sat down across from me. "So," he said, clapping his hands on his knees, "a bit anal, are we?"

I looked up from the list I had been making, of which he had been referring. When I looked at the expression on his face, it wasn’t one of mockery, at least not in a rude sense; no, what presided on his face at the moment was that of curiosity. And lots of it.

Clearing my throat, I said, “Not necessarily. Old habits are hard to kick, I guess.”

“Old habits, eh?” he said, leaning forward and getting into a comfortable position on the store’s tiled floor. “Were you a file clerk or something?”

I shook my head. “Not so prestigious, by the old society’s standards.”

From there, I told him about working at the comic book shop. About what it was like to work in a place where the patrons seemed to accept alternate worlds and how to live in them. About the irony of how such discussions turned to become incredibly fruitful when the real world became an alternate one. About viable strategies when dealing with opposition and survival, thanks to heroes in tights and body armor.

And about keeping all of that and more in order.

“Things were just simpler when things were in order,” I said as I looked back down at the list, writing down the last few items. I mentally noted that Singer’s Red Vines had not been added to the inventory; but I wasn’t going to cry foul on one package of red licorice.

Singer snorted. “That, my friend, sounds like the rally cry of an anal person, to me.”

I shook my head, grinning as I did, and put the final touches to the list. It wasn’t very long, but it was longer than what it had been at the beginning; Singer included. I put the list and the other utensils I had used for it back into my bag.

Once the bag was zipped up and placed back behind me, I looked out the front windows. The sky grew increasingly darker, the rain growing heavier by the minute. Its patter against the roof of the market was soothing to my ears, and I closed my eyes; I breathed in and my heart lightened slightly as the smell of fresh rain hit my senses.

It was a moment I needed, and before I opened my eyes to face what was in front of me and plan for the days ahead, I took one more moment. In that moment, I said a silent “thank you”. For moments like these, I feel, because they are so few and far between, you almost have to.

Letting out the breath, I opened my eyes and turned back toward Singer. He was no longer looking at me with curiosity; in fact, even though the expression changed immediately after I looked toward him, I could swear that what I saw on his face was envy. I wondered how many moments, like the one I’d just had, he had allowed himself after the death of his daughter. By the weary look in his eyes and the hunch in his shoulders, the answer was simple: not a lot, if any.

The look on Singer’s face now conveyed a kind of anticipation, which he partnered with saying, “So, what do you think we should do now?”

I caught it immediately. “We?”

“Sure,” he said, nodding toward the pile of goods on the floor between us. “We could either fight over who should get what, thereby making your list a bit moot. Or we could work together for a while, see if we can find others who might need our saving and our scavenging expertise.”

“I don’t know…”

Singer lifted his hands from his knees, holding them up in a conciliatory manner: hands up, palms facing toward me. “Okay, okay. I won’t push you,” he said, keeping his hands in the air in front of him. “But how about this? You think about it during the time it takes for the rain to stop, and if you decide you’d like to go it alone, I’ll let you have first pick of what you take with you.”

I watched as his left hand made a wide presentation of the pile on the floor; after the presentation, he lowered the hand and proceeded to offer me his right one. “Deal?”

Giving it a second’s worth of thought, I took the proffered hand, giving it a firm squeeze and a grand shake. “Deal.”

As it turned out, the rain lasted another half an hour before dissipating. Rain, though hard on the roof and at the windows at times, was all it ended up being; nothing flashed, nothing rumbled in the overhead distance. Had I known at the time, I would have said another silent “thank you” that it hadn’t been a full-on thunderstorm. Unfortunately, since I had yet to experience a full-on thunderstorm since the Day Everything Changed, the knowledge of what it would entail had not yet been made available to me.

Don’t worry: we’ll get to that later. For now, as Singer and I watched the last bits of precipitation die off, leaving a damp warmth in the area, I made my decision.

And so, with everything packed between us in our bags, Singer and I made our way out of Murray’s Mart, and into the wet night.