Dead Hearts Grow Cold: A Post-Apocalyptic Novella Read online

  Dead Hearts Grow Cold

  A Novella by:

  Stacey Slothlief

  Maybe I should check the garage.

  We’ve had problems with garages before. I could put off sleep for another five or ten.

  Sleep.

  It feels like weeks since I’ve slept, even longer since I’ve slept in an actual bed. Really, we’ve only been on the road for about a day and a half, but the sun has made things particularly rough as of late. The good part of nobody being around, though, is that I can wear my gigantic sun hat without shame if need be.

  Damn, can’t see anything through the windows.

  It’s been two months since everything started, and we’ve been skirting the suburbs of Atlanta for the majority of that time looking for clues. Someone has to have seen her.

  Door’s locked, probably a good sign, still better check inside.

  Unfortunately, we haven’t seen a person, living or dead, in over three days. It’s good and all that we haven’t had to defend ourselves recently, but then again, that hasn’t been a real issue for a while; we’ve all become more than capable of handling a few Reds at once. The real thing that worries me is the lack of survivors. If it's really that safe here, why is nobody around? Ben is starting to sound like he wants to settle here for as long as we can, or at least until the food runs out. This just doesn’t feel right.

  Uh-oh, breaking the window was noisier than expected.

  Normally I’m more careful, but the mixture of fatigue and dehydration made it so my only goal is to finish my search and close my eyes til sunrise.

  Nice car - Thunderbird, baby blue, looks like 1970, that’s their best model - either a rich teenage boy or a father going through some mid-life insecurities.

  I actually enjoy doing my scouting solo. I like to imagine who these houses held before this all started.

  Ah, the motorcycle helmet hung up in the corner suggests I might have been right with either male. There’s a pretty decent set of tools, too. I bet they used to work on the car together, father and son.

  I spotted a rack of tools above a workbench in the corner opposite the door.

  This is a nice hammer, definitely could come in handy.

  I hurt my wrist a few days back, so I had to ditch my trusted fire axe for something more manageable.

  Well, everything looks safe, I’ll just throw the hammer in my bag and lock up. What was the address again? 2070 Lynwood. Maybe if I run into them later I can let them know the cars still in good shape.

  As I turn for the door, the scratch of what sounds like fingernails against concrete stops me in my tracks.

  I know I should have been more careful, always check under the car. There is no way I’m ready for a fight right now, I can barely see straight. Christ, everyone else is probably asleep or I’d just lock him in here. Well, time to see if this hammer and I will get along. Please don’t let this be a big one.

  The clawing stopped. My heart was in my throat.

  I’m really not in the mood for a standoff.

  I take a few steps back and press my face to the ground to see what I’m dealing with, and the instant my cheek touches the cold concrete, my assailant makes his move.

  I should have been more careful.

  I can instantly feel the all-too-familiar hot breath on my face, the gobs of saliva a slimy precursor to my imminent death.

  I hope he does a thorough job so I don’t turn, I wouldn’t want to put the others through the horror of having to bash my head in later on, and it’d be even worse if they failed, like I did.

  It wasn’t until my would-be murderer started licking my face that I realized I’ll probably live to see another day. “Cooper!” I said, relieved, “don’t scare me like that little buddy”. I should have known he would show up sooner or later, I haven’t seen his furry face in at least five minutes, which is far too long for the both of us.

  How did he get in here?

  Still plastered to the cement - partially out of fear, partially because even this dirty cold slab could suffice as a mattress right now - I spotted a small hole underneath the workbench. Though Coop’s gotten pretty big over his seven years he’s always finding his way through the tiniest crevices - never ceases to impress, that one.

  “You would’ve had my back if a real Red came for me, wouldn’t ya buddy?” I said as he eagerly wagged his tail in agreement. “We should probably get back to the house, people might start to worry.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  I awoke the next morning to Cooper pacing frantically across the hardwood floor. “What is it, bud?” I asked, stretching as I sat up in bed. My back had barely any cracks this morning, definitely due to the high-quality south-suburban mattress. My neck felt great, too, my body’s way of telling me it’s going to be a good day. Cooper didn’t look like he agreed with me so far, though, so I slumped my way out of bed and sauntered towards the window. I could already tell from the heat radiating off the glass that it was going to be another long morning, and we still had about five hours before the sun hit full strength. I cracked the window slightly, I used to love the smell of suburbia - fresh cut grass, clean air, it’s the pinnacle of civilized life as far as my nose is concerned - though lately it has lost its luster. Nobody cuts grass anymore and the air here smelled stale. Still, I would take this any day over the stench of death we find almost everywhere else. Cooper was clawing at the bedroom door at this point so I let him out and groggily followed him down the stairs. In the kitchen, I saw my older brother Ben looking through the cupboards, and from what I could see, he wasn’t having much success.

  “Morning,” I said, not expecting a response.

  “No food,” said Ben. I guess I was wrong. “Except for Coop.” Without turning around, he pointed towards the ground to the right where the dog was devouring a sizable bowl of dog food - so that’s why he was being so weird earlier, it’s probably been weeks since he’s heard or smelled a can of dog food.

  “Damn, well we still have enough to get us through the week, at least,” I said, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. The further we go from the city, the scarcer supplies are. I’ve started to think it's because the people outside the city had more time to prepare themselves, either to pack up and travel or to bunker down and hide. Either way, the longer we’ve been out on the road, the harder it's been to feel like we’re still in control. None of these factors seem to have phased my brother, but nothing has really gotten to him since we started looking for Mom. He was one of the first infected after his roommate at the University of Georgia took a chunk out of his forearm. We found out once his eyes didn’t go all red and he didn’t try to eat us that he might be immune, so Mom took him into her lab at the CDC to confirm. Sure enough, other than an aggressive fever and some mild hallucinations, Ben made it through the infection without any lasting effects. Almost immediately, my Mom and her colleagues started using Ben with the hope of creating some sort of vaccine. Word quickly spread that the CDC was working on a cure, though, and people became increasingly suspicious that one had long since been created. After a few days the doors broke down as a crowd of hundreds successfully stormed the CDC headquarters, ransacking the entire facility in search of some sort of medicinal motherlode. Ben was asleep in the lab when the doors fell, and barely escaped with his life - along with two orange vials. Hopefully, these contain the cure, or at least something close to it, but we’re way too scared to waste one to test it out. Ben said he made his way back to Mom’s office before he got out of the building, but he couldn’t find any clues as to
where she went. So since then, we’ve been fanning out from the city, gradually and thoroughly, searching for signs of her. Alas, almost every group of survivors we’ve run into has been too frantic or too paranoid to offer any useful information. There was one family, however, claiming they followed a few CDC scientists prior to meeting up with our party, and their description of one of them - short, middle-aged Asian woman with long black hair - matched Mom as well as we could have hoped. They said they followed her and her colleagues to a safe house several miles south of the CDC, but the place was quickly overrun and they were split up. We met with this family about five miles southwest of this safe house, and since we came from the north, we concluded it was unlikely she fled back in our direction. So all we’re left with now is a cardinal direction based on a vague description. Honestly, I know it’s not much, but she’s out there somewhere, and it’s the only real information we have.

  “Where’s Noah?” I asked my brother, she’s a lot easier to talk to, and I don’t want Ben ruining my mood.

  Ben, too busy rummaging through empty cupboards to be bothered, responded by pointing, this time towards the back door. I left Coop to his feast and followed Ben’s direction. I was painfully reminded of how furious the sun has been as it violated at least three of my senses upon my opening of the back door. I shielded my eyes as I reluctantly took a few steps out back, and after a few seconds, I was able to make out a figure hanging up some clothes on the line. Noah has always been the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and somehow, throughout all this craziness, she’s become even more enchanting. She started dating my brother back when they were 16, and we quickly became good friends. Ben was always the perfect kid - great student, athlete, etc., so it would make sense that he would date the prettiest girl in school. As cool as he was to everyone else, though, he had made it a habit since we were little to find the best ways to get under my skin. Fast forward 10 or so years and he had gotten really good at it. He was, deep down, a nice kid, and he was a really good older brother for me after dad left, but he always knew just where to strike if he felt the urge. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have many friends growing up - besides Coop, of course - and once Ben and I got old enough to take care of ourselves, Mom started spending a lot more time at work. This made things very lonely when Ben decided to be a dick. That is, until Noah came along. Finally, I had someone who understood how nasty he could be, and she would come comfort me if she knew he had really done some damage. Ben went off to play football for Georgia about two years ago, meaning I’d only really see him after home games and on holidays, save for when he’d make it home for my birthday. Noah, however, decided to live at home and go to Georgia Tech. She lived just a couple miles away so my mom would invite her over for dinner every Sunday, and on crazy hot days like this one, we’d head to the mall and get ice cream. I felt bad spending all this time with my brother’s girlfriend, but honestly I don’t think he felt too threatened. Also, I’m not going to say I wasn’t enjoying my time with her.

  “Any luck with the food?” She asked, poking her head around a recently hanged t-shirt. As always, she seemed to be having a good morning.

  “Only for the lil guy,” I replied, trying to match her inexplicable enthusiasm.

  “Hey, well maybe if we get too hungry we can share some of his,” she joked. I don’t know how she managed to remain so positive. I always do my best to maintain my composure, especially with Ben acting all grumpy, but there’s a difference between maintaining and smiling all the time. I can at least appreciate the gravity of having everyone you’ve ever known die, then try to eat your face. That being said, her demeanor is more than welcome as a means of balancing us out, and I don’t know if I could stay sane without another human being to take my mind off of things.

  “Hah, yeah...We should eat breakfast and head out soon. I think we could do twenty-five miles if the clouds come out” I could see a tinge of frustration sweep across her face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “I’ll see you inside, Noah.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  The clouds never came. Couple the relentless sun and our ever-diminishing food supply and it's no surprise we’ve slowed to about half our normal speed in the last few days. We got a lucky break at a gas station a day and a half back and found a box of beef jerky stashed where none of the previous looters had checked, but all that sodium has been making it even harder to stay on the road for more than a few hours at a time. Nevertheless, we couldn’t settle without at least coming in contact with somebody. Ben hadn’t spoken more than three words to either of us in days, and lord knows the last time he cracked a smile. Noah was still her chipper self, but the wear in her eyes and on her mind was becoming more and more evident. I tried to keep the pace steady, always walking 20 or so steps ahead with Cooper, partially to scout, partially so that nobody decides to stop before we get to where we’re going. Today our destination was I-75. Running through the suburbs had become unbearably lonely and any leads we had before really didn’t make sense to follow anymore, so I decided to lead us to the highway with the hopes of at least meeting up with the rest of civilization. At the very least, there should be more food there. We’d been going relatively strong for the last four hours after resting up at a liquor store in Jonesboro, and we were only about five miles from the highway from what I could tell on the map.

  I stopped for a few seconds to let the others catch up. Ben was bringing up the rear with the wagon carrying our things, his head down but his pace steady, as usual. Noah was about 5 steps ahead, looking sullen and tired. She flashed a weak smile at me when she saw I had stopped and slowed her pace down accordingly.

  “It’s getting dark, we should find some place to stay,” I said. I knew we were close to the highway, but there was no point making it there if we would immediately have to find shelter for the night. Plus, I was beginning to think I had been pushing the others too hard, especially Noah; even Cooper was starting to show signs of fatigue. There was a stretch of houses to our right that looked promising, so I headed that way to scout it out while the others trudged behind. I picked a small white house on the corner, as there didn’t seem to be any need to venture deeper into the block. Though I’d have preferred something with two stories - easier to defend if necessary - the houses were all as small as this one as far as my eyes could see. As I approached the house, I readied my flashlight and my hammer. The blinds were half-shut, but I could still see into the windows - no mess, no blood, nobody home, looks good. I went around the back and came to the same conclusion, we should be safe here. I jogged back to the front of the house and saw Ben, Noah and Coop sitting in the intersection. I whistled at them to give the OK and used my hammer to break one of the small windows on the front door. Once inside, my entire body instantly felt what the others must have been hit with minutes prior, and I was pretty relieved we said nay to those extra five miles. With the others still probably minutes behind, I figured I could at least check out the bed situation. It was a small house: living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom and two tiny bedrooms. There was also a door to the basement and

  *CLANG*

  I barely parried the attack in time. What the hell was that? I jumped back to the middle of the kitchen and raised my flashlight at my opponent. In the hallway stood a girl who looked about my age. She was slightly shorter than me with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes were big and brown, slightly squinting against the dull beam of my light. She looked just as surprised as I felt to see another living person, but it was readily apparent that she was still on her guard.

  “Where did you come from?” I asked, trying to sound non-threatening, but confident.

  She hesitated for a second, still ready to defend herself. “The garage.”

  Damnit. Always check the garage.

  “I’m Jake,” I holstered my hammer and extended her my bare hand.

  “Freja,” she said, lo
osening up her stance, but keeping her free hand at her side. As her arm shifted the light from my flashlight glinted off of whatever she swung at me earlier, which, upon closer examination, turned out to be a pretty long katana with a serious blade.

  Holy shit, I thought, I really have to try to stay on her good side.

  “Are you with any others?” I asked, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  “No,” I knew the answer, but I had to keep the conversation going with this adorable swordswoman before she got antsy, “are you?”

  Just as I was about to answer her, Ben beat me to the punch. I don’t know how he snuck behind her so easily - she must have been distracted by the presence of another person - but he capitalized on her loss of composure and had her incapacitated in an instant, holding her own kitana to her throat.

  “Ben. Stop. She’s fine. We were just talking.”

  I’ve never seen such rage in Ben’s eyes. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the handle of the sword, pressing the blade tighter to her neck. Freja struggled at first but she was no match for Ben’s frame, and with the blade now flush with her flesh, she knew it was unwise to thrash about. She looked at me, that initial strength was gone, replaced by fear and desperation. I moved my gaze back to Ben, trying to give him the most reassuring look I could, “Ben, its okay. Let her go so we can talk.” He stared at me for a few seconds more, shaking, and just like that, the fury was gone from his eyes. He lowered the sword from Freja’s neck, leaving a small trickle of blood right next to her throat, and he began to back away slowly. He stopped on the other side of the hallway, keeping the sword pointed at our new friend.