“Of course there’s a petition. That woman wastes no time. Gotta admire her efficiency, at least. Too bad zombies aren’t afraid of lawyers.”
We share a laugh, strolling at a slow pace over the snow.
“But, really… You are staying in town? No second thoughts?”
My breath forms clouds as I brace myself for the answer I need to give him. No, not need. The answer I want to give him, because it’s time I admit it to myself. “I’m staying. There’s nothing left out here for me.” I sigh. “Father’s gone.”
“Oh. Sorry about that.”
“I made my choice. No use being sad about it.”
“Good, because I’m pretty sure that’s your old hunting cabin.” He points to our right, at a wooden cabin between the trees.
I stop moving, gripping my gun tight. Between talking and following the trail, somehow I missed the obvious signs we were reaching the cabin, but that’s not what makes my heart beat faster.
Maybe the trail wasn’t from a zombie after all. Maybe it’s Father’s. Maybe he’s still here. Maybe I was wrong and he was thinking of coming to town and that’s why the tracks lead back here.
I walk.
Then I run.
The Girl in the Wrong Place VII
January 7th, Thursday, 11 am
The first days are easy. I can eat more without worrying about sharing my supplies. I can control how much water I spend on drinking and cleaning myself without feeling like a stick in the mud for trying not to waste resources. I’m faster, more agile and, at any sign of danger, my feet don’t trip up, revealing my position. I’m nothing like Peter. I’m a survivor.
Snow falls every day. The temperature drops even lower and my ill-fitting coat isn’t enough to keep me warm. Everything I touch, eat or drink is freezing cold. Wet, shivering and tired, I hope the town Peter wanted to find is near. Or that I can at least find some type of shelter.
Without any point of reference, the map I took from Peter is useless. When resting, when I feel too cold to move, I open the map and stare at it, trying to figure out a way to reach the town alive. I know I need to keep moving north, but Peter knew where to find water along the way, what kind of plants we could eat. Without him I’m relying on luck.
I shake my head, rubbing my gloved hands against my chest. I can do everything Peter could. I watched him look for plants, taste them to see if they were too bitter. It can’t be that hard. I can do this on my own. I’m a survivor.
My body shakes all night ‘til dawn, my teeth rattling nonstop. Some days I don’t even move. I find a small cave and stay there until my supply of berries and water ends.
Even after that, I’m moving faster than I ever did with Peter. I’m sure of that.
I walk, and walk, and walk some more for what seems like weeks. Until one night a snowstorm forces me to stop. I can’t see anything in front of me and I trip, breaking Pete’s compass against a rock. Everything gets worse after that.
The next river I find is covered by ice. I spend hours just to break the surface to reach the water below, and when I manage to create a hole big enough, I don’t have the courage to put my hand inside to fill a bottle. My lips are cracked and raw. Strands of my hair are frozen and break off. If I had any strength left, I would cry.
My stomach growls as I drag my feet, boots soaked and cold to the bones. To eat, I dig my way through thick piles of snow hoping to find a bush with enough berries to fill my empty belly.
After a while, I can’t feel my fingers anymore. My hands hurt so much… Every part of me hurts. I’m tired. I’m just so tired. I would do anything to be back at my house, tucked in between mom and dad on the sofa, watching Christmas movies. I miss them. So much.
With legs trembling, I fall on the thick snow, butt freezing. My body crashes against a tree, shaking it enough for snow to fall on a bush and force it against its weight. The bush swings and the snow drops, revealing its berries hanging from it.
I crawl my way to them, ignoring the shivers running over my skin. I take the gloves off and toss them on the ground, yanking each and every berry out of the bush and stuffing them inside my mouth.
My eyes close at each bite. They taste bitter, but I still let out a cry of joy, swallowing every berry without caring about anything else.
When I’m done, my heart races. Crap. I didn’t save any of the food for later. Now I have to find another bush, and dig and dig again. Too tired to do any of that, I get up and support myself against the tree. Snow starts to fall again.
I hear snow being crunched by something heavy. The sound grows nearer, but before I can figure it out which direction I should run toward, a gunshot echoes around the trees.
I get down to hide in a bush, and wait. I spot a man dragging a dead deer and carrying a rifle over his shoulder. He’s too far to see me. He disappears into the white forest.
For a second, I do nothing but blink. Then, I follow the tracks he left behind. If he’s a hunter then he has a cabin I can sneak inside. He has supplies I can steal. Water. Real food. He’s my best chance to survive.
The tracks lead me to a cabin in the middle of a clearing. I stay out of view up in a slope, watching the man’s movements from afar. He goes in, then out, tossing bags inside an old yellow and small car. He enters the cabin again. While I wait for him to leave so I can loot his house, my belly starts to ache. The pain comes in sudden jolts. My toes curl and my vision clouds. I fall down. My body contorts itself, and I hug my knees against my chest. The pain spreads to my throat, burning everything on its way to my mouth.
I ate the wrong berries… I’m going to die.
I throw up in the snow and faint.
As I open my eyes, the smell of vomit almost makes me throw up again. My coat is filthy. I’m dizzy but not cold anymore. Shivers spread over me anyway. With half-open eyes, I stare at the cabin.
The yellow car is gone. This is my chance.
My feet stumble, trip and slip. I hit the ground, rolling and scraping myself on the way down. I cough and vomit again, stench filling my nostrils. Pulling myself up, I walk, then run toward the cabin. My head keeps pounding, making it hard to think. The ground bounces and twists, trees caving in on me.
I fall unconscious on the grass.
With eyes open, I see nothing but dark. I crawl my way out of the darkness, looking for any light. My insides boil and my throat burns. Each step I take, the world spins around me. I see trees and white snow, but can’t seem to reach them.
Muffled voices accelerate my heart, each thump louder than the other. Feet and hands move, dragging me away from the sounds.
The world turns black.
Laurie, you need to wake up. You need to move.
I do. I open my eyes. I’m in the forest. I’m a survivor, I can do this.
From tree to tree, I support myself, wobbling and dizzy. Then, as if in a dream, I see houses. I see a broken down fence. The closer I get, the more it seems real. A house forms right in front of me. It has a yard, a white picket fence, a red rooftop and a front porch swing. It’s perfect. It looks like home. My hands try to reach it, to touch the front door.
No, not the front door. The window. You don’t know what’s inside.
My fingers, exposed and blue-ish... Where are my gloves? My fingers open a side window. I lift my leg, then the other and tumble down inside. The thud vibrates my teeth.
Voices. Laughter. Smell of chicken soup. Screams. A distant alarm rings. Peter complaints about something… Mom, can’t I stay in bed for a few more minutes?
I shake my head. The ground dances below my feet. The people living in here are on this floor. I can’t be seen. The stairs are made of jelly. I see a bathroom.
Medicine.
Inside the small room, I crawl to the toilet seat. Vomit spills out of my mouth. My insides twist and contort. There’s nothing left inside me to throw up, but my body wants me to vomit again.
A scream, a real one this time, hurts my ears. I turn to the bathroom door and a
woman stares at me, a baseball bat in her hands. She runs in my direction.
I recoil, hitting my head against the sink counter. Then the door shuts and the lock clicks in place.
Somehow, I climb the toilet and reach the bathroom cabinet. I open it, and toss everything inside onto the floor.
“Kill it!” a voice booms from the other side.
No. Leave me alone. Please leave me alone.
Desperate, I grab the first bottle my hands find, tugging it inside my coat. I climb into the bathtub. There’s a window big enough for me to jump. Glass shatters. Everything spins. I hit the ground, shoulder vibrating and snow filling my mouth. With knees trembling, I try to push myself up, but pain shots up on my shoulder and I fall again.
“Stay where you are!”
Blinking, I turn my head to the direction of the faint voice. My vision spins, but I see a woman staring back at me, eyes shining bright red and face twisted into a blob of pinks and creams. I get up and run.
Barely two steps away, someone jumps at me, growling and pushing me to the ground.
He’s going to eat me. No… No! Leave me alone!
I kick and kick, too afraid to open my eyes and see the horrible monster about to sink his teeth in my neck. I only hit air, again and again. Out of breath, my body gives up. The weight is gone. I open my eyes and the monster is gone.
A woman crouches near me, hands lifted. Her mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out of it. A sharp pain pierces my stomach, and I hug myself to make it stop. The nausea comes back, building up bile in my throat.
I vomit and everything spins and fades.
My body rocks back and forward, down and up. Distant voices ring in my ears, like birds pecking my insides. Everything hurts. Someone holds me, the person’s heartbeat against my cheek. She smells like chicken soup and salt.
Mom? You found me. You really did find me?
Scared, but hopeful, I open my eyes just enough to see my own scraped knees. The person holding me moves around, and every time she does I feel dizzy, head heavy. People yell and shout. What’s going on?
A huge hand appears out of nowhere, trying to reach my neck. Before it can, I sink my teeth into it. Desperate, I try to free myself from the grip that holds me. I slip away, my feet finding ground, but I can’t even put one foot in front of the other when someone scoops me up again. My legs dangle as arms pass between my armpits. I scream, not even sure why. Between the dizziness, the stench of vomit and my body aching everywhere, I just want to be left alone.
A man’s hand touches my forehead, and I blink to focus on his face. He looks like Dad, but… No. I shake my head. His eyes turn red, mouth big as a fish, bloated and deformed. He’s one of those monsters.
“What were you doing in someone else’s house?”
“Leave me alone!” I scream, throat raw and sore. “Let me go!”
The man opens my coat, taking out my bottle of medicine. I kick and struggle to get free, but nothing works. I don’t have the strength anymore. Voices turn into nails drilling into my head.
My world dissolves into nothingness. When I wake up everything is dark. I’m lying on a bed, and someone moans nearby. Sweat blurs my vision, so I pass a hand against my forehead to dry it. I’m inside what looks like a hospital room. To my right a man moans in his sleep, shoulder bandaged. A woman sits on a revolving chair, hands and head over the counter, as her snores fill the silence.
A handcuff hangs on the metal rails of my bed. They had me locked up because I tried to steal their stuff. They think I’m a thief…
I am a thief.
I straighten my back and sit on the bed. My stomach feels better, and the pain is gone. I’m still a little groggy and my eyelids are heavy, but there’s less confusion. My coat lies on the counter, just next to the sleeping woman, and my boots are on the floor below the bed.
I touch the cold floor, socks slipping on it. Slowly, while looking at the sleeping people, I fit my feet inside each boot. Step by step, I move to the counter, extending my arm enough to reach the coat. It’s smelly and worn out, but it’s the only one I have. The woman in front of me stirs, but doesn’t wake up when my fingers curl around the fabric.
Clothed again, I gaze around the room. My eyes fall on a few pill bottles spread on the counter. I grab as many as my hands can hold and hide them on the inside pockets of my coat. In the confusion, I lost all my stuff.
I need to leave before anyone sees me. If they know I’m better, they’ll probably put me in jail.
The door leads me to an empty corridor. There are lockers on each wall. I must be inside a school. My footsteps echo, making me wince. A faint sound of crying comes from the end of the corridor. I stop moving, expecting someone to appear. Nobody comes.
I keep going, hugging myself. Classrooms pass by, and for a second it’s like I’m back at school, sneaking in earlier in the morning to pull a prank on Jenny. Shouting and yells break the illusion. I dash inside a classroom and hide behind a teacher’s desk.
They are looking for me. I need to get away.
The windows are all boarded and locked. My only way out is through the front door. As I get up to prepare to run, my eyes fall on a gun lying on the teacher’s desk. I take it, hoping it’s loaded and ready to shoot.
I poke my head out the door and make sure the corridor is empty before exiting. The voices are distant, but not enough, so I start to run, to where I hope is the front door. My teeth rattle against my skull, heart beating faster. I’m too exposed. Someone will see me.
Almost slipping on the waxed floor, I turn a corner.
A man faces me. I face him. I freeze as he widens his eyes.
“Hey there,” he says after a brief second. He takes his hands out of his pockets and takes a step back. “You woke up, huh?”
I move back and lift the gun.
“Whoa, I’m not here to hurt you.” He walks forward, hands up in a gesture of surrender. “We were worried about you. Are you feeling better?”
My hands shake, finger on the trigger. Is he lying? Does he want to distract me and take my gun?
“What’s your name?” He asks.
I look at him, up and down. He’s young, like a college student. He’s wearing red and green sneakers, fainted jeans, an open winter coat and a T-Shirt. The T-Shirt has Yoda on it with a quote below the old Jedi Master’s smiling face: “My finger you shall pull”.
“I’m Laurie….”
He smiles, and moves in closer. “Nice to meet you.”
I lift the gun, aiming at his chest. “Don’t. Stay where you are.”
“Okay, okay.” He steps back a little. “Let’s take it easy.”
“I just want to leave.” My voice trembles. “Just leave me alone.”
“Why?” His tone is soft. I stare at his green eyes—they are red and puffy. “Being alone sucks.”
“It’s safer. It’s… I’m better off alone.” People just lie and leave you. Or die. They always die.
He shakes his head. “No one is better off alone. You are safe here, we can protect you. We have a whole town of people. No zombie will hurt you. I promise.”
“I’m not afraid of zombies.” I’m afraid of you.
He chuckles. “Yeah, you seem pretty tough. But aren’t you tired of being alone? We have food here. Lots of food. Even pizza. This town is safe. You don’t need to be alone anymore.”
I hesitate for a second. “You… You have to promise you won’t hurt me. Promise me.”
“Sure. I promise. So, you can lower the gun now, right?”
I nod slowly and take a step in his direction. The instant I lower my gun, a scream pierces my ears, and my finger slips on the trigger. A gunshot rings loud around us and I wince, a burnt smell invading my nose. When I open my eyes, the guy is touching his chest as blood spurts from his mouth.
“No… No, no, no. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I run as his body falls backwards on the ground.
He coughs blood. I cover the hole in his chest with
my free hand. He tries to speak, but the red liquid floods his mouth.
“Please… Please. I’m sorry. Don’t die.”
“It’s… O-okay. This…” He coughs blood. “I’m….”
He can’t speak anymore, spilling blood over his T-shirt and my hands. His eyes stop looking at me, instead focusing on the ceiling. He’s dying. And it’s my fault.
Steps. Running. Hushed voices. Yells. My heart pounds against my chest.
They are going to kill me now. If they catch me… If they find me… They will kill me. This is my fault.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the man on the floor. “I’m so sorry.”
I run as fast as I can, as far away as my feet can take me. Out on the street, darkness hides me. Shops, cars, houses, I leave it all behind. Flashlights blink as I glance back, but the voices become distant. I find cover between the trees, crunching snow until I trip and hit the ground.
My hands freeze against the snow as I force myself up. I run deeper inside the forest, stopping for nothing. After hours, my feet finally give up.
I sit with my back against a tree and hug myself. I choke back tears, but they won’t stop. They keep falling and falling.
I want to go home. I just want to go home.
The Geek X
January 8th, Friday, 10 am
Roger's house smells like an old lady's house. He has three cats, who are the true rulers of the place. They like me as much cats can like an intruder in their own home. Which means they hate me. Somehow it works out, because I hate myself too.
Roger tries to distract me with all sorts of talk. He starts with the obvious: movies. He takes me to Movie Night, but the basketball court just reminds me of Ma. He brings me comics that Old Hank's sons collected, thinking I had never read them, but he was wrong. He tries to get me interested in the town's problems again, but I don't care anymore. The town can go to hell. I should've taken Ma alone. Helping Redwood was a horrible idea.
For the sake of my friend, I try to pretend I still care about stuff. My mouth forms smiles, spills out jokes and sarcastic commentary. For his part, he pretends to believe it and tries to hide his pity most of the time. Lily helps, in a weird way. When she's with us, my smiles don’t look so fake, and it gets easier to fool myself into thinking being okay is going to be possible. Someday.
Those Who Remain (Book 2) Page 12
