by Anna Abner
“Maya Solomon. Can you run?”
“I’m tired.”
Though my pulse was back within normal range, I was still breathing heavily. Sweat tickled the sides of my face and the small of my back. The air was so thick with moisture it had substance, and I would be in big trouble if I didn’t replenish the fluids leaking from my pores and saturating my clothes.
I wet my lips, finding them dry and peeling. If I didn’t locate fresh water soon I was never going to make it to Raleigh.
I turned my back on my house because my stomach ached at the sight of zombies coming out of the front door. But the area around us wasn’t much more promising. Especially when the two packs below us merged and laid siege to our hiding place.
“Catch your breath. We’re leaving.” I patted her back again in a slower beat. Like the rhythm of an R&B song. Patta-pat-pat-patta-pat-pat.
She stared up at me with big, shiny green eyes. “Where are you taking me?”
“Another house,” I said, making it up as I went along. Because I didn’t know what else to do.
“How old are you?” I asked.
She squeezed me in short, painful pulses. “Eight.”
I hoped she was a mature eight because getting out of the neighborhood was going to be tricky.
The cul-de-sac to the south was crawling with Reds, but open land spread out behind my walled neighborhood to the west. No houses, no streets, just a field of grass and pine forests in the distance. Beyond the trees poked the tops of buildings in the next town over. And standing in the middle of that open stretch of dry, grassy waste was a lone zombie.
Just one.
All by himself.
Watching me.
Zombies didn’t travel alone. They hunted in packs. Maybe this one was wounded.
I hated the idea of running straight at a Red, but one was easier to outsmart than twenty. It was the best option I had.
I dragged Hunny to the far side of the sloping roof, our feet getting all tangled up because she refused to let go of my sweat drenched shirt. Below us stood a plastic playhouse atop a wedge of dead grass, and then a cinder block wall. If I could get the little girl over that wall, we were free.
Once we were out of sight of the two packs, now converging in Mrs. Kinley’s driveway, I could take time to devise a plan. A better one. Like finding another safe house. A two-story model. I could cover the ground floor with plywood or building scraps and live in relative safety on the second floor.
Then, in the back of my mind another option took shape.
A cure exists.
Two weeks earlier my dad’s antiserum had been close to the human testing and mass production stages. If I found it and got it to the right people, a new world could slowly take shape atop the old one.
It would be dangerous to make the journey into Raleigh alone and on foot. Food, water, and shelter would be scarce. Packs of vicious Reds clearly outnumbered us.
But if I was the only person alive who had knowledge about the cure, could I let it rot in my dad’s lab? And what would my dad want me to do?
He’d paid a lot of money to install the panic room in our house to protect me from all the dangers in the world. By traveling to his lab I would be anything but safe.
I glanced at Hunny, my curly haired tagalong. What did she, and other survivors like her, want me to do? Find the cure or forget it?
“I’ll lower you,” I said, “and when I get down I’ll help you over the wall.”
“I’m scared.”
“This is nothing.” I kept a hold of one of her arms and, without giving her a chance to chicken out, I pushed her off the ledge.
Hunny screamed and kicked and tried to tear my hand off, but she toppled gently onto the playhouse roof, and then rolled onto the grass. I followed, got her over the wall, scrambled after, and we were safe.
One Red stood between us and freedom.
“Run as fast as you can,” I told Hunny. “He’ll chase us, but we can lose him in the trees.” I snatched her hand and sprinted for the pine forest, pulling her behind me.
“Shoot him,” she panted, dragging on my arm.
I didn’t have a gun. Only a short, engraved sword. And I didn’t intend to get close enough to the zombie to use it.
“Just keep running.”
We passed near enough to the Red to see the ruby color of his eyes and the name Ben stitched above the pocket of a navy blue work shirt. He had dark hair, even darker than mine, and was filthy from head to toe. He pivoted as we passed within five yards of him.
We made brief eye contact, and his mouth parted as if he recognized me. But that was impossible. People lost higher brain function after infection. Things like compassion, critical thinking, and memory were switched off. Maybe lost forever.
I’d been afraid to venture out for supplies in case I bumped into a zombie I’d known before the red plague hit. A teacher or a neighbor or even a friend.
But I got a good look at this one. I didn’t know him.
As we neared Ben, I silently pleaded with him to cooperate and let us pass unharmed. But he only hesitated about half a minute before giving chase. His heavy work boots pounded upon the grass behind us, a bass drum in a rock anthem.
This was a big mistake. I knew better than to approach a Red, even one by itself.
Hunny and I ran straight for a thick-trunked tree with low branches.
I shoved the little girl onto a sturdy branch about six feet off the ground and then swung up beside her like a gymnast. My backpack and sword made me awkward, but I crawled to my feet seconds before Ben skidded to a halt under our tree.
Squealing, Hunny climbed to the next highest branch, putting herself well out of reach of the lone Red. I pulled up on the same branch, but it was weaker than the one under my feet, and the wood creaked.
My heart racing, I let go of Hunny’s perch and gripped the rough trunk even if my feet weren’t high enough off the ground to be safe. Ben was tall and my sneakers were only slightly above his eye level.
Ben shuffled from foot to foot, growling.
I had nowhere to hide or anyway to climb higher. Fifteen feet separated me from the nearest tree. There wasn’t another branch on our pine strong enough to hold me.
Wiping sweat from my eyes with my shoulder, I resolved to hang on to the tree until I couldn’t hang on anymore.
“Maya!” Hunny reached for me. “Hurry. Climb up.”
“It’s okay,” I said, keeping an eye on the Red.
After infection, bathing wasn’t a priority. Neither were balanced nutrition or personal hygiene. He was grimy and emaciated. Dark fluid stained his clothes and skin. His hands were so dirty he may as well have soaked them in ink. And his blood red eyes seemed to glow as he stared at me. Through me.
Hunny whined like a lost puppy. “Hold my hand? I’m scared, Maya.”
Not willing to take my eyes off Ben, I reached up blindly, and her small fingers gripped mine.
The Red lifted his arms, and I hugged the rough trunk even tighter. If he yanked on my ankles I had to be strong enough to resist.
“Stab him,” Hunny shrieked. “Kill him!”
Even if I wanted to take another person’s life, I didn’t dare let go of the tree to pull my short sword and put myself off balance.
The Red set his hands on the branch beside my feet. I held my breath, my whole body quivering like a fresh guitar string as I waited for him to grab me.
“Don’t let go of the tree,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t let go…”
Ben didn’t appear hungry. Or filled with killer rage. He stared back at me, a curious expression on his dirty face as if he found me utterly fascinating.
He withdrew his hands and backed up half a dozen feet.
The breath whooshed out of me, and I went limp against the trunk of the tree. The flesh-hungry zombie hadn’t dragged me to the ground and tore out my insides. He’d let me go.
On news reports in the days leading up to my locking myself into
a bunker I’d witnessed Reds run at full speed. I’d seen them attack with an inhuman ferocity. I’d watched, fascinated, as one tore a garden shed to splinters to get at a dog cowering inside. But I’d never seen or heard of a Red turning away from easy prey.
Ben paced, a low, guttural growl emanating from between clenched jaws. “Mmrrr. Mmmrrr.”
“I think we’ll be okay,” I said to Hunny. “We’ll stay here until dawn. Let go of my hand.” Traveling at night was too dangerous. I couldn’t see well enough to avoid meandering zombies, and without a good hiding place I’d be cooked. Even if I sprinted I could run straight into another pack.
My watch read six thirty. Dinner time. My stomach rumbled right on cue.
“Then go where?”
Good question.
I’d leave Hunny with the first people we found, and then I’d acquire a house with an upstairs. I could live there indefinitely, safe and secure. When it was quiet, I’d go on supply runs until I built up a decent stockpile. It was more or less the life I’d been leading for the past two weeks. I knew exactly how to survive that way.
But there was another option. Out there, no more than a day’s walk away, lay my dad’s lab. He’d spent his final days and hours creating a cure. If I found the elixir and somehow delivered it to an educated survivor for analysis and eventual distribution to plague victims, then this nightmare would be over.
My dad would want his work to mean something. He hadn’t given up on a cure. Even when he should have stayed home and away from contagion, he’d gone to work to help save us all.
I would finish what he started.
“Tomorrow we’re going to Raleigh,” I announced, glancing down at Ben. “We’re going to wipe out the red plague.”
A cure exists.
Chapter Three
Sleep had been agonizingly out of reach all night. I didn’t trust Ben enough to sit on the branch and close my eyes. So I spent the night standing, hugging the coarse bark of the tree, and holding hands with Hunny until my shoulder muscles gave up.
Several times I’d suffered waking nightmares that the sun would never come up and I’d be trapped forever in a tree with a little girl above me and a hungry Red below. Fortunately, the earth kept turning and as the sun rose and cast warm light onto my face, I slipped out of my pack and inventoried my meager provisions.
During the night my sweat-soaked clothes had dried out, but now my mouth was chalky.
I still had fig cookies, but no water. My first priority, after escaping Ben, had to be fresh water or it wouldn’t matter what else happened.
“I’m thirsty,” Hunny murmured.
Me too. “I don’t have anything to drink.”
“What!”
“I got chased by Reds before I found any.”
She huffed a disappointed sigh. “This sucks.”
I sorted the rest of my possessions, but one thing wasn’t where it should have been. My clicker pen, the Hello Kitty one I wrote songs with, had been snug in the side pocket of my pack yesterday. But it was missing. No sign of it in the grass and pine needles beneath me. Like everything else I’d ever cared about, it was gone.
At the very bottom of my backpack I carried what was most important to me, the things I would never be parted from. My iPad with the final pictures of my family in it. My song diary. But besides the cookies there was nothing to cook with, no first-aid, and no matches or tools.
I replaced my pack and drew my short sword.
Far to my right a tapping sound started up, ran through a nice and even staccato rhythm, and then ceased. A woodpecker, probably. Or the wind blowing a gate against a wall. It was amazing the noises I heard after all the human sounds went away.
Hunny stirred above me. “That was the worst night of my life.”
It wasn’t the worst night of my life. There was the first night after my mom was killed, and the night after Mason was arrested. And the night my dad didn’t come home from work. There had been some rough nights in the bunker when I’d wondered if I was the last uninfected survivor alive in the whole world. In the dark the loss of so many billions of people had hit me the hardest. I’d had more nightmares tucked inside the panic room than I’d ever had as a child in my bed.
Tonight wasn’t even in my top ten.
“Mr. Zombie’s still there, Maya.” Hunny’s voice squeaked. “Why don’t you kill him already?”
“We don’t have to kill every Red we meet,” I said, eyeing Ben. He was about my age, seventeen, or maybe a little older. He stared right back. “We can outrun him.”
He hadn’t slept once, but he’d paced, and then circled the tree, and then stood like a statue. No matter where he’d moved he’d always kept me in his sights.
Nothing about him made sense. Ben didn’t run with a pack. He wasn’t obsessed with tearing the bloody organs from living bodies and consuming them raw. But he was unusually interested in Hunny and me. I’d never heard of a Red acting so human. If I hadn’t seen his crimson-colored eyes up close, I would have wondered if he was infected at all.
“Here’s the plan,” I stated, craning my neck to see into Hunny’s face. “I’ll jump down, and then you’ll jump down. We’re going to run our butts off in that direction.” I pointed northwest toward Raleigh. Woods and then the suburbs stood in our way. “No matter what happens, keep running. Can you do that?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To my dad’s lab in Raleigh. I told you already.”
I gestured for Hunny to stay still on her upper branch until I could evaluate Ben’s attitude this morning and whether we could get out of this tree without being attacked.
Contrary to the color of his irises, he made no aggressive advances. No more guttural noises. But his blood red eyes tracked my every move.
“Hunny?” I began in my calmest voice, the kind you used around strange dogs. “I’m going now. If Ben attacks right away, just stay in the tree.”
“I’m scared.” She whined once, and then was quiet.
The odds of making it safely away from the Red were good. Since he hadn’t attacked us yet. Maybe he had brain damage or some other invisible injury. All I had to do was run fast. And I was a very fast runner.
My fingers fluttered, signing the letters r-u-n several times. A nervous twitch.
I tightened the straps on my pack, adjusted my sword, and stepped away from the tree trunk. The branch under my sneakers squeaked. Silently, Ben shifted from one foot to the other. I crouched down, got a good hold on the branch, and swung off. I hit my feet and froze for a split second.
Ben growled. “Mmmmrr.” But he didn’t come any closer.
“Hurry, Hunny,” I said, reaching up. “Jump. I’ll catch you.”
She didn’t hesitate. But I’d underestimated the weight of an eight-year-old, even a half-starving one. Fifty pounds of terrified little girl hit me high in the chest and we both crashed into the hard, sandy ground.
I was on my feet in a blink, leading Hunny deeper into the trees. I didn’t wait to see if Ben chased us. I just ran. It didn’t matter how tired I was or sore or thirsty. I ran as fast as Hunny let me, heading north, away from my home, and toward my dad’s lab.
“I can’t go any faster,” she shouted.
“Yes, you can!”
I dragged Hunny through scrub brush and kudzu and around trees as tall as skyscrapers, stiff and craggy branches tearing at our clothes and faces, for what must have been a mile.
And then I really messed up. I got distracted by Hunny’s crying, gasping pleas and didn’t see the exposed root until it was too late. My boot caught, I did a sort of pirouette in midair, and slammed into the ground. Knifing pain tore through my right knee.
I tried to stand, but the moment I put weight on my leg it crumpled, and I tasted dirt again.
It was one thing to walk away from my house. It wasn’t gone, just invaded. I could always return in a few days, clear it out, and reinforce. I’d left my guitar behind, but I could find another one. M
aybe even a better one. But without my speed, how was I going to survive? If I couldn’t run from Reds I’d have to fight them. And I was no good at fighting.
I forced oxygen in and out with even, measured breaths. Because I wasn’t going to give up and cry in the dirt. Not yet.
“You,” Hunny panted, “okay?”
Before risking an answer, I scanned the trees for a lone Red in a navy blue work shirt, but I saw only low hanging branches and pinecones.
“I twisted my knee.” The longer I remained on my feet the better I felt. “I’ll be okay. Just no more running.”
Maybe, as with a sprained ankle, a little rest and some willpower and I'd be better in a few minutes. I hobbled forward, but the moment I put the tiniest bit of weight on my right leg the pain popped. Gritting my teeth, I hopped forward using the evergreens for leverage.
Sweat dribbled along my hairline and a wave of dizziness hit me hard. Running in the late spring heat and humidity was draining the last of my reserves. I craved water, but there was none to guzzle down.
“How are you going to take care of me?” Hunny asked. “You’re too hurt to do anything.”
Take care of her? I hadn’t asked for her companionship. In fact, she’d been thrust at me without my consent. I would have been better off alone. I knew how to survive on my own, but I hadn’t the first idea how to take care of a little kid.
My brother Mason had been like her—selfish. Demanding. I’d hated it when he’d bossed me around, and it was even worse when Hunny did it.
I almost yelled at her to leave, but I wouldn’t abandon her in the middle of a North Carolina pine forest. Sure, I wanted to get rid of her, but not like that. So I swallowed my frustration and shuffled forward.
“I’m fine.” I hopped to the next tree, making a lot of noise. Not on purpose, but on one leg it was difficult to be quiet. The contents of my pack jostled. Dry needles, pinecones, and twigs crackled.
Reds were attracted by noise.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Hunny wedged herself under my right armpit. She was a scrawny kid, but she had strong shoulders. Leaning on her helped me hop faster.
