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They called him on it in the beginning. Or tried to come up with the energy to do so.
Well, not Aisha. When she was there, she simply looked on and shrugged. She went off on her own a fair bit now that the world had lost its order entirely—sated her bloodlust on zombies, Carlos hoped. One day she wouldn’t come back at all, and Carlos wasn’t sure he’d miss her when it happened.
Because there was Jake to worry about.
”J., come on,” Pooch would say in the beginning. “That’s sick, man.”
”Might want to watch what you touch, Jensen,” Clay would try. “We don’t know enough about this yet. I don’t want to have to put you down, if….”
”Let the dead rest, mi amigo,” he’d said himself, too many times.
But there was little use. They all had their different ways of dealing with the end of the world, after all. Clay screwed any woman he could find—after checking her for bite marks. Pooch texted Jolene at least once an hour, the solar charger tied to his pack and permanently attached to his phone (and God help them when they reached an area where the cell towers were gone).
Carlos prayed more, shot truer, and stopped sleeping altogether, except when Jake had the energy to fuck him into the ground so completely that he could catch a few hours without dreaming of the number of innocent people he’d “saved” with a head tap since the zombies became real. And Jake?
Jake stole cellphones off of dead people and uploaded the contents to what was left of the internet.
At first, he’d look through them carefully, reading texts, watching videos, scanning through photos and email. Carlos never knew exactly what his lover was looking for, and when he asked, Jake just shrugged and said, “Somebody should know what happened to them.” He’d give a sad, sick little smile so unlike the ones that had made Carlos fall for him years ago. “Even if it’s only me.”
Carlos worried that, as far as Jake was concerned, it was only him.
Carlos and Clay, after all, had only the Losers for family—seemed it had always been that way, though Clay’s mother died just a couple of years ago—so they were home and safe if Pooch and Jake were with them and the ammo held out.
Jolene, like any good Army wife, had high-tailed it to the nearest base and holed up with the big guns. She and their son Jimmy were safe and fed and Pooch knew they’d be taken care of until he could get there.
Jake, on the other hand, had managed to reach his sister only twice during that first few days and hadn’t been able to raise her or his niece in weeks. The wear was telling on him. He'd lost weight, eating only when he thought he could stomach it—or when he knew he couldn't fight any longer without the added energy.
Carlos didn’t try to tell him that it would be okay. He had never lied to Jake like that and never would. Instead, by unspoken agreement, the Losers had headed north toward New England, hoping for something from the contacts they had in the government. The military still didn’t know officially that they were alive, but that bastard Steigler was safe in the Pentagon and feeding them information that said there were intact bases in Westminster in New York and just outside of Hartford in Connecticut. They’d head there and see if they could get some answers.
The other information Steigler had for them they could glean themselves. People were being consumed by the ZomBite at a steady rate and the resulting chaos was slowly destroying an already crumbling infrastructure. The number of times they came upon zombed out cities with bridges that had collapsed, not from attack but from simple neglect, let them know that, even if the CDC—or what was left of them—found some miracle cure, there might be little left of civilization to cheer them.
But some things still worked. The internet was vast and overly redundant and wouldn’t fall to a year or so of global destruction. There were people around the world with solar panels and satellite hookups and as long as they could transmit, they did.
And one thing they transmitted was dead people.
In the very beginning, there’d been hashtags: #wheresmychild and #didyouseehim and #foundaphoneonadeadguy. Later, when most people had lost power, it was a subversives’ bulletin board out of the Middle East of all places. Mark Zuckerburg’s successor was named Ahmed Salivashina and lived in a tiny town in Kurdistan.
There were websites full of personal information found on the dead and the undead, and Jake had initially pored over all of it.
The first time he’d come upon a video some mom had shot of her daughter’s soccer game, though, he’d thrown up for half an hour and stopped looking so hard. Now he just noted the ICE number and name, maybe looked at a couple of photos, and uploaded the whole damn thing.
In whatever bed they could find at night, as they traveled up toward New York, Carlos would watch Jake sit there, surrounded by phones, hacking security codes with ease. He’d listen to the sighs and the tears and hold out until he couldn’t stand it anymore. And then he’d close Jake’s computer, wipe his lover’s eyes, and try to take the hurt away.
The sex was almost never gentle anymore, but it was effective, and Jake couldn’t handle gentle, anyway, most of the time. He was becoming hard and cold, and Carlos would sit in the darkness after exhausting the younger man and cry for the Jake he’d known... and wonder how long this new Jake would let himself survive.
Oh, he never took risks that would endanger the rest of them. In a frighteningly real sense, Jake would rather die than see any of them hurt. But he went in a little too close the rare times they had to fight the zombies close up. He waited a little too long before making a shot. Like he was hoping, even subconsciously, that they’d take him down.
Carlos had ripped him a new one in private over that a few times, and Jake had laughed it off at first.
”Just trying to keep in practice, Coug,” he’d say, or, “It probably looked closer than I was.”
Later it was, “I didn’t think it could move that fast, Coug, honest!” and “Shit! That one almost took my head off! Thanks for the save!” like Carlos had done him a favor by taking the shot.
Clay and Pooch were kind enough to say nothing. For a time.
”Fuck was that, J.!?”
Pooch was in Jake's face in a second, shoving him back from the zombie Pooch himself had just dispatched with his machete. A zombie that had nearly gotten close enough to Jake to bite him and end this torture once and for all. They’d finally made it to Manhattan, and Carlos wondered whether they’d make it any farther as a team.
”It came up—“
”At a fucking shamble, Jake!” Pooch barked, pushing harder and nearly landing Jake on his butt in the ever-present muck left by the disgusting creatures as they died. “At a fucking shamble! But you just had to get in there, didn’t you—right up in its face! Try one more time to get yourself killed!”
Carlos shuddered as Jake stood still, letting Pooch stare him down. Normally, he'd deny it, explain it away, joke.... This time he didn’t even blink, which was all the answer Clay needed, clearly.
Their commander walked up quietly and cocked his pistol, shoved it into Jake’s hand. Carlos held his breath and prayed.
”You want to die, do it yourself, soldier,” Clay growled. “I am not going to be the one who blows your God damned brains out when you go zom, just because you couldn’t hack it!” He whirled away, and Carlos wondered how long Clay had held this in.
”You think you’re fucking alone in this, Jensen?” Clay gritted. “Think again. What about the rest of us? Huh? You think we need to see you giving up like this? Hell, you give in, why not the rest of us? And just who is going to bring you down—Cougar? Just fire the fucking gun and put us all out of our misery because I am damn sick of watching you kill yourself by inches.”
Jake still hadn’t moved, except to shift his focus from Pooch to Clay. He didn’t look at Carlos, and Carlos was glad of it. As angry as Clay and Pooch were, Carlos was simply tired. Resigned. His Jake was lost and there seemed no way to bring him back.
If Jake saw that in his eyes, he would pull the trigger.
”She never gave up on me.”
Jake’s whisper was broken but loud in the stillness of silent streets.
”When we were dead?” He looked at Pooch and nearly grinned. “Jolene didn’t, either. ‘I knew you were alive,’ she said. ‘She didn’t have a ring and I didn’t have a feeling.’ That’s what Jenny said when we showed up, remember?” Tears appeared on his face for the first time in far too long, and this time, he did turn to Carlos. “Why don’t I know she’s alive?”
Carlos stepped forward, arm outstretched as he approached. He was too far away, suddenly. “No sé, mi loco.”
Jake giggled at the old endearment, high and hysterical. “Your crazy one. Yeah.” He dropped his chin to his chest and muttered the next words. “Crazy to drag you all up here to find dead people.” He giggled again, more despairingly than Carlos had ever heard. Carlos’s hand was inches from him now. “Hell! We can find dead people anywhere, right?”
Jake looked up at Carlos, eyes wide with pain. The gun came up so fast, Carlos had no time to stop it. “JAKE!” The sound of the gunshot cracked the silence and Carlos closed his eyes.
”Damn, Jensen.” Pooch, sounding amazed and shaken. “Hell of a shot, my man.”
Carlos opened his eyes and found Jake looking at him. Almost his Jake, if only for a moment.
”Coug? You okay?” Yes, almost his Jake. Gentle. Worried.
Carlos blinked.
”Lo que…?”
Clay’s hand was on his shoulder suddenly, squeezing hard. “Zom got in behind us all while we were watching your telenovela,” he said. Big words that would have been flippant if that hand hadn’t been shaking.
Carlos gave Jake a nod and a weak smile, and Jake stepped around him, toward the undead corpse Pooch was checking out.
“I thought he was going to do it, too,” Clay whispered for Carlos’s ears only before letting him go and turning to the others.
Carlos stood shaking a moment more, then whirled when Jake cursed and started to retch. He looked down at the zombie—much too close to him—and crossed himself.
Dios mío. Carlos knew the girl. He knelt beside Jake, holding him as he emptied his stomach of what little he’d eaten that day.
”Laura?” he asked Jake quietly, garnering confused looks from Pooch and Clay.
Jake shook his head, wiping his mouth on his arm. “Lana,” he corrected roughly. “Lana Paruski.” He looked up into Clay’s questioning eyes. “She was a Petunia.”
The mention of his niece’s soccer team almost made him retch again and Carlos held him tight in anticipation, but the moment was broken when there was a ping from the zombie’s clothing.
As if sleepwalking, Jake leaned forward and dug for the phone.
”Jesus, Jensen…” Clay whispered disgustedly, but said no more.
Jake came up with the bright blue phone and stared at the face of it for a very long time.
His hand finally shook badly enough that Carlos took it from him and looked at it himself.
The lock page held a number of messages, but the one that had just come in held Carlos’s attention.
BETH
Lana? PLEASE answer!
”Dios mío.”
Jake snapped out of it and lunged for the phone, taking all of a thirty seconds to crack the lock code. “Her birthday,” he mumbled. “Stupid. Easy. I don’t know why I even remember her birthday, but I guess all that checking scores from all over the world finally paid off....”
His hands were shaking again.
Carlos leaned in and put a hand on Jake’s shoulder as he read the texts from Beth. Jake scrolled back and started with a conversation from five days ago.
My uncle will be here, you know he will.
I don’t know, B. I mean, you haven’t heard from him in forever.
Remember last time? He’s hard to kill. :)
He probably texted the other phone a million times.
Stupid zombies.
Jake laughed tearfully at that.
Anyway, Mom and I are headed for Middleton. Come.
Dad says we’re safer in Manhattan. The Guard is everywhere.
They’ll run out of bullets eventually. We’re safer where they keep the guns. Uncle Jake said to find a safe place to hole up.
I’ll ask Dad. He just wanted to get to Aunt Myra, but she’s dead.
I’m sorry!
”Pooch, get on with Steigler. See if the Guard Armoury in Middleton is still under our control.” Clay was almost vibrating with the idea of finding Jenny and Beth, and Carlos smiled. The colonel was more sentimental than he wanted everyone to think, and he thought the world of Jake’s sister and niece.
”This must have been when she went zom,” Jake whispered.
Carlos looked at the phone again and saw that the next text was dated three days ago.
Lana? What did your dad say?
Lana? Please tell me you’re all right? We’re in Danbury. Zombies everywhere.
LANA
Hello!? God, why aren’t you there?! Did your phone run out of batteries?
Jake shuddered in his arms and Carlos thanked God that the phone had even the little battery it did.
Jake was still staring at the text that came in not five minutes ago. He took a deep breath and had to make twenty corrections in typing one line.
Bethy? It’s Uncle J.
He pushed send and the phone rang almost immediately. He started crying as he accepted the call and Carlos kissed his hair gently as Jake grinned and put her on speaker.
”—cle Jake! Really! Oh God, is that really you?”
”Yeah, Bethy,” he muttered, clearing his throat hard. “It’s me, honey.”
”I knew you’d come—you always come. Is everybody okay? God, they're all okay, right? Where are you!?” Beth showered him with questions and Carlos looked up to see Pooch grinning wildly with tears in his eyes at the reminder of how Jake used to be.
Maybe he’d be that way again.
”Is Lana with you, or is she…?”
Jake sighed at the question, staring at the neat hole he’d put in the zombie’s forehead. “I’m sorry, Beth.”
Beth’s voice caught in a sob and she was silent for a while. “Are you coming?” she finally asked, quiet and scared and very much the twelve-year-old she actually was. “We’re in Middleton—at the NG base.” Her voice came suddenly far away. “MOM! Mom! It’s Uncle JAKE!”
Jake sagged back hard into Carlos’s arms at Beth's call to his sister and Carlos tightened his hold as his lover sobbed.
”Jake!?” Jenny was crying just as hard. “Oh God, Jake, come get us. Please?” She seemed to catch herself and suddenly sounded much more put together. Carlos knew it was a trick she’d learned at the hands of the bastard she’d married, who was too like her father in the use of his fists. Jenny Jensen was a strong woman who had been through enough.
Um.” She sniffed mightily. “Um, is Cougar with you? And Clay and Pooch?” She raised her voice a little. “Linwood! Are you there? Have you heard from Jolene? I tried to call when it all happened, but when we had to leave, we left everything. I only had her number in my phone, and....”
Pooch laughed through his tears. “Yeah, Jen, yeah. She and Jimmy are fine. Holed up with the good guys, just like you.” He pulled out his ever-present phone and leaned over Jake to get Beth's number. "I'm texting you her number now. She'll be—" He paused to swallow hard. "She'll be real glad to hear from you."
”What do you say we come up there and have a visit, Jenny?” Clay had no tears in his voice, though there were several running down his face. “Maybe see about Pooch here hotwiring us a plane to California so you can finally meet his kid?”
Jenny let out a giggle—all-too like Jake’s—and fell abruptly silent. “Carlos,” she murmured tearfully. “Please tell me you’re there?”
”Si, mi hermanita,” Carlos called gently. “Es bueno escucharte.”
”Jake?”
Jake shook himself from his stupor and leaned forward. “I’m here, sis. I’m right here.”
"I need you to be right here, little brother,” she said with a smile in her voice.
The phone beeped three times.
”Shit,” Jake muttered, so much his old self suddenly, that Carlos felt he had whiplash. “The phone’s dying, Jen.” He texted his own new number to them. “That’s the number I’m using now. We have a charger. We’ll get to Middleton as soon as we can.” He snorted out tears. “I love you, Jen! We’ll—“
The screen went dark.
”Fuck.” Jake fell back and burrowed into Carlos’s chest, shuddering. “Fuck!”
”Suave, mi loco,” Carlos whispered, kissing Jake’s hair again. “Suave.”
After a long moment, Jake pulled away slightly and Carlos saw that he was laughing. Hysterically. Joyfully.
It had been months since Carlos had seen that laugh. He leaned down and kissed his lover more tenderly than he had since the last time he’d seen it.
He didn’t particularly care if Clay and Pooch turned the other way. He didn’t care if a horde of zombies chose this moment to run up on them from all sides. He didn’t care about anything really, except the man in his arms. His Jake, back again.
Jake broke the kiss, smiled shyly, and pecked him one quickly before hopping to his feet, bristling with energy.
”So, Pooch?” he said, clapping the man on the back and grinning in unspoken appreciation of his friend’s tears. “What say we find a few cars that haven’t been destroyed and start siphoning off some gasoline?”
Carlos swiped a hand down his face and exchanged a look with his commanding officer.
Clay grinned. “You heard the man,” he said. “Let’s get to Middleton and get him all the way home.”
* * * *
The End