Zombie Soap 3: Revolution

Seven

Diego

As Monica followed a young man past the dingy motel toward a drab building in the back of the parking lot, Diego stayed with Taylor and Abby.

A Latina woman—likely in her thirties—cleared a table, wiped it down, and disinfected her hands with a medical grade bottle of sanitizer. Two men—one African American and one White—helped Diego lift Taylor onto the table as the woman gathered medical tools and placed them on a tray. Finding a pair of gloves, she asked, "What should I know about this man? Is he infected?"

The pace at which she spoke and bypassed all introductions surprised Diego, but he quickly recovered and shook his head. "No. Taylor," he said, pointing at his unconscious boyfriend, "was shot as we escaped a military facility."

Diego considered his next words as the woman cut Taylor's shirt away from his body. She worked efficiently, seemingly possessing nerves of steel as she poured alcohol on a strip of cloth and sterilized his back. Taylor jerked and grunted, but otherwise remained unconscious. Abby stood in a corner, hugging herself and staring at the floor while the two men hovered nearby.

Using a magnifying glass on a stand, the woman reached for a tool and spoke while she worked, never taking her eyes off her patient. "Espera afuera," she ordered. With a nod, they left the room and shut the door behind them, and the woman wasted no time addressing Diego. "¿Hablas español?"

"Sí."

"Good, this will be easier. I speak English, but prefer Spanish," she explained in her native language. "What about the girl? Did she have exposure to the zombies? I normally do a very thorough inspection before I let folks run 'round, but this boy won't survive if I wait. He's lost some blood."

"I promise you on my grandmother's grave we have not brought any diseases with us. We just need to stitch him up and go; I'll trade whatever I need if you require it." Diego wasn't sure what he could contribute, but this was a post-apocalyptic world with Wild West laws.

She cast him a sharp glance before returning to her work. "The end of the world isn't an excuse to become uncivilized. Keep your things; you will need them on your journey. It's not safe anywhere right now."

She wasn't wrong. The military had proven within days they couldn't be trusted; Diego wasn't sure he'd trusted them even before the world collapsed. The government had been too busy fighting culture wars instead of serving their constituents. "Have you heard anything from the outside world?"

Trouble clouded her light brown eyes. "We rely on a short-range radio for news. We've heard warnings of gangs, looters, and traffickers alike on the outside. People are already fighting over resources, and we've had to drive some folks away who would otherwise do us harm."

Diego figured as much. Resources would be scarce, especially now with the winter approaching. "Any routes I should avoid?"

Abby sat on the floor and leaned against the wall. If Monica had been here, she would have tried to comfort her, but Diego didn't have the time, patience, or clue about what to say. He had to hope the teenager would be okay until they got back out on the road.

"I will give you instructions before you leave." Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder and spoke to Abby in English. "Would you like to use the bathroom and shower? You might not have a chance later." When Abby opened her eyes and slowly nodded, the woman's features softened into the kind of smile a mother or an auntie would give to a beloved family member. "If you look inside the locker next to the bathroom, you'll find some clean clothes and a towel. There is body wash and shampoo on the counter."

Once Abby disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door, Diego watched the woman work on Taylor and relayed the events in rapid Spanish, sticking only to the basic facts. She seemed nice, but that didn't make her trustworthy, and unfortunately, Diego didn't have time to screen her. He'd have to trust she would do her best to take care of Taylor.