We are the Living

By Geralyn Wichers

Kayla’s plans are as finely tuned as her cello, so when Liam joins her friends on their tour of Europe, she resents him. The ex-soldier with a fragile psyche seems like a liability. But when political turmoil in France explodes into a zombie apocalypse, their lives may depend on this warrior's skills.

Their flight takes them to a tiny Italian community where a mysterious priest is curing zombies. There, Kayla and Liam's shared horror draws them together. But they aren't the only ones who want the cure.

As the threat of the living eclipses the danger of the undead, they must decide whether to run, or to fight for those they love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Geralyn Wichers
• Release date: Aug 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311329356

Geralyn Wichers

Geralyn Wichers is a writer who moonlights as a manufacturing operator at a large factory. When she’s not wearing a respirator and handling hazardous chemicals, Geralyn is either writing about the impending zombie apocalypse, or training to survive it by running long distances. Geralyn is a marathoner, a foodie, and a coffee addict. She wrote We are the Living, an apocalyptic story of love and hope in the midst of destruction, Sons of Earth, the story of a clone finding his humanity in a dystopian near-future, and Cursed Seed, the first in the Society of Immortals trilogy.

Book preview

Chapter 1: Liam

The sun filtered through the November snow clouds, warm on my face, but the gravestone was icy against my back. I fingered the glinting bullet between my thumb and forefinger and leaned my throbbing head back against the granite. The revolver rested on my knee.

I couldn’t summon my thoughts long enough to write the note. They deserved an explanation, didn’t they? After all I’d put them through, all those terrible things that I’d said and couldn’t even remember, all the holes I’d put in the walls.

I had it all figured out before. I should have written it then, but I hadn’t.

Hadn’t it begun…?

Wasn’t it…?

Too damn confused to write my own suicide note. Too far gone, too…

My throat closed. I choked back a sob.

Couldn’t they have just finished the job for me? They snuffed out my mind, my body, my friends, my career. Why not my life?

Screw it. I slammed the cartridge into the chamber and snapped the hammer back. There would be no note. In my mind I saw it all. The blood on the white snow and on the black granite, obscuring her name. I would die with her like I should have.

The barrel froze my lips as I inserted into my mouth. I shut my eyes.

Dear God, Liam. No!

I looked up into Morgan’s face. He wrestled the gun out of my hands before my slow mind could summon a thought. Morgan pulled me forward. His hands were warm on my wrist, his tears hot on my neck, and I knew I must remain among the living.

Chapter 2: Kayla

Matt and I broke up.

I pinned the phone between my cheek and shoulder and leaned back hard against the desk chair. Its springy back gave way under my weight and I almost fell over. I flailed my arm and caught myself on the desk with my free hand. Oh… I’m sorry…?

I was wondering why she hadn’t come home yet.

Don’t be. Marissa’s voice contained a harsh cheerfulness that said she’d been medicating already. I’m not. Tonight I’m going out. I’m going to dance, get wasted, maybe get laid. Wanna come?

You know I have two exams tomorrow. I picked up one of my textbooks and stared at it with bleary eyes. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Tomorrow, after my cello jury, technical exam and music theory exam, I’d clean her up, like usual.

Okay, bye.

The phone clicked in my ear. I put it down and stared at the bold ‘six-thirty’ on the screen. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen this coming. Matt was one in a long line of loser boyfriends for Marissa. It was a habit of hers that I couldn’t cure, no matter what I said, no matter how many times I cleaned her up afterward.

I mean, I wasn’t happy about it or anything. I just didn’t have much time to think about it.

I picked up my coffee cup and took a gulp of the lukewarm brew.

Oh…

Shoot! I spun my chair with a jerk. Matt and Marissa had broken up. That meant Matt’s slot on our backpacking trip was open. The reservations, the currency—everything he hadn’t paid me for—which was everything. Me, Kayla, stuck with the bill. I punched in Alex’s number on my cell and got up to pace. Answer, answer.

Hi Kayla.

Give Alex the phone, Morgan! I snapped.

Woah! Easy, easy. I heard a flush somewhere on the other end of the line. He’s uh… he’s in the loo.

Thanks! said another voice. There was a scuffle and my boyfriend’s voice came on the line. Evening, my dear.

Matt and Marissa broke up.

Well, good riddance.

Hear, hear! chimed Morgan, nearby. Below their voices the TV droned.

You knew, didn’t you? I turned and paced the other way. There was already a rut on the ratty, grey rug from other phone conversations. You knew and you didn’t tell me!

I heard, yes. It was kind of public, and—

It was not.

He cackled. You were studying, my dear. Of course you didn’t see them screaming at each other. But I assure you that they made for quite a show. I brought popcorn and everything.

But what about the Europe trip? My voice was rising in volume and in pitch. My steps were getting faster. Matt didn’t pay me for anything yet.

Bastard, Alex said. But have no fear. He turned on all the soothing charm he could muster. Mo and I knew you’d worry about it so we, your knights in shining armor, have concocted a scheme.

I stopped in my tracks. You have?

Yup. We’re not as dumb as you think we are.

I sighed and smiled. Okay, what is it?

Well, Morgan was thinking we could ask Liam.

Liam was Morgan’s older brother. I’d only met the man through Morgan’s stories about him. Liam was a soldier, or had been, until he’d returned wounded, from Afghanistan. About then, Morgan had stopped telling stories about him.

He’s not an axe murderer if that’s what you’re asking, Morgan said and I remembered he was listening in.

Well no but, is he… okay? I heard rustling and Morgan came on the line. I could picture the two of them, probably one on each end of their dilapidated plaid couch. Alex’s curly red hair would be standing on end. He’d have books and papers everywhere. Morgan’s binders and pens in were probably neat stacks and rows on the stained coffee table. He’d be peering through his dark-rimmed glasses--the stylish ones that had replaced his wire-rims a month ago.

He’s not perfectly okay, Morgan said softly. But he’s much better. He works out and he runs religiously. He’s working construction. He just doesn’t go out. He works and he comes home. He runs and he comes home. He needs to get out, and that’s why I suggested it.

And you want him to ‘get out’ by going to Europe for a month? I still didn’t know Liam. But in spite of how tight-lipped Morgan had been about him lately—for good reason, I guessed—I always got the idea that Morgan idolized Liam so he was probably a decent person. I sat back down on the office chair and spun it around. The bed, the desk, the mirror and the cello in the corner all flew past.

He can pay. Morgan dangled this like a carrot.

In the background I heard Alex say Oooh. Mo, look at this.

Uh… Morgan’s voice became muffled. Oh yeah, wow.

Guys? I propped one hand on my hip.

Sorry. Morgan came back on the line. We just had the news on. Anyway… Liam?

I guess I should ask Marissa?

Alex butted his way back onto the line. Yeah, ask Marissa. She’d love a rebound. Heck, Liam could be an axe murderer as long as he was good in bed.

Hey! said Morgan. I heard a muffled slap.

You said you want Liam to get out!

I specifically said ‘get out’, not ‘get lucky’. We are not going to him and saying—

Guys,—I jumped up and resumed my pacing—I’m not closed to the idea. It’s just—augh! My brain is so full! One hand tangled into my greasy hair. Ick.

You study, Alex soothed. Study and ace your exams like you always do. Mo and I shall speak to the axe murderer and arrange a parley.

You do that.

I hung up and sat down. For a moment I spun thoughtfully on my chair. Then I turned back to my laptop and my notes. But instead of reading, I propped my chin on my hands and stared at the screen.

One more monkey wrench for the plans. I’d already planned and replanned the thing so many times since high school. The countries had changed, and so had the friends. And now they were about to change again.

Not that I’d really wanted to take Matt.

I needed to wrench my thoughts back together and study. It was going to be a long night, or a short one depending on how you looked at. I turned and saw my reflection in the mirror. 6:45 and I already looked like I’d pulled an all-nighter.

Dark circles under my hazel eyes, limp, greasy blond hair hung around my face—my face which was a little rounder than it had been in the fall. I wore my studying outfit—grey sweats, pink t-shirt, comfy brown cardigan. It was the outfit that I didn’t let Alex see me in. I just felt… gross. The last thing I wanted to do was meet someone new and rearrange travel plans, but…

Well, that could wait. Now I needed to study. I hoped I could concentrate.

***

Liam agreed to meet us on Saturday at one of the local bars, a place we’d hung out many times. Marissa and I pushed our way through the doors and spotted Alex’s red curls and Morgan’s dark buzz cut across the early crowd. Alex gave me a peck on the lips and slid beside me into the circular booth we called ours. Morgan went over to get us drinks. Marissa slipped in on the other side of me and plopped her purse onto the empty bench.

Where is soldier boy? she asked, loud enough that anyone in the bar could hear over the rock n’ roll blaring from the stereo system. She flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder.

He texted Morgan he was running late, said Alex.

He lives in his parent’s basement. What could make him late? I whispered to Marissa over the table. She giggled.

Drinks all around, said Morgan, setting beer on the table. Wings forthcoming.

Brilliant. Alex took a swig of his beer, leaned back and slid his arm around my shoulder. I left my drink sitting on the table and nestled into him. My hand trembled on my glass—fatigue, I guessed.

Nervous? he murmured in my ear.

No, just—

Hello. A deep voice in front of us made me look up, and there was Liam MacPherson, looking right at me. He stood, rigid and straight, hands in the pockets of his jeans. His close-fitting navy button-up, the same shade as his wary eyes, pulled taut across his broad shoulders. A couple days worth of dark stubble softened his jaw.

Nice, I heard Marissa breathe.

I tried not to smirk. I must not have succeeded, because Liam’s eyebrow raised just a hint, and he looked away.

Don’t take that wrong, soldier boy.

Hello Liam. Alex gestured to the open spot. Get a drink. Have a seat.

Liam sat beside Morgan, still as straight as ever.

Want a drink? Marissa leaned forward, perhaps to allow a better view of her cleavage, framed by the collar of her leather jacket.

I don’t drink. Liam’s eyes flicked down and up, back to her face. They didn’t waver again.

Why not? she asked. Are you an alcoholic?

I kicked her under the table. She gave me a caustic look.

He didn’t even smile. Messes with my antipsychotics. Turns me into an axe murderer.

I sucked in a breath. Alex’s hand froze with his drink halfway to his mouth. Morgan snorted and spat beer back into his glass.

Liam thumped Morgan on the back and turned his head to the side. I caught a twinkle deep in the recesses of Liam’s blue eyes.

Hah.

And then:

He is kidding, right?

So have a virgin rum and Coke, Marissa said.

Liam cracked a smile. Ever order one of those?

Hell no, she said.

Our wings arrived.

Do wings mess with your meds, soldier boy? Marissa picked one up between two fingers and stared at Liam with a dangerous glint in her eyes. She licked it slowly.

Yes, he said, deadpan, taking one. And don’t ever call me that again.

Chapter 3: Liam

Dad’s head bobbed up over the top of the armchair as I came in. The only light in the house was the lamp over him, highlighting the faint dent in the drywall that I hadn’t patched quite right. I had put a chair through the wall eight months ago. The dent was so slight that only I could see it because I knew where it was. I knew where each and every gash I’d made was, even though they were painted over, white like everything else. Dad looked up from his Bible, open on his lap.

Hey, I said as I kicked off my shoes and carried them to the rack. I lined them up perfectly beside Dad’s loafers and hung up my jacket. I slipped my keys onto the key rack.

Well? He asked, as I looked up from the closet. His lips twitched into a smile.

I paused beside his chair, and he stood up so we were eye to eye. My father was me, twenty-five years older—same height, same broad shoulders, same straight face.

I’m going, I said.

He clapped me on the shoulder. Good. Dad’s fingers gripped me tighter, and he pulled me into a quick hug. Good night.

’Night. I jogged down the stairs, almost smiling. My mood had swung, and I was optimistic again. I flicked on the light to my bedroom. I crossed the bare floor and sat down on the bed, rumpling the smooth covers. Damn right I was going. I was getting out of here.

When the words had left my mouth, and I was officially ‘in’, Morgan’s eyes shone and I was ashamed that I’d considered not going. He had such high hopes for me—that this would be the thing to cure me.

I rubbed my chin and looked around the room—just a bed, a dresser, my weights and my books and patched walls, painted over. There wasn’t a solid, movable object I hadn’t put through those walls but least I’d never hurt anyone.

That was all over now.

It had been, now, a year and two months since I’d returned from the hospital in Germany. I probably could have my own place again—I’d been working for two months now, made some cash. But I’d stayed.

I was scared to leave. I needed one constant.

I flopped backward onto the bed.

Here I was, leaving the country. I smiled up at the ceiling. I was leaving.

***

My alarm woke me at seven, even on Saturday. I paced through the quiet house with my shirt in my hand, washing down my medication with a glass of orange juice. I stared through the rain-speckled windows with bleary eyes. Yet, as I pulled my sweater over my head and stepped out onto the driveway, the moist air filled my lungs and I felt alive.

My feet tamped down mushy gravel as I ran down the road. The wind blasted misty rain in my face. I sucked it down.

You’re really going to go to Europe with a troop of college kids?

Yes.

I licked the rain off my lips and pushed those thoughts aside. I didn’t want to talk myself out of it, like I’d talked myself out of so many things this year—the apartment, the date, the job that was waiting for me for almost three months.

I pushed myself to run faster, looking straight ahead. When I reached my usual stopping point, the third mile road, I stopped and paused by the road sign. As I wiped my face, a dilapidated pickup passed me. The driver waved, and I raised one hand.

Did I know them? I was probably supposed to.

I turned and ran back toward home. It would all come back, wouldn’t it? Physically I had long healed, but after months in bed and another month locked in my room, too depressed, too anxious to come out, my body had almost gone to ruin. I was just beginning to feel strong again.

I just wanted my mind back, my strength back, my game back. Even if the army would never take me back.

My foot hit a chunk of mud, kicked off by the truck, and I stumbled. A wave of discouragement hit me, as if it were mingled with the icy rain. I fought to shove it back. I’d already decided that construction wasn’t for me. It paid, and it was good for my physique, but every day was drudgery. It had crossed my mind to return to school and finish the degree I’d begun, and that the army had paid for. I just didn’t know if I could do it anymore.

Maybe that was why I was going to Europe. I’d call it good, old-fashioned escapism if it didn’t scare the heck out of me.

My lightweight sweater and track pants were nearly soaked by the time I stumbled through the door into the kitchen. The warm aroma of pancakes greeted me. Mom turned around, still in her pink housecoat, came over with the spatula in her hand and kissed my rain-slick cheek.

How was your run?

Good.

Shower quick. Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes. Morgan called. He’ll be here for lunch.

Okay. I left my cross trainers to drip on the mat and bounded down the stairs. As I dressed after my shower, I flipped open my laptop to the news and scanned the headlines: the top three about the political and economic turmoil in Europe. There was one more reason I wanted to go with Morgan. If things got out of hand, I wanted to be there with him.

***

Two days later I sat, fighting panic, in one of the vinyl chairs at the gate. My hands were clamped so tight around my passport and my boarding pass that each ridge of my knuckles popped out bright white. Inside my head I was screaming, a veritable wrestling match against myself. I was on the edge of a panic attack.

Damn it, MacPherson.

I would not grab my head in my hands, I would sit still like nothing was… like nothing was…

I twitched and started to get up.

No. No you may not pace. People do not pace in airport gates. They sit. So sit.

I glanced at my carry-on. The medication to calm me down was in the outside pocket. I should have taken it at breakfast, but I’d done so well without it until now. I reached out one, shaking hand.

Kayla glanced at me. I snatched my hand back and sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.

Deal with it, MacPherson.

Kayla fiddled with a printout and checked and rechecked her boarding pass. Alex took her hand, and she was forced to be still. She giggled softly, and Alex muttered something in her ear. She dropped a peck on his lips, and her blonde hair fell down over her face.

I dug my fingers into my knees and held my breath until my chest hurt.

Morgan, across from me, looked up. His dark eyes narrowed behind his glasses and he got up and came to sit in the empty chair on the other side of me. He took my bag, pulled out the medication, and shook a pill into his hand.

Just take it already.

Kayla glanced at me from behind her hair. My face burned with shame, but I took the tablet and threw it back, dry. By the time we boarded, the panic was ebbing out of me and I was becoming myself.

Chapter 4: Kayla

Alex sat beside me, cradling one of my hands. I swore he’d fallen asleep as soon as he’d sat down, long before we’d taken off, but I couldn’t relax for the details rushing through my mind: gates, shuttles, luggage, Liam.

I hadn’t comprehended the exchange between him and Morgan at the gate, but Liam’s obvious agitation, followed by medication, made me almost as nervous as navigating through Heathrow.

I glanced over at Morgan on the aisle seat, the middle aged lady beside him ignoring him as he bobbed his head gently to the music coming from his headphones. He was reading. If it hadn’t been for Liam sitting directly behind me, I would have asked him about it. I had to get a handle on this.

But Liam seemed to be okay now, if the conversation behind me was any indication. Marissa was chatting him up and his replies sounded relaxed, if a bit gruff.

I sighed. Alex was drooling a wet patch onto his red t-shirt. I wiggled around in my burgundy velour chair, tilting, straightening. I opened the air vent. It was so stuffy in the cabin, and I was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic.

How old are you anyway? Marissa asked Liam.

26.

And you’ve never played Call of Duty?

I groaned inwardly, distracted now, and almost turned around. Seriously, Marissa?

But Liam laughed. Why would I want to play Call of Duty? I’ve had enough of the real thing.

She paused for maybe two seconds. Okay, so what do you like to do—besides read really thick books?

Once she actually got him talking, which took about twenty minutes, she had asked all the questions I’d been too shy to ask. He was a corporal in the Canadian army—Royal Canadian regiment. He could speak fluent French (this I was glad to hear. Until then, I was the only one fluent in French). His favorite food was fish and chips.

Well, I like running, Liam said.

Even in the winter? I could hear the incredulity in Marissa’s voice. Or do you run on a treadmill?

Not when I can help it.

Why?

I could hear the tinge of amusement in his voice. I just don’t like them. They don’t go anywhere.

Marissa giggled. Well that makes a lot of sense. Her head thumped against the seat back. You’re alright, Liam.

Liam coughed a little laugh. Well, thanks.

Things went quiet. After a few minutes, I turned around and saw that Marissa had her headphones in her ears and her eyes closed, head leaned against the window. Liam was reading, his blue eyes flicking back and forth across the page with incredible speed. I felt I should say something, since I hadn’t made a peep to him since hellos at the airport.

I forced a pleasant expression onto my face and turned around. What are you reading? I clutched the back of the velour seat, and tried to read the title on the paperback.

He looked up, blank-faced. The Agony and the Ecstasy. It’s a biographical novel of Michelangelo. His lips twitched into a smile. Mom said it would get me ready for Italy.

I smiled, almost genuine this time. It might. Do you read a lot?

That would be accurate. This winter I got through the entirety of Churchill’s History of the English Speaking Peoples.

Oh wow, he’s just as nerdy as Morgan. Who would have thought? That sounds like work.

I found it interesting. I suppose most wouldn’t.

It was amazing how straight his face could stay while he spoke. Except for the quick smile, his eyes were the only expressive feature in his face. I guessed that if I studied him long enough I’d be able to work out his expressions, all acted out in eyebrows and twitches and light in the eyes. But I wasn’t going to spend that kind of time staring at Liam. Marissa might, but studying wasn’t in her nature.

You’ve brought no entertainment? he asked.

Well, yeah… I thought of the novel in my bag under the seat, but after hearing what he was reading it seemed pretty stupid. But I don’t really feel like reading.

Ask him to read aloud, Morgan said from the seat across the aisle. He had taken off his headphones and hung them around his neck.

No! Liam said.

Do you read aloud? I clasped the seat a little tighter and leaned forward. The seat creaked a little.

He used to read to me all the time when I was a kid. Morgan scooted his feet into the aisle so he could face us. And now that he has that deep, movie trailer voice it must be even better.

Debatable, growled Liam. He did have quite a pleasant, sonorous voice. And this book is full of Italian names. I can only say Torigianni and Giansimone so many times. He put an admirable Mediterranean accent on his words and smirked.

So far so good, I said. The last of the tension in my chest released. Italy is what I’m looking forward to the most.

What part?

Everything! In my enthusiasm I jerked the seat back and made it creak. I wobbled, blushed and settled back on my knees.

He smiled, a real smile this time. It lit up his face. Me too.

What will you do if we tour a winery? This idea flashed across my mind and brought a grin to my mouth.

He laughed silently, through his nose. I expect I’ll see a lot of wine.

Alex lifted his head from my shoulder and slurred, Hopeless. Going to Italy without having any wine—sin, I say.

Liam shrugged. Yeah, maybe. I won’t be too legalistic about it. I’m not a priest or something.

Bad analogy, said Alex. Priests drink.

Right… Liam’s hands twitched on his book.

I smiled. Alright, well, I’ll let you read. I turned around and dug for my book. Alex put his head on my shoulder.

Will you read to me? He made puppy-dog eyes at me.

I rolled my eyes and pulled out my romance. You wouldn’t even like this book.

Chapter 5: Kayla

We landed at Heathrow two minutes ahead of schedule. We had to push our way through the crowd to get out of the gate. I pulled out my printouts, and Liam stood beside me looking at them silently. Between the two of us, we managed to follow my printed direction to the baggage claim.

The conveyor was empty when we got there, and I felt crestfallen. I leaned against Alex and watched the people go past—men and women in suits dragging briefcases on roller-wheels, a flight crew in epaulets and stripes, young people like us.

Hurry up.

Finally Alex got bored and left me. He wound his way out of sight and came back with a bottle of Coke. He cracked it open and gave me the first sip. The sweet bubbles moistened my lips and only then did I realize I was thirsty. I tipped the bottle back.

Hey! Alex grabbed the bottle. I let him have it back and dropped a damp kiss on his lips. He grinned and took a swig.

The conveyer groaned and creaked into motion. My purple backpack was first out of the chute; with Liam’s army green one right behind it. I struggled to put it on, only to feel a firm hand support it and ease it onto my shoulders.

I looked back. Thanks Al… It was Liam. He smiled, and slung his backpack on without much effort. Thanks.

Can you carry this, Liam? Marissa held up her big camera bag to him with pleading brown eyes. Liam took it without a word.

Once again, Liam and I made a joint effort to find our way out of the terminal. We had almost made it out of the crushing crowd and to the bus stop when we heard Liam. Hey Liam!

We all turned and saw a man barreling toward us. A broad, blinding-white grin was about all I saw at first. Second, his wild blond hair.

Liam! He juggled bags and waved.

Keagan! Liam’s eyes lit up and he broke away from our group. Hey!

They pushed through the stream of people. For a moment their voices were lost in the clamor. The newcomer’s hands waved, just as animated as his face. Liam nodded in our direction and they both came walking over, the blonde’s bright eyes already trained on us.

Hey! he said before Liam could introduce him. He scanned all our faces with eager eyes. How are we all?

This is Keagan McAvoy, Liam offered. Keagan, this is my brother Morgan and Alex, Marissa and Kayla.

Hey! he repeated. His eyes trained on me for a moment. They were the brightest sky blue I’d ever seen. They popped brilliantly against his tanned and freckled face. Just touring around, I hear? All play no work?

Hear hear! Marissa held out her hand. Her brown eyes gleamed with interest. What about you?

Mostly work, not much play. Keagan pumped her hand and held her gaze longer than he’d held mine.

I