The Girl who Shot First: The Death Fields

by Angel Lawson

  I cross my arms over my chest. “She’s my best friend. I may never see her again. We may never see any of this again. Give me a chance to say goodbye.”

  “You have five minutes and you can’t go in the house.”

  “Okay.”

  We traipse through Liza’s large backyard. Mom perches on the edge of a patio chair, tucked in a dark corner and I walk to Liza’s window. A pile of tools lies on the ground, as though someone forgot to put them up when they finished working. I stepped over a hammer and pushed the rake against the wall. Grabbing a handful of pebbles from under the rosebushes, I toss one at the second story window. I miss so I toss another, this time it clinks loud against the glass. I throw two more when I see a shadow cross the window.

  “Liza!” I whisper yell. Again, I see shadows but no actual movement by the window. “Liza!”

  I hear a bump, not from above, but from the window closest to me. I assume it’s her parent’s bedroom on the main floor. This time the curtain flutters and I take step back. A familiar face pops into view.

  “Matt?”

  He lifts the window an inch or two. I notice the dark purple marks under his eyes. He’s exhausted. “Hey, Alex.”

  “What are you doing here? Where’s Liza.”

  “Upstairs,” he replies. “She’s…she’s locked in her room.”

  My stomach twists in a knot. “Why?”

  I know why.

  He knows that I know why.

  “It happened after the party. Everyone got sick. Someone there must have been infected and contaminated the punch.”

  “But I saw her—did she know?”

  He shook his head. “No. She didn’t know. I broke curfew and snuck around some. I went to all the houses of the kids I knew. They all have—no had the E-TR virus. Most are dead.”

  Most but not all.

  “But you’re okay?” I search his eyes. They look clear, no sign of the spidery infection.

  He shrugs but looks over his shoulder. “No. I’m not okay. You should probably get out of here.”

  “Is there anything I can do? Do you need help?”

  A loud thump comes from behind him and I hear a low, hungry growl. “Matt?”

  “We’re all dead, Alex. Our families, our friends. We signed a death warrant the minute we went to that party.”

  What is he saying? That we’re all infected? Me too? It’s too late to ask though because the moan turns to a guttural roar.

  “Run while you can,” he says calmer than he should.

  He slams the window shut but his hand catches in the curtain, tearing it off the rod. A thin arm reaches for him, teeth bared. I step back, terrified I’ll see Liza. Eater Liza. For some reason, Matt doesn’t fight back.

  Why?

  A figure moves close to the window and it’s not the sheet of long blonde hair I expect from my best friend. Black, black eyes skim past me and her hand scratches the window. It’s not Liza. It’s Patricia, Liza’s sister.

  Blood drips from her mouth. Matt’s blood.

  She screams and I stumble backwards, over the rake and piles of tools. I reach for one and my hand lands on something heavy and sharp. I struggle to my feet and hold up the tool—a hatchet, panicked and freaked. I’m caught in my own struggle. Do I finish them? Do I let this happen?

  Before I can make a choice I hear the sound of a blade slicing through flesh. The solid thud of something heavy falling to the floor. The screaming stops and another figure moves in front of the window. I recognize the profile.

  “Jason?”

  Matt’s brother faces me, grief settles over his features.

  “Get out of here, Alex,” he says clutching a long knife between his hands.

  “Are you okay? Do you need help? Where’s Liza?” The questions tumble out.

  “Go. Run. Let me take care of this.”

  “Alex?” I hear from across the yard. We both look toward the voice but when I turn back he’s gone. Having little other choice, I run, furious with myself that I’ve brought my mother here.

  “Mom?” She comes running from the dark.

  “What’s happening?”

  I glance up one last time and see that same shadow hovering just inside the room. Matt and Olivia are gone. I had to assume Liza was as well.

  “They’re gone.”

  “Who? Liza’s family? I heard a scream.”

  “That was just me—I’m just upset.” That wasn’t a lie. Tears piled up behind my eyes and I walked through the backyard back to the woods.

  “Maybe they got to the emergency shelter.”

  We step into the darkness, hands shaking. How close had I become to being Jason—killing my friends and loved ones. Exposing myself. Running was the cowards way out, but it was the only way to survive. I lead my mother into the woods and once again say goodbye to that life. For real this time.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ~Now~

  They introduce themselves as Cole and Chloe. Twins, it seems, right down to the way their lips turn up at the edges of their mouths and their slow moving gait. You’d think they hadn’t just annihilated two dozen Eaters’ and saved our lives.

  “That move with the fire was pretty cool,” Chloe says as an opening. Guessing, I’d say they’re a little older than Wyatt. She has pretty long blonde curly hair, tied at the back of her neck. Their eyes are identical, clear blue. Cole wears his hair short and wavy, curling over his ears and at the nape of his neck. They’re an attractive pair. From the way Wyatt’s eyes keep roaming over Chloe’s body I assume he agrees. A different feeling bubbles in my stomach and this one doesn’t feel as nice.

  “It worked until they started running toward us like moving torches. Nothing stops these guys until they’re dead,” Wyatt says thoughtfully. “Did you notice that? Even set on fire their anger and rage toward didn’t stop.”

  I nod, unable to find my voice around the new people. It’s stupid since I’m the one that pushed waiting for them. Cole kneels on the ground, wiping brain and guts off the tips of a handful of arrows in the dirt. An impressive bow—compound, I assume is strapped to his back. His sister has a matching one.

  “How long were you guys up there?” Cole asks. His intent eyes are on me. I have no choice but to reply.

  “About twenty-four hours. We got a little cornered. Thanks for helping us out of that jam.”

  “It’s getting harder and harder to find people outside the containment areas, well, at least those that aren’t sick.” Chloe frowns, eyes on Wyatt’s seeping wound. “You aren’t, are you?”

  “No,” Wyatt says in a tone that ends the conversation. He glances at me. “I think we should get moving.”

  “Want me to check it?” Cole asks.

  “Cole is—well, was—an EMT,” Chloe says.

  “Not now,” Wyatt replies.

  The twins give each other a look. I’m assuming wondering about the wound. They can trust us or not, I don’t care. “Ready?” I ask Wyatt.

  Cole nods at me. “Where are you headed?

  “South,” I reply vaguely.

  “To Charlotte? The cities are crazy.”

  “No, not to the city. I’m looking for someone further south,” I say, realizing that I just admitted out loud my destination is a someone, not just a somewhere. The twins share another look heavy with skepticism and it’s enough to spur me forward. I move past Wyatt down the trail we’d already chosen. I’m pleased to see he follows me.

  “I should check your cut,” I say quietly. “Or let that guy—if he’s really an EMT. He may be able to suture it or something.”

  “It’s fine.”

  I roll my eyes but don’t push it. I’ll make him show it to me later.

  There’s a rush of feet behind us and Cole catches up, asking me, not Wyatt, “Mind if we tag along? We’re a little aimless.”

  I shrug but Wyatt, to my surprise, says, “Yeah. That bow came in handy. Just so we’re clear though, as long as we travel together, Alex is the navigator. She h
as a head for maps and planning.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Cole says falling into line. My cheeks burn from the compliment and a quick look at Chloe tells me she’s not entirely keen on the idea. But I understand their predicament. They already have one another. If I didn’t have Jane to find in Atlanta where would I go?

  Chapter Thirty

  ~Before~

  Five Weeks Earlier

  We make it safely to the church around three a.m. The weight of what happened at Liza’s house presses down on my shoulders. They’re dead. All of them. But what about me? Am I infected?

  I have no idea what tests my father had been taking or giving me, but I’m not dumb. Obviously. It’s related to ETR virus. If I’d been exposed he would have said something that last day. I would be sick now, like the others.

  I push the idea of out my head and follow the path next to the playground, toward the back of the church. The moon lights up the sky enough that we move easily without flashlights. The storage shed is visible next to the big, plastic slide. It’s small, but it should work for the night.

  “There’s a lock on the door,” Mom whispers, pointing to the padlock and chain.

  On my tiptoes, I reach my hand under the eave and feel around for the spare key I knew they kept up there a couple of years ago. My arm strains and a brief panic flares in my chest. What if they moved it? Or maybe I made it up? I’m about to give up when my fingers brush against the smooth metal. I smile and hold the shiny brass key up for her to see.

  “How did you know that?”

  “Remember that summer I helped at the bible school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I worked on the recreation team. We had to get supplies, like the tents and water containers out of here. This is the key we used.” Kids also came back at night and smoked—made-out—whatever they were into in the shed. A key and a locked door always held appeal. For me it became a flicker of a memory that gave me a destination.

  The key works and I carefully unloop the chain and lock. Once we’re inside the shelter we turned on our flashlights. I relock the door but this time from the inside.

  The storage building is tight—filled with a lot of supplies. It smells like dust and gasoline but we make a small spot for ourselves in the back corner. It goes without saying we both wish we were at home right now.

  “I guess we should take some of these tarps and use them to sit on, right?” I ask.

  Mom nods as clueless as I am about how to hide out in a tool shed. We’re so out of our league here. I mean, we’re not even one of those camping families.

  We settle onto the blue tarps and I pull out a bottle of water and a peanut butter sandwich from my bag.

  “Mom, you should eat yours.”

  “No, thanks,” she says. “I just want to rest for a minute.”

  I’m not happy at her refusal to eat but the weariness on her face keeps me from fighting. “I think we should stay here until it gets dark again, don’t you? That gives us plenty of time to sleep.”

  Mom nods her head and leans against the wooden wall. “How did you ever even think to pick this spot?”

  “Well, I looked at the map and made a list of the places I could remember on the way out of town. Random stuff that seemed like it would be safe. When I saw the church was on the way I added it to the list.”

  “Do you think there are people inside?”

  “Maybe, I guess people going to church at a time like this makes sense, but I really think most people went to the emergency shelters or have locked themselves in at home.”

  Mom’s forehead creases. “What if we should have gone to the shelter?”

  “Dad said not to.”

  “Dad isn’t always right, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I almost smile at the change in our positions. Mom isn’t one to criticize my father. “But he gave us pretty specific instructions. I think we have to trust him.”

  She rolls her sweatshirt into a pillow and dozes off against the wall. I take out my map and study it, touching each of the marks I’ve made with my finger. If we can keep to this schedule we’ll be okay. Each step of the journey manageable. One stop per day—long rest periods.

  The real problem isn’t when we get out of the suburbs. It’s more when we have to cross from the neighborhoods into the more urban, industrialized areas. Places I’m not familiar with.

  I take a deep breath, one filled with dust and grease, and try to settle my nerves. One day at a time, I tell myself, settling into my pack. With one last glance around I turn off the flashlight, cloaking us in the impenetrable dark.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  ~Now~

  “First stop is Asheboro,” I say. “It’s only sixty miles away but if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that everything takes twice as long. Even if we do have a car.”

  “You have a car?” Chloe says moving closer.

  “A truck,” Wyatt says. We’re looping back to the cabin through some dense woods. I’m still not sure how I feel about taking these two with us, but I do like having extra eyes on watch.

  “We had a car but ran out of gas and had a couple of close calls with the Army, so we decided just to hike,” Cole says.

  “Makes sense,” I say. My mother and I walked the whole way from Cary the suburb we lived in to outside of Raleigh. It definitely had made it easier to stay out of sight. But now that she’s gone, I’m even more anxious to get to my sister. We can cover two to three times the distance in the truck. “We decided to stick it out with the truck as long as it lasts.”

  “No complaints here,” Chloe says.

  We find the cabin and the truck the way we left it, including the way the rock hiding the key hangs slightly askew. As outdated and rustic as the cabin has become, I do have a familial connection to it and leaving it feels a little bittersweet. Plus it feels stupid to leave somewhere safe. /Maybe Jane and I could come back here one day. Because of this, I decide not to make any move to go back inside and alert Cole and Chloe to my connection to the place. It’s no surprise when Wyatt tosses his bag in the back of the truck and opens the door, without even a glance at the cabin. He’s ready to move on.

  The twins climb in the back, feet loud on the metal truck bed. I open and close the creaky door, inhaling the familiar scent of the cab. I shove my bag between my feet. Wyatt fishes the key out from under the seat and cranks the engine. It rumbles to life, interrupting the ever present silence.

  When we finally reach the main road I whisper, “Do you think it’s a mistake bringing them along?”

  “You’re the one that pushed this.”

  “Don’t pretend like you’re not into that guy’s hunting skills,” I tell Wyatt. “Look, I know I pushed it, but now I’m second guessing myself. I didn’t realize when we said hello that they would end up in the back of the truck. It’s not like we know anything about them.”

  He chuckles softly. “It’s not like we know one another.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  Wyatt palms the large steering wheel, arms tense. “If you want to ditch them we can, but you saved my ass the other day—twice with the doctoring on the boat. It doesn’t hurt to have a little back up—we both saw what they did with those bows. They’re not weak, but they also don’t seem too crazy. If they are we’ll deal with it at the time.”

  I hope the time doesn’t come when we aren’t expecting it.

  “Okay, we’re human. We need humans,” I say more to myself than to him. “Stick to our rules and we’ll be okay.”

  “Rules?”

  “Mother f-er, Wyatt. Did you forget already?” I notice the quirk of his eyebrow and quiver on his lip. Were in the middle of the zombie apocalypse and this guy is making jokes. Asshole. I punch him in his rock hard arm and wince.

  “Never separate,” he says, eyes steady with mine. “One day I think you’ll regret making that rule.”

  I turn, red faced and look out the window. He’s probably right.

  ***


  As expected the short trip takes longer than I’d have liked. We’re forced to make time to stop for gas, siphoning it from a couple of cars stranded in the middle of a parking lot. The shops in this abandoned plaza were long gone before the epidemic, hit hard by small town economics. No reason to scavenge or look around. Chloe and I keep watch while the guys take turns figuring out how to get the gas out of one car and into the rusted metal can we found at the cabin.

  “Where did Cole get that tubing?” I ask wiping sweat off my forehead. It’s hot and the parking lot feels like I’m standing in the middle of an oven. Chloe has damp spots soaking through her shirt. We’re looking for Eaters, military or just anything that moves.

  “Lucky for you my brother has a survivalist streak. He has spent way too many hours watching those adventure shows on TV and YouTube videos on how to make a purse out of a squirrel. He’s got all kinds of things in his backpack that he has plans to MacGyver into something useful.”

  “I guess that hobby has come in handy,” I say. “Better than spending all your free time on the internet playing war games. Or at least that’s what my m…” I choke and can’t finish the word.

  “That may come in handy now too, you never know. Maybe you’ve developed some shooting skills or something,” Chloe says, oblivious to my pain.

  I try to determine if she’s serious or taking a jab. She’s hard to read.

  “True. You’re not bad with that bow. Guess you picked up on some of it.”

  She flicks her eyes to the sky. “Our dad taught us.”

  “That’s cool. My dad is a scientist.”

  She cuts her eyes at me. “Is?”

  “As far as I know.”

  She nods, understanding. “Our dad was stationed at Fort Benning.”

  “Where’s that?” I’m not exactly up on my Army bases.

  “South Georgia.”

  “Near Florida?” I ask, because wow talk about going straight for the hot-zone. Florida had been under quarantine the longest of all the states since the earliest outbreaks of the virus started there.

  “Close enough.”

  “Is that where you’re going?” I ask recalling they said they were just roaming around. I’m trying to catch her in a lie—or maybe the truth. Something to gauge their honesty.