Along the Winding Road

by Marlee Pagels

  “There,” Arthur panted, holding out the bow for her to examine. “Strung. May we leave now?”

  Putting her hands to her hips, she scrutinized his face more than the bowstring. He only looked hungrier as the days went by, but the color had come back to his face, and his eyes were sharp and focused.

  “Fine.” She steered the weapon down with one hand. “I guess I promised. But let me know when we need to stop, okay? I’m not bound and determined to make any particular kind of progress today.”

  He nodded and hurried to the side of the couch to fetch his quiver.

  “I’m still doing the shooting.” She slung her duffel strap over her shoulder.

  “Understood.” Thankful that his drawstring backpack only had light toiletries, Arthur got himself ready to go as well.

  Relieved of a lot of his cargo by now, Dalton didn’t take long to pack up, and the three were out the door in minutes.

  The sun was halfway down to the horizon, but the stone porch radiated heat as they passed through, and the cracked clay beyond was no kinder. Occasional breezes were cool, but sweat evaporation only helped up to a point.

  Staring at the gravel that may as well have been burning coals, Arthur staggered after Charlotte. Once the offbeat crunches of his footfalls attracted her attention, she spaced out her steps and turned her head.

  “Do we need to take a break?” she started, without any hints in her voice or eyes as to whether she was frustrated or not.

  “I’m fine,” he gasped, trying to pick up his pace. He tripped, but not enough for either of his companions to jump in and help.

  Exhaling, she nodded and turned her eyes back to the path.

  She was leading them out of Hektor’s unfenced yard when Arthur’s breathing became louder than his footfalls. Whipping around, she kept her expression blank as she took in her entourage’s appearance. His eyes half-closed, Arthur leaned against Dalton like a propped ladder as he stumbled forward. Dalton, upon noticing her gaze, looked to the side innocently and shoved Arthur off him. The archer staggered but stayed on his feet.

  “Arthur,” Charlotte warned, putting her hands on her hips and waiting.

  “Um, yes?”

  She stared him down a bit longer, but he only stood and sweated beneath her gaze.

  “Do you see a problem here?” she prompted.

  He tugged at his collar and swallowed. “Well, we’re not moving.”

  “And there is a perfectly acceptable reason for that. You shouldn’t be walking if you have to make Dalton pull half your weight.”

  “It was more like one-fourth,” Dalton started, but he went silent when she gave him a look.

  Arthur was still panting. “I’m just getting used to the outdoors. I’ll straighten up as we continue, all right?” He took a few slow steps forward, but Dalton had to steady him when the archer tottered.

  Huffing, Charlotte marched over and with both arms swept Arthur off his feet. She hauled him back towards the house for a brief moment before lowering him again.

  “Okay,” she choked, “you’re too heavy for that. But you get the point. Come on.” Tugging on his arm, she continued along the path.

  Flushed and dizzy, Arthur wanted to object but found himself silently stumbling after her.

  ~*~

  This time, Arthur would not lean on Dalton, even if he was about to drop dead from the strain. He would just ask for a break, and it would be fine because they’d be three more houses ahead by then. He could make it that far. The lack of food left him with little energy, but that was only more motivation to push forward, right?

  He repeated that in his mind as the faded gravel road rasped from his slowing footfalls.

  “Is it time to stop?”

  Cringing at Charlotte’s voice, Arthur looked up at her. Her chin nearly touched her shoulder as she glanced back at him.

  “Not yet.” He strained to bridge the gap while she was paused.

  “All right,” she replied, lifting her eyebrows but turning back around. Her boots were thunking down on the road again before he had quite caught up. Dalton, matching his strides, watched for anything troublesome, within his group or without.

  Charlotte was busy shooting down zombies the first time Arthur fell. Swearing sharply while the gun blasts would drown it out, he pushed himself back up before Dalton could help him. Hoping Charlotte wouldn’t notice the new scratches on his knees, he clenched his fists and staggered ahead.

  By the time the next house approached, mucus clogged his throat enough for him to fear that even his too-loud panting wasn’t getting him enough oxygen. The black spots tap-dancing around the edges of his eyes corroborated that. Furthermore, he was nearly drowning in the sweat drenching his face. That could do him in much more quickly than simple suffocation.

  Yet so little ground had passed underfoot. He had said three houses. They were only approaching the second. Unacceptable. If Charlotte could slow down the journey for him, he was obliged to speed up the journey for her. His wound had sealed, his fever receded; all that held him back was plain weakness, and he could push past that.

  He pushed past it for a few more yards before taking another tumble. Dalton caught his shoulders, but the gravel skidded away underfoot, and the archer slid down to his knees before coming to a stop. Vision fuzzy, he wobbled there for a minute trying to remember how breathing worked.

  “Arthur!” Ejecting a cartridge, Charlotte glanced one more time at her most recent kill before hurrying back to him.

  He mouthed that he was fine, but she seemed to take more notice that no words were coming out.

  “Try to catch your breath.” She sat down next to him and pressed the backs of her fingers to his forehead. “We’ll just rest here for a while.” His sweat was dripping off her glove, so she removed her hand.

  “No,” Arthur got out, rubbing his eyes. “Not—not yet. Just one more… one more house, okay?” Inhaling in gasps, he got back to his feet by pulling on Dalton’s wrists, but Charlotte frowned and seized Arthur by the shoulder.

  “Later.” She looked him in the eye. “You’ve already been pushing yourself; let’s just cool down here for a while.”

  And just like that, Arthur was a liability again. He’d have to rest sometime, but how many times would they stop today? This week? Even cutting off a little distance between breaks would add up. How much less ground would they cover if he stopped this soon every time? Would they find food while they still had the strength to eat? Were Dalton and Charlotte going to starve to death waiting on him? Was he going to starve to death, leaving Charlotte to whatever would befall her, merely because he was too weak to go a little further?

  Arthur shook his head. “Just—just one more!”

  Before she could tighten her grip, he wrenched himself away and sprinted. Tilting forward enough he knew he’d topple over soon, he forced every jarring footfall to spring him as far as possible. Black crushed in on the edges of his vision. His lungs burned and tried to shrivel in on themselves. The hollers right behind him faded to a high-pitched buzz.

  He made it past the siding of the third house before the ground angled towards him too fast. Protecting his face with his forearms, he crashed onto the gravel and got to his hands and knees before he vomited. Rolling onto his back, he caught a glimpse of the two standing over him, but the image faded as he passed out.

  ~*~

  “I should stop assuming you’ll act rationally.”

  Breaths rasping, Arthur tried to take the water bottle being offered him. After a shaky sip, he got out, “Well, you knew from the beginning that I was mad.”

  Charlotte sighed as he tried to get a better look at her. Leaning over to the point he could only see her blurred face, she must have been kneeling. He felt carpet beneath him. The light was dim, and he couldn’t make out the ceiling or anything else in the room. He had no reason to believe Dalton was missing, but he called his name, anyway.

  “Yeah?” Still on the edge of Arthur’s field of sight, Dalt
on stepped over towards him. “You feeling okay?”

  “Not particularly,” Arthur mumbled.

  Holding her elbows, she waited for more but got nothing. “Did you think you would feel okay after that?”

  He sat up to get another drink to answer, and even then his throat may as well have been concrete. “No—” another glug “—I only thought I would make more progress.”

  “You would have eventually.” She clasped her wrist and exhaled.

  “Yes, but ‘eventually’ isn’t the best place to get food.”

  With a groan, she leaned back far enough he had to turn to see her face. The motion made the small of his back sore.

  “If you’re worried about starving,” she said, “I promise you’re not helping things by running until you throw up.”

  “That part was not intentional,” he mumbled before getting another drink. “Speaking of which, may… I stop taking those pills? I’m not sick anymore.”

  Dalton hesitated. “We could take the dosage down, but I don’t think it’s safe to stop taking them altogether. They didn’t come in a handy little Z-pack, so I’m not sure exactly how to wean you off them.” He unzipped his heaviest duffel. “I might have a pill splitter in here, so we could try one and a half tomorrow.”

  Arthur mumbled something that didn’t sound pleased.

  “Also,” Charlotte started, “not being sick isn’t the same as completely well. You’ve still been through the wringer, and you ought to take it easy. Just like after the fight with Milton—” she paused “—after which you also failed to settle down and rest.” Crossing her arms, she sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Arthur?”

  “Kiss him,” coughed Dalton.

  With a snort, she got to her feet and checked on the door, which was too splintered to stay shut on its own.

  “You at least got us to the house with no furniture.” She eyed the bright rectangle of the outside world before pushing the door shut again.

  “Only the best for you,” Arthur muttered, shutting his eyes for a moment before blinking them back open. “Anyway, I’ve had my rest, so we should get moving again.” Choking on the last couple of words, he coughed until he had a good swig of water going down his throat.

  She spun to face him and raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m only thirsty,” he stammered. “I can drink just as well walking as sitting.”

  She stared at him, and he found his eyes drawn to the less severe water bottle.

  “Would I rather let you walk,” she finally sighed, “or try to pin you down until it’s too dark to go anywhere?”

  He attempted puppy-dog eyes again. Judging from the lack of change in her expression, it wasn’t successful. She began to pace a width of a few steps. Dalton put the pill splitter in an outside pocket and looked over at his roommate.

  “Snail’s pace,” Charlotte suddenly announced, stopping mid-turn to face the others. “We’ll keep walking, but as slow as humanly possible. Does that work for everyone?”

  Arthur nodded enthusiastically. Dalton watched his hollow cheeks bob for another moment before sighing and voicing his consent.

  Walking back to the middle of the room, she extended a hand to Arthur and helped him up.

  “Slowly,” she enunciated, looking him in the eye. “Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He tried not to drop the water bottle as he followed her to the door.

  “And don’t you go running ahead of us, either, all right, Dalton?” she called.

  “Darn—I was in a real sprinting mood, too.”

  With a light chortle, she led the boys outside.

  ~*~

  Progress was sluggish for the rest of the day. Charlotte could handle this pace for a few more days if she had to. Although she wasn’t gaining much ground, she was still back on the road, with both companions at her sides.

  By the next morning, the road’s borders of dirty scrubland began to give way to buildings.

  “Did you walk farther than this looking for food?” Arthur’s brow furrowed.

  “A little bit,” she said. “Hektor wasn’t that far from town, but this place isn’t a gold mine unless all you want is gutted buildings.”

  Arthur walked beside her, staring at his feet on the asphalt. “There isn’t any food in the entire town?”

  “I only searched one street,” she said quickly. She held her arm out in case he was going to take off running after hearing that. “There could be something hiding elsewhere.”

  Silence clouded the walk for a few more paces.

  “Then—” he looked up at her— “why didn’t you keep looking?”

  She scratched her throat. “It was starting to get dark.”

  “Was it, now?” He frowned.

  “Yes! And it wouldn’t be a great idea to stay out there in the dark by myself. Goodness.”

  He took bigger steps while she seemed distracted. “Even if it meant letting us starve for another day? Letting yourself starve before walking the entire distance again? I know you’ve stayed out on your own before, Charlotte. You’re capable of handling one night among the zombies if it means securing a decent meal.”

  She walked alongside him wordlessly before snatching his wrist. Her grip made the bones shift.

  “Do not run.” She stared at the road ahead.

  He trembled as he tried to push the pace more without getting caught. “You went through every last drawer in the town, didn’t you?”

  “I’m sure we’ll find something past it.” She didn’t look at him.

  “Then let’s get past it!” he cried, dragging her into a swift pace before she jerked back on his arm. Hissing in pain, he tried not to fall back onto the dirt as he halted. She frowned at him, but, before she could comment, an infected ambled out of the brush at her right.

  “Dalton,” she barked, thrusting Arthur’s wrist behind her, “keep him from running.” She slapped her hands on her rifle and backed away from the monster.

  “I’m not going to run in front of the barrel!” Arthur objected.

  She took aim— “Well, I never know with you!”—and fired. The infected fell backwards, its forehead bubbling blood.

  “You might duck under, get grazed in the back with a bullet, and then keep running like an idiot!” She ejected the spent cartridge and took off in a huff before she thought to slow down.

  Arthur opened his mouth but couldn’t seem to put together a rebuttal. Sighing, he dropped his speed long enough to lag behind her. Dalton looked between the two but chose not to comment before Arthur drew in a sharp breath and stepped up to her side.

  “Um, Charlotte?” he started.

  She shot him a glance and snatched his wrist to be safe.

  “I—” he hunched “—I-I’m sorry, all right? I just want to be a help rather than a hindrance, and I’m not doing that when you’re going so slowly for my sake. You have places you need to be, and I don’t want to slow you down.”

  The corners of her mouth twitched up. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”

  He gazed off into the trees between a truck repair building and a nearly-vacant RV park. “Yeah,” he muttered.

  She let go of him long enough to nudge him in the shoulder. “I’m only joking. Lighten up!”

  “What? Oh, um, right.” His line of sight progressed to his shoes.

  She waited for a few more moments before sighing. “I’m running late, anyway. It’s been years already—if Blake has stayed safe for that long, he can keep it up a few more days. Or months.” She rubbed her arm before making herself stop it. “The important thing is that I get there, not that it’s within the minute. And—” she smiled at Arthur “—if I’m not in a huge rush, you shouldn’t be, either, all right?”

  “Right.” His grimace didn’t match his agreement.

  After shooting down another pair of infecteds, she turned back towards him. Arms crossed tightly, he slouched, looking close to throwing up. Resisting the urge to declare a break, she forced her le
gs to go slower.

  “You’re not a means to an end.” She stared at the side of his face until he made eye contact. “You know better than to think something like that, don’t you?”

  “Uh, yes.” He glanced at the trees lest more infecteds show their faces. “I suppose.”

  She exhaled. “What, do you think I’m going to get Blake back home and then decide I have no reason to keep you around?”

  “N-no,” he choked. “I mean, we’re—” he looked back up “—we’re at least friends by now, right?” He grinned nervously at her.

  Immediately Charlotte could tell he wasn’t just being jittery. He honestly thought she might say no. Say that he was amusing sometimes, but he was holding her back, he was out of his mind, and he was a little too much of a stalker. That the only reason she didn’t let him die was simple conscience. That she couldn’t wait to get back to Killeen and put the thick village walls between them.

  And he would actually believe that. He could believe that she was some angel of mercy who never really wanted anything to do with him. That everything she had said was to keep him from giving up and dying—nothing more—and he was foolish to take it any other way. She could frown, say a few negative words, and shatter his hopes as if she were flicking a thin and delicate sheet of glass.

  His grin didn’t veil his panic; he clearly thought he may have prompted his final, crushing heartbreak.

  And she never wanted to see that look on his face again.

  Pivoting around, she flung her arms around him and hugged.

  “Yes, Arthur, we’re—” she inhaled “—at least friends.”

  Holding him another moment before letting go, she released a slow breath and resumed walking. He stood rigidly, stammering towards no conclusion.

  “I’m finally walking at a reasonable pace,” she called, looking back and smiling. “Or would you rather take a break?”

  “I-I’m coming!” Tripping over his feet, he waved his arms to keep from falling and hurried to catch her.

  24

  “So, Arthur,” Charlotte started as she turned left onto US-290, “when are you planning to take me on that second date?”