Z-APOC: When John Met Sarah by Joe Ducie

Author:Joe Ducie [Ducie, Joe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cedar Sky Publishing
Published: 2012-10-27T23:00:00+00:00

III - The Free Man

Later that night, after true dark had fallen, John sat behind Norris’ desk in a swivel chair, going through the drawers and looking for anything of use. Sarah lay on the floor, crying softly. All John had been able to do for her leg was splint it with the broken halves of Thumper, cleaned up and wrapped in bandages.

Sleep was impossible, as every so often one or more of the Z’s would stumble past the door.

Finding nothing worth scavenging, John sighed and tapped his pocket and the keys to the Cherokee. He could make it on his own, he was sure, if he had a distraction—something to pull the horde away from the loading dock. Bait, perhaps... The semi-automatic pistol strapped to his belt would serve as a replacement weapon if he encountered any stragglers. He’d never had to use the gun before, but without Thumper, those twelve bullets, however loud, suddenly seemed like a helluva good idea.

But what about Sarah? John thought on the pistol again, and shook his head. Putting Z’s down was one thing...

“John, are you there?” a tiny, scared voice whispered into the dark.

“I’m here.”

Sarah sighed. “I dozed off for a minute. Thought you might have... might have left me.”

John didn’t let himself feel guilty about thinking just that. He didn’t want to die here. “Two painkillers left, if you want them.”

“No.” She paused. “My bag, I can’t do it myself. Hurts to move. There’s... medicine in my bag.”

John stood and walked around the desk. He knelt down in front of Sarah and turned on the torch, casting a cone of light over her prone form, splayed out on the floor. She looked corpse-like, her pale face covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Okay, medicine, sure. Something to dull the pain?”

“No...”

Sarah didn’t let her bag go, but she unzipped the mouth and, after a moment’s consideration in which she stared deep into John’s eyes, removed a small leather pouch about the size and thickness of a deck of playing cards. She unclasped the pouch and soft, ethereal light shone from within.

Sarah removed a plastic cylinder containing a single syringe, full of some white, shining fluid—like metal burning white-hot.

“I need you to inject me, behind my knee, with half of what’s in this needle.”

“What is in the needle?” John asked. He kept an ear trained on the door, listening for the telltale rasp.

“Please, just do as I ask.”

Sarah unscrewed the plastic cylinder and removed the syringe. She handled it gently, as if it were the most precious thing in the world, and gave it to John with some reluctance.

“Only use half,” she warned.

John bit his tongue and nodded. He removed the cap as Sarah turned on her side, and pierced her skin just behind her knee. She tensed. With care, John injected half the glowing substance into her leg and withdrew the needle.

“Quick, cap it and put it back—don’t drop it! That’s all there is in the world now.”

He capped the needle and secured it in the cylinder, which went back into the pouch, which went back into Sarah’s bag.

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