George’s mouth remained open, but he was at a loss for further words. He shook his head several times, and Jeff reached over and gripped his shoulder to reassure him that it was okay, that he didn’t have to say any more.
George was silent for a while, and just as Jeff thought his tale was through, George spoke again, his voice distant and puzzled.
“I’m not really sure how Jason and I made it to that church, how we got back around to the front of the building and crossed the street. I know Al was attacked in the parking lot. Jennifer was trying to help him. I think I was too, but I know that Jason and I ran…I’m just not sure how it all went down.” He looked at his hands and turned them so his palms were facing up. “I think I killed someone that night…or maybe it was more than just one. Jason did too…I think we both killed some of those…those…” He waved his hands, trying to come up with the right word.
“Those things?” Jeff interrupted. He leaned forward. “People who had been infected?”
George’s eyes darted over to Jeff and he put his hands down on top of his cards. He looked confused as he considered what Jeff had said and then nodded.
Jeff shrugged and shook his head. “Then you shouldn’t feel all that guilty, George.” He shifted in his chair and leaned back. “You did what you had to. I doubt most people in the same situation would have acted differently…at least none who wanted to survive.”
“I did what I had to, but Jason…” George’s eyes widened as he remembered more details. “I watched him beat one of them to death with some piece of metal he picked up off the ground. He did it without any remorse.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
George’s eyes went wide with surprise. His expression changed. It was hard to see in the moonlight, but Jeff could tell that he had struck a nerve.
“Well, you tell me how it can be a good thing that a kid his age…hell, that anyone shouldn’t give a rip that they just killed someone.” George’s hand slammed down on the table.
Jeff barked out a harsh laugh. He peered into George’s eyes to make sure the other man could make out his expression in the dim light. “Reality check, George, old pal. Those things are already dead. You can’t kill what’s already dead.” He leaned back. “You and Jason were doing those pricks a favor by putting them down for good.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“What?” Jeff cringed at his own volume. “What?” he repeated, whispering. “Uh, you’re not sure those things are already dead or you’re not sure you’re doing them a favor by putting them out of their misery?”
George stood up and walked across the room, out of the light. “I don’t know. Hell, I’m not sure of much of anything anymore.”
Jeff shook his head in frustration. “Well, George, I am sure. Those things aren’t human anymore. Once I figured that out, it got real simple: slaughter them before they slaughter me and maybe I get lucky and live to see another day.”
George looked at Jeff from across the room. The younger man’s face was pale in the moonlight.
“I’ll do what I need to survive, and you know that, Jeff. I already have. But that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it. This isn’t some sort of game for me.”
Jeff’s laughter was bitter this time. “So it bugs you that I might be enjoying myself when I take a few of those things out, huh?”
“Yes, yes it does. Self-defense is one thing, but enjoying it and killing anyone…or anything, if that’s how you prefer to think of them, is a sin.”
Jeff waved his hand disdainfully. “Let’s not bring God into this.”
George looked at Jeff as if he were a child. “How would it be possible, given all that has occurred, not to bring God into this? Or do you think that he has just been sitting on the sidelines this whole time, not paying a bit of attention to what’s been going on?”
Jeff held his hands up in a sign of surrender. He was not in the mood for a religious debate, especially with someone who looked raring to go. The apologetic look on his face placated George enough to let it pass. The big man came back to the table, and they sat quietly for a few moments, until George, who still had a look of great concentration on his face, spoke up again.
“I don’t know, Jeff. I do know that murder is a sin. So I’ll do what I can to survive and get to my family intact, including defending myself, but I will not go out of my way to attack those creatures. You can’t tell me that you know for certain, without any doubt at all, that there isn’t still a spark of humanity left inside them.”
“Yes I can.”
Jeff had a hard expression on his face, with a tightened jaw and a stern gaze.
“Well, if you’re so sure, enlighten me. Please.” George spread his hands and waited for an explanation.
Jeff’s face darkened, and George realized his newfound friend was getting angry. Jeff leaned forward, his eyes flashing with rage. “Have you had to face off against someone you knew, someone who had turned into one of those things?”
The question took George by surprise, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He didn’t say a word, but Jeff already knew his answer.
“Unless you’ve looked into the eyes of someone you love who’s been bitten and turned into one of those things, you have no idea. Until you look into their eyes and see that there is absolutely no recognition or comprehension of who you are anymore, you wouldn’t understand.”
Jeff continued staring until George had to turn away, uncomfortable with the look in the other man’s eyes. Jeff stood and paced the room.
“I’m sorry, Jeff.” It was lame, but it was all he had. George didn’t look up to see if the other man had acknowledged his apology, and he received no response. He looked down at the cards scattered in front of him.
A few minutes later, Jeff sat back down across from him, staring out the window. The two sat in silence for a while longer, until it became awkward.
“So what happened? If you want to tell me…”
Jeff rubbed his eyes. He looked across at George and felt profoundly exhausted.
There were no sounds except that of the crickets outside, no movement except when a slight breeze moved a branch on one of the trees. Slowly, Jeff began to tell his story.
Chapter 22
Jason was lying in bed on his stomach the next morning when he felt the fingers on his back. He had his pillow wrapped around his head and tried to ignore them as they gently rubbed, coaxing him to get up. He moaned and mumbled something about letting him sleep for just a few more minutes and pulled the pillow tighter.
“Come on, Jason, it’s time for breakfast,” the voice implored. It was muffled, and he tried to ignore it, his eyes clenched shut.
“I made your favorite…” The words were soothing, tempting him to get out of the bed. The fingers began scratching his back the way he loved.
“Momma, no! I don’t want to get up. Let me sleep for a little while longer,” he whined and shook the hand off.
He heard the clicking sound of disapproval and could imagine his mother’s head shaking as well, her hands on her hips, like she always did when she was irritated with him.
When she pulled his pillow away, he shifted onto his back and slowly let his eyes adjust to the morning light.
“Now get up, boy. It’s time for my breakfast too.”
Jason opened his eyes and saw his mother standing in front of him. She was dressed in the blue scrubs she wore for her job as a nurse in one of the big downtown Cincinnati hospitals. They were splattered with blood. Her braided hair had come loose and was disheveled, floating around her head. He looked at her face and saw that her eyes were cloudy. She grinned at him, revealing smashed and blackened teeth. Bits and pieces of her ashy skin were flaking off.
She touched his face with her hands, which were desiccated and missing much of their skin. As she caressed his cheek, she leaned over, her hand slipping behind his neck.