Page 49 of When the Living Fall

“What? Oh, uh, William.”

“Great. William, here she is. Hop in and I’ll start ‘er up.”

I vault into the truck bed, and he hops into the driver’s seat. Once he’s inside, he starts the engine, and I scan the scene from my vantage point. Flames soar high into the sky and smoke curls into the air. I can still see the survivors fighting with everything they have.

Kevin glances back at me and shifts into gear. “Alright, so tell me, William. What’s the plan?”

He eases the truck into motion and drives away from thetown, but nobody, especially rotters, is paying attention to us. That needs to change.

“Turn on the radio and blast it. We need to draw their attention with sound. Music is a favorite of mine.” And Emily’s.

“Yeah, about that…not going to work.”

“What do you mean?”

“That thing’s been busted ever since I found her.” Runs quiet as a kitten.”

“Kittens aren’t quiet.” I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue. I kneel down to look through the open window, and straight at the hole in the truck where a radio used to be. “Shit.”

“Got a backup plan?”

“Yeah. We need another car.”

An explosion erupts on the other side of town. Flames burst into the sky, and Kevin’s face falls. “Well, that might not be an option anymore. That explosion is where we kept most of our cars.”

I slam my fist into the back of the truck bed. Kevin winces, looking at me. “Hey, hey, hey, watch it. She’s our only way out of this.”

“We need music. Sound. Something, anything.” My mind races, trying to come up with a new plan, but it’s coming up blank. All I can do is think about how Emily needs me, and I’m failing her. I could scream and shout, but I doubt I could be loud enough to be heard how I need to be. I gave up my harmonica so Emily could keep her compass—something I’ll never regret—but damn, that would be so useful to have right now.

Doing the only thing I can think of, I stick two fingers into my mouth and whistle, but it’s not enough. All it does is blend in with the ongoing destruction. Well, except for one rotter that starts limping toward us. That’s a start.

Kevin pauses for a moment before reaching over andpulling a long black case out from under the passenger seat. “Found this in the truck when I took her in. Never got around to using it, on account of too much noise draws in more rotters, but there’s no time like the present, right? I reckon the old driver of this truck must’ve been a musician or something. Probably what got ‘em killed.”

He passes the guitar to me through the back window, and a grin spreads across my lips. I’m surprised to find it’s in perfect condition when I pull it out of the case. “Hit the gas, Kev.”

It’s been so long since I’ve held a guitar in my hands. A whole other lifetime ago, since before the dead rose and the living fell. I didn’t think I would ever get the chance to play one again.

Kevin presses on the pedal and the truck lurches forward.

I strum one chord and realize the guitar is terribly out of tune. After tuning to the best I can manage by ear at a time like this, I glance up when I’m ready to play for real, and am pleased to see some rotters have already changed direction and are heading toward us. Perfect. I play a simple rhythm to warm up. It’s been so long, but it feels so good to have the strings beneath my fingers again. One by one, the rotters abandon their journey into the town and follow us.

The notes thrum through my fingers and I play harder, faster, feeling the music flow out and draw the horde’s attention. Kevin glances back at me, a grin splitting his face. “Looks like it’s working.”

I nod, watching rotters stumble out of the colony and turning toward the truck to follow the music. I look past them and am pleased to see the crowd inside the walls are thinning when more and more rotters lumber after us, forming a growing mass in our wake.

“How long are we doing this for?” Kevin yells over the sound.

“As long as it takes,” I shout back.

“Well, we’ve got half a tank of gas.”

“That’s perfect.” I strum notes and chords, the nearly healed calluses on my fingers getting put to good use once again.

My fingers dance over the strings to a tune I know well but haven’t heard in forever. My body sways with the music. I’m finally living my childhood dream of playing for a crowd. This is probably the most lively dead concert in history.

We drive down the road and the horde following us continues to grow. Right before we disappear over the hill, I swear I can see long, dark brown hair floating in the breeze from inside the colony.

27

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