Eve

Chapter 18

Last night was the last time I heard Levon's voice. It's been almost twenty-four hours now since he last spoke. Coherently, I mean.

I brush my hand through his hair. His forehead's drenched in sweat. His breathing is shallow. His leg is a nightmare.

Crack.

I peek over the counter. Through the window the darkness outside is almost complete – trees and cars are silhouettes of a softer shade of black against the black. Jesus, what a crappy sentence.

Moving on.

And the silence... the silence is eerie. Every cracking branch I think it's a zombie. Every cicada might be a pirate.

I sit back, leaning against the beer fridge. We found the Denny's by the highway, maybe a mile away from the warehouse. It was night when we arrived – we spent the better part of yesterday hiding behind a shack, waiting for the herd to disperse. At sundown, we left, and it took us close to three hours to find a place where we could rest properly.

Not that Denny's is a place where you can rest properly, that's not what I'm saying. I'm not insane.

But, you know, better than a shack. I think.

We spent the night, and all the medical knowledge I've accumulated over seventeen years of not being a doctor told me that Levon's leg might wake up better in the morning. It didn't. Now it's night again, and that thing's looking worse by the second.

And no, I'm not taking the metal out. Are you insane? I'll probably kill him. Plus, it's really gross, I don't wanna touch it.

But seriously, I gotta do something about it. That thing looks infected as f –

"Eve..."

Levon's eyes are open.

"Levon? Are you ok?" I shake him.

"Her name's Eve," Levon says. His eyes are on me, but he's not looking at me. "What?" he continues, his pupil going left and right behind his half-closed lids. "Yeah, she's my girlfriend. She's a zombie. But she's very cool, mom. I know you'll like her."

I keep brushing his hair. His eyes close again. I rest my back against the fridge and Levon goes quiet.

Somewhere in the distance outside this Denny's by the side of interstate nowhere, a dog barks.

"Rest, Levon. Rest."

Morning comes and I make a decision. It's a risky move, but I have to leave Levon for a while. To look for a car. We can't exactly stay here until his leg completely rots off.

I mean, we can, but fuck me, I have feelings.

Outside in the morning sun, I find an old Pickup truck with some gas still in it in, something like half a mile away. I drive it back to Denny's. Inside, Levon's wound is dark and veiny and disgusting, but at least he's awake. His forehead is boiling and his eyes are red, but he's awake, all right. I pull him up by the shoulders. "Come on, we gotta go."
"What?"

"I found a car. We gotta get that leg of yours looked at."

"Where are we going?"

I lean him against the wall and pull the pad. Found a car. Find place to fix leg.

"I don't think my health care payments are up to date."

Dragging him outside to the sun, I chuckle. Maybe just to cheer him up.

Believe me, I'm in no chuckling mood.

"Come on. We gotta finds drugs."

Antibiotics. That's what he needs. It's all I feel comfortable doing, anyway. Maybe his leg will still rot off, but then at least I'll feel like I tried.