by Mark Tufo
The one hope I have is that, if I find my demise here, I will be transported back to my kids and Lynn. Of course, there is the alternative in that, if I die here, I won’t ever find my way back. That is unacceptable. Either way, I’m not going down without a fight.
“Trip, we’re about out of options and may have to fight our way out of this one,” I state.
“They made it ahead of us?” he asks.
“It appears so.”
“I’m tired of running anyway. I really would have liked to go on that ride, though.”
“Me too, bud…me too.”
I take a position near one of the larger trunks giving one of the better avenues of fire through the trees. Trip crouches just behind me near another tree and readies his slingshot. I don’t know how fast he is at reloading with it, but I know of his accuracy. I bring up my M-4, moving the selector switch to auto, and wait.
I’m hoping the shrieks bouncing off the trees are amplified and that there aren’t nearly as many night runners as the screams indicate. It seems there are just as many in my direction as there are in Trip’s. If the sounds are any indication, this could be a very short fight indeed.
The woods fill with noise, to the point that the limbs high overhead have to be shaking with the intensity. The laced boughs above keep the sounds confined and it’s difficult to tell exactly where the shrieks are coming from. Soon enough – too soon in my opinion – ghostly faces appear among the trunks, flashing in and out of existence as they streak toward us and are momentarily lost behind the giant boles.
“They’re coming,” I tell Trip.
“I don’t see anything,” he states.
I glance behind. His light is streaming through the trees but doesn’t reach very far. He is poking his head forward, attempting to see farther into the forest. Although his light affects my vision to a degree, I see several speeders as they flash between the trees. Their appearance is almost the same as the night runners except for having a slightly different kind of glow.
“I see some heading your way. I’ll take the uglies to my side, you take the ones in front of you as they appear,” I say. He merely nods as he continues staring into the darkness.
An increase in the volume of noise directs my attention back to my side. The night runners have made significant headway. I peer through my scope and place the crosshair in an open area, waiting for a night runner to appear. It’s going to be hard to get a shot in due to the limited time any of them is actually in view. My heart is pounding and adrenaline is coursing through. I take a few calming breaths.
Come on, Jack. You can do this, I think, watching faces appear, vanish, and appear again.
A light goes off in my head. There aren’t two enemies in these woods, there are three. The speeders aren’t working with the night runners and may not be overly particular about who they take on.
“Hey, Trip, do you have one more sprint in you?” I ask.
“I don’t like Sprite,” I hear him say behind me.
I mentally shake my head. “Can you run just once more?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with that nasty beverage, but I think I can manage one more.”
“We aren’t done for yet, and I think I may have a way out if you can,” I say.
“I can try, but I’m not drinking any Sprite, no matter what happens.”
“You won’t have to if we make a run for it. If not, then all bets are off and you may have to choke some down,” I say.
“Okay. Anything to keep that vile sugar water out of my system. I like to keep it pure, you know.”
“Whatever. Okay, we need to head just to the side of the speeders on your side. Follow me.” I stand.
Trip rises with me and I begin running at an angle through the trees. I head just to the side of where the speeders are rapidly drawing near. I know Trip is just behind me by the way the flashlight beam flashes up and down across the ground. The speeders change direction to intercept us, but we are by them in an instant, with the night runners close behind.
I hear the shrieks change in both intensity and tone. I open up and sense that the ones behind us are surprised by the appearance of the speeders. Apparently, they were too focused on Trip and me to notice that others shared the woods. Quick flashes of images flow through. Some indicating danger while others still focus on the prey they are chasing – us.
Growls, snarls, and screams fill the air between the trees. The sounds of bodies colliding and the noise of a full-scale fight develop behind us. We run, the direction of our flight unimportant at the moment – only that it carries us away from the two groups. I hear Trip panting again, but we can’t stop now. The images from the night runners are now fully focused on the fight with the speeders, with us being forgotten for the moment. I sense several night runners vanish from my mind.
I glance behind to see if any speeders are still after us, but there is nothing in sight. I shut down the part of my mind that is attuned to the night runners and we continue on through the dark. No one is on our tail. I slow to a jog in order to allow Trip to regain a measure of his wind. It’s important to put some distance between us and those engaged behind us. At the very least, if we are pursued again, their numbers should be diminished. The other added bonus is that anything chasing us will be coming from the rear – from one direction instead of multiple. I can’t imagine the night runners will stay and tangle with the speeders for long; zombies just aren’t a food source. They will be eager to continue their hunt and will more than likely try to disengage and follow after us. However, at the moment, we are safe.
Jack Walker – The Smell of Twinkies
Shrieks from the fight fade as Trip and I push farther into the forest, away from the battle. Screams still occasionally echo faintly behind, but the trees block most of the sound so that it’s just an indistinct noise in the woods. The beam from Trip’s flashlight wavers across the ground as we try to extend the distance from the night runners and speeders. The dense boughs overheard prevent any star or moonlight from filtering through, making the area beyond the splash of light a blanket of darkness.
The world under the trees is cast in varying shades of gray for me, but I’m sure Trip would be living up to his name if it weren’t for the flashlight. Leaving the screams behind, hopefully for good, we slow to a walk in order to regain our wind. Trip’s heaving breaths tell me that he’s almost reached the end of his rope. He was close to it before we made this last sprint and I’m surprised he hasn’t just collapse to the ground.
Walking between the wide tree trunks, I lead along a path as straight as I can…or at least I imagine that it’s a straight one. Within the densely-packed trees, without the sun, moon, or stars to guide us, even I’m not exactly sure of our direction. I’m hoping that we don’t end up circling around and come upon the fighting or roving packs. That would be pretty fucked up.
I check the compass in an attempt to keep a fairly consistent course but it swings in large arcs each time I look at it. Something within the woods is messing with its ability to point toward whatever magnetic pole serves this world. The symbols would serve to keep a consistent direction if the needle would just hold still. As it is, we could be zig-zagging our way under the trees and not actually putting any distance between the fight and us. Eventually, the groups will finish their fight, with one either losing or fleeing. They will then spread out and resume their search. I don’t plan on being around when that happens. With that in mind, Trip and I alternate walking with jogging.
“You know, I’m not really sure that hiking is supposed to include running. You’re not really fun to hike with,” Trip says, as I ask him to jog again. “I bet Mike wouldn’t be running through the trees at night.”
“I think we can make the ride if we hurry,” I reply.
“I thought you said they beat us to it.”
“Well, there’s another one I know of that they might not,” I state.
“Why didn’t you say so to begin with?” Trip ru
ns past me, his light splaying in large arcs on the ground and the trunks of trees.
“Whoa, slow down, bud. We have to pace ourselves or we won’t make it at all,” I comment.
With that, Trip slows and we resume a casual trot. Tree after tree moves past as we resume our trek. The screams faded to nothing a little while ago and it’s completely silent under the dark limbs; the only sounds are our feet hitting the soft ground cover and our exhalations.
Trip’s light behind casts my body in long shadows that merge with the darkness ahead. The wavering light and our movements make the shadows seem spectral. The beam pauses momentarily before resuming its arcing motions. A very distinct aroma drifts from behind. Turning, I see a flare of orange from near Trip’s face as he inhales from a joint he managed to extricate from somewhere. I’m about to say something when I think that perhaps that may be the best way to deal with this world.
“Want a toke?” he asks, extending the joint toward me.
“No thanks, but I appreciate the offer.”
He shrugs and takes another puff.
“I wish I had some of those Phrito’s,” he comments, not really talking to anyone in particular.
We plod onward. I pause every so often to listen ahead. With the denseness of the woods, we may not get much warning before running into something. There isn’t a breeze, so our scent shouldn’t carry too far, but that will also create a very definite trail for those behind if they pursue. The sounds from the fight should have garnered the attention of all those around, but we left that some time ago, and there’s no telling what may be in our area of the woods.
Slowly, a small amount of light begins to penetrate the dark forest. It’s not much, but it’s enough to know that daylight is approaching, or has already come. The trees don’t show much, if any, of the sky above, and it’s still quite dark underneath. Even though daytime may be upon us, it is still dark enough that night runners could still operate in the woods during the early and late hours of the day.
In my experience, they make for their lairs as soon as there is a hint of light. I’m not sure if that’s the case here or not, and I don’t want to assume anything. I haven’t heard anything further since we left the scene of the fight, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out here. It’s imperative that we exit the trees. And we need to reach the road.
The light improves and I pause to try and get a sense of direction. Trip is stumbling more often as we’ve been up and on the run all night. Plus, we didn’t get any rest during the day. I’m flagging as well, having had little sleep since arriving in this fucked up place.
It’s not easy to figure out directions as I’m unable to see the sky to determine in which direction the sun is coming up. The compass still swings in wide arcs, making it more or less a paperweight. Unless the trees are made of iron, I’m not sure what is causing the interference. It’s just another aspect of this place that I can’t explain.
Having hopefully traveled in a semi-straight line during the night, I get the feeling that the highway is off to our left. That’s provided it hasn’t turned off in some random direction. There aren’t any defining landmarks and, at this point, we could travel through the trees for all of eternity and not find a way out. Looking between the trunks, I half expect to see a gingerbread house.
None of this seems to matter to Trip. He plops down by the nearest tree and pulls yet another joint out of nowhere. It’s little more than a gloom where we’ve halted and I’m not sure if it’s enough to keep the night runners in their lairs. There is, however, still a danger from the speeders. I’ve adopted Mike’s name for them in order to better differentiate between them and the night runners.
The smell from Trip’s personal little party drifts on the still air. I would be concerned over the odor if it weren’t for us reeking even worse. I haven’t changed since arriving and I’m surprised the trees aren’t picking up their roots and fleeing in outright disgust. I take out some of the bottled water that remains and watch Trip down most of it. I reach out to put a hand on the container and push it down. If I hadn’t, I think he would have actually drowned himself. He gasps as the top clears his mouth. Checking to make sure he hasn’t drooled all over, I down the rest of the little remaining, stowing the bottle. While I pack it, Trip rises and begins walking in the direction that I feel the highway is.
“Trip, where are ya going?” I ask.
“I smell Twinkies and I want one,” he answers.
“What the fuck? You smell Twinkies?” I ask, wondering if this is really happening and, if so, then how in the hell it is.
“Yeah, you can’t? Come on, they’re this way,” he states.
With a shrug, I follow. One direction is as good as another, and it’s the one I would have chosen anyway. His oddness seems to be one of those where things just work out. I don’t know, perhaps he can truly smell Twinkies. He seems to have an uncanny knack for doing the impossible, even if it does fuck things up at times.
My senses are dulled from the lack of sleep. There’s nothing I’d like more than to lie on the forest floor and get some rest. It looks so inviting. My head feels like it’s filled with cotton, but I try to stay alert for any sound or movement. Trip plunges ahead, stumbling over the occasional root rising out of the forest floor. He’s on a mission and making a beeline for whatever it is that he identifies. Now, I have a good sense of smell, especially since the changes came over me, but I’ll be damned if I can catch a whiff of whatever he claims to detect.
As we march through the forest, I start to catch an occasional movement of things scurrying in the branches overhead. The lighting improves as the sun rises higher and there is a periodic chirping of alarm from small animals.
I start to worry about our direction when I notice lighter patches ahead and blue sky appearing through the trees. It looks like we are coming to the edge of the tree line. It could be the highway or just a clearing.
“Trip, slow up,” I say, catching up to him. “We don’t know what’s ahead.”
He looks at me quizzically. “It’s the highway.”
I have no idea how he would know this, but I’ve stopped questioning whatever goes on inside his head. On one hand, completely blinded by darkness, he saved my life by shooting one of the creatures. On the other, he shot a block of thrown C-4 out of the air and damn near killed us. In the end, we managed to survive, so I can’t really say it was a bad plan. Who knows, maybe we would have all met our end if we would have followed through with our original one.
“Yeah, but there could be creatures out there and we don’t want to stride into the middle of a group of them.”
“Oh, yeah…those. I completely forgot about them,” he says, worriedly looking in all directions.
I shake my head, which I seem to be doing a lot whenever he says something. I mean, with what we’ve been through, even just the past night, how could you forget about that? I tell Trip to stay in place and make my way closer to whatever lies ahead. Approaching the end of the trees, the line of sight improves, allowing me to make out the shapes of vehicles.
How in the fuck does he do that? I think, pausing to listen and watch for movement.
I don’t see, hear, or smell anything, so I creep closer, moving slowly so I don’t bring any attention to myself. Near the very edge of the trees, I look up and down the highway. There is nothing out of the ordinary that I notice – of course, ordinary here is a matter for discussion – except for the same tangle of vehicles that was prevalent earlier.
“Are there any out there?” I hear a whisper in my ear.
I come as close as I ever have to having a heart attack. Jumping at the sound, I turn quickly, barely noticing the knife that appears in my hand. My mind recognizes Trip’s startled face just before the point of my blade enters his neck.
“Whoa, bud. It was just a question,” he states.
“Don’t ever do that again,” I state.
“What? You don’t like questions?”
“No, I mean
sneak up on me like that.”
Trip tilts his head to the side and looks at me in askance. “I wasn’t sneaking.”
I’m still not sure how, even with my enhanced senses, that he managed to steal right up behind me. If it weren’t for him being with Mike, I would take him for one of the strange things of this world. There are very few people who can sneak up on me like that. I wonder, truly, if he’s real at all.
Replacing my knife, I turn to scan the area again. Seeing nothing and eager to be out of the woods, I rise and make my way across the strip of grass that separates the tree line from the tangle of cars. Smoke still stains the sky overheard, being whipped along with stronger winds aloft. It’s fainter than when I first appeared, but I’ve also been moving away from its source – the burning city. The movement is in direct contrast to the stillness surrounding the log jam of vehicles. The morning sun, casting its rays along the highway and cutting through the forest, is painted with a tinge of orange-ish-brown.
Curious, I take the compass out. The needle steadies immediately toward the magnetic pole.
What in the fuck is it in those trees? I think, wondering if it’s only local or something more widespread and having to do with the forest.
A metallic squeaking sound draws my attention. Trip has opened one of the doors and leans into the vehicle. Making sure the area is clear, I walk over.
“A-ha! I knew it,” he says, backing out of the car.
I look and see that he has pulled a wrapped Twinkie from inside. I look on, stunned.
How did he smell a friggin’ Twinkie? And a sealed one at that?
I would ask, but I’m afraid of the answer. Looking closer at what he has in his hand, it looks like a Twinkie. However, the name on the wrapper identifies it as a Spongie.
I shake my head. Of course.
