Chapter 5

A hangover was a distinct improvement over a concussion. The plug must have a slow leak, because after she drank as much as she dared, it was half empty. The faucet dripped occasionally, but the pressure was for all purposes nonexistent. It was still dark outside, even darker without the streetlights.

The power wasn't for the whole city, the sky behind the buildings glowed with electric lights. She drank a little more water from the sink, and lay back down. Wrapped in the blanket, she was warm enough. Did he realize how effective what he was doing would be? Keep her weak, and in constant pain. Make her grateful for a thin blanket against the cold. Eventually, anyone will break, but under these conditions she didn't know how long she could hold out.

It would have been better if he'd just raped her the first night. She knew in her heart that if she begged him for it, she'd never again have the nerve to escape. The power was out in the house as well, the clock on the microwave no longer glowed green against the darkness. Without water or power, how long would he stay here? Not long, he didn't seem the type to rough it. So he would leave, and because he wanted her, he would take her with him. New surroundings would bring new opportunities, and almost any change would be to her benefit.

She could last another day at least. One more day, take everything a day at a time, just like her grandfather had taught her. Eventually she was able to sleep again, dreaming this time of him and the stories he'd told her as a child.

By the time he kicked her awake, her headache was almost gone, but she was cold and stiff. He didn't look good, probably he'd drunk more after she'd passed out. He stared down at her with dull eyes for a long time before speaking. "You ready for me?" his voice was hoarse, with some of the whine back in it. "Suck me off, and you can eat."

Her stomach panged when he said it, but one look at him was enough to put steel in her spine. He was doing it on purpose, had to be, but he was still naked from the night before. The skin around his crotch had turned a greyish-green. The veins on his penis and those leading away from it were traced in black. She didn't say anything, couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make her situation worse. He was dying. It was just a guess on her part, but she was sure she was right. It wouldn't do any good to tell him, he wouldn't let her go even if he believed her.

Marla looked into his eyes in silent appeal. He looked away, "No food today, even if you do beg." then stalked into the other room. Moments later she heard him cursing. From the few non swear words he uttered, he had just realized the electricity was out.

He went on for a few minutes, occasionally slamming things around, then stopped suddenly. A muffled thumping came from the other room. He ran upstairs and slammed a door, then didn't move for a long time. Eventually the thumping stopped. He didn't come down though.

No food, but also no incentive for her to break today. Did he just want to weaken her? It really didn't matter. The water level in the sink had dropped again, so she drank as much as she could. After a while she drank more and used the empty mixing bowl for a toilet. There was no sense rationing the water, it would leak out before she could drink it all anyway.

It might have been an hour later that at least four cars drove by the street out front. The boy pounded down the stairs and cursed as they passed on. He was quiet for a while, then talked softly to someone. He came in, phone in hand. He was dressed, but his feet were bare. "How about this place, what did Enrique tell you about it?" He rummaged through the fridge and came out with half a six-pack of beer. He gulped one down while he listened, then tossed it to clatter on the floor. "Sounds good, I'm in. I'll be there in an hour, ready to rock and roll." He hung up and swilled another beer. "Hey Puta, we're moving. Papa found you a new home up in the mountains."

She didn't say anything. He glared at her, but it was him that looked away, flushing. He brought a bag in from the living room. His hands shook while he filled it with food. When he was done, he went back into the living room. The plastic bags clinked as he set them by the back door. He put his steel toed boots back on, drank the last beer, checked his pistol and came for her. He unhooked the leash, then undid one end of the heavy chain. He lifted her up by it, then held it low, keeping her off balance. He leaned the shotgun against the door frame, and opened the door.

He picked up the shotgun and started down the porch stairs. Bent over like she was it was a moment before she noticed he'd pulled the car all the way in, and left the door open. A snarl came from the right, and two zombies came around the corner. He screamed and shoved her down the stairs, straight into their arms. She lowered her head and kept moving, ramming her head into one of their chests. Its cold hands grabbed at her but she was moving too fast. It fell over and she barely avoided stepping on it as she hurtled past.

The shotgun boomed and he cursed in rapid Spanish. It boomed again as she hit the brick wall with her shoulder and spun around. The one she'd hit was back up, headed towards the sounds. The other was down, body torn by the shotgun blasts, but still it crawled towards him. Another was behind him, hands clutching his denim jacket. She only had eyes for one thing.

The police car door was open. Marla ran for it, and bit her lip to keep from screaming as she stepped on something sharp. She tasted blood, but kept moving, ignoring the pain. Another walker lurched into the yard, between her and the open door. The boy screamed as the one behind him finally managed to bite him. He dropped the shotgun and reached into his baggy pants for the pistol. Marla ducked behind the walker. It didn't seem to notice her, attention fixed on the screaming, bleeding prey in front of it.