Chapter 2: Little Powerpuff

Dustin woke up sticky and itchy. It was a good night’s sleep, comparatively. Early morning light cast pinstripes on the bedroom walls. Sam was standing in the doorway, looking ashamed and dripping with blood.

She put up her hands defensively. “The asshole tried to kill me, Dustin. Before you freak out, you should see this.”

“Sam! I knew him!” Dustin shot out of bed. He ran up and shook her, screaming. “He worked with dying children, Sam! What have you done?”

Sam let him shake her. She let Dustin scream and throw things around the bedroom. He tossed his backpack, and it clanged heavily against the far wall. Finally, he collapsed next to the bed, taking ragged breaths. He was weak. Weak of body, because he had little sleep, hardly any water, and less food. Weak of mind because he was human. She spoke then, the remorse gone from her electronic voice, “Follow me.”

Sam led Dustin to the cellar. Light streamed through the basement windows. The shapes of three bodies hung by their feet could be seen in the murk. Five gallon buckets were everywhere, full to the brim with a blackish red goop. The whole basement was thick with the hum of flies. Dustin gagged and stumbled back up the stairs.

Sam walked up to him as he sat, cross legged, in a corner of the kitchen. Dustin was holding Jim’s frame from the stovetop. The photo inside showed Jim smiling broadly next to his wife and two teenage daughters. They were all wearing matching sweaters. Finally, Dustin looked at her, “Are they his...?”

“Family? I don’t think so.” Sam’s voice was as tender as she could make it.

Dustin nodded slowly. “Where’s Jim’s body?”

“With the others.”

“Well dammit.” Dustin got up and gathered his things. He had known Jim: Jim had shook his hand and hugged Christine and smiled at Elise. Jim had a family and compassion to help dying children. Jim was a murdering cannibal. Fuck. He collected Jim’s shotgun and the shells that went with it. “Let’s go.”

Dustin and Sam walked across the street of what used to be the quaint German Village and uncovered their wagon. It was an old wooden two-wheeled pull wagon with faded green paint and shoddy rubber wheels. The shotgun and the carving knife joined a few canned goods, three half-full water jugs, and an assortment of tools and weapons.

Dustin tucked a pistol in his jeans and flapped his t-shirt over it. Dustin was 35 and appeared remarkably young for his age. But creases had begun to deepen at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Little gray hairs found their way into his sideburns.

Sam scratched at the metal device stuck to the back of her head. It was about the size of an iPod, and had four thin cords that traced the edge of her neck down inside of her hoodie and connected to a battery device inside of a fanny pack.

Sam fit a hatchet into her belt and hefted the wagon behind herself. Dustin looked Sam up and down. Her front was mostly cleaned off. He rubbed his face with dirty hands, and pressed his fingers into his eyes. His voice was muffled by his hands. “Was it quick?”

“Yes,” said Sam. She put her hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him.

Dustin pulled away from her touch and started walking down the street. One of these streets would be the last one between Dustin and his wife, it was only a matter of walking them. For her part, Sam didn’t want to find Christine. All she wanted to do was keep Dustin safe and to herself. But since she couldn’t hold him down, Sam followed.

“Thanks. For saving my life,” said Dustin begrudgingly. He watched the stunted houses and burned-out car frames as they walked. Blackbirds punctuated the few standing walls they passed.

“I had to kill him,” Sam said. “We should have never taken the time to find him.”

She was right, but Dustin wasn’t in an agreeable mood. “Jim used to be a good man. He pulled a lot of strings to help my daughter with the Make A Wish—”

“I know. I have those memories. And he didn’t turn out to be Mr. Boyscout. This is a new world. You need to start acting like it.” Sam adjusted the handles of the wagon as she walked. She scanned the edges of the street constantly.

“Just because the world went to hell doesn’t mean we aren’t human,” snapped Dustin. “These are people with some good in them.”

“I’d be interested in seeing that,” said Sam dryly.

“He was just trying to survive.”

“He was fishing for survivors, killing them, and eating their bodies. He was about to do as much to us,” Sam buzzed angrily. “Whoever he was before the outbreak, he wasn’t that man anymore, and you know it. You couldn’t have known he’d change, but sticking up for him now is stupid bullshit. Don’t be stupid.”

He shut his mouth. Sometimes, the way she spoke pointedly and logically, Sam sounded just like Christine. Dustin was dizzy, his head ached and his lips were dry. For a second, his mind clouded.

“Sorry, Christine.”

“That’s not my name.”

Dustin shook his head. Of course it wasn’t. “Sam.”

Sam cocked her head to the side. “Dustin, you need rest.”

“I’m fine,” said Dustin. He tried to straighten his shoulders and focus on walking a straight line on the sidewalk. “We just need to go a little further. She’ll be there.”

It was very quiet here. The trees lining the road had become immensely overgrown, in many places building a full canopy over the road. Their leaves muffled the sounds of a dying city: car alarms, unhindered wind blowing through flattened city blocks, even the birds seemed hushed as Dustin and Sam walked the newly forestlike road. When they came to a small hill, the leafy branches finally relented, giving them an open view of the skyline.

They both stopped and stared at the angry black smudge on the horizon. The hospital was still burning. It had been at least three months, and the hospital was still burning. Dustin let his shoulders slump, then. The weight of his pack dragged him to the ground. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it.

Sam tried to comfort him, “If she was there, she probably left a sign for you.”

“Is that what you would do?” Dustin turned to look at her, his face was earnest, and Sam knew what he was asking. She searched her databanks for memories.

“If I was alive and awake, you’d be the only thing I thought about,” she said truthfully. “If Christin

e’s alive, there will be a note.”

Dustin bowed his head and took a giant breath. He put his hands on the cracked sidewalk and braced to stand up again.

“Speaking of former bodies, I’m pretty sure this one is reaching its expiration date.” Sam held up one of her hands, which was mostly sinew and bone. She lifted her head and showed the gash in her neck. It was steadily oozing black.

“Oh,” said Dustin. There was a sound at the back of his throat, like he was trying to keep something down. “Thank you, that’s enough. Do we have any gloves left? Scarves?”

“I won’t be able to pass as human for much longer. I’m developing quite the aura. Of flies.”

“Alright, we’ll rest and plan.” Dustin relented. A giant wrought-iron fence rose to their left, framing a dog park. They moved towards it. Once inside, they made quick note of the area. The four foot tall fence surrounding the area was ornate and black. It was broken in one place, where a large vehicle had smashed through it. A shelter stood in the center of the area, and from it red gravel walkways segmented the park diagonally into fifths. There was a lone water fountain in one corner next to an overgrown tennis court. In another corner, the trees had grown wild, intertwining with the nearby power lines.

Dustin couldn’t see past the chalet to the far side of the park, but he could see a children’s playground a little further on. His legs were heavy, despite the sleep he got last night. His head continued to pound, and his throat burned. His hissy fit this morning had expended more energy than he could afford.

Dustin shuffled to the playground, with Sam close behind. The rubber gravel was undisturbed; the swings in perfect order. The bright orange plastic slides were unstained by blood. The jungle gym had a solid blanket of crows on every rung.

Dustin stumbled to the slides and sat. He shrugged off the heavy pack with a groan, and leaned back on the slide. He could feel the static pull at his hair as he rested his face on the smooth, cold surface. He closed his eyes and breathed deep.

Thud! Dustin’s eyes snapped open. There was a water jug next to his face.

“Drink,” said Sam. She set the wagon down and climbed onto the slide next to him. Dustin pulled off the cap and raised the jug to his lips. His lips trembled, and his throat caught as he tried to swallow. He sputtered, but it went down; slowly.

Sam brushed her fingers along the edge of her machete as she watched the perimeter.

“They build these slides with two metal bolts at the bottom. All plastic except for these bolts.” Dustin edged up on one elbow and touched one of the bolts idly. His voice was far away with the memory. “Us kids, we’d build up all this static electricity flying down these things and hit the bolts with our little pasty legs. Zap! I remember Elise sitting at the top of a slide, her hair already starting to rise. I thought, her face will be so funny.”

“Because she was about to get the piss shocked out of her?”

Dustin laughed despite himself, it made him choke on the water again, and he brought a hand up to keep it all in. His face turned stormy as he began scratching at the bolt, “Yeah, well, I never said I was a good father.”

“You were,” said Sam. She set the machete down and brushed the back of Dustin’s head. He 

pulled away from her gesture, and Sam remembered how gross her hands were. “Sorry.”

“You don’t know that, Sam.” Dustin frowned at her assertion. “I loved Elise, but that doesn’t mean I was a good dad.”

“Christine knows you were a good dad,” said Sam. “The memories I have say you were.”

Dustin looked at her then. Tears brimmed in his hazel eyes, and she looked away. “It’s true.” Sam muttered.

They sat at the end of the slides and were quiet. The crows shouted at them from time to time. Dustin finally recovered enough to talk business. “We need to get to the hospital. It’s probably a day’s walk. Then we try to find the lab. Can you hold out for that long?”

“Yes. The body is holding up fine, outside of the smell and the appearance.”

“So we might want to find another, then,” said Dustin.

“We will need more water, soon, too,” Sam replied.

“The hospital will probably have water.”

“There’s no guarantee.”

She was right again. Dustin screwed the water jug closed and set it on the ground beneath the slide. “Alright, If we find a place to stay for the night, we can spend the rest of the day scavenging. We’ll look for another body, too. A village like this has to have something of value.”

Dustin looked past the fence at the surrounding houses, the trash filled streets, and the empty skeletons of burned out minivans. “There’s probably a Prius around here.”

“Because you like sissy cars?”

“Batteries, Sam. How’s your charge right now?”

“Fine. I’ll recharge before dark so you can sleep. We don’t need to stop for a few hours yet.”

“Plan?” Dustin continued to scratch at the rusted bolt in the slide.

“Let’s walk a few more miles into town, find a good stronghold like a bank or a gas station, or a high rooftop, hole up and wait for dawn.”

“OK.” Sam scooted closer to Dustin and rested her head on his shoulder. Her body was cold, and felt unnaturally soft; squishy. He eventually put an arm around her. Sam closed her eyes, thankful that Dustin forgave her decomposition, even if temporarily.

They had approached Columbus from the south, and were coming up on downtown quickly. The tallest buildings looked like giant spoons had scooped away large portions, but most were still standing. Buzzards hovered amidst the skyscrapers. From their perspective, Dustin imagined that the scavengers could see all the streets converge like veins on the plagued heart of the city.

Dustin turned around and looked just beyond the fence. There stood a little girl, head cocked, still wearing her Power Puff Girls backpack. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, her small face was clear of blood. Her watery blue eyes stared into nothingness. “Hey, Sam.”

Sam pulled away from Dustin’s shoulder and looked where he was pointing. “Perfect.”