Infected

by Justin Clay

  Slowly dark figures begin to emerge from the undergrowth. These people are armed, yes — with everything from blades to assault rifles, probably stolen from dead guards — but to me, they don’t look like Scavengers. To me, they look like Survivors.

  We are the Survivors. Usually, Scavengers have a grungy look about them: dirty, ripped clothes, jean jackets, bandanas over their faces masking their identity, a certain glowering glare about them — but these people carry none of these traits. Well, except for the stained and mud-bespattered apparel. But that’s everyone these days.

  If they truly had been Scavengers, I don’t think I could have managed to look at them as long as I have been. They are a group of six: One of them is tall dark-skinned man, who wears a dirtied white tank and carries a machete; then a statuesque, tan woman appears, her dark hair kept up beneath a tied head scarf. This woman carries an assault rifle. Her face is smeared with grime and what looks like dried blood. She, however, doesn’t look to be any pain. Must be someone else’s. My stomach churns at the that thought.

  Behind her a petite girl, who reminds me of my own sister but with a dark complexion, stands shyly. Her thick black hair is massively curly. She looks to me around the same age as June too. Beside this girl is an older woman; she looks to be in her late fifties, her short dark hair graying significantly. She, too, is darkly tan — might be a relative of the younger woman? On the other side is a tall, skinny boy in his teens; he is also dark-skinned. Beside him is a man who looks to be in his thirties; he has short blonde hair. He has a heavy pistol gripped in one of his hands. I notice a scar running along his lower left cheek.

  The strange thing is that they are armed yet none of them have their weapons raised at us in return.

  The shaved-head man with the machete seems to be their leader, as he is standing before them all protectively. He has a torn strip of yellow cloth wrapped around one of his large biceps; this is a good sign. It means he’s on our side. Yellow is the color of the Survivors, symbolizing warmth and hope. Red for the Scavengers or Ravagers. For blood, for death.

  A silence, thick and unsettling hangs in the air. But only for a moment.

  It is Eli who speaks first. “You have been following us for some time.” This is news to me. Didn’t he only just mention them? “Why?”

  The man with the machetes — his brow furrows, and he looks upon us with an expression I cannot readily read. “My name is Terek,” he says, his voice deep and filled with pain of loss. “We — I was hoping, you might be able to help us…Our group has traveled a great deal…We haven’t met any survivors for a long time…My son, Mikael, he saw one of the girls with you — it was just when we reached the mountains…I couldn’t believe it…We lost our entire camp of about a hundred to an Infected attack…We’re all that’s left…We were hoping you could help us find these Carriers everyone is talking about…Is that where you are headed? — I am sorry if this all seems too heavy-handed, but the fact of matter is, we are desperate…We will take any help we can get and we can hold our own.”

  I look to Eli, who glances to Lena, who makes a slight frown and almost shrugs. Almost. Eli swallows, and turns back to Terek, his brow wrinkled. “Why do you think we can help you more than anyone else?”

  We all look to Terek for his answer. “Well, from what I can see before me now — I feel as though you four are trustworthy…I know this all seems strange given the circumstance…But I wouldn’t be here asking you this if it wasn’t for my children…Mikael and Maia…I do not know where to take them for safety…That is what they need.”

  “I am sorry to say,” Eli says lowly, “no place now is safe enough.”

  “But you are heading there, aren’t you?”

  Eli glances my way purposefully, and then back to Terek. “So it seems,” he says with a gruff sigh.

  “So you know where it could be?”

  “I have a vague idea of its whereabouts,” Eli replies.

  At this, the woman with the tattered head scarf seems skeptical, by the look of her pinched face.

  “That is better than nothing,” Terek responds. “So can you help us?” His grizzled face is more pleading than I would expect from a man of his immense stature. But I suppose such intimacies are exposed easily enough in times like this. When everything has returned to chaos.

  “Let me discuss this with my partner, here,” Eli says, gesturing to Lena, “and we will give you an answer.”

  “Fair enough,” Terek deliberates. “Take as much time as you need.”

  I watch carefully as Eli and Lena walk off a ways and immerse themselves in a heated conversation. Lena’s face is absolutely stern, surprisingly so. Eli seems more quiet, his gaze softly suspicious. What are they saying? I feel a little jaded to not be part of the discussion, but I suppose they really have the final say in our four-man group, so to speak.

  When they return, Eli is weary-faced, and Lena doesn’t look so happy either.

  “We have decided,” Eli says, and after a pause, continues, “that we will help you for the time being…On one condition.”

  “Name it,” Terek says.

  “We need to know more about you in order for us to even begin to trust you.”

  He nods. “Again, fair enough. What do you want to know?”

  “I think it’s best if we don’t talk here,” Eli says, “for other than obvious reasons, there are some Scavengers out in these parts…We no doubt are being watched right now, so we best be on the move. When we stop for the night…we will talk then.”

  ...

  The crackling fire lulls me into a daze, bringing back buried memories of all of the camps June and I have slept within. The campfire is low to keep outsiders from noticing, and it’s guarded by a collection of rocks, fed by dry mottled leaves and underbrush. All ten of us sit around it, our shadows shifting and languishing into the darkness of the forest beyond. Terek had only just finished his shortened story of how the six of them ended up where they are, and now a cold quiet has taken over. I keep my knees pressed closed to my face, my eyes lost with my mind elsewhere. In a different place. In a different time.

  Terek’s story isn’t that far off from our own. Then again, I think everyone now who is still alive shares something similar in how they managed to emerge from the chaos. Interestingly enough, they too are from Georgia. But South Georgia, not North. A few months or so after the Outbreak, the family happened to end up in a camp like June and I had been when we were with the small group of people trusted by our parents: Dale, the slightly overweight husband to Gabby; Jim, the tall blonde haired man in his late thirties, long-time boyfriend to Peter, a Mexican-American in his early thirties, I think. There was Sarah, a solemn, quiet woman who had been very protective of her son, who was a thin, sickly boy named Marty. He had also been my friend. But she couldn’t save him. They all died in the end.

  We all will die in the end.

  It was those few people who June and I spent the first two years with after arriving at the outcamp without my parents, who said they said they would be there soon.

  They never arrived.

  They had died too — attempting to save the children and old people fleeing the Infected attack. Terek’s group had been much larger, but after a Scavenger raid that left the campsite ransacked and a brutal battleground, the number dwindled from twenty-one to twelve. They barely escaped and traveled westward in search for the Carriers, like everyone else. Along their journey here, they lost four. One of them went mad and was eventually killed by an Infected. The others by Scavengers. And now there are only six of them remaining.

  It is quiet for a while longer, the sound of the crackling, dying fire the only noise. I notice Terek’s face bears the expression one has before saying something important. He is sincere, that much I can easily tell by his account. I think Eli will give into him, but you never know. He could see them as either a benefit to us — more eyes, more hands, better chance to survive or as a means of just slowing us down. Apparently, June and I
are already doing something like that.

  “So, Eli,” Terek begins cautiously. “Will you help us?”

  I watch as Eli stares at Terek, long and hard, his eyes narrowed.

  “Tell you what,” he finally says. “You and your group can come along with us for the time being; we could use the extra hands…And you, your wife, Sondra, and Mason seem very capable of surviving as seeing you’ve made it this far…and I’m sure your group has you all to thank for that…So that is my decision.”

  Mason is the stout man with the noticeable scar on his cheek. Terek bears a look now of absolute relief as he sighs. Sondra — the woman that had been at Terek’s side earlier carrying the assault rifle, smiles, but only marginally. Sondra is the daughter of the older tan-skinned woman, Eresa She doesn’t look as thrilled. Mikael, Terek’s lanky son, seems caught up in his own world, paying no attention, his aslant face deeply shadowed. I continue to watch him carefully, wondering.

  It is decided that Eli will keep first watch as everyone else tries to get some sleep. June and I lie down near Lena, who has positioned herself up against the trunk of a tree. She has her crossbow slung over her lap. A faint smile from her passes over us, and I look away to my sister. She has been extraordinarily quiet. Something must be wrong. She looks at me with a distant expression. There’s a brokenness to it that makes me feel incredibly small.

  I’m so sorry, June, that you have to go through this —Life shouldn’t be this way for you. For anybody. But it is, and here we are.

  We tell each other good night quietly, and I soon drift off to sleep. But the reprieve doesn’t last.

  I’m woken by the startling sounds of gunshots and screams.

  …

  7

  FIRES OF THE PAST

  I WATCH THE MORNING sunlight as it shimmers through the gaps of the drifting leaves belonging to the tall hardwoods surrounding us. A somber silence lingers. I focus on the light. It bears a reddish tint to it, reminding me of the blood that had been spilled not too long ago.

  We were attacked by a wandering group of Infected; there weren’t many. But we did not go unscathed.

  Terek’s son, Mikael, was bitten on his lower forearm; he was awakened by it as matter of fact. How horrifying that must have been. Terek was, of course, devastated. He had been the one to decapitate the Frother with a swift swing of his machete. I saw the head of the Infected later that morning. Then, to keep the infection from taking a deathly hold, there was only one option that seemed feasible given the circumstance...a brutal option: Amputate the area. So that’s what was done, given the limited supplies we had together.

  I’m still trying to forget his screams. Screams that no doubt will attract more unwanted attention. Although Mikael did try to keep it down, the pain had been too much, naturally. June didn’t want to watch, but I told her it was important for her. She might have to do the same someday to me. Affix a tightly bound cloth to stave off the movement of the infection, sterilize a sharp blade with burning heat, and cut deeply. It was obvious how queasy she became because of it. Pangs of guilt riddled me, but it was necessary. It is necessary in this day and age.

  Mikael walks now with his father behind us, the arm that is now a little shorter tucked beneath the other, his head kept down.

  I hate this.

  Eli continues to lead us. He had not been on guard when this happened. It had been Sondra. She had gone to look for some more firewood, and when she returned it was already happening. Mikael already had a slightly bleeding wound before, so that’s what had to have drawn the Infected. And then everything ensued. But now we are faced with the bigger problem of moving onward. Where to? I’m not exactly sure. Although, I do have a faint idea of what Lena told me earlier.

  My attention returns to our environment. The path through the mountains proves to be more treacherous. The winds become stronger, more fiercely cold. The inclines in terrain are more severe. We’re truly in the mountains now, traversing up the side of a massive rock that seems to have no visible end. Even with the short-lived rest last night provided, we’re growing wearier. Mikael bares deep-set dark rings beneath his eyes from the loss of sleep. A few others like Terek and Sondra also bear the same telltale signs of exhaustion.

  Eli remains quiet as usual, doesn’t give any hints to where we seem to be generally going. But I’m hoping it’s further from the mountains, because the coldness is growing steadily intolerable. I don’t necessarily care so much about myself, but for June it’s a different story. I notice her clutching at her sides, her timid stature clinging for warmth against the brisk winds. She needs a jacket. And I don’t have that.

  At some point during our journey along a craggy pathway up between highland trees, I turn to Lena and ask her quietly, “Will we be stopping for supplies anytime soon?”

  Lena studies my face intuitively and looks as if she’s thinking.

  I sigh and gesture slightly in June’s direction. “It’s just…My sister needs a coat, something — It’s getting colder.”

  Lena watches my sister, the way she’s holding herself up, arms wrapped around; she’s quiet. I know my sister. She wouldn’t give away the tiniest of hints that she’s the littlest bit cold. She would feel it to be too much of burden, when it isn’t at all. It’s just who she is. I couldn’t fault her for that. I would never.

  A firm line appears in Lena’s face. “I will talk to Eli about it — we’ll have to stop eventually, regardless.” Her solemn expression tells me she believes me.

  The relief I feel is small, but I will take it.

  …

  The night brings colder winds and strange shadows of shifting trees, their thick leaves whispering in the dark. Summer will not last forever. And the chill reminds us of that undoubtedly. Our only light again is the dim firelight.

  I watch the flames dance carefully; June is curled up at my side as usual. Lena is beyond me with her bow out, ready for any sign of movement as she stands on guard with Mason, who is on the other end of camp. It was decided that two should be awake, so there will always be someone at camp if the other has to leave for whatever reason. We couldn’t have another incident as before. Lena has her bow out and ready for any sign of movement. We can’t take any more chances.

  My eyes drift to the boy with the now shorter arm, and deep pain awakens inside me. His sister, Maia, is sleeping behind him much like how June is around me. Maia is a quiet, sweet girl. Her personality is too similar to June in ways. From what I have noticed, June and Maia have become closer; they talk quietly together off and on, ever the picture of sweetness.

  But that sweetness will not save you. Not in this world.

  Riveting flashbacks course through me as if I have been struck by lightning, or my skin set afire. Everything burns. And so, too, I wish for these memories to burn away. I’m tired of carrying these dead people around inside me. Once friends. None gone. Nothing left of them. For those who die now, if you’re lucky enough to not be eaten alive, you’re burned. Cremations are held. It’s become a tradition now.

  I remember reading about the Vikings doing a similar thing, a few years back before all of this happened. Our father had an extensive library, and I would spend great lengths of time in those comfy and during the winter fire-lit walls. And during the summer, when there was no school, I would spend days reading. I enjoyed it so much. Taking journeys in my mind to different, fantastical places. Becoming people I could only imagine being. People better than myself. People that don’t exist outside of pages. Sometimes I thought those were these best kinds of people, the ones that you read about. So brave, and true. So strong, and kind.

  But I know that’s not true. Not necessarily. These times have taught a bit differently. Those that stick with you until the bitter end. Those are the types of people you cannot afford to let go. You continue to live, not just survive for them. Surviving has nothing to do with being alive. It’s merely functioning. But I fear that’s what it is coming to, and for that reason I am scared.

&n
bsp; So much has been lost in the fires of the past. What doesn’t burn. Truly. That’s what really stays with you in the end and in some regards, never leaves.

  I’m tired of losing people. I guess that’s why I don’t want to get close to anyone else as much as I used to. Of course it is…

  Does that girl who would spend days on end dreaming of different lives through books still exist?

  I’m not so sure. In fact, I’m not so sure of anything anymore.

  These hard times break you. And sometimes you don’t end up putting yourself back together. And those people are no longer here. They disappear like dust with wind. And I don’t want that for June. She needs so much better. She deserves so much better.

  We almost lost Mikael. And I barely know him. Something tells me that this shouldn’t be the case.

  “You’re name is Rian, right?”

  I blink, unsure if the voice that just spoke was Mikael. Snapping out of it, I look over and see it had been him. He’s looking at me curiously; his eyes are dark, and glinting in the firelight. I nod silently. What do I say to him?