Writing on the Wall s-1

by Tracey Ward

  I’m hurrying past the wall, heading toward his part of town, when warm hands reach out from the shadows of a darkened doorway and yank me back. I don’t scream. I don’t panic. I’m conditioned well beyond all of that. As I’m falling backward, my back slamming into someone else’s front, I reach for my knife. I’m spinning it deftly in my hand just as an arm encircles my waist and a hand covers my mouth. That’s fine. That’s good, waste that constraint to smother a cry for help I never intended to loose. All the more room for me to swing out my arm, bring it back hard and drive my blade deep inside my captors gut. He’ll bleed out for hours from a wound like that. That is, if the zombies don’t scent him first.

  “Joss.” he breathes in my ear.

  I halt my arm just in time, just as the tip of my knife is pressing into his flesh.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Ryan says quickly, feeling the prick of my knife. “Jesus, Joss, don’t stab me.”

  “Dunf creen ab vee.” I growl against his hand. I’m breathing hard through my nose, my adrenaline spiked and coursing like lightning through my veins. I can feel his chest rising and falling against my back. It’s slow and even.

  “I know, I’m sorry I grabbed you.” he apologizes in a whisper, somehow understanding my angry muffle speak. “If I let you go, will you scream?”

  “I erfer seen.”

  “No,” he chuckles softly. “I guess you wouldn’t. I’m letting go. Please don’t stab me.”

  He releases me in one quick motion like he’s releasing a wild animal. His hands go up in defense and he takes a step back when I round on him, knife still ready in my hand.

  “If I was going to stab you, you’d already be dead. Or dying.” I say, my voice tense but quiet.

  He smiles. “I believe it.”

  “What are you doing here? Why did you grab me?”

  “I heard a Colonist truck coming by a little while ago.”

  My eyes shoot to the street, scanning what I can see of it. As far as I can tell it’s clear.

  “It’s gone.” Ryan assures me. “I was writing you a message when I heard it so I hid in here. Even after it left, though, I was worried it could come back. I was worried you’d be writing back to me when it did.”

  “So you waited for me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was stupid.”

  He snorts, shaking his head. “You’re welcome.”

  “You’re staying out in the open for too long. What if a Risen wandered by? You have that cut on your arm and—“

  “How do you know about that?”

  I stop and berate myself for being the stupid one.

  “I was there. In the woods. I saw you guys take the buck down.”

  He grins at me looking proud. “You saw that? Pretty good, right?”

  I shrug, looking away. “You got hurt doing it, so it wasn’t that impressive.”

  “You’re cold. And jealous. Trent’s an amazing hunter. You should dream of having half his skills.”

  “Which one was Trent? The tall guy?”

  “Yeah. He’s our main lookout. He’s usually parked in the crow’s nest but we pull him out for hunting now and then because he’s just so freakishly good at it. He hears and sees everything.”

  “Yeah, I believe it.” I mutter, remembering his eyes and feeling uncomfortable all of the sudden. Feeling watched.

  “So, hey, my message wasn’t finished. I was going to ask if you need anything. Are you doing okay?”

  I frown at him. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

  “Yeah, obviously, but it doesn’t mean I can’t help you out. You helped me.”

  “And it almost got me killed. Twice.”

  He smirks and looks at the knife still at the ready in my hand. “Are you going to kill me if I try to help you? Even the score?”

  I sheath my knife and take a step back, pressing my back against the cold, stone wall behind me. “I don’t need your help. Thanks.”

  “Because you said ‘thanks’ and that probably nearly killed you, I’ll let it go. But if you ever need anything will you ask me?”

  “Probably not.”

  He grins. “You’re difficult.”

  “You’re dangerous.” I mutter before I can think.

  He lifts his eyebrows in surprise and takes a step toward me. It’s not much, he’s not touching me, but I still feel claustrophobic because of it. Because of one small step.

  “You scared of me, Joss?”

  I snort. “What’s there to be scared of?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s a dumb question.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He takes another step toward me.

  “You don’t think at all.” I tell him, trying to sound angry but it comes out breathy and strained.

  “I’m thinking pretty hard right now.” he says, taking another step closer until he’s nearly touching me. He’s looking down at me with his warm eyes and I can see hunger in them. Not the Risen hunger I’m used to and not the starved animal hunger I see all around me during the winter. This is different. New. Exciting.

  “You’re thinking with the wrong parts.” I whisper. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

  When he chuckles I feel his breath on my face. He doesn’t back up and I don’t push him away. I should, though. I should get out of here, away from him and never write on that wall again. But it’s already been done and whatever damage we’ll incur for all of this is already here or swiftly on the way. There are things I’ve seen, heard, felt and want that I never understood could actually exist outside the frame of my tiny TV. And this Pandora’s Box, once opened, does not close easily.

  I close the distance between us. I step up on my toes. I lean forward. I grasp his face in my hands and pull him closer.

  And I kiss him.

  It’s better than before. It’s slower, easier. He holds on to me loosely, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling my hips against his. His hands are big on my back, his breath warm on my face. I’ve never been held like this. I’ve never had hands touch me with such tense tenderness. I can feel the want coiled in them, the desire to push and gain whatever ground they can, but they hold off. He holds off. Ryan takes his time and reins them in, telling them to wait and there’s a sweetness to that restraint that stands apart from all of the grappling, needy, violence of the world. It’s such a contrast it makes my breath hitch in my lungs and my blood warm to the surface and I know I’m blushing as he kisses me. As he smiles against my mouth and I smile back and I think I laugh in the back of my throat. Or was it him? Either way, it’s there between us and it’s decadent and delicious.

  He moves his mouth from mine and trails it across my jaw, down under my earlobe and against my neck.

  “You are,” he murmurs. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

  I chuckle. “I’m probably the only girl you’ve ever seen.”

  He pulls his face back to look at me. “I’ve seen other girls. I wasn’t born to this anymore than you were.”

  “You’re right. I’m the only girl you’ve seen lately.”

  He lowers his eyes and shakes his head slightly. “That’s not true either.”

  “Where have you seen other women?” He doesn’t answer me. He keeps his arms around me and his gaze down, looking somewhere along my collarbone. Finally I ask, “Other gangs?”

  He nods minutely and meets my eyes again. His are apologetic and I’m instantly nervous.

  “Your gang?” I ask, pushing away from him.

  “No.” he says firmly. “We don’t keep slaves. Men or women.”

  “That’s very noble.” I say sarcastically.

  Ryan scowls at me and his voice grows hard. “It kind of is. Even the Colonists are using people as slaves. Almost every gang in the city keeps at least a female or two. They bring them to market with pop up tents and use them as currency, a currency we don’t take.”

  I look at him skeptically. “None of yo
u?”

  He grinds his teeth together briefly, his eyes angry. “Sometimes some of the guys will trade personal wares for time with the women. As a whole, we don’t do it but individually, that’s their business.”

  “It’s sick.”

  “I know.”

  “Have you ever done it?”

  “I just agreed that it’s sick.” he says, sounding exasperated.

  “Just because it’s sick doesn’t mean you won’t do it. You didn’t like killing a man but you did it anyway.”

  It’s a low blow. Before the words are even out of my mouth I wish I could pull them back in.

  His eyes are on fire now. “That’s what you think? That’s how you see me?”

  I regret this conversation so much. How did we go from that kiss to this? How does this world seep into everything and rot it from the inside out? You can’t find something beautiful here without it dying in your hand before you can make it home.

  “You know what?” Ryan says angrily. “I’m out of here. Good luck.”

  He goes to step past me and into the light. Into the outside and out of my life and the pang in my chest is a gnawing pain that rips me wide open. How hard is it really? How difficult is it to have something and not throw it away because it’s nothing like what you’re used to? Nothing you’ve ever needed or had before. How hard is it to let yourself want something simply for the sake of wanting it? Just to make it yours?

  My hand shoots out and I take his arm firmly. I meet his eyes, absorbing the anger rightly seated there and letting it burn into me. I let it teach me a lesson as it aches. I let it school me in never throwing a punch I don’t care to see land.

  “I’m sorry.” I choke out. “I was wrong.”

  And I don’t know which of us is more shocked to hear it.

  Chapter Ten

  Ryan wants to start meeting on the regular. He asks if I’ll meet him in the woods in the clearing where they killed the buck, but the memory of how deftly they cornered that animal and slit its throat open on the forest floor gives me pause. Years of conditioning scream at me and I find that even though I want to meet with him, I can’t do it. I can’t completely shake the idea that he’s bait on a lure and I’m falling for it hook, line and sinker. He’s disappointed when I tell him no. He’s also a little annoyed because he knows why I’m saying no, but he accepts it. I’m skittish and I have every reason to be so this I do not apologize for.

  He kisses me goodbye when he goes. It’s short and sweet and full of promise. It’s a lot of things I don’t understand, things that scare the crap out of me, but it’s also nice. Knowing he’s out there and that he knows about me, thinks about me, is insane to me. It’s like being split in half and existing in two places at once. It’s disorienting. It’s also exciting. I’m here in my home high up above the streets, but I’m also out there with him in the wild running with the Lost Boys across the crooked asphalt. He takes me places I could never normally go. He makes me free. I feel like I’m so much more than I used to be, taking up so much more space than I thought I deserved.

  I’m present and so full. Like hidden music on a rooftop.

  So of course I’m happy. I’m alive and happy and awake. Blindingly awake for the first time and when I see a message on the wall a week later, I’m smiling when I answer.

  Mornin’, Beautiful.

  I miss you.

  How are you?

  I’m waking up.

  “It is pretty early.”

  I spin around, my hand going to my ASP but I’m too late. The man behind me slams me into the wall, pressing my back hard against it until I feel like crying out in pain as the rough edges dig into my skin through the thin material of my jacket. But I don’t. I don’t cry and I don’t scream. I take deep, calming breathes and I assess my situation.

  It sucks.

  The guy walked up behind me from down the street where I can see the silent rolling Colonist vehicles parked in the middle of the road. There are two of them, one with its back doors wide open and the other locked up tight. I count at least four other Colonists milling around the street and poking their heads inside buildings. They’re looking for others that must be with me because I couldn’t possibly have been alone. How would I have ever survived on my own?

  “Where are—ooh!”

  The guy doubles over in pain as my knee connects with his crotch, hitting him where it hurts. It’s a dirty shot but do you see any refs out here? All’s fair in the apocalypse. He lets go of me momentarily but that moment is all I need. I run from him as fast as I can, whipping out my ASP as I go. I leave my knife hidden against my jeans and under my jacket because if they do manage to get ahold of me I want to have a surprise up my sleeve.

  The Colonist’s cry grabs the attention of the others and two come running at me. They’re all men and it pisses me off. No women in the roundup teams? What are they all doing? Sitting back at the Colony knitting winter sweaters, raising the children and making the meals. Sexist!

  I swing the ASP and crack it down on the wrist of a man reaching out for me. It breaks it easily and he cries out louder than Crotch Shot back at the wall. I sprint for a small alley just across the street hoping I can make it in and up the fire escape before they can get me. If I can do that, they’ll never catch me. I know how to jump between the buildings from here for ten blocks easy. It’s not something you do if you don’t have to and certainly not something you try if you haven’t practiced. They won’t follow me, I know it.

  I’m heading into the alley when a hand grips the back of my jacket and yanks me off my feet. My attacker easily lifts me up then slams me down on the ground face first. I have to throw up my hands to keep from breaking my nose on the asphalt and my ASP flies away from me, skittering through the darkness and into a pile of dirt and rubble. I’d have to search to find it and time is not a luxury I have anymore.

  “Are you gonna be good?” the guy asks, breathing heavily. He barely ran. Boy needs more cardio in his life. It gives me hope that if I can slip away from him I can make it out of here. “Are you going to get up and go quietly?”

  “Rick, you got her?” someone calls from down the street.

  “What do you think, kitten? Do I got you?”

  “Yeah.” I say, feeling my knife’s sheath digging into my hip bone as I lay on the hard ground. “You got me.”

  “Good girl.” he grunts.

  I’m pulled up onto my feet and he pushes me in front of him, still holding onto my jacket. Perfect.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Okay.” I agree meekly.

  I grab the zipper on my jacket, pulling it down hard and fast. The second it releases at the bottom I throw my arms back, shrugging easily out of it and out of his hold. He gives a shout of surprise and frustration, but I don’t care a thing for him. I’m running again. Unfortunately I’m running in the wrong direction. He had me pointed toward the vans and to my right is the wall but there’s also Crotch Shot and he’s recovered somewhat, vengeance heavy in his eyes. I can’t get to the alley and open road behind Rick. I’m free but not for long. Not long enough. It doesn’t surprise me when I make a break for it past the vans that I’m clotheslined. I’m slammed back onto the pavement, the wind rushing out of my lungs and my head connecting sharply with the ground. I see stars as I struggle to keep conscious and drag air into my lungs. Neither comes easy. Hands lift me up and stand me on my feet. I promptly sway and nearly topple over but a surprisingly gentle hand helps me stay steady. Another prods the back of my head and I flinch when I feel a sting. I’m bleeding, I know it.

  “Get her inside, now!” a voice beside me shouts. “She’s bleeding. It’ll call the Risen straight to us. Let’s move!”

  I’m being pulled toward the back of the van and the gentle hand is starting to irritate me. I pull against it but it latches down harder, forcing me forward.

  “You don’t want to be out here dizzy and disoriented when the Risen show.” the guy says calmly, sounding unreasonably rea
sonable.

  “And unarmed.” Rick says from behind me. I recognize his voice and smug tone. I also recognize his hand on my ass as he shoves me toward the van.

  “Not unarmed.” I murmur.

  I gather every ounce of clarity I can find inside myself and unsheathe my knife. I turn quickly, bringing up my hand as though I’m going to slap him. He grabs it easily, laughing in my face at my feeble attempt.

  “Kitten has claws.” he chuckles.

  I sink my knife into his thigh. He was too distracted with my hand and deflecting the slap, he never saw it coming. His eyes say as much as the pain registers. While he’s distracted by the knife in his leg, I thrust my head forward and up, straight into his nose. It breaks and bleeds into my hair but I don’t care. His shocked, bloody, broken face is worth it.

  “You bitch!” he exclaims as he inhales sharply.

  I’m tossed into the back of the van carelessly. The last thing I see before they close the doors isn’t Rick’s mangled face or the concerned face of the guy with the gentle hands who sorrowfully tells me I shouldn’t have done that. What I see far off in the distance, up high at the top of a building, is a flash of reflected light. Small and precise, like the mirror in a woman’s makeup case. It casts a beam of light directly down on my face making me wince. Then the doors slam shut and it’s gone.