Population: Katie

by Connor, Penelope

  “Gangs?” I ask, making a face. Sure, any city that big would have had gangs before this all started, and San Angeles is no exception, but how could they still be a threat now? Did the gangs band together to boost their odds of survival? With the Gov so occupied with the obvious threat, they’d have no time to deal with silly gangs.

  Kyle nods his head, “Yeah. There was this guy who stayed with us for a couple weeks, a few months ago. He had come from S’Angeles, and he said that the survivors there had formed gangs and taken over parts of the city. Each one had a different sort of... uh, survival strategy... I guess. He’d been with one that used the zombies a lot. They would use them like weapons, packing them into small spaces, then luring other people in with them. Stuff like that. He said that sort of thing’s going on in most of the big cities. He was travelling to the coast to find his parents. It had taken him two months to get here.”

  “Two months?” I ask, a little loudly. I drop my voice back down and continue. “How can you be sure he was telling the truth?”

  “I can’t,” Kyle says. “That’s why we’re not supposed to talk about it. Most of the people with us now don’t know about any of this. I shouldn’t really be telling you even, but -”

  “Shove off, Kiddo!” a voice says from above us.

  We both look up to see my bunkmate standing with her arms crossed. “I’m tired, and I’m on retrieval tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Kyle says, slowly standing up.

  She playfully kicks him in the leg, “Move it.”

  “Good night, ladies,” Kyle says, then makes his way across the room to the bed that he shares with Derek.

  I pack up the journal and pen, then arrange my pillow and blankets, and lie down. It doesn’t take long for the room to fill, and for everyone to find their respective beds for the night. Before I know it, the room’s silent, save for some light snoring two mattresses over.

  I lay awake that night, much later than usual, thinking about the big city… thinking about Bennett, and the journey that I might have in front of me. If I knew for sure that I could find what I was looking for in S’Angeles, then it would be worth it. But I’ve no way to confirm if Dale’s father’s in the city... or if he’s even alive. I don’t even know if he can help. That’s a lot of ‘ifs.’ I’d be taking a big risk trying to go there. And that’s assuming that I can even make it at all.

  A lot can happen in two months.

  Chapter 11 – Learn to Take a Hit

  The next day, I wake up with purpose, determined to find a way out of Derek’s class. There’s no training today, so I have all day to focus on the task at hand. After getting dressed at a leisurely pace, I reapply my eyeliner and fluff up my hair in a useless styling attempt before heading towards the common room for breakfast. I decide to take the first step to getting out of the class by approaching Erin. I sit next to her at the table, then, hoping that our friendly camaraderie from earlier in the week still stands, begin. “Erin, I'd like to take your advanced class, how can I do that?”

  Erin looks up with a happy sort of smile, making me feel hopeful about my chances of transferring. She claps me on the back and replies, “That's great Katie. We could sure use you out there for missions. I think you'd be a great asset in the field, with your special skills and all.”

  Special skills? I resist the urge to scoff at that remark. Somehow, I don’t feel that getting jabbed in the shoulder with a needle is a special skill. Although, I suppose being able to go out into the streets without fear of infection could be useful. It would be more useful though if I really did have zombie powers. Then I could just... I dunno, make them all clear out of the way, or dance to iconic pop music... or something.

  “So, you’re okay if I switch?” I ask, feeling pretty good about my odds.

  “I’d be behind it, but it’s actually not up to me.”

  “Isn’t it your class?” I ask her, hoping that my tone is curious and not condescending.

  “Well, I teach it,” Erin says, “but Glory decides when someone’s ready to go into the field. After all, she sees everyone in the beginner class. She has good instincts. Did you know that we haven’t lost anyone in the last two months?”

  “I heard,” I say, a bit deflated. Somehow, I can’t imagine that I impressed Glory with my little stunt yesterday.

  “Sure, but do you understand how amazing that is?” Erin asks, her tone full of excitement and pride. “I lived with a different resistance group before I met up with these guys, and we lost people almost every day. It seemed like the only days that we didn’t, were the ones where we stayed put. But with food the way it is, we couldn’t just sit around very often.”

  “Well, where did you find new people then?” It may have been a rude question, I realize, as soon as it comes out of my mouth, but Erin answers it without hesitation.

  “We were a roving community. ‘Housers’ - that’s what most people called us. We raided houses in the residential neighborhoods. That was how we found food and shelter. So, oftentimes, there’d be people living in the houses, and sometimes they’d join us.”

  “Oh.” Curiosity satisfied, I decide to jump back onto my original topic. “So I have to ask Glory if I want to transfer?”

  “Yeah,” Erin says. “You have my recommendation, but you’ll need Derek's, too.”

  All traces of hope vanish from my mind. “Derek?” I let out a huffy breath, a little louder than I intended.

  Erin gives me a knowing look and smiles. “I didn’t get along with him in the beginning, either.” She lets out a little laugh. “I kept complaining during his classes. We butted heads a lot.”

  “What about?” I ask.

  “Just his methods,” Erin says with a shrug. “I mean, I get the whole self-defense thing, but I’d been a fitness instructor for years, and I wanted more agility training, and to play out common scenarios that I saw in the field before I joined up here,” Her tone drops a little, “We used to lose a lot of good people to minor injuries that just slowed them down too much.”

  “That's what I’ve been thinking!” I tell her. “I’d rather take your class twice than have to listen to him.”

  Erin laughs. “Well, good luck getting Glory to agree to that! The only reason she let me skip out was because she saw the value in having two classes that together, covered all the skills we needed. So... unless you want your own class, I don’t see any way out of Derek’s.”

  “Great,” I say, standing up with my now empty tray. I’m still having a hard time adjusting to the portions here, although everyone says that they have more food now than they did before I arrived. I forget to eat slowly again, so my stomach hasn’t caught on that it’s been fed, and grumbles at me despite my empty plate. “Thanks anyway.”

  “No problem,” Erin says, still laughing as I walk away.

  I start making my way back to the sleeping room again, intent on going through the journal for a while longer, but on my way, I spot Glory in the common room. She's sitting in a large, black, high-backed chair that must have been dragged in from a boardroom. The chair itself looks comfortable enough, and supports good posture, which I know is important to the elderly woman. She has a pile of fabric in her lap and a large sewing needle in one hand.

  I knock lightly on the doorframe, and she smiles, gesturing for me to join her.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes, Glory working on her project, while I watch her curiously. Up close, it doesn’t look like she’s patching up something, but rather, assembling it. She’s sewed together a couple of different pieces of fabric into a shape like a sock with no bottom, or maybe part of a sleeve. The fabric’s mostly thick, strong like leather, with a softer, more pliable piece in the center, allowing it to move freely. It’s all muted grays, and I can’t imagine what use she’d have for something like this.

  I suddenly remember why I wanted to see Glory in the first place, and break the silence. “I wanted to run something by you... I think I’d do better taking Erin’s class twi
ce, or maybe spending some extra time working by myself, instead of taking Derek’s class.”

  Glory purses her lips, considering this for a moment, then responds slowly. “Is this because of what happened yesterday?”

  “Yeah,” I admit slowly. I take in a deep breath, then start spilling out my concerns about the class. “It’s a waste of time, I don’t want to learn how to fight, or shoot a gun, or blind someone with a car antenna. Plus, Derek hates having me in his class anyway. And what he did to Kenny yesterday? I... I can’t take it. He pointed a gun at her! He threatened her, just to prove a point to me. I can’t work with him!”

  Glory surprises me again by smiling. “Have you ever wondered why Kendra volunteers every time Derek needs an assistant?”

  I give Glory a funny look, which she doesn’t catch because she’s not looking at me, but rather down at her project. She continues without a verbal response from me. “It’s because she trusts him with her whole heart. She knows he’ll always protect her, and she believes everything he does is for our benefit.”

  “Okay, well, how does she - wait, never mind that!” I’m getting upset, and I need to remain calm and rational, but I can’t. Words start spilling forth again, my pitch heightening and my arms flailing around in wild gestures as I go. “Okay, it’s me! It’s not Kenny, I mean, yes, that was awful. But the problem is with me… I can’t deal with the guns. I hated his class already, but the guns? I just can’t... I can’t...” I trail off, and then add under my breath, “I’ll bet he’d be happy if I didn’t come back anyway.”

  Glory continues working away at her project as she speaks, not once looking up at me. “I know he can be difficult for some people to work with. I know that the guns can be scary, and that the lesson was extreme. But if I were you, I’d be careful not to misread Derek’s irritation for dislike. You hold back, you underestimate yourself, and he’s taken it upon himself to break you of those habits.”

  “I don’t want to get broken,” I tell Glory. Sinking further into my seated position, I let my hand drift up and scoop one finger under the chain around my neck, twisting and untwisting it around my index finger so that the metal tag that hangs inside my shirt swings back and forth lightly. It’s a little habit I seem to have picked up over the last few days, and I find it a comforting distraction, replacing old habits like fiddling with my hair or biting my lip.

  She smiles. “Breaking a habit and breaking a person are two very different things. Derek wants you on his team for field missions, but he won’t recommend you until he knows you’re ready.”

  I scoff at that. It’s hard to imagine Derek actually wanting me on his team. Or any team. If I had to venture a guess, I’d say he’s trying to drive me right out of town with his scare tactics. He’s crazier than I thought if he actually thinks I’d join him in the field. I’m about to say as much, but decide to filter my words. “What makes you think that he wants me on his team?”

  “Because we’ve discussed it in tactic meetings,” Glory says. “Erin recommended you already, and Tim and Kimberly backed her up. Derek agreed that you’d be an asset in the field, but he doesn’t think you’re ready.”

  “Couldn’t you just go over his head or something? Put me in Erin’s advanced class, and I can join her in the field instead. Problem solved.”

  “Go over his head?” Glory asks with a laugh. “How would I do that, I wonder?”

  “You’re in charge here,” I say. “Everyone knows that. If you told him I was moving into the other class, or whatever, he wouldn’t argue. I... I want to help.” And it’s true. Thinking about joining Erin in the field, collecting supplies, helping everyone...

  “I can’t do that,” Glory says, putting the finishing touches on her sewing project. “Our group was created on a core foundation of rules. As leader, I bring with me the impartial, lifesaving wisdom that a long career in the military taught me. The rules are of utmost importance.”

  I consider this for a moment before replying, “How can I make this more important to you?”

  “By making it more important to you,” Glory says without hesitation. She holds up her project to inspect. It still looks like a funny toeless sock. “All I’m asking is that you try; and not to show me, or even him, that you want it. If you really want to go into the field, prove it to yourself.”

  I nod, not entirely sure what Glory means, but having nothing left to say on the topic. “I’ll try.” I get up to leave the room, but Glory has more to add.

  “May I?” she asks.

  I turn to see her pointing at my left arm. I walk back over to her and offer up the arm. I let Glory remove the discolored bandages that hide my scars. They’re the only physical evidence of the attack I withstood so many months ago. I haven’t shown anyone my scars yet, or even spoken about them, except when I was catching up with Tim and Kimberly.

  Glory sets the bandages aside and examines my arm, tenderly running her fingers over the rough skin. She picks up her sewing project and slides it up onto my arm. It covers my scar the same way that the bandages did, but at first glance, it looks like a fashion accessory instead of a sign of injury. The thin fabric in the middle allows my elbow to move around freely, while the thick fabric on either side stays firmly in place as I move. It’s considerably more comfortable than the gauze, and I imagine it’ll be easier to keep clean, too.

  “A lot of people out there will shoot if they think there’s even a chance that you’ve been bitten,” Glory says, patting my arm. “When you’re in the field, I want you to have the best chance possible.”

  I look down at the seated woman, who’s still, somehow, smiling at me. She may just be the most content human being I have ever met. Nothing in this world seems to faze her.

  “Thank you.” I say, and I mean it - not just for the gift, but for saying ‘when’ I’m in the field, instead of ‘if.’

  I leave the room, not having achieved my goal, but rather having found a new one. And until I can find a reasonable way to continue my mission to find Bennett, it’ll give me something to push on toward.

  After lunch, I spot Kyle sitting down in the common room with a book. He’s not on the cleaning or food preparation lists, and Derek and Erin have already left with their teams to exchange some medical supplies with another small group, so I know that he has the rest of the day free.

  “Hey,” I say by way of greeting as I approach.

  Kyle looks up, smiles, then folds in the corner of the page he’s reading and sets the book down on the floor. “Hey Katie, what’s happening?”

  I sit down in front of the boy. “I want to talk to you about something.”

  He pats the ground in front of him, inviting me to sit and continue.

  “I want to join the field teams, and I thought that if I practiced a little more, then maybe I could do better in class.”

  “Cool!” Kyle says, grabbing the book from where he dropped it on the floor, and placing it on top of the small shelf that he must have retrieved it from. I take this as a good sign even before he adds, “How can I help?”

  “I was hoping to get some help with the, um, fighting stuff?” I’ve no real idea what I need help with, but learning to kick and punch seems like a good place to start.

  “Really?” Kyle asks, sounding surprised by my request.

  “Yeah... but you don’t have to.”

  “No, no,” Kyle says. “I want to help. It’s just... I’m surprised that you want to work on stuff from Derek’s class. I thought you hated it.”

  “I do,” I say, “but maybe if I was doing better, he’d leave me alone.”

  Kyle laughs, running his hands through his scruffy blonde hair, then stretching out his arms. He cracks his fingers loudly, then looks back at me. “That never worked for me, but we can try.”

  I smile. “At least if I could go on field missions, it’d be worth enduring him.”

  Kyle nods. "I've got the afternoon free."

  I nod back and start to get to my feet. "I was hoping you�
�d say that.”

  Kyle jumps up after me, looking all too happy to help out. Either the boy has a people-pleasing complex, or he’s not looking forward to an afternoon of lazing about. I make a mental note to challenge him to a board game or something the next time I see him sitting around doing nothing. Kyle leads the way into the training room that Derek usually uses, and begins helping himself to his brother's duffle bag of supplies. To my great relief, he chooses the bag filled with items from the street, as opposed to the one filled with the guns that caused me so much trouble the day before.

  "Are you allowed to do that?" I ask after a minute of watching Kyle rifle through the bag. "Derek doesn't exactly strike me as the sharing type."

  Kyle laughs at this assessment, but continues to dig in the bag, "No, he'll probably flip if he notices that someone’s been in here. But that's the magic of being the little brother - I can get away with a lot with him."

  "Useful," I comment absently, eyeing the array of tools that Kyle’s lining up in front of the duffle bag.

  "I guess. I can't get him to treat me like a grown up, so I figure I may as well play the little brother card whenever I can. Even things out a little." Kyle stands up and examines the pile with his arms on his hips. "Okay, last week we worked on disarming a soldier. How’s your hand-to-hand combat?"

  "Huh?" It appears that the advanced class is considerably more advanced than I guessed. We've worked on punching and kicking a target a little, but nothing so forward as actually simulating a direct confrontation with a soldier. If fact, most of our training thus far seems to have been directed at fighting off someone who’s infected. I start to wonder just what the ground teams face when they go on missions. Would they ever really need to fight a soldier? Or even worse, an armed soldier? Maybe moving into the advanced class is a bad idea. It's probably not too late to just pack my bags and get out of Dodge...

  "So... is that a no on the hand-to-hand?" Kyle asks, looking mildly concerned with my lack of response.