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It was cold the day he found her. The gray clouds had promised wisps of snow, and that coupled with the harsh winds heralded danger. The freezing temperatures threatened his toes with frostbite. But by some stroke of luck, he had found a fur coat a few days prior.
He hated cold days. Animals buried themselves in their dens, so hunting was out of the question. He could chop some wood up for the cabin, but his fingers were at risk of freezing before he could lift the axe.
The only good thing about long, icy days? It was the only time zombies hibernated.
It was a day to scavenge the city.
The “city”, if you could call it that, was bigger than the average town, yet smaller than an actual city. Luckily, it was situated in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada. The mix of deserts and woodland surrounding the town provided decent shelter. With the lack of inhabitants, most supplies had gone untouched until he arrived.
He remembers vaguely the smell of rotting flesh and burnt wood as he picked through the remains of a building. The Blood Moon had completely destroyed the exterior, leaving bits of stone and broken glass on the concrete. He had been fortuitous enough to find a mostly intact blanket and some food.
It had once been a preschool. Or, at least, he thought it was. Rainbow cubbies had been tipped over, revealing colorful murals on parts of the wall. There were a few names scribbled there in crayon; Tilin, Bobby, and Juana just to name a few.
Whilst sorting through the rubble, his ears picked up on the sound of sniffling. At first, his hand flew to the gun at his side, sure that it was one of the Undead.
But as he listened closely, he realized it was the cries of a child. Something in his chest ached— he had never realized it, but… he hadn’t heard that sound in months.
After all, children were practically endangered.
They were a liability in the apocalypse.
After the first wave of zombies came and went, they practically disappeared.
The… virus, as many liked to call it, hadn’t seemed to infect children. Or at least, in the beginning stages anyways.
Whereas everybody else would be turned and attacked by the zombified crowds, the children were relatively unharmed. Zombies turned a blind eye to them, as if they were nothing more than a fly on the wall.
The few scientists still out there theorized the virus recognized the children to be harmless, or perhaps even burdensome as a host. It was hard to say for sure, but that seemed to be the general consensus.
In the meanwhile, those in high power had noticed and decided to take the matter into their own hands.
He remembered the first time he saw the little cages, outfitted with even tinier machine guns.
They started calling them the Eggheads. It had to do something with the oversized helmets they wore, the shape was… egg-like on their little heads.
But the zombies didn’t find them “harmless” for much longer. And after that? Well… it’s hard to keep a baby quiet in the apocalypse.
To be frank, he was amazed . But he couldn’t afford to be amazed at the moment—he needed the voice to be quiet.
Keeping an eye out for any stray zombies, he carefully crept towards the sound. Although they slept through the cold, the zombies still awoke if they heard something.
He found himself in front of a small cabinet that had been knocked over. A wooden pillar had tipped over, blocking the door.
“Hello? Is there somebody in there?” He whispered, crouching low, “I’m here to help you.”
There was pure silence for a few minutes, before a little voice croaked out, “Please help me… it won’t open.”
“Don’t worry, but I gotta move this so I might be quiet for a moment, okay? I’ll tell you when it’s open.”
Hearing a quiet affirmation, he willed himself to push the pillar up. It took all of his strength and then some— he hadn’t used those muscles in quite some time. But eventually, it was moved and the door to the cabinet swung open slowly.
From within the depths of the small cabinet, he found a pair of inquisitive eyes staring at him. They were covered in large, bulky glasses— quite similar to his own, actually, although smaller.
The child stepped out fully and he realized it was a little girl, dressed in a dirty shirt and overalls, her feet covered in muddied socks and rain boots. Her little braids were hidden underneath an old Egghead helmet, the logo faded almost completely.
He watched in amazement as she reached into the cabinet, pulled out her little zip-up hoodie and an actual Glock. At this, he held his hands up and backed away slowly, “Woah, that’s certainly safe for a child to carry.”
The girl stared up at him suspiciously, squinting her eyes as if she was trying to see through his sarcasm, “Yeah, it’s for the zombies. I gotta get ‘em! That’s my job!”
With an uncomfortable start, he realized that she, alongside the helmet, also had an Egghead bandana. It was tucked neatly into the front pocket of her overalls, but a corner of it peeked out. The distinctive dragon head logo presented itself in the fabric, clear as day.
Despite the Eggheads having been abolished for years, and children becoming seemingly extinct, this little girl was here, in front of him.
“Hey— uh, little girl, where’s your parents? Wait, do you even know what those are?” Charlie squinted at her suspiciously, mirroring her expression, “Are you a test tube baby with no actual parents?”
The girl, still putting on her coat, gave him a weird look, “I don’t know what a ‘test baby’ is, but my dad’s out. He’s getting us more food, he said he was gonna be back.”
Now, Charlie would normally believe this and leave the girl alone, all lone wolf and that. But… the dust on the boarded doors didn’t give him much hope.
If there was a dad in the picture, he was either dead or an asshole.
And Charlie knew full well what it was like to be a complete asshole. But even then, who would abandon their child like this, trapped in a small closet?
“What’s your name, kid?” He elected to redirect the conversation.
“You’re a stranger.”
“No, I’m Charlie. And at least I’m alive and I’m not trying to eat your guts.”
“… Juana.”
He vaguely recalled the earlier graffiti, he thought he saw the name Juana somewhere…
“Flippa?”
She let out a tiny gasp, clearly startled, “How’d you know the code name Dad gave to me? Are you his friend?”
Charlie felt like he had two choices here.
One, he could lie and claim he knew Juana’s dad. Then he would… what? Take her back to his cabin? Leave her here? She would be another mouth to feed…
Or—
Two, he could tell the truth. But he didn’t exactly know what she would do with that gun…
It felt like he had a for-sure survival rate on the first option, but he felt like he might feel bad later about lying. And he didn’t like the remorse that came with lies. It gave him nightmares.
But another, smaller part of his brain also whispered that she was just a baby. She didn’t have anyone coming back— that was clear. And if the way her hands shook her gun indicated anything, Juana couldn’t survive on her own.
He would have to do a lot. Feed her, make sure she stays healthy and safe, keep her calm…
But strangely enough, he didn’t feel as terrified as he thought he would. Instead, it was like he had already accepted his fate.
He cracked a smile and held out his hand, “Hell yeah, I’m his friend! You could even say we’re best friends, so I’m here to keep you safe! You okay with that, Juana Flippa?”
A smile grew on her face and she held his hand tightly, “Yeah!”
He scooped her up in his arms, careful of the gun she held (thankfully away from his major organs). Feeling her shiver in his embrace, he quickly wrapped her up in one of the tattered blankets laying around.
He would have to find her a jacket later, but first, she had to be brought back to the cabin.
The trek hadn’t been too bad after that, what with the little girl blabbing in his ears about anything and everything. She still talked in a whisper, mindful of the zombies, but she tended to ramble.
Charlie appreciated that— he was a rambler, too.
Upon arriving back at the cabin and sidestepping all his traps, Charlie set her down. He set about to light a fire in the fireplace, hoping the heat would help their frozen joints. Luckily, he still had some leftover breakfast soup.
As he filled a pot with the soup, he watched as Juana started to explore the cabin. Her head swiveled around as she tried to take in her surroundings.
She had put down her little helmet on his beat-up coffee table, revealing bits of twigs and mud stuck in-between the locks of her brown braids. The blanket was still wrapped tightly around her shoulders, although her shivering had gone down. And as she wandered around, she paid great care in trying to not touch anything.
Charlie felt like he was watching a baby deer stumble through a meadow. She was clumsy at times and skittish, but she seemed to be content to just look around.
And after the soup had finished warming up in the fireplace, he ladled some into a bowl and set it on the coffee table. It was also the only table he owned, but to be fair, it was hard to furniture shop in an apocalyptic wasteland!
“Dig in, there’s more next to the fireplace if you’re still hungry later.” He gestured back towards the pot, then to a little cooler and barrel in the other corner, “There’s some rainwater in the barrel, if you want it cold just leave it in the cooler of ice.”
Juana listened intently and nodded along, “I’m okay for now.” She took no gusto in wolfing down her meal, like she hadn’t ate in days.
And he wasn’t sure if she had, to be honest.
So he gave her seconds, because that seemed like the right thing to do.
And pretty much after that, she ended up crashing in the only bed he owned. But that was fine, the couch wasn’t super uncomfortable or anything.
A few more days passed in relative peace, as he learned to cohabitate with Juana. She was eager to learn and liked to follow him around, so she became his little helper.
He taught her how to descale fish straight out of the river, how to haul wood, and most importantly, how to set and check traps.
Maybe some deity out there had taken pity on him, for they were fortunate no zombies had attacked. Instead, they lingered on the edges of the forest, where Charlie could easily snipe them from afar.
On the third day of these mundane tasks (and Charlie gripping with the thought of being a single father), their luck had run out.
It wasn’t zombies or raiders, but Juana had caught a cold. He suspected she got sick either in the locked cabinet or on the wall home, but it laid dormant until she was safe. While it would’ve been no big deal pre-apocalypse, Charlie knew it could mean life or death if not treated right away.
When he checked his medicine cabinet, he found almost everything was either expired or unusable. So he tried to ransack any neighboring buildings, but all he found was a small bottle of cough syrup, half full.
After giving Juana some of the syrup, he resigned himself to more scavenging in the big city. The cold front had not gone down, so he knew that as long as he was quiet, the zombies would leave him alone.
The fourth day of Juana’s arrival, Charlie bid her goodbye at the door, telling her to lock the door. She insisted on a code word— avocado toast— and he agreed, before watching her as she started to turn the locks.
As soon as the final chain was tightened, he turned on his heel and adjusted the rifle on his shoulder. Then he set out, bag in hand.
He had found out months prior that most of the outer city had been picked clean. The inner city would, logically, be the most fulfilling but it also contained the largest hoard of undead. He would have to settle for ransacking the middle edges, but he feared for what would happen when it was depleted.
And from there, it was smooth sailing searching for her fever meds and Tylenol. Charlie also figured he would stock up on another medication and first aid they’d need, like bandages.
His bag filled up quickly, ending with two cans of tomato soup. Then he set off back home.
The highway looked empty for the most part, so he had planned on using it to get away the city and towards the cabin. But when he arrived back to the road, he found a quite frankly massive hoard of zombies.
Ducking into a nearby building, he silently made his way up a few floors, shoving rotten furniture in front of the stairway doors. Once he reached a reasonable third floor, he peeked past the wooden boards attached to the windows.
On the crux of one of the highway exits, a barricade had been constructed of abandoned cars. Bits of sheet metal and other debris had been attached to free spots, apparently to strengthen the barrier. The barriers formed a semi-circle, with buildings surrounding either side.
The zombie hoard gathered on one side of the barricade, desperately trying to reach through the gaps towards their prize. On the other side was a man in handcuffs, being led by a pair of raiders.
They said something to him, inaudible to Charlie’s ears, but it made the man start screaming. They laughed and turned to leave, not even bothering to see the carnage they would inflict.
And while normally he would elect to ignore these situations, the type where one survivor pisses off another and chaos ensues, he felt… maybe a little bad for the man. It was one thing to fight another to the death— but leaving someone to die bound? That was majorly wrong!
If that didn’t cement it, Charlie met the man’s eyes and saw the sheer terror echoed. That meant he absolutely had to go save the dude.
He lifted the rifle off his shoulder and pointed it out of the broken window. He quickly aimed and fired a few shots in quick succession, before pulling the gun back onto his shoulder.
He knew he didn’t have much time to do this— the zombies would no doubt be attracted to the sound. They would either continue to surround the man or Charlie’s building. He had to get out of there as quick as possible.
Using the same tactics as before, he blocked the stairway exits behind him as he moved up the floors. Once he reached the roof exit, he had to use his shoulder to budge it open.
The weathered metal squeaked with a fervor, dusting his coat in a fine layer of rust. He saw something shamble towards him from the corner of his eye.
Spinning around, Charlie came face to face with a rotting woman, dressed in a bloodstained sweater. She cried out and lunged for him, but he quickly ducked and fell to the ground. She fell over an abandoned sunchair with a screech, slowly attempting to stand up.
Scrambling to his feet, his hand brushed against something on the ground. He instinctively grabbed it and pulled it in front of him, pointing at the corpse across from him.
Luckily for him, it was a metal beam of some sort. He didn’t want to risk shooting his rifle so close, the shrapnel would easily pierce him, so this seemed like the better option to… deal with the problem.
Hefting the beam up, he tightened his grip on the metal before swinging it with all his strength. The woman's head easily gave in, like wringing out a wet sponge. He swallowed down his nausea as he lowered the beam.
Charlie peered over his shoulder and noticed the beam appeared to come from a broken fence. Peering through the gap in the fence, he saw hoards had begun to congregate at the bottom of the building. They were, no doubt, attempting to force the doors down.
He only had a few precious minutes to escape and he wouldn't waste it.
Dropping the fence beam, he sprinted for the other side of the rooftop. A gap of a few feet spanned the length of his building and the nearest. With no hesitation, he hopped across the edge, arms reaching out desperately.
Before he could fall to his certain doom, Charlie felt his hand grasp onto something. Gasping, he tried to pull himself up on the piece of rebar he hung from. It took some struggle and wiggling around, but he managed to make the gap.
Once he got up to his feet, he didn't bother looking back before hopping between roofs once more. He fell into an easy pattern of jump, catch himself, get up and run. With this method, he managed to get close to the makeshift barrier with the imprisoned man.
From his vantage point, Charlie noticed the man had wedged himself under some debris, his yellow sweatshirt the only thing visible in the fading sunlight. None of the undead noticed the strange man buried, but he felt only relief at the thought. He really didn't want to know that he risked his life for nothing.
He figured the man was probably okay, but after a brief moment of consideration, he decided to still check on him.
Charlie scaled down one of the fire escapes after scrutinizing the nearby alleyways. The rifle dug into his shoulder painfully, reminding him of the little girl waiting back at the cabin. Juana had even tied her little bandana around the barrel– a good luck charm she said. She had insisted he bring the rifle along instead of his pistol-- it turned out her intuition was right. Otherwise, he didn't think he could have saved the strange man.
Making his way to the pile of rubble, he found the streets almost eerily quiet. Even though he knew most of the hoards would be on the other side of the barrier, Charlie still felt an unease working its way through his bones.
Finally, he managed to peek into the rubble and met the animalistic eyes of the man.
If it weren't for the sheer panic and determination in his eyes, Charlie would say he had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen.
Nevertheless, he took a quick glance behind him, before whispering furtively, "They're gone, you can come out now, but quietly."
The man, although clearly skeptical, crawled out of his hidey hole with little hesitation. He took a moment to stretch his arms, but he took a step back from Charlie as he did so. Charlie didn't blame him-- the man was probably used to violence.
“We gotta get out of here, man, those shitheads aren’t far.” He whispered back, pointing towards one of the alleys Charlie had exited from. Crouching down, the man picked up a backpack he hadn’t noticed before, and began slinking down the streets towards whatever destination he had in mind.
As he calmed down from the adrenaline rush, he examined his new companion curiously.
The man wore an unusually bright yellow sweatshirt, faded white lettering unintelligible but still apparent on the fabric. He had glasses similar to Charlie’s, although he had a thick glasses chain hung on them. And despite the ever-impending danger of their post-apocalyptic world, he didn’t appear to have any weapons on him.
Although, he reasoned, any weapons he had must’ve been taken by his captors.
As they moved further out of the main part of town and into the outskirts, Charlie felt a tingling on the back of his neck, like he was being watched. He kept a steady hand on the butt of his rifle and eased himself into slow, sweaty breathing. If there was somebody watching him, his trigger finger could speak more for his name than his lips.
They found themselves breaking into an abandoned convenience store, gingerly stepping over broken glass and empty shelves. The man led Charlie behind the old freezer walls using a key stored in his boot.
The space was cramped as they walked in— there was little more than some boxes of food and supplies, then a bed made in the furthermost corner. He felt his heart pang as he spotted an old stuffed dragon sitting on top of the bed, as if waiting for its’ owner to come back home. It reminded him of Juana.
The man immediately began to rummage through the boxes and rambled on as he did so, “I don’t have much to offer you, but I have some food and different medicines if you need it. My dau— somebody I was traveling with doesn’t need it anymore.”
He held out a box filled with different supplies, an indistinguishable expression on his face.
“Are— are you sure, dude? This is a lot.” He gingerly grabbed the box and held it tightly to his chest. Despite his insecurity about receiving the gift, he wouldn’t let the man take it back. He had spotted a few boxes of cold medicine and that shit was gold.
The man’s weary smile spoke volumes, “Yeah, man, we got seperated and I couldn’t meet at the rendezvous point, so— I guess I have to start— traveling? Searching for her. I don’t need this shit around.”
He turned to the door but stopped in his tracks, his heart pounding in his chest. He glanced behind himself and saw the man turned away, bending down to grab the little dragon.
This was the first time he could really see his face clearly. He had taken a few hits, notably in his bruised lip and rapidly-forming black eye. If he was a romantic, Charlie would’ve said it made his remaining eye sparkle. But he wasn’t, so he instead redirected his thoughts (and the conversation).
“Hey before I go, what’s your name?”
The man gave a tight lipped smile, “Don’t worry about it, it’s not important, desconocido.”
He lugged the stuff back to the cabin, his mind still stuck on the lonely stranger and his mysterious companion. Most of the survivors he met had been entirely survivalists— they rarely kept companions and when they did so, it was with the mutual understanding their partnership was paper-thin. He couldn’t count how many times he had seen a pair fight to an inevitable death over this.
But then Charlie reached the house and called out to Juana and he forgot all about the man.
And from there, Juana’s health steadily improved as her body got used to the medicine and the cold of the mountains. She still complained about the potato soup he made, but he counted that as a win. She had been so miserable that it was nice to see her feel better.
It wasn’t too long until she fully healed, maybe two weeks at most. And after she was strong enough to pull sleds, he set about teaching her to survive in the wilderness.
Charlie didn’t know much himself, but from the years he spent in isolation, he felt pretty confident in his abilities. And for everything he did NOT know, he took to the books in nearby cabins. So far, they seemed to be much more helpful in finding survival guides than actual libraries. He had even found a few handwritten tomes!
After a few weeks passed, he finally felt comfortable enough to take her with him on journeys to the city. Granted, most of his trust came from her recounting experiences in the town herself. After all, she had lived in the heart of the city with her caretaker for who knows how long. Juana was adept at using her Glock too, and she wasn’t afraid to remind him of the fact.
Overall, he felt like they had bonded a significant amount. He was still unsure of his newfound parenthood, but at least he knew he wasn’t terribly awful.
Spring started to bloom into summer by the time they took their first trek into town. Snow melted into slush underneath their boots, the pollen in the air making both their eyes water and turn red. As it turned out, they shared a hay fever allergy.
Juana held Charlie’s hand as they walked down the overgrown streets, weeds and wild sunflowers nipping at their knees. She swung their conjoined hands and hummed a little tune, her bandana wrapped around one of her wrists.
He made a mental checklist of the things they needed on the trip, eyes still peeled for the undead that could pop out on any corner. But they seemed relatively fine, even considering the warmer weather and activity levels.
They passed by one of his marked landmarks— an old diner sign wedged in the dirt, plasma leaking out of a crack in the plastic. He helped her jump over the sign and step into the shadows of a willow tree. The swaying branches brushed against their faces as they scoured the streets ahead.
Something shuffled ahead on the street and he crouched down, motioning for Juana to join him behind a fallen car. Pulling out his rifle and settling it against the hood, he whispered, “Okay, Juana, Papa’s gonna teach you a fun new trick! You see that guy over there?”
She nodded quickly, pulling out her own gun, “Are we gonna get him?”
“Yes! I’m going to teach you about,” He looked around conspiratorially, before whispering under his breath, “Scopes!”
Juana ooh’ed and crowded around him, watching as he explained the crosshairs and how to hold the rifle. Then he helped her carefully aim.
With one swift motion, she gunned down the zombie and he couldn’t feel any prouder.
Unfortunately, he didn’t really think it through as groans sounded out in the strip mall behind the corpse. Grotesque, rotten heads popped out from behind broken window displays, tongues lolling as they twitched and shuddered.
He scooped her up into his arms and backed up, just as an intense scream pierced the silence.
Her tiny hands gripped his shirt tightly. Palpable tension filled the air. As his eyes darted around, he couldn’t find much in terms of escape plans.
But Charlie didn’t have much time to think with the hoard growing in size, so he took off sprinting towards the woods, praying the gods were watching.
Low hanging branches snagged his clothing and scratched their arms, leaving bright red marks and pinprick droplets of blood. He held Juana closer, cradling her head on his collarbone.
Underbrush threatened to trip him but he stayed determined, his iron-capped boots clearing most of it away with swift kicks. From behind the two, he could hear the undead trying to trample through the weeds.
“My bandana!” Juana unexpectedly screeched, her eyes wide as she tried to reach behind Charlie.
Glancing backwards, he saw it fell off her wrist in their pursuit, tangled in the thorny branches of a gnarled tree. But he couldn’t risk going back for it— the hoard had grown exponentially in size and speed.
His legs sped up in terror and he couldn’t even bother to dignify her with a response. All he could do was run.
His rifle and her little pistol would do no damage to the hoard. By the time they could gun down a wave, another would already be on them. Charlie could only keep moving, in some far-off hope they could escape.
And like his prayers were answered, a miracle appeared in front of them.
A hiking trail gradually appeared and most importantly, an abandoned four wheeler, fortunately still upright.
Glancing back, he felt an inch of relief at seeing the hoard still a bit away. Maybe 200 feet if they were lucky.
With shaky hands, he set Juana down on the seat and sat behind her, keeping her safe. If his fortune couldn’t get any better, the keys were still hanging by the handles.
Jamming it into the ignition, he felt elation as the four wheeler started after only a few attempts. Revving the handles, he made sure Juana was still secure before zooming off.
Following the bumpy trail, his brain raced with thoughts of escape. He tried to remember the details of his map at home, but it was no use.
From what hiking trails he could remember around the area, Charlie didn’t think they could make it back to the cabin. Cliffs and a lake obscured the land leading to their home, the only entrance being the little town they were trying to leave.
Charlie realized he would just have to keep driving and pray for divine intervention, even if he really didn’t believe in any gods.
Mud splattered over the vehicle and their faces as they kept driving up the mountain. Occasionally they would change directions and try to get behind the hoard to sneak past, but it was to no avail. His heart plummeted at the thought.
And when he thought all hope was lost, Juana hurriedly slapped his arm and pointed upwards. Her voice had long become hoarse from crying, but he was finally able to see what she was gesturing to.
High above the mountains, on a little secluded path leading up, a blue building stood on high legs. It looked abandoned, but fairly safe, lifted high off the ground by a ladder and staircase.
It was a firewatch tower.
But unfortunately, it looked like their four wheeler wouldn’t fit on the path. But Charlie already decided it was their best bet, if the place was unlooted, it would probably have a radio to call for help.
He raised a finger to his lips and she nodded back at him, repeating the same motion.
Turning off the engine, he scooped her up in his arms and set off. He resisted the mud pulling at his boots, intent on keeping his new daughter safe from the oncoming threat.
Charlie hoped they would lose their trail, otherwise he…
Well, he didn’t want to think of the aftermath.
He struggled up the rocks with the child in his arms, but he refused to put her down. It was not a hike for the weak of heart.
Rocks scraped against his arms as he shouldered past a boulder. He found the path to be much smoother, though, so he quickly jogged up to the tower.
The tower was, now that they were closer, more beat-up than previously thought. Aside from cosmetic damage like peeling paint, the ladder leading up the stairs was dented and curled oddly. The stairs themselves missed a sizeable chunk of planks so a few steps were gone. Not to mention the broken glass interspersed with boarded windows.
But then Charlie heard distant screams from off in the forest, so he sprinted to the ladder.
His heart pounded with fear as he scrambled up the ladder. Juana wrapped her arms and legs around him like a spider monkey, clinging desperately as she watched the hoards with wide eyes.
As they got to the top of the ladder, he gingerly set her down on the stairs, “Hold onto the railing for me, okay?” After she nodded and did as he instructed, he turned around and started kicking at the ladder.
It wasn’t a surprise when the ladder busted with how rusty the metal was. It left a gap of almost six feet to the ground, but Charlie didn’t really expect for them to try to get back down. All he wanted was to give Juana a few precious more minutes to live .
Juana was, thankfully, still clutching to the railing. He had been scared she would fall off with the force, but she was stronger than she looked. He helped to quickly guide her up the stairs, picking her up when the gaps in-between the steps became too wide.
His hands shook on the doorknob to the cabin, sweaty with exertion and pain all at once. When wiped it off on his shirt and tried again, finding the door unlocked.
Pushing inside, he set the girl down and darted around the small cabin, pushing an empty bed frame and a dresser against the door. Although most of the windows were obscured by the boards, he could peek through some of the flats, so he set his rifle up against the biggest space he could find.
His heart sank as he took note of everything in the room, especially the propane tanks in the corner, but he didn’t let it stop him. Gathering up what he needed, he got to work setting up something that could reasonably be called a plan.
Finally, Charlie kneeled down and grabbed the girl by the shoulders, “This is very important, Juanaflippa, that you listen to Papa okay? Can you listen really carefully for me?”
She gave him a hesitant nod, her hands clutching onto the pistol in her hands, “Are we gonna see Dad?”
He smiled unsteadily and said, “Yeah… yeah, we’re gonna see him real soon, okay? But before then, we have to be quiet, like we’re playing hide and seek. When I tell you to run, climb up that ladder and stay on the roof.”
Charlie pointed at the ladder in the corner, leading up to a hatch in the ceiling. It had been cracked open an inch by himself, revealing faded daylight.
“But when you get up there, you have to lock it, no matter what.” His lungs heaved for air, feeling heavy in the cloying heat of the stale room, “Even if I’m not there, but it’ll be okay, because I have a plan.”
She had never seemed so small before, she had always looked confident and tall, even with her short stature. But now, buried in her big winter coat with her helmet on her head, she was but a child. And he dreaded putting her in the line of danger, but some foolish part of his heart thought maybe she would be alright. Maybe they would be alright.
He gently coaxed her into hiding in one of the cabinets near the ladder, promising that it wouldn’t lock. He still felt guilty though, watching her eyes widen in terror as he shut the door. It probably wasn’t the… best idea to keep her in a tiny cabinet. Only heavens knew how much it traumatized her the first time.
But, he reasoned with himself, aren’t all apocalypses traumatizing?
Now that she was safely tucked away, he set about prying open one of the broken windows. As he poked his head out the window, he noticed it was a straight shot down the side of the mountain. It was perfect— the view would do nicely for what he planned.
Breathing in the crisp mountain air for possibly the last time, Charlie picked up his rifle and waited for the undead to come crawling.
He would not wait for long until they managed to catch the scent, slowly trickling up the path to the abandoned vehicle. Taking this opportunity for what it was, he let himself pick a few off with his gun.
At first, they were confused at the sight of their brethren falling, until one unlucky soul caught a whiff up the side of the rocks. Then all hell broke loose.
They scrambled up like little minions of hell, slobber dripping down what remained of their faces. Their fingers tore off easily on the rocks, but the monsters didn’t care as they hunted down their prey, animalistic screeches erupting throughout the forest.
The tower has proven to be an effective hiding place, he found. The mindless zombies couldn’t figure out how to climb the poles keeping it aloft, so he was able to shoot without stop.
Charlie found his luck quickly running out, as he exhausted the rest of the ammo in the station, leaving only a few bullets in his pockets. As he stared down at the gun, awful thoughts ran through his head.
Their situation felt… hopeless.
But another growl tore him from his thoughts and he shivered. He couldn’t let anything happen to Flippa, even from himself, even if they were inches away from death.
And from below, the undead began to pile onto each other. If they were allowed to pile even more— no, he would not allow it.
So he shoved his rifle to the side and hauled one of the propane tanks over his shoulder. He looked back to the cabinet and shouted, “Now, Juana! Now!”
Then he threw the tank out and grabbed his gun.
It felt like slow motion as he watched her dart up the ladder. And as the hatch closed, he fired a shot outside, aimed true.
As he tried to turn around, he felt heat ripple across his back and parts of his chest. Charlie let out a scream, unheard as the explosion shook the earth beneath his feet. He fell to the ground, unsure if his fate was decided by the explosion itself or his own unsteady gait.
The pain was unbearable as he tried to force himself to stand, shuffling towards the ladder to check on the girl. He gasped as he lost his balance, stumbling over a loose floorboard. But he continued onwards, hauling himself up the ladder rung by rung.
He managed to undo the hatch with uneasy hands, finding a face watching over him as he pushed himself up.
Flippa grabbed him by the arm and pulled with all of her might, squeaking out a small, “How heavy are you?” But with both of their combined power, they managed to heave himself up onto the roof.
He panted as he stared up at the stars beginning to crawl out of the twilight sky, twinkling merrily as if there wasn’t a fucking bloodbath beneath them. Distantly, he heard somebody scream as he pondered his jealousy over the celestial beings.
But then he turned his head and audibly gasped.
Coming out of the woods, instead of more zombies like he feared, was the fucking man from before. A group of other people came out behind him, each wielding their own weapons as they set about getting rid of the rest of the infestation. But the man?
He looked manic with the frankly massive gun in his arms, his hair tousled in the wind as his whole body heaved with exhaustion. But then he lifted up one of his hands and yelled, “MOTHERFUCKER, YOU HAVE MY DAUGHTER.”
He was clutching Juanaflippa’s bandana. The same one that fell off in their chase.
Slowly, Charlie turned his head and found Flippa grinning, almost jumping in joy, “DADDY! You came back!”
He would’ve laughed at the irony of the situation if his throat wasn’t trying to burn him alive. Instead he let out a raspy cough.
This turned Flippa’s attention back to him and her forehead wrinkled with worry, “Papa! You’re hurt! Get up! Get up!”
But try as he might, Charlie couldn’t. His vision swam as he felt another hoarse scream erupt from his chest.
“Daddy! Help Papa!”
His vision blacked out, Flippa and the man from before huddled over him as his eyes closed.
He awoke with a gasp in an unfamiliar bed. Sweat coated his skin, making him shiver, as he threw off the scratchy blankets covering him.
Then finally, his vision was restored and he found himself in what looked like an old bedroom. He looked down and found himself in a pair of loose sweatpants, bandages cascading up his torso and neck. His left arm had been put in a sling, making it awkward as he attempted to get out of the bed.
After some struggling, he managed to heave open the door and stumbled out. The house he was in was silent but clean, making it easy for him to find the front door and fling it wide open.
He was met with a blast of salty ocean air and his mouth fell as he gazed out in wonder.
Miles and miles upon ocean waves greeted him, kissing the sandy shores a mile away. He found the house was situated on a grassy cliff above a small settlement, which spanned almost the entire island they were on. Yes, island.
Charlie couldn’t believe the sight of actual human beings walking below, chatting to each other, carrying baskets of fruit, building wooden houses up.
This must’ve been heaven, he must’ve died on that tower—
The tower.
Juanaflippa.
His head flung around as he tried to locate the little girl, even if to catch a glimpse of her braids or her stupid helmet. If this was heaven, she would surely be there, she had to be.
But instead of an angelic little girl, he found the man in the yellow hoodie, sitting in a rocking chair on the porch. He begrudgingly nodded at Charlie and gestured towards another chair next to him, “Sit, it isn’t healthy to be up so fast.”
Dumbfounded, he let himself be guided to the chair, the wood grain poking at his arm as he let it rest. His back gave a gentle ache as he tried to sit back, so he opted to lean forwards.
“You— what’s this— where’s Flippa?” He finally managed to sputter out.
Charlie told himself to ignore the man’s nice smile as he gestured outwards, “Isla paraiso, or Quesadilla Island as we call ourselves. It’s— been a while since you knocked yourself out.”
“That’s not what I asked, where’s Juana.”
“Sleeping.” He nodded back towards the house, “It’s funny, isn’t it? She’s been waking up early every morning to check on you, the one morning she slept in, you woke up.”
He struggled to stand up, to check on her, but the man laid a gentle hand on his good arm and forced him to sit.
“Don’t worry, we’re safe from the outbreak here, we’re a closed community.” He gave a tight-lipped smile, “Me and Juana we’re gonna sail here before winter, but— well, you know the story.”
“Jackass raiders.” Charlie nodded along, slowly calming down as he came to terms with the entire— place. Situation, whatever.
“Juana still calls you Papa.” The man looked out over the crystal seas, “I guess if we’re going to be coparenting, we’ve gotta know each other, eh?”
He snorted, “I’m still Charlie, if you’re asking.”
The man turned to him and he couldn’t stop himself from lingering on his eyes, “The name’s Mariana.”