Determined To Live by C. M. Wright

if it'll connect. It does and I search for
any missing girls named Melody - I
wish I'd gotten her last name! - and start by checking the state of Missouri.
    The first picture
and story to pop up is definitely my Mel. I click on it and read the
story. It's a shorter, not-as-detailed version of what Mel had told
me - her parents, the cops, and media not being privy to the exact
details as she was. But it also fills me in on the details Mel had
not been privy to as well. First of all, her parents have never
stopped looking for her, which I was certain they hadn't.
    There
were also many tips - most wrong - such as the kidnappers were a
couple in their twenties, it was a single middle-aged man who took
her, and some idiot reported it was an older woman in her
eighties... who
was in a frikken wheelchair !
    The
reported vehicles the kidnappers used were a small dark green car, a
white van, and even an ice cream truck. To screw up the investigation
even more, people reported several different directions that the
kidnappers had gone.
    Why
are people so media-starved that they will endanger a child's life by
making shit up? Nothing they had reported had even been close to the truth! The kidnappers were both in their forties, they have a
gray SUV, and probably came straight to their home.
    Melody had been
kidnapped from St. Thomas, which is only about half an hour's drive
south of here.
    I
can't believe they were so stupid to kidnap a child so close to their
own home! Well, never mind. People who hurt kids like this, and
worse, are stupid anyway.
    I find the contact
number, but it's for St. Thomas police department. Almost certain I
won't get a response, I dial the number anyway and jump in surprise
when the clatter of the phone sounds in my ear.
    But then I hear the
grunts of someone who should have been dead and silent.
    I disconnect the
call and sigh. Then a new thought forms. I now know Mel's last name
and her parents' names. Getting back on the internet, I pull up a
website for finding a person's phone number. Typing in Alan and
Jessie Hunter, I immediately get a hit. I push the "Call"
option and ringing fills my ear.
    I expect no answer
- or maybe another zombie - so when a living man says, "Hello?"
I jump again and go mute.
    "Hello? Is
anyone there? We need help," he pleads for a voice to respond.
    "Um, hi. Is
this Mr. Hunter? Alan Hunter?" I ask, my voice not nearly as
strong as I would like it to be.
    "Yes! Who's
this?"
    "Well, um. You
don't know me Mr. Hunter, but I believe you may be able to help me."
    Shit!
    How do I tell
them about their daughter?
    I mean, do I
just come right out and say it, or do I ease into it?
    "Help you ?
Ma'am, we need help. We can't leave our home because of these damn zombies, and
we're afraid to drink the water because who knows how this started -
and we are very close to being out of food. We have two cans of baked
beans left. I hate baked beans! We're stuck upstairs and my wife and I are getting sick
of each other's company―"
    "Sir!" I
interrupt his rant, as understandable as it is. "I can try to
help you and your wife get out of there, but right now I have
something bigger to tell you."
    "What?"
he asks, curious in what I have to say now.
    "Sir, I
believe I've found your daughter." I wait for his reaction,
holding my breath.
    After a long moment
of silence, I hear what sounds like heavy, unsteady breathing. I jump
and suck in my breath when his voice, strong with anger, blasts
through the phone.
    "You bitch !
How dare you call and say something like that, especially at a time
like this! You people are sick and you disgust me!" And then a
beep signals he'd hung up on me.
    Obviously
they've had enough prank calls by this time that they've given up on
any real hope of her being found.
    People are sick!
    I look over at
Melody and see her beautiful little face. She gives me the strength
to hit redial without hesitation, determined that these people are
going to listen to me.
    "Stop calling
us, you