Chapter 2

She woke with a start and found that her nightmares were real. Her body was cold and stiff, her head pounded, but worst of all was her dry mouth. It only got worse as the day wore on. Outside was a nice spring day, as nice a day as you could have with dead people walking around and eating live ones. She saw three more people die, and hundreds of dead ones wandered past. Inside the patrol car, the temperature soared into the nineties.

Marla tried to sleep to conserve her energy. surely someone would come after the cops, she could last another day, maybe even two or three if she kept calm and saved her energy. She closed her eyes and mentally ran down the list of human bones.

She dreamed Death. He held out his hand to her. Cool moist air blew from the river Styx, one mouthful and she would forget everything and everyone, but she was so thirsty. He looked at her, his eyes glowing red spots in his skull face. "Come on." He beckoned to her with his skeletal hand. One drink and she could forget about the cramps in her thighs and gut, the biting pain in her wrists, and the needles stabbing into her head.

"Come on." Thump, thump. Death had a Spanish accent now. "Chingada arma!" Thump. "Got it, Gracas a Deus!" He faded away as the sound of a shotgun racking brought her awake. The car was running, moving slowly, and blessed cool air flowed from the air conditioner. The driver admired the shotgun he'd pried free from the rack and swerved around a cluster of walking dead. He lay the weapon on the seat, and dialed a cell phone. Cursing, he clicked it shut again and tuned a corner, accelerating.

He wasn't a cop, she was pretty sure of that, but he was alive. She tried to talk, but only managed a hoarse moan. He twitched at the sound and sideswiped an SUV. Then he over-corrected and narrowly missed a cluster of zombies milling under a streetlight. They skidded to a stop as he scrabbled for the shotgun. His face was young and scared in the light from the street lamp. The weapon was awkward inside the car, he had trouble bringing it to bear.

Marla dodged as much as she could, leaning over to the middle of the seat. She yelled "No!", but it came out as a dry croak. She tried again, with slightly better results. The car, still in drive, drifted forward and knocked over a zombie. They were attracting a crowd. "Drive," she whispered, "get us away from here"

He took a good hard look at her, his gaze lingered on her breasts and crotch. "You got it mamacita, I'll take you back to my place." He gunned the engine, hopping up onto the side walk, and running down a couple of walkers. The car thumped over their bodies, swerved back onto the road, and sped away from the gathering crowd. He looked at her in the rear view mirror, a malicious smile in his eyes.

They drove down a street without power. He stopped at the corner, then turned the car to shine the headlights on a shattered storefront. He cursed in Spanish, and peeled away down an unlit side street. Marla had no idea where they were. He pulled up in front of a corner drugstore and killed the engine. "Stay right here mamacita" he said.

"Let me out." She croaked. It hurt her throat to talk, either he didn't hear her or he ignored her. She struggled frantically to get free, but it was useless. She was weaker than she had been, and she still couldn't reach the buckle. She sat in the shadows, afraid and alone.

He had been gone far too long. A group of the dead shambled past, they could have followed the car, or they could just be wandering. She'd seen them the day before wandering aimlessly. If they heard a noise they would follow it. Loud noises like screams or gunfire really got their attention. They seemed to be attracted to lights as well. She kept very quiet and they shuffled past, not paying for any attention to her or the patrol car, headed for the lights shining on the next street over.

The door opened and she jumped, terrified until she saw his face again. The soft glow of the dome light made the boy look much younger than she thought he would be. He was probably only fifteen or sixteen. Gang tattoos were visible under his grimy white tank top. He took a good long look and smiled broadly. "Come on out, chica." He opened the front of the car and loaded shopping bags from the sidewalk onto the front seat. When he was done he came back and told her to get out again.

The look he gave her made her feel dirty all over. She tried to explain why she couldn't get out, but he didn't pay any attention, just grabbed her breast with one dirty hand and pulled hard. She grit her teeth and kept quiet, not wanting to attract the dead. He tried once more then realized she was trapped. He hit the release for the seat belt and pulled again. Her legs were stiff and numb from sitting in one position so long. She fell out of the car and hit the sidewalk hard, scraping off skin. She yelped, biting her lip to keep from screaming. He lifted her handcuffed wrists and used them as a lever to force her into the front seat.

The world spun again. She was alone once more, but she wasn't strapped down and she was in the front seat. He'd left keys in the car. Ignoring the stabbing pain behind her eyes, she forced her aching joints to move. Bottles of prescription drugs spilled from the bags. Lying on her back on the front seat, she put her feet on the ceiling and eased her wrists towards her butt. Her body throbbed with pain as she slipped one hand then the other closer and closer to where she could bring them around to the front of her body. She was almost there when the door opened again.

"Don' move puta." He looked at the keys in the ignition and glared at her fiercely. "Going to leave me behind bitch?" He slammed the barrel of the shotgun hard into the small of her back. Gasping with pain, Marla rolled onto the floor and curled into a ball. "Stay right there. If you get up before I tell you, I'll leave you with the dead ones." He leaned over and grabbed the keys then filled the back seat with cases of liquor. Then he was gone again.

She could get out of the car, she was sure that. But then what? She probably wouldn't last an hour. And if she stayed where she was? It was obvious what he wanted her for. That was better than death, probably. Judging by the supplies he'd brought back to the car, chances weren't too good to with him either. He'd stolen a cop car, and filled it with drugs and booze. If he was part of a larger group it might make sense if he was looking for specific things. But if he was, why was he alone?

A few minutes later she heard a flurry of gunshots close by. He opened the door swearing under his breath in Spanish. He piled bags on top of her, closed the door and went around to the driver's side. As soon as the engine turned over, he gunned it for all it was worth. His phone beeped. He flipped it open, scowled at the screen, then punched buttons while he drove one handed.