I breathe and then hold out my left wrist. I put the shining blade just below where I have to cut. The blade is cold and hard and very sharp. I press down, feel the pressure against my bone.
I close my eyes.
Hold my breath. Feel my body steady.
And then, with one swift movement of my arm, I slice.
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I come loose suddenly with a feeling like an electric shock in my left wrist. I stagger back, shaking with pain, but I’m free and the elation makes me forget the flesh I leave behind. Without looking at my carved up hand, I run to the campfire where there’s a rag drying on a rock. Feeling faint, I wrap up my cut and broken wrist. I clench my teeth to keep from screaming as I pull the rag tight. Suddenly, my vision starts to darken, like someone poured a dark liquid into my eyes. I sink down to my knees, struggling not to faint from loss of blood, from pain, from the relief of escaping. I struggle against the liquid darkness boiling up inside me, but I feel like I’m drowning in it. I put out my hand and feel the pine leaves of the forest floor. For some reason, this steadies me. I feel the tide of darkness pull away from me. The pain in my wrist roars back to life, and gritting my teeth, I push away from the ground and stand up.
“Don’t you move.”
I hear the warning before I see anyone. But I recognize the voice. It’s Randy.
There’s really only one thing I can do. I have to run and hope that he misses when he shoots with the gun he certainly has pointed at my back. If I stay, he’ll only kill me at his leisure. I’d much rather die running. I tense to sprint into the forest, turning ever so slightly, so that I run at an angle away from him, a little harder to shoot down.
“Don’t do it, Birdie!”
I stop dead in my tracks. I recognize that voice too.
It’s Pest.
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I turn around slowly. When I see them, my heart doesn’t know whether to despair or celebrate.
“You try to run for it, and I kill them both,” Randy warns me. With Randy’s gun pointed at his head, Pest stands looking at me, his face black with ashes and smoke; beside him, his jaw hanging open, his eyes bound tightly with a red bandana, is Eric. They are both safe. Alive. At least for now. At least for a few minutes longer. I’d give anything to run to Eric, but I know if I start moving, Randy would shoot me down.
Randy smiles at me with his pearly wall of teeth. “I knew I was right to keep these two alive until I had you.” He smiles at me like we’re sharing a joke. He looks around, taking in Doctor Bragg’s corpse and the bloody handcuffs dangling from my right hand. Pest and I look at each other but say nothing. Randy shakes his head. “Goddamn,” he says finally. “You’re a survivor, no doubt about that. Nearly cut your own hand off, I bet.” His face twists into something like pride, but the way his eyes flashes at me is not as innocent as that. “It’s a shame, really.”
Randy raises his gun and takes slow aim at my chest. The sick grin never leaves his face.
“Hold on there!”
My heart stutters in me as I turn my head. Boston and Sydney come striding out of the forest. Randy doesn’t lower his gun, but his grin is gone. It’s been replaced by a stiff frustration that seeps into his eyes, which glint malevolently at me like sharpened knives. He had his chance to get rid of me easily and he’s lost it. He just had to talk. I can feel the regret coming off him like heat waves.
Behind Boston and Sydney, another man enters the camp.
“The President wants to talk to her,” says Boston as they walk forward.
I turn away from Randy to face the President of the Stars, a man I’ve never met who now holds our fate in his hands.
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President Ramon Barber is a short man, dressed in clean, perfectly fitting military fatigues. You would never know looking at him that the world had ended ten years ago. His combat boots are black and impeccably polished. His buzz-cut hair is black as night with no sign of gray. What I notice is his deeply-pocked face, his skin as rough and uneven as a battlefield. His brown eyes search me with interest, but his eyes aren’t exactly friendly. I can see that he’s a man who makes important decisions, decisions of life and death, and he never questions them, even if he is wrong. He’s a man without regret, pointing forward. That’s not good. To him, I’m a member of the Gearheads who’s been poisoning innocent people with a terribly contagious disease. There’s no good decision from his point of view that ends up with me alive. I’m much safer to him dead. I’ve still got enough sense to be afraid, enough sense to keep my mouth shut until he asks his questions. I’ve got to think. Over Barber’s shoulders, I see Randy watching us, looking uncomfortable, his gun hanging at his side.
“What’s your name, girl?” Barber asks me. His breath smells like coffee.
“Birdie,” I answer.
Barber looks me up and down, pauses at my broken and bound wrist, bright red with fresh blood, and then looks me in the eyes again. “How old are you?”
I shrug. He frowns and I can see by the indignant little flicker in his eye that I better respond with words. “I don’t know,” I say. “Sixteen or seventeen, I guess. Maybe more.”
He seems satisfied with that answer, but the indignation hasn’t left his eyes. “You going to do something with that?” He nods down at my hand, and, confused, I follow his gaze. I’m surprised to see that I’m still holding my knife. Instantly, I let it drop from my hand.
“She didn’t do anything!” cries Pest suddenly. He steps forward, but falls suddenly from a blow to the back of his head. He collapses to the ground, groaning. Randy shrugs at Barber, still holding the gun that knocked him down. Barber turns back to me, and I see it doesn’t bother him to see a defenseless boy struck down. He’s seen worse. He’s done worse. I have to be careful with him, and no matter how careful I am, it might not save me. I glance over to where Boston and Sydney are standing, watching, and I can tell from their hard eyes that I won’t find any help from them. The both of them have the attitude of people witnessing harsh but fair justice. There isn’t a spark of sympathy from either of them. It’s not just my life they’re judging, but Eric’s and Pest’s too. If I can’t find a way to convince them I didn’t try to spread the Worm for the Gears, we are all dead. I feel a horrible electric spasm of fear pulse through me. It’s so strong that I have to close my eyes to keep from sprinting away out of fear. I don’t want Eric to die. I don’t want Pest to die. I don’t want to die.
For the first time in my life, I feel it. I mean, my own life. Not in terms of the life I have lived, my memories, my dreams, people I’ve known and loved. Instead, I think of my life as this thing ahead of me, this space of time that hasn’t arrived yet, and I see that it could be, it should be, much, much longer than what has come before. I see my life as this tiny thing waiting to happen, like I haven’t even had a chance to do anything. I feel that I haven’t even begun living and I’m going to die. I begin to tremble. I’m trying to hold it together, but it’s hard. It’s so hard.
“You ought to shoot her and get it over with,” Randy says suddenly, and I open my eyes. It’s the hate I feel for him that drives away the weakness in me. I feel myself steady.
President Barber holds up his hand, still looking at me. “I’ll decide what I ought to do,” he says. The grit in his voice is startlingly, but he doesn’t turn away from me. I’m ready to beg if it will help us, but the grit in his voice tells me that it’s not the way to go. Begging would make me look guilty in his eyes. He’s that kind of man. Begging would make him shoot me quicker. I focus my attention on him. I struggle to keep myself steady, even, strong. I’m not any of these things, but I can appear to be. I need to think, be calm and think.
The President of the Stars steps forward, his shining black boots glistening in the pine needles. His eyes are intense, almost crackling with energy as he studies me. He’s about ready to speak. I can see the time is coming.
I will either make my case or we will all die.
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“Well, Birdie,” President Barber says, “You seem like a smart girl. I don’t have to tell you why you need to answer my questions truthfully, do I?”
“No,” I say, then I quickly add, “sir.”
“Randy here tells me that you’ve been working for the Gearheads, dragging this zombie around the whole country, infecting town after town.”
“That’s not true, sir,” I say when Barber pauses. His eyes darken. He doesn’t like to be interrupted. I swallow, my throat dry.
“It’s kind of strange that all the towns that come down with the disease have sympathies for the Stars.” Barber looks at me dangerously. “That is very strange, don’t you think?”
“That would be strange if it were true,” I say, holding his eyes as best I can. “Sir,” I add again.
Barber grins at me and then puts his hands on his hips. “Boston and Sydney tell me you lied to the both of them so well that they didn’t even see the evidence of the Worm that was right in front of their faces.” He made a gruff sound. “And I know these boys here. They are not the most credulous of folk, let me tell you.” Over his shoulder, I can see Boston and Sydney glare at me, their faces turning red with shame. I get the uncomfortable feeling that the both of them would like to shoot me right now. Barber continues, “I’m not sure I can believe a word out of your mouth.”
“Then why even bother to talk to me?” I ask. I’m scared to say it, but I have to be tough. He will listen to tough and defiant. He won’t listen to weak and groveling. I can feel it.
Randy makes a gruff laugh behind him. “She’s got a point there,” he barks out. “Just say the word and I’ll put her down without another false word out of her mouth.”
Barber barely turns his head toward Randy, keeping his eyes on me. “Keep quiet,” he says in a stiff, dangerous tone. Randy clears his throat uncomfortably.
“He really wants me dead,” I say in a low voice, keeping my eyes locked with Barber’s. “I’d love to tell you why, if you’ll listen.”
“I think I already know why,” Barber returns with a cold frown.
“I doubt that,” I say, but when his face falls dangerously far, I know I’ve pushed him too far. “Sir,” I add, hoping to soften my impudence. He seems to be slightly satisfied with that. Such a strange and delicate mixture of defiance and formality I have to manage. Just one word too far, and Boston and Sydney will shoot me down. I’m sure Randy will join the fun too.
“I met your President last year. President Brown of the Gearheads. He seemed a reasonable man, an intelligent man, a man I thought I understood. I didn’t think he was too much different than I am. We both want unity, we both want to rebuild.” He studies me. “I can understand him coming against me out here, just to test the boundaries. What I don’t understand is that when I wanted to know about the Gearheads, I sent these two.” Barber nods his head in the direction of Boston and Sydney. “Two fighters, real scrappers, two men who’ve seen their share of the general shit and survived it. Two men who I know, if it comes to it, are as dangerous as the Devil himself. And who did Brown send? A little black girl and a goddamn Zombie.” Barber’s eyes narrow at me. “I’m trying to understand that. I’m trying to see the whole picture. I don’t think this is it.”
“You’re right,” I say, holding my head high. “What you’re seeing isn’t the whole picture at all.” We look at each other. Over his shoulder, I see Randy glower and grip his gun tightly. My heart beats wildly. Barber pauses, giving me just a moment, just an instant of time to push through, to make my case. “You’re being fooled, President, sir,” I say. “It isn’t me that’s been infecting people, it’s Randy.” Boston and Sydney burst out in guffaws of humorless laughter. Randy attempts a laugh himself, but his hand is tight on his gun.
Barber doesn’t look amused. He steps closer to me. For the first time, I smell him, a mixture of some kind of strong alcohol and wood smoke. For some reason, it frightens me, and I take a helpless step backward. Barber’s hand flashes out and he clutches my wounded wrist. I cry out in pain and drop to one knee.
“Don’t you lie to me,” Barber hisses. “Not to me, understand?”
“I’m not lying, sir!” I cry out. The pain in my wrist is exploding all the way up my arm. “Randy’s been infecting all of us! He’s got infected oatmeal bars in his bag! You can check, you can see!” Barber presses harder on my wrist and I collapse in a ball at his feet.
“Don’t you lie to me!” he cries.
“Search the bags on his horse!” I scream. “Search them! You can shoot me if I’m lying! You can shoot me!” Barber releases my wrist.
“I can shoot you anyway,” he tells me, standing over me.
“She’s just trying to buy time with this ridiculous story,” Randy says. “Let’s shoot her and burn this Zombie and get the hell out of here.”
Barber glowers down at me. His eyes study me with open distrust and hatred. Then he turns toward Boston and Sydney. “Get the horse,” he says. “Let’s see what’s in those bags.”
“You stupid shit,” says Randy through clenched teeth.
Then the shooting begins.
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The first shot is meant for my head, but Barber moves in front of me and gets it in the stomach. The shot explodes through him and I feel a warm spray of blood against my face as I scramble away to find cover. I don’t know where the next shots hit, but when I get to the nearest tree, I see that Sydney is on the ground and Boston is standing shocked near him. Eric is standing where he was without looking the slightest bit concerned. Randy shoots at Boston, and I see him dive to the side, crying out in pain. Randy fires two more shots toward Boston as he tumbles away into the forest. Now’s my only chance!
I run up the hill slipping on the pine needles and grab Eric.
“Unh,” he says as I tug him away toward the forest.
But it’s not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough. Randy turns back toward us and his horse teeth grins at me widely. Raising his weapon toward me, his face shines with elation.
Suddenly Randy is shoved violently to the side and goes crashing down into the forest.
“Go!” yells Pest, standing where Randy had been a second before. “Run Birdie!”
I want to tell him to follow, I want to tell him thank you, but there’s no time for that. I grab Eric and pull him toward the forest.
“Unh!” Eric groans.
We stumble into the forest as best we can. We haven’t gone more than half dozen steps when I hear shots behind us. My heart drops. There’s no way I can outrun Randy with Eric, and there’s no way I can leave him. This is it. This is really it.
Then I hear something. Eric hears it too.
“Unh!” he moans and begins to dart through the forest.
The sound of water!
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At his breakneck pace, it’s hard to keep Eric from crashing into trees, but at least he’s running. I have to tug him to guide him, weaving him through the trees as he bolts as fast as his legs can carry him toward the sound of the river. When I dare, I look back over my shoulder. I see Randy running after us, too far behind to shoot through the trees, but not so far away that if Eric hits a tree and we fall, Randy won’t shoot us both where we land.
“Birdie!” Randy cries out. “I’m going to shoot Eric first! I’m going to kill him first so you can watch! You hear me?”
Yeah, I can hear you, you goddamn, murdering, traitorous, donkey-toothed son of bitch!
But I’ve got no time to think of that or to feel my rage. I have to guide Eric’s headfirst plunge through the forest. Eric’s only has his thundering, consuming thirst for water to guide him, and he’s running forward with all his will and considerable strength. It’s everything I can do to keep up with him, to shove him from one side or the other to keep him from smashing face-first into a pine tree and ending both of our lives. I’ve got no plan beyond just running.
That becomes obvious when we suddenly reach the bank of the river, and Eric just goes hurtling over
the bank. I follow him into the water, hoping that it will carry us downstream, far away from Randy. But I’m not that lucky. Not this time.
The water is deep and cold and hardly moving at all. I realize immediately that now I have another problem. If I don’t get Eric to the shore, he’ll drown, drinking himself to death. I lunge through the dark water, reaching out for him. I feel him suddenly, his jacket maybe, or his pants, and, clutching at it, I pull him toward the shore. I’m hoping it’s the opposite shore, but as my head breaks free of the water, I'm greeted by a familiar, odious face.
Randy grabs my hair and drags me out of the water. He viciously kicks my grip on Eric free.
“No!” I scream, struggling to get to Eric, who’s slowly rotating in the water, face down.
I feel the cold circle of a gun muzzle pressed against the back of my neck.
“Keep struggling, you dumb bitch,” Randy hisses.
Sobbing and trembling, I stop struggling. Randy yanks me painfully to my feet with my hair. He grips me from behind, keeping my head pointed toward Eric.
“I told you I’d make you watch,” he spits into my ear.
I refuse to cry, but I feel tears run down my face. Eric slowly spins in the dark water, making no movement at all. All of this for nothing. All of it, for nothing. I sink senselessly to my knees in the river. The water is all around me. I hear Randy chuckle and move to stand in front of me. I know he’s pointing his gun at me. I know he’s smiling with those shining teeth of his. But I don’t care, not anymore. Just let him shoot. Let it be over.
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