The Dead Survive Read Online Free PDF Page B

said, “I know you don’t want to think about it, but holding it all in will make it harder for you to heal, to get past it. When you’re ready to talk, you can come to me. I understand.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin slightly. “I’ve been through the same thing.”
    Yes, from what I’d heard, she’d fallen into the hands of a gang in Georgetown, about twenty miles away, a few days into the apocalypse. But I’d also heard she’d been held only a couple of days before escaping and encountering a group of people headed for the Compound. I didn’t doubt she’d suffered, but she hadn’t—I was pretty sure—endured weeks of imprisonment and multiple daily sexual assaults. And that’s exactly what I told her.
    “Nobody’s experiences are exactly the same, Ellen. They never were, and they sure aren’t now.” She took a step toward me, her voice taking on a pleading tone. Why did she care so much whether I talked about what happened, or if I healed? I didn’t even care. “I’m not saying you’ll get over it like it never happened, but you can get past it, at least enough to move forward. I did. It wasn’t easy, and I’m not the same, but in a lot of ways I’m stronger now. You can be too.”
    The sheer impossibility that I’d ever feel strong again, in any way, slammed into me, and all I could do for a few minutes was laugh. It was a laughter full of bitterness and regret, and it tasted vile in my mouth. Or maybe that was stale bourbon. Either way, I’d had enough. “You have no fucking idea what I feel, or what I can or can’t do, Amelia, and it’s none of your business.” I put my other hand on the opposite wheelbarrow handle and started to lift it, but my feet didn’t get the message, and I stumbled, catching myself just short of falling to one knee. Close call. Maybe she’d think I simply turned an ankle.
    No such luck. “Ellen, please. We can help you if you let us.” She seemed so sincere, but I no longer trusted people. I always suspected they were hiding something ugly behind a friendly mask.
    I snorted. “Help? I didn’t ask for any, and I won’t. I’ll be fine if you all just leave me alone.”
    Looking significantly at my feet, which didn’t seem to want to stay still and weren’t pointed in precisely the same direction, she said, “What about Melissa? Who’s going to look out for her if you’re eyeball deep in that bottle you hide in the box spring of your bed, huh? You can’t go on like this, drunk four days out of five…”
    Suddenly, I’d had enough. Deep down, I was ashamed of how I was handling things—or not handling them. I knew better, but what right did this bitch have to point it out? Before I could think it through, an adrenaline surge gave me the strength and coordination to launch myself at her like a slightly drunken bull after a waving red cape.
    After that, things were a confusing jumble of images. I punched, kicked, clawed, bit…I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to remember what it was like to be at someone’s mercy, when that person didn’t have any mercy left.
    Others finally pulled me off her, and I found myself locked in my bedroom. When the whiskey wore off and the hangover set in, I was deeply disgusted with myself. I was afraid I would have killed her if I could. I had been dangerously close to becoming one of the monsters myself.
    Several of the community’s leaders came to talk to me, including Amelia, who had gouges on her neck and hands, and her left arm in a sling due to a dislocated shoulder. The full impact of my remorse was crushing. I think they saw it, and that they had some sympathy for what had driven me to such a terrible act.
    I was still uncomfortable talking to men, though, so Liz helped me the most. She was married to the de facto community leader, and was a very soft-spoken woman with a gentle but matter-of-fact approach. She persisted in urging me to interact and take an interest in my new life, without