Page 18 of Creepy (The Zombiepidemic #1)

T he rest of the meal was a blur. I barely ate. I barely paid attention to the story of how they all met and ended up planning to come back to Creepy.

“I didn’t want to spend the winter in Northern Indiana with all that lake effect snow,” Joey explained.

Basically, Arlo trekked all the way to Indiana before he met the group who’d already decided to head south.

Dismayed about Troy being captured, I ignored the fact Arlo had found little civilization from Washington State to Indiana.

Although, when I learned my brother’s new girlfriend’s cousin Mabel was a nurse, I woke up. She offered to examine my leg.

Looking for some privacy, she and I slinked off to the kitchen.

Her little dog followed us, and she speckled her conversation with me with commands.

She agreed I only sprained my ankle. “I’m more worried about your ribs.

You could’ve punctured a lung,” she warned me.

“No, Bean, no. You can’t go outside right now,” she responded to the canine’s whimpers before letting me know, “You may have internal bleeding.”

“I feel pretty good, but I’m probably taking too much Ibuprofen.” The stuff tore my stomach up, too.

“Is that all?” Mabel dug in her pack and handed me some pills. “You need something stronger.”

“My neck’s still aching,” I remarked and took one without hesitation. “Thanks.” I slipped the others in my pocket.

Mabel scooped up the little dingy white poodle. “Bean, you be a good girl... or you’re going to get eaten.”

“I’ve not seen many dogs or cats,” I started, bringing up the subject carefully.

“We spotted this little bean on the way down, staring out the window. She was locked in when her owners died. Weren’t you?” She’d said that last bit in baby talk to the dog, then covered her tiny ears. “She must’ve eaten them.”

Before I could ask how, Mabel explained, “Up north, after what happened down south, down here, we advised the infected to take care of themselves before...”

“What?” I didn’t get it.

“We, well, guidelines suggest if you become infected to go ahead and kill yourself before the worst happens.”

“You mean before they turned into zombies. They...”

“Overdoses were the most common way.”

“But what about the ones who could survive.” If I’d offed myself, I wouldn’t be here today because I’d basically been on death’s doorstep before my miraculous recovery.

“Guidance is different for those under 40. In that case, you should isolate and lock yourself in a secure location.”

“That’s what folks were doing here. Young and old. Boarding themselves up in their houses. Who knows how many zombies there are left in Creepy?”

“I suppose you’re a survivor and there’s no need to worry about that bite?”

“Yeah,” I remarked, touching the bandage. “Isn’t everyone?”

“Definitely not everyone up north.” She shuddered and whispered, “Not everyone here.” Mabel gestured over to my brother and his crew.

“But how?”

“The north controlled the outbreak much better. The worst is over. But even if you test negative, if you have antibodies you aren’t allowed into the quarantine zones, let alone back into civilization.

If you survived the plague, you might as well be dead.

I can’t blame them. That’s why so many of us are migrating away from the expanding quarantine zones. ”

“Quarantine zones?” I repeated her words, thinking of all the people in Creepy who were evacuated on buses.

I’d assumed they didn’t make it, that the whole universe had gone to shit.

The arrival of Arlo from way out in Washington State and my brother’s crew from near Chicago had confirmed it for me. “Civilization?”

Mabel went on like I knew what she was talking about. “The U.S. government wants to reclaim the land, clean up the zombies and make it safe again, to hell with survivors and the people who love them.” She glanced toward the dining room again.

Before I could ask her who she was talking about, who amongst them wasn’t a survivor, they all joined us in the kitchen, fixing to leave out the back door. I filed my questions away for later.

After much debate, Arlo dropped me off at my house. My brother followed us in his van to give Arlo a ride back over to the Jules’ Estate. I told Joey where I’d left his truck so he could pick it up later.

“It’s dead,” I said, “But it’d been running just fine.”

Joey asked me, “Did you do any maintenance?”

“No, not since...” I admitted I hadn’t done anything since before the pandemic. I was always horrible at thinking about oil changes and such. In my defense, I’d had more important matters to worry about lately.

Joey’s head bobbed head in condemnation. Gawd, it was only a truck.

“I’ve got to give them the grand tour,” Arlo explained as they left. “Are you sure you won’t join us?”

“Not tonight. I’ll meet up with you all tomorrow.” I said with a yawn.

“To go over the plan to rescue Troy,” Arlo reminded me. “He’s going to be okay.”

“Right.” I forced a smile. I didn’t share his positive outlook.

“Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night with us?” Joey asked me again. “It’s not safe...”

“I’ve survived this long. On my own.”

“Now, Sissy, I didn’t come all this way and find you alive and well to go losing you.”

“I’m armed. I’ll lock the doors... I need to be alone tonight,” I said, clutching the letter from Dillon.

My brother eyeing it agreed, but he added, “One of us will be on guard tonight, will watch out for you, sis.”

“Nice to meet y’all,” I called to the girls as they pulled out of the drive.

My brother’s girlfriend waved, and I wondered if she was the one who wasn’t immune to the virus. That would be a shame since she’s carrying Joey’s child.

Suddenly, the thought hit me. I was going to be an aunt!

When the van was out of sight, I hobbled inside to my couch. I thought about radioing Dillon about Troy but figured that would only start the clock. It was best if Dillon didn’t know I knew about him having Troy. Moreover, I didn’t need to negotiate until I knew Troy was safe.

I turned the blue envelope over in my hands a few times.

A bit worn and stained, the letter was not new.

It was addressed to this house, to me, although it said, To Creepy with Love, not my name.

The return address was nameless, just Dillon’s address written in a different handwriting.

More puzzling, the Post Office stamped, Return to Sender on it twice in red.

Studying the date, they’d postmarked it two years ago.

The date of mine and Dillon’s break up etched in my memory, the postmark preceded our parting by only a couple of weeks.

And the letter was returned, twice? Frowning, I examined the handwriting, one unmistakably Dillon’s tiny and precise, addressing it to me as Creepy and the other undoubtedly my Papa’s messy, bubbly letters, writing Dillon’s address in the top left-hand corner, implying my Papa sent it back.

Baffled, I tore the envelope open. The folded white sheet of paper bounced out of it, landing on the floor. I cursed and reached down low to retrieve it. Opening it, I spotted more of Dillon’s small, neat letters.

Too Creepy with Love,

Isn’t that a clever way to get around the vile press?

Sissy, I love you, and I know I’ve been a mess, but that ends now.

I’m sorry for all this controversy but not for the reason you think.

I’m not ashamed of my father and yours. I’m frustrated is all.

Angry. Not at them for loving each other and hiding it, but for what their actions could do to us.

Every aspect of my life has been given to me or chosen for me except for you.

I don’t want to lose you. My family has suggested we postpone our marriage, but I don’t want that.

I know they mean well, that the negative attention of my father’s position could bring undue scrutiny onto you and I.

Not to mention what it does to my future and my ability to provide for you.

But I know that if we lie low for a bit, the vultures will move on to another scandal.

I’m headed to Florida to stay with some of my more obscure family until we resolve this matter.

I won’t be able to contact you in the meantime.

I’m not taking my cell phone so I’m sure by the time you get this letter you will be livid.

Please understand. Reporters are tracking me.

The last thing I want is the press bothering the love of my life.

Can you survive a couple weeks without me? I know I’ll be in hell without you.

Yours xx.

Blinking, I couldn’t process the words. I read it three times until I finally understood Dillon sent this letter before he disappeared two years ago, when he left Louisiana, and I thought he’d left me, too.

Fuck.

Throwing my head back, I studied the ceiling.

So, he didn’t leave me?

Scowling, I wobbled my head.

He loved me and had been hiding from the press?

Double fuck. I didn’t believe that. It was all too much.

My eyes flew to the paper. Why didn’t I receive this before?

I stared at the letter like it was a cruel joke.

If it weren’t for my Papa’s unmistakable handwriting, I’d suspect some tomfoolery on Dillon’s part.

Why did Papa send it back? He would’ve had to have had a good reason.

Papa was about the only one who knew about my heartache.

I’d slapped on a cheerful face for everyone else but him.

And the press had crucified me, made me a laughingstock.

My heart breaking, I double-checked the handwriting.

Taking the letter, I limped over to my Papa’s writing desk and pulled open a draw where he kept a handwritten address book.

Even though it was the middle of the day, with no overhead lights, the room was grey.

Lighting a candle, I compared the handwriting to make sure what I already knew was true. It was my Papa’s.