Along the Winding Road

by Marlee Pagels

  She sniffled, giving no other response. Arthur kept his mouth shut just as tightly, while Dalton rotated the meat.

  By the time Dalton announced the meal was ready, Charlotte had calmed down. She watched Dalton move the meat off the fire without making eye contact and accepted her share with a quiet thanks. Arthur muttered a thank you and reached for his portion with his right arm so he wouldn’t have to break contact with her. No one ate until she took her first bite.

  “Do you like raccoon?” Dalton started after another minute.

  Arthur looked up at him. “Yes, I suppose. It’s not my favorite type of meat by any means, but it’s available.”

  He took another bite of his food before realizing Dalton was still looking at him, nodding his head towards Charlotte.

  “Um, and you?” Arthur started. “Charlotte?”

  She exhaled. “Not particularly. I’m sure I’ve had some before this, though.” She chewed a bit more and swallowed. “Probably on Mystery Meat Day at the Nourriture qui Sauve.”

  Arthur raised his eyebrows. “At the what?”

  She turned the critter leg in her hand to get to the last of the meat. “The restaurant I work for.”

  “Oh, that. Okay.” Arthur took his time chewing his next mouthful, but she exhaled, slumping over her meal a bit more. Jittering, he swallowed before he should have and hacked.

  “But, um—” He swallowed again. “If they already serve zombies, is it, er, really a marketing risk to tell the customers exactly what else they’re eating?”

  “Ha.” She picked a bone clean and hurled it into the trees behind her. “Maybe it’s just a guessing game to liven things up. We do get a cow’s worth of beef every once in a while, but most of the menu isn’t known for its natural savor.” She exhaled. “Maybe we’d just rather pretend we’re eating intolerable school cafeteria food, so life seems a little more normal.”

  “Makes sense.” Arthur polished a bone but couldn’t move either arm enough to throw it. He just dropped it by his side for the moment. Only then did he realize Dalton had stopped chewing.

  “A restaurant that serves…” The towhead started wasn’t lifting the raccoon in his hands for another bite.

  A corner of Charlotte’s mouth went up.. “Yes, infected meat. I guess it sounds pretty disgusting to anyone who hasn’t worked and eaten there for a year.” She sat up, although her elbows still hooked around her knees. “It’s the cure, though. Or maybe more of a vaccine. We don’t know any details since most people aren’t ready to risk being bitten without it. But a good strip of jerky keeps away infection for a day or so.”

  Dalton blinked, taking another bite of meat. After swallowing, he said, “Seriously?”

  She nodded, rolling a clean raccoon rib between her thumb and forefinger. “We still don’t like to be reckless about running around with infecteds. But it worked for the woman who figured it out, and it’s worked for others, too.”

  “Cool,” he said before taking a sip of water.

  Her worn smile showed again. “You’re allowed to say ‘weird.’”

  “No, no, I really mean cool.” Chewing quickly, he swallowed the last of his meat. “It’s not exactly an intuitive vaccine—or inoculation, or whatever—so… yeah. Some food for thought.”

  “What would count as intuitive?” She stared at her next bite. “The usual heat-killed junk?”

  He paused, mouth open, before shutting his eyes and nodding. “If it were a virus.”

  She looked up, chewing. “It isn’t?”

  “The first reports I heard thought so.” He scooped the remains of his meal into a neater pile. “But in my experience, it’s acted more like a bacteria. Still awfully strong.”

  “But getting weaker,” Arthur pointed out. “Used to, you didn’t have to be bitten to get it, right?”

  “I don’t know that it’s that specific now.” Dalton’s brow scrunched. “But yeah, it’s like it’s evolving backwards, almost… Why, what do you think it is?” He squinted at Arthur. “And if you say prions, I’ll smack you.”

  Arthur frowned. “What on earth is a prion?”

  Dalton inhaled but shook his head. “Never mind. Knowing you, you probably think it’s voodoo anyway.”

  Arthur scoffed after swallowing a bite. “Please. These are nothing like voodoo zombies. They’d have to be from a totally different brand of magic.” He froze before he could sink his teeth into his raccoon. “Or—” he tried to wave their stares away with a single motion— “prions.”

  A bit of uncomfortable silence passed before Dalton drummed his fingers on his knee. “Is the zombie jerky good enough to eat?” He looked at Arthur.

  The archer gagged. “I haven’t even tried it. I’d like to keep my sense of taste intact.”

  Charlotte picked her last bone clean. “You do realize you’re eating raccoon.”

  “With altogether negligible amounts of decay,” Arthur added, shaking a roasted leg at her. “Bit of a difference.”

  A smile, still tired but not as strained, graced her face for a moment. “I’ll give you that.” She hauled herself to her feet, flung the rest of her bones into the brush, and picked up the first bag to go over her shoulder. Dalton followed suit, while Arthur hurried to finish off his ration. Dropping the leg bones before the meat was completely inside his mouth, he picked up his bucket.

  “Ready to go, I assume?” he started, helping her with her second bag.

  “Yeah.” She adjusted the shoulder strap and stomped out the fire. Wiping her face—or at least smudging it so the tear tracks weren’t visible—she looked to Arthur and smiled. “Thanks.”

  15

  The intersection of US-290 and Fitzhugh Road was underfoot before Charlotte decided to stop for the night. Although the building ahead was walled with glass, none of it was broken, and enough chairs and tables dotted the floor inside to trip up any incoming infecteds. The former Mexican restaurant could have also had some canned goods in the back. Considering Arthur’s shoulder was still too sore to shoot down food, that alone was worth the risk. Charlotte didn’t want to dig into her or Dalton’s food stores if she didn’t have to. Besides, if the building proved insecure, they could always loot it and walk to the block of storage units across the road.

  Trying not to step on dead roaches, she pushed her way into the kitchen. The counters and sinks were cleaned out, but one cabinet yielded an open, fungus-eaten can of tomato something-or-other. She shut the doors quietly, as if allowing the layer of fuzz to sleep without disturbance would make it go away.

  Sighing as the other side of the cabinet yielded nothing, she tried the shin-level cupboard farthest from the sink. As her hand dragged across the top shelf, it found a can lurking in the back. Prodding it towards her with only her fingertips lest it have its own infection, she pulled it out intact.

  “What is it?” Arthur started, too far away to read it.

  The sliding clunking of Dalton’s shake flashlight was behind her, but she stood up with the can in hand. “Save it. There’s still daylight.”

  Slipping into the main part of the restaurant, she rotated the can in her hand until the largest letters saw the light of day.

  “Chiles Jalapeños Enter-r-r-ros,” she announced before setting the can down on a table.

  “Which means?” Arthur started, pulling up a chair after ensuring she had no interest in sitting down at the moment.

  “Some kind of jalapeños, but one year of Spanish won’t tell me any more than that. We’d need Armando to translate the rest. Or it might be easier to open it and find out.” Shuffling through her bag, she poured a little diluted bleach on the top of the can and rubbed it down.

  Arthur watched her for a second before leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Who’s Armando?”

  “Hm?” She glanced at him before pulling out the knife she now kept on her belt. “Guy I work with.”

  “Oh, him.” He frowned, scratching his cheek.

  “Yes, him.” She hooked her foot around a n
earby chair leg and pulled it up to sit. “Is that a problem?”

  “What? No.” He folded his arms, watching the can as he jiggled one his right leg.

  “You know,” Dalton said, “you could at least wait until you actually have a girlfriend before you start going Othello on us.”

  Arthur crossed his arms tighter. “I’m acting nothing like Othello.”

  “You have read that play, right?” Dalton responded. “I sure thought you were such a Shakespeare fanboy, but if you say you don’t think like him at all…”

  “I’ve read it and seen it,” Arthur scoffed, watching the tip of Charlotte’s knife progress around the can’s rim. “The only thing I have in common with the titular character is a lack of confidence in my words.”

  “You did well enough with them at lunch,” Charlotte pointed out, watching the lid tilt up at the side she’d already cut through.

  “Only if you think so.” Arthur tried not to wrinkle his nose at the vinegar smell spreading through the room.

  “I do.” Slowing down, she held the lid between her nails and cut at the last part holding it to the rest of the can. “Will you hold this still for a second?”

  Arthur nodded, scooting up to wrap his hands around the can. She finished opening the container and thanked him for his help.

  “This is going to be an interesting meal,” she started, pulling out one whole pepper by its stem and peering into the can. “You want any, Dalton?”

  Dalton raised his eyebrows at the food. “Sorry, but I only do Asian spicy.” He displayed his lower teeth in an exaggerated grimace. “No go on the jalapeño.”

  “Thought you wouldn’t be interested.” She held the pepper up to examine it, but the east-facing windows were rapidly admitting less light. “I don’t see anything weird on them. Let’s scrub them and roast them.” She dropped her jalapeño back in the can. “There are some trees across the street, so I’ll grab some branches from there.” She turned to Arthur. “Do you have enough clean water to scour them all?”

  He shrugged off his drawstring backpack and got his bottle out. “This is almost full.”

  “All right, we’ll do that and both drink my water. We won’t want much if these are still spicy. Shame there isn’t any milk.”

  “Yeah.” Hr dragged the can towards him, and she stood, turning towards the door.

  As she charged out of the building, Arthur couldn’t help but hope hot peppers would be the only thing to make her eyes water anytime soon.

  ~*~

  The sun had barely started over the horizon when Charlotte surveyed the intersection and started down the road. At the soonest opportunity, she walked off the asphalt onto softer ground. Her limp may have lessened, but her hip and knee still ached.

  Although he continued to walk closer to her than Dalton, Arthur looked back at his roommate. “You didn’t bring any textbooks along, did you?”

  Dalton shook his head. “I was tempted, but these bags weigh enough already.”

  “Yeah?” Arthur stretched his right arm. “What subjects have you been studying?”

  “Mostly surface physics lately. I’ve already run out of interesting medical books.” With a sigh, he put the back of his hand to his forehead and kept walking.

  Chuckling, Charlotte turned to comment, her baggage swinging around her from the momentum. She put her arms down to stop them and promptly fell over. Arthur yelped and scampered to her side.

  “I’m okay,” she started, pushing her duffel off her stomach before letting Arthur pull her up.

  “Are you sure?” He looked her over, his eyes stopping at the rip over her knee.

  “Yeah.” Getting her bags in order, she shook out her leg and turned around. “Yeah. Sorry. Still a little tired.” She smiled at him and resumed walking, her eyes on the ground.

  “Oh.” He took another second to catch up. “Did you not sleep well?”

  She scratched the back of her neck. “To be honest, yeah. Too much to think about, you know?” Exhaling, she made it a few more steps forward before a monster stumbled out of the brush.

  “Here, I’ve got it,” Arthur said, pulling out his bow and an arrow.

  She stepped out of the way, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I’m certainly bruised, but no longer so sore.” After a moment of aiming, he let the arrow fly, hitting the infected in the chest.

  “Bruised but not sore,” Charlotte murmured, keeping up as he went to retrieve the arrow. “Could say that for both of us.” She crossed her arms. “Dumb Milton.”

  Arthur gave a jittery laugh as he slowed down near the infected body. “Really, though—” he turned back towards her “—are you all right? We could always stop and close our eyes for a while if it would help.” His gaze dropped to her knee.

  Trying not to laugh, she investigated the choppy line of red there that could have shown up at any time without her noticing. “Goodness, Arthur, this doesn’t even count as a scratch. I’m not going to let myself fall into any worse, either.” She grinned. “You treat me like such a fragile flower sometimes.”

  “I—no! You’re not… There’s nothing frail about you; that’s half the reason I—” Cutting himself off, he knelt to rip his arrow out of the infected.

  She stopped herself from asking what he was about to say. She had a hunch about the end of that sentence, anyway.

  “Let’s keep going, then.” She did a quick sweep of the area while he was occupied, but Dalton was the only other person in sight. “I promise I won’t fall over again, okay?”

  Arthur blinked, looking perplexed. “Okay.” Wiping infected blood off on the dried mud, he stood and stowed the arrow. “I’ll, um, hold you to that, though.”

  “Fine.” She checked her direction and started walking. “But, in exchange, you can’t let anyone else shoot you with your own arrows.”

  He fingered the slash over his collarbone, throwing a glance back to make sure Dalton was still following. “I assure you I’ll do my best. Although I’m still trying to figure out how he managed to swipe one without drawing my attention.”

  She eyed the fletchings sticking out from the quiver just below his elbow. “Yeah. I’m surprised he didn’t try to take your bow, too.”

  “Maybe he’s used to a different kind.” He shrugged. “I was tempted to see what he had used, but…”

  She chuckled, looking at her toes. “But I was already freaking out and running away?”

  “I-I wouldn’t phrase it like that…” He rested his bow against his shoulder. “Um, besides, I wouldn’t want to cheat on Portia, anyway.” He stroked the curved wood with his free hand.

  She snorted. “You named your bow Portia?”

  Huffing, he crossed his arms. “What, you haven’t named your gun?”

  She tapped her fingers on her rifle. “Belle,” she admitted.

  “See, don’t act like it’s eccentric. I’m peculiar enough without you trying to make me sound worse. Dalton, what’s your staff’s name?”

  “Isaac.” Dalton gave the rod a twirl.

  “See? Perfectly normal. Goodness.”

  “Okay, okay,” Charlotte laughed. “You win.”

  “And it’s about time, too.” Arthur gave a stiff nod of assent before adjusting his stance to shoot another infected.

  After a moment more of walking, Dalton started, “Charlotte, if you want, I do have some sleeping pills in here.”

  Arthur looked back at his roommate with a pout. “Oh, I tell you I’ve been an insomniac for years, but you don’t mention the pills until she says something?”

  Dalton blinked. “Of course not. It’s too funny to hear you ramble about the voices. Incidentally, I do not have any pills for that.”

  Arthur stomped down on the infected to get better leverage on his arrow. “Such a caring friend, Dalton. You’re at least supposed to offer them to me. How else am I supposed to generously decline so I may ensure there will be enough for Charlotte should she need them?”<
br />
  Dalton watched Arthur clean off the arrow for a moment before clearing his throat in several stutters. “Say, Arthur, I have a few sleep aid pills. It’s not much, but since you’ve been having issues with insomnia, I thought you might like to try some.”

  Arthur put his arrow back in the quiver with a flourish. “I thank you for the offer, my friend, but I must decline. Charlotte, would you be interested in any sleeping pills?”

  She was giggling to hard to reply. “You’re a dork,” she finally managed.

  Arthur sighed. “I was aiming for ‘gentleman,’ but I suppose everyone has different interpretations.”

  Allowing herself to stand still until the laughing fit passed, she covered her mouth. Looking at the two in front of her, she smiled more just because she wasn’t having this journey alone.

  16

  More neighborhoods branched off the road than Arthur expected. Weren’t they taking the beaten path to avoid houses? He didn’t particularly care, but Charlotte was already in a less-than-serene state of mind. Perhaps she was just too tired to worry about it.

  “I’m going to have some jerky for lunch.” She didn’t slow down as she opened her bag. “Do you want some, or would you rather look through some houses, or…?”

  Arthur grimaced. “I’ll check the houses, thanks.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Exhaling, she twirled a lock on hair around a finger. “We’ll all three look. Wouldn’t want you to stumble into a room of infecteds by yourself.”

  “If you feel like it.” He eyed her, frowning, but once she smiled, his opposition dissolved. “Dalton, are you interested?”

  “Sounds adventurous. Why not?” He tried to cover up his hand zipping up his food bag, but Arthur snorted.

  “These houses seem intact enough.” Charlotte slowed and turned at the next road. The other two followed suit with no objections.

  The first few buildings yielded nothing interesting, but Arthur wasn’t surprised. Raiders ought to have cleaned out the places easiest to access by now.