I am Bexley book two: Talking Rocks chapter 21

Author note: if you enjoy this please check out the first book of I am Bexley series, on Amazon, JMS Books and Barnes and Noble!

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My daddy called me a firecracker, so did my older sister Cara. My momma, however, said I was her little gem. Being one of the only black families in a place like Missouri didn’t matter as much in terms of how humans in general lived. But, it mattered to me and my family. We kept our history, our culture and everything we knew that made us proud in our hearts.

I have always been a drama queen; that’s what my sister always called me, and I embraced those vibes with glee. I decided that living in a bunker wouldn’t stop me from being who I wanted to be. I wore my hair in flaunting styles, used tons of makeup (I made the colors myself from plants and berries), and maintained a very bombastic attitude, which my sister sometimes found annoying under her breath. My grandma believed I could be a fashion designer one day, and ever since then, I’ve envisioned myself with yards of the most colorful fabric trailing behind me.

The day my life changed dramatically, more than any act I did for fun, was the day I started befriending zombies. This day felt like a dream (I couldn’t tell if it was a nightmare or a pleasant dream!), when one of my bunkmates, Stan, confessed he had fallen in love with a zombie, a girl named Bexley. The news shocked and disappointed me.

Stan, with his big “old soul” eyes and long black hair, had always made me shiver with passion... a passion that was never realized. I had wanted to be close to him, but he always hung out with Hudson and Asher. They were tight- knit, closed off from all the other kids, and I was jealous, mainly because of my crush on Stan. Finding a man in this zombie wasteland was so hard!

Everything changed when Hudson left the bunker (they forced humans to live in bunkers and caves) and found himself in a mansion where some rich zombies lived. He was trying to steal gems, to my surprise, for Asher. Clearly, you don’t get gems just for a friend. Stan let slip that Ash and Hudson were a couple, and then it all made sense. They were in a secret relationship. Such relationships were illegal, as humans frowned upon them because of the inability to procreate, and we were a dwindling species.

What really alarmed Stan and Ash was that Hudson had escaped the zombies and was now in the clutches of the Bloodletters. Bloodletters, unlike zombies and humans, played by their own rules and created chaos wherever they went. They were frighteningly fast, violent, and monstrous— like zombies, but much more grotesque.

Usually, they stayed in the shadows and avoided causing trouble. However, their kidnapping of Hudson and another zombie showed that these rogue killers were up to something big. They wanted to shake up the status quo.

Joining Bexley, albeit with much apprehension and distrust, I soon realized she was different because of my familiarity with Stan and his friends, having lived together in the bunker all our lives. Bexley was sympathetic to humans and had been in a romantic relationship with Stan for months, which was also highly forbidden. The notion of humans and zombies together shocked me, especially since the quiet young man I had a huge crush on had broken such a cardinal rule.

Finding myself in the middle of an emergency rescue operation, we all endeavored to find Hudson and save him from the Bloodletters. I bonded with Bex, and we became friends faster than I could spit out “Mississippi mud dogs” three times faster.

She did not intimidate me, even though she had a delightful house and her parents lived above ground.

During the fight in the cave to rescue Hudson, her sword handle broke. I secretly fixed it for her as a gesture to show I wasn’t after her man and that I wanted to be her friend. The shocked look on her face when she saw her mended katana next to the fountain was unforgettable! We had gone to what they used to call a mall — an ancient ruin of prosperity and happiness. There goes my dramatic flair.

Actually, it was an enormous set of stores where you could buy stuff. My great- great-grandma had told us about it.

We tried on so many exceptional outfits! It was a great day. I felt like Bex and I were sisters after that, making me miss my sister.

I also became fast friends with Ash and Hudson. Ash was creative, mischievous, and great for gossip. Hudson was someone who always had your back. I never thought

I’d be brave in the face of danger, but my care for these people made me realize my bravery. It was still hard.

The Bloodletters continued their rampage, destroying many human and zombie homes. They embarked on a frenzied rampage that made me think they wanted to go exterminate all life, undead or not, to be the only ones left. I had to make my stand too.

Now, living alone in that bunker, I had to rediscover myself. With no more family left, I felt like I had less to lose.

On a windy, fire-filled night, during a hazy, heated battle with zombies and Bloodletters, my heart skipped a beat. I started thinking about my family again, a heart-wrenching thought I had tried to avoid. I know it was the fire that triggered these memories. Fire had been a significant part of my childhood for many reasons, marking pivotal points in my life.

What really made me think about my family again was when I saw a golden-eyed stranger with wild curls staring at me through the smoke. It made me feel strange, and I sought something more comforting. Asher mentioned she looked like a Bloodletter, but I couldn’t shoot her. Something deep inside of me awoken, and I froze, thinking about home. My family. My family, when we were all still intact.

“Girl, you better get your act together. You straight?” my sister Cara spat out. Her St. Louis tongue always irritated me.

I shrugged. “Shush. I’m too hungry to think.”

My mom gave us the side-eye, and we stopped our petty arguing. Her long, dark curls and bright brown eyes always seemed to shine even the darkest night. Daddy called her, “Glamour Lights,” because of how bright and beautiful she was to him. As if she brought a beaming light wherever she went.

“Now, girls, let’s act like ladies. Your mama is getting a headache,” my dad yelled with an increasingly volume. It made us feel an invisible weight straighten our backs as we heard his tone get more intense.

My mother often suffered from migraines that lasted all day. My dad was our stronghold, our anchor. Cara and I immediately straightened up with our jaws clenched.

Our dad always had that effect on us. Cara sneaked a smirk at me, and we all shared a solemn embrace.

We ventured out to the river to gather essential items. Naturally, humans wouldn’t dare to roam freely.

If any zombies caught us, we’d be toast, or at least imprisoned. I noticed Stan asleep and felt my neck heat. He was so cute.

Cara asked “You straight?” I nodded.

“I’m okay,” I managed, the words barely audible, a mix of uncertainty and resignation coloring my voice.

I shuddered softly, and we all stepped into the night air. It felt odd being outside without permission. I felt safer with my parents and older sister.

Cara took my hand, and my dad let my mom lean on him. There’s something satisfying about the smell of a river. The muddy waves and the aroma of the night air were comforting.

Though we usually ate rabbit or sometimes more unsavory things like rats, catching fresh fish was a treat. My favorite was when my dad discovered how to fry fish.

I loved the catfish tail. My dad always saved that part just for me. We had an old family hand-crank expeller press. We made our own pioneer-style cooking oil from canola seeds.

My dad taught me how to preheat the press over a fire. Some of my best memories are of my dad, his large shoulders shielding me from the flames as he quietly explained how to use the press and where to gather the seeds. His fish fry meals were so good that we would somehow set other people in our bunker into a frenzy whenever we finished eating it or finished frying. They would somehow smell it on us!

Especially Stan and his friends Ash and Hudson. They would try to trade me their knickknacks for a piece of catfish filet. Marbles, coins, firewood, pieces of paper or art stuff.

“I found this set of paints in the army bunker. They are old, but I bet you can make use of them,” Stan whispers, making my heart melt like butter as I gave him some fried fish. I would click my tongue against the roof of my mouth and wink at him, wrapping up a few of my dad’s famous hot catfish pieces.

He knew how I liked to create fashion pieces in my journal. Once he had accidentally stumbled upon me drawing and sketching my own designs, and he took an interest. It was a hopeful sign that he had liked me. Liked me the way I liked him. But fate had not intended it. He had a different perspective on love and he loved another. His perspective was one that I would share with him, in the most unexpected way.

As I recall the mess that was my childhood, it occurs to me that being amongst the undead has created a wild sense of belonging and liveliness that I never had before.

All the things my family taught me about survival and how to live in a sea of undead tyranny. It was just a matter of time. I’d be on my own.

My dad would take us out for our own good. We’d get Butterbur. A natural herb we found in Illinois, usually near rivers and moist banks, soils and even roadside ditches.

They were mama’s homemade cure for migraines. It was not always easy to find, but we grabbed as much as we could when we found it. It cured hay fever, asthma and other illnesses. Cara would be her successor as the medicine woman. Though, more like a quack, as I often called her as a tease.

Those lusciously green leaves were a big part of my childhood as much as catfish was. Like most nights, we were heading there.

But mama caught a fever that got so high and was so fast, we could not leave Illinois that time until morning.

That was a hard journey back.

My mama could barely walk, much less speak, as we trudged through the woods and broken roads.

It was that day she passed away in my father’s arms. I was thirteen and my sister was seventeen.

We had to have a makeshift burial for her in a thick part of the woods. We didn’t have time to grieve. We had to move.

In that part of Illinois, we all knew there were many bloodletters out in the open. So, when we rushed back, our eyes sore from too many unspent tears, I fell into a depression that lasted for weeks.

That was when I realized my family was drifting apart. I drifted apart from not just them, but everything and everyone.

I missed my mama. It was so unfair. All her soothing songs she used to hum to us and stories of our ancestors she used to tell me; all of those most important things seemed to be ripped from me.

But I was not there in my soft childhood memories with my family anymore. My older sister left soon after to Chicago to find a new life. My father... he died of heartbreak. Yes, you can die from that. It’s a horrible thing to see your father, who was such a beacon of strength and life, go into such a heartbroken state. He barely ate, never slept. He wasted away from missing the love of his life.

I think I blocked it out. It was such a dark time. Now, I see a strange light in my future.

The light of my love, that wild-eyed golden flame of my soul, India. Since India and I got together, we have been a part of a mixed family of humans, Bloodletters and zombies.

When I saw those Bloodletters take my India away, and one of my good friends Serena, my mama-bear instinct got furious and started going crazy. I was so devastated. India is everything to me.

But, she told me, if we ever got separated because of anything, she’d leave a trail, and once I collected myself and my family, I told Bex and Stan I’d lead the group to get our family back. In India’s coat I made for her, she had pockets. She put these pieces of knickknacks in them. Little things like a barrettes, rocks that were almost always blue looking (she found a rock collection at Jack’s medical lab and nearby the facility’s garden) and little odds and ends. I knew what they looked like.

I followed the trail. I was so proud of her for remembering to do this. I held onto Hudson’s hand, we were both feeling lonely without our partners. Hudson was just a sweetheart but acted so unemotional sometimes. I got that. It’s hard to open up when you have to be strong literally every single time the shit hits the fan.

It lead to something not so unexpected, a dang cave, but it was definitely way off course from where we needed to go in South Dakota. We needed to find healing gems for Asher to get out of his coma.

I called out for India. Hudson called out for Serena. Clara was looking sullen, trying to search the area to find her girlfriend Serena. Stan and Bex held hands as they combed the huge area.

Suddenly, Bexley is jumping around and excitedly pointing to something.

“A fucking door? What?! A door to a cave!” I shouted and Bexley nodded. Hudson looked around with a wide eyed expression that said something like, “I want to get the hell out of here.”

“I had a dream about this cave! We must go in!!” She signs to me. I get my hand gun ready I’m needing to kill anything, bats, rats, monsters pretending to be zombies or ‘Letters.

A sign above it said, Talking Rocks Cavern, Branson Missouri.

As we opened the broken door, there was a commotion inside. Fighting. Anger. Fear.

We all braced ourselves for a new nightmare to come snatch us up.