Shoving her freshly washed hair out of her face, Emma drew in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then exhaled. She repeated it a few times until she was more in control. It was a trick her grandfather had taught her and it helped quell anxiety.
Earlier, when Emma had sat down in the dining room for a dinner of macaroni and cheese and homemade biscuits, she’d discovered her legend had grown significantly. It was a little daunting to have so many people gathering at her table asking questions about her past and how she’d found the Fort.
Luckily, Monica
and Bette had arrived to save her. Emma had been grateful. She’d enjoyed the dinner and conversation with the two women even though she’d been keenly aware of being observed by others. The couple seemed to understand her discomfort. Both had made an effort to divert the attention of the people who attempted to approach Emma. She greatly appreciated their consideration.
Emma had briefly glimpsed Juan and his children at the far end of the hotel dining room, but hadn’t dared leave the comfort of Monica and Bette’s company. Seeing Juan with four kids of varying ages and a German Shepard had made her heart ache for Billy. At least some people were able to be parents despite the horrors of the apocalypse. If humanity was to survive, it would need a new generation raised with an understanding of the new world.
Sadly, she didn’t get that chance.
Neither had that mother outside the wall.
That thought was sobering and she patted away more tears.
She had an invitation to join Bette and Monica downstairs for some beers and conversation. It would be easier to hide in her new room. Did she really want to go down and be social? She didn’t want to talk about being a fearless zombie killer or discuss the scene outside the wall. Additionally, there were a lot of rumors about what had happened to Ed’s group after they had left the Fort. Eddie showing up at the wall as a member of the undead had upset plenty of people and speculation was running rampant. Emma’s cursory understanding of the situation made it difficult to discern what was based in fact or the concoction of someone’s wild imagination.
Picking up the hand-drawn map Monica had given her earlier, Emma tried to memorize the layout of the Fort. Juan was right. It definitely resembled a medieval fortress with its rings of walls centered around the towering hotel. Monica had been considerate enough to mark the area where they were meeting for beers and conversation.
Emma sighed heavily, surrendering. “Aw, shit.”
She had to keep living.
No more hiding.
Folding the paper and tucking it into her jeans, she took another calming breath while pulling out a new pair of colorful and wildly patterned socks from the package. She slipped them on then reached for her battered boots. They were still comfortable, so she hadn’t picked up a new pair. Besides, they’d been a graduation gift from her grandfather. They made her feel connected to the good parts of her past.
Once she was done making herself presentable, she headed out of the hotel room. The hallway and the elevator were empty, giving her a few more moments to herself. But when the elevator doors opened on the lobby, she was immediately overcome with the sound of conversation echoing through the vast room. Again, overwhelmed, she nearly ducked back into the elevator.
Glancing up at a sign taped far up on the wall that read “New plan. Fuck it,” Emma steeled herself and strode into the surprisingly busy lobby. Though a few people glanced her way, most appeared intent on observing a white knuckle match between two elderly gentlemen playing chess. A quick look around the vast room revealed that it was in use as a common area. People were playing board games, knitting, quilting, or just sitting and chatting. Most of the people were older and the atmosphere was comforting. It reminded Emma of her grandparents’ living room.
She skirted past the group and followed the signs pointing to the hotel exit. What appeared to be a janitor’s closet had been converted into an entrance. Faded safety posters remained on the wall, but were covered in graffiti. Emma found some of the notations a little amusing. Someone had even drawn zombies in some of the illustrations.
Outside the air was humid, though cooler. Standing near the entrance of the hotel, she stared out over the spacious area that she had been told was the first walled in section of the Fort. It was the size of a city block, yet claustrophobic with the cement block wall enclosing it. She couldn’t imagine what it had been like in those first days when the Fort had been being built while zombies destroyed the world.
The lights in City Hall were on, as were the lights in the portable building tucked up against the back side of the old newspaper establishment. The memorial area appeared to be empty. She walked along a well-worn pathway that cut between City Hall and the flourishing garden.
Near the far end of the enclosed block, beside the wall bordering a street lined with small stores, was an area set up with picnic tables, old lawn furniture, and several large barbecue pits and smokers. It was here that Bette and Monica were sipping beers and chatting. Arnold and Lenore, the couple she’d seen when she’d first arrived at the Fort, were seated on top of a nearby picnic table arguing passionately about Snape from the Harry Potter books. A few other people Emma didn’t recognize were gathered around a cooler filled with ice and bottles of beer.
“There you are!” Monica called out. “Grab a beer and take a seat.”
Emma squeezed past a few people discussing the successes of the day. She picked up a frosty bottle of beer and pulled a battered lawn chair over to the couple. Taking her seat, she twisted off the cap and took a swig. It was light beer and tasted awful. She was a whiskey lover, but the alcohol would help her relax.
“How’s it going?” Bette asked.
“Better. Got a nap earlier.”
“I would have killed for a nap today,” Bette admitted. “We were swamped until nearly dinner. I wish I could take one day and just sleep! It would be nice to have a break from zombies.”
Emma understood that desire oh-too-well and how often that sort of wish wasn’t fulfilled. She would never recover from the sleep she’d lost since Billy was born. The zombie apocalypse hadn’t helped her sleep deprivation either.
“Today got pretty borked,” Monica said with the shake of her head. “All those damn runners sprinting around made our job hard today.”
Bette focused on Emma. “Is it true about the woman with the zombie kid? She had him in a mask?”
Emma took another sip of her beer. It didn’t taste any better. “Sadly, yes.”
“For real? That’s fucked up.” Monica winced. “Where’d you hear about that, babe?”