by Astor Penn
“Take this too,” he says, holding out their bag of supplies but retaining his tight grip on the baseball bat.
“What are you saying?” I ask. My arms and legs feel numb suddenly. I’ve watched others be taken by death and by the vans, but I’ve never stood face to face with someone while it happened to them. “You’ll need that.”
“We both know I’m not going out the back.” Aaron grins confidently over my shoulder at something, a shuffle I vaguely hear, and then there’s a small crash outside the bathroom window. Raven dropping out of the building. We’re making too much noise. We need to move away from the side wall quickly.
“Bryant!” Poppy yells. “Aaron!” They don’t respond. Instead, Bryant turns to me once more. He closes and locks the bathroom door, because now there are other voices outside it. He takes the bag from Aaron and throws the supplies out the window.
“You better go,” he says quietly. Assuredly. Peacefully, even. “We’ll stall them.”
The safety clicks back on. He hands the gun to me, handle first. I stare at him mutely, confused. “You take it. I’ve got my spare knife.”
I still don’t move, until a force at the door shakes the entire building. Bryant, Aaron, and I all flinch and take cover, but the door holds, and only some ceiling tile falls.
“Brie, come on!” Raven yells at me, popping back up onto the sill and reaching through for me. Her fingers skim my back, reaching beneath my shirt. I barely feel her dragging me backward, but I see the knife as Bryant pulls it out and flips it open in one smooth motion. He shoves the gun past my face to her, pressing in so closely to me that for the first time I distinctly smell him—he smells like fire and dried leaves and leather. He smells like a home.
Before he steps back, he holds my hand and squeezes it. “You know why I was saving bullets, don’t you?”
So close, too close to look at him. I nod. “Six bullets, one at least for each of us.”
“Don’t waste them” is all he says and backs away. Aaron watches so intensely I shrivel away before their eyes, closer to the ledge. I can’t leave them, but I can’t stay.
“Watch out for her and yourself. Good luck,” Aaron says loudly, but over the yelling behind the door, I’m not sure I’ve heard everything he’s saying.
“Open up! Or we will have to enter with force!”
Then the cool fingers at my back yank me harder, and my head hits the wall. The hands keep pressing, and I let myself be folded in half like paper. Suddenly, my head clears the room, and I can breathe again for a short moment until gravity takes ahold of me, and I fall to the ground on top of Raven and my bag. The trashcan rolls away from our feet, and above us there is more yelling.
It’s night already, just the stars to light us on this side of the building out in the open once more. I see the tears on Poppy’s face and the gun in Raven’s hand. I struggle to stand, my limbs still heavy. Gladly I take the help up offered to me, and the irony even in this situation doesn’t escape me. Just a couple of days ago, in virtually the same situation, this girl was ready to leave me for dead. Now she’s here to save me, destruction in one hand and my fingers in her other hand.
Raven darts forward, dragging me behind her. I can barely turn to see Poppy running right behind me, makeshift backpack her only possession, while we run with weapons.. Trying to reach around and grab her fingers would be futile—I have to keep my knife poised, and somehow letting go of Raven’s hand seems even worse, like letting go of an actual lifeline. I want to tell Raven to slow down for Poppy, but we’re moving so fast that even I can barely keep up and concentrate on anything other than putting one foot in front of the other.
I try not to hear, but I do: behind us, there are gunshots and a loud shout clearly distinguishable as Bryant’s. Directly beside me, a groan; this time when I turn, Poppy has stopped.
“Poppy!” I yell after her, trying to stop, but Raven keeps running like an unstoppable force.
Poppy’s turning around back toward the pharmacy, eerily quiet and moving stiff-limbed like a robot. I yell for her again, but I realize she’s on autopilot and won’t be broken out of it by calling her name.
“Stop!” I yell, this time to Raven, while yanking my wrist out of her hand. My skin burns in the absence of her fingers. She barely stops for me; when she whips around, it’s with a glare. She spares not a look for our third and now missing member.
“We don’t have time for little girls!”
“I’m not leaving her behind.” I’m already halfway back to her, because Poppy isn’t moving very fast away from us. Not thirty feet from her is the window we escaped through and inside Bryant and Aaron, most likely already dead or as good as dead, and with them are the hazmat suits that did it. I won’t neglect my promise to them while their bodies are still warm.
“Poppy,” I say quietly, approaching her from behind but eyes on the window. I expect one of them to pop out their overlarge, plastic heads and see us any moment. Gently taking her arm, I pull her along like Raven did to me. “We have to go now. Come on.”
There are more gunshots, rapid ones, like machine guns. I flinch down, covering Poppy with my body, but they aren’t near us—they’re coming from at least one or two streets away. I remember then about the others; there have to be other people hiding in this town.
Poppy won’t move any faster than a clumsy walk, so I’m faced with little choice. “Here,” I call to Raven, who has refused to move backward toward us but is steadfastly waiting on me. I toss her my bag with only a few pangs of nerves; it’s literally putting my life in her hands if she tries to run with it and leaves us nothing, but I won’t forget the way she looked at me when she broke that window. Once she has it, I grab Poppy’s arm and haul her over my shoulder in a firefighter’s carry.
She’s light, and I know it, but I’m so exhausted I’m not sure if I’ll make it. I’m running as fast as I can after Raven, who keeps Bryant’s gun poised in her hand. Poppy’s light bones poke into my shoulder, and her small but quick puffs of air against my back startle me every time. As we clear the end of the alley and pour down the next street, away from the bright headlights on the main street, I catch only a glimpse of something fluttering behind me: the dollar bills Poppy took from the grocery store. They fly out of her pockets and leave a literal paper trail behind us, but I don’t have time to stop them now.
We pass by more streets and onto an open road leading out of the town, but farther down that road, lurking there in the dark, are the barely visible forms of vehicles. There are trees and cover in sight beyond them, around them, but the small riverbed reaches around the town and stands in the way, with only the road leading through. Raven doesn’t hesitate; she leaps off the short jump into the water, and I jump after her.
Behind us, there are sirens and lights and scattered gunshots still, and they’re getting closer. There’s a concrete wall built into the side of the river, and after we drop into the water, we pause momentarily, leaning against it. I catch my breath and wrestle Poppy back on my shoulders, knees buckling beneath me, thankful that the water comes only up to my waist. On top of me, Poppy wiggles wildly.
“Put me down.” Her voice is firm, the shock gone for the moment. I’m so tired I don’t dispute her. When she’s standing on her own, the water comes up to her chest. She shivers but looks otherwise alert.
“Are you all right?” I keep one hand on her. She rolls it off, nodding, but before she can do anything more, Raven interrupts us.
“Be quiet.” Stepping closer, she nods over her shoulder. Only then do Poppy and I see what she sees—the others in this town. They’re here—they’re with us. Included is an older couple, must be in their seventies, which easily makes them the oldest I’ve seen since New York, and a younger couple, probably in their forties, presumably their children. It’s too dark to see details, but they’re silently pressed against the wall, all clutching each other, horrified.
“What are they doing?” Poppy whispers.
“Fools
,” Raven hisses. I barely hear her over the sirens. “We need to cross now and make it to the woods.”
Looking at them I wonder how long they’d been squatting in that town. Maybe they lived here all their life, and we are just now forcing them from their homes. They look so scared, like the hand of ruin has yet to touch them. How else can they explain the older couple? Those people don’t last long on the road. Can’t keep moving fast enough. Too susceptible to the disease.
“Come on.” Raven takes my hand again, ignoring Poppy’s shivering form next to me, and pulls. Shoving the blade of my knife between my teeth, I snatch Poppy’s hand at the last second, and together we trudge forward. Under our feet the muddy bottom of the river slides, and I get wetter and wetter as I slip farther in. It’s not a long distance to cover to the other side, but I glance back at the people still standing near the wall. Over their heads, I see more light spill across the surface. It’s illuminating us directly now, catching us like deer in headlights.
My heart couldn’t beat any faster, and my lungs ache like we’re under the water instead of above it. The people still aren’t moving, and that’s when I realize they won’t be moving at all. They’ll try to hide somewhere and wait it out. Maybe they’ll even return to the town. It may be where they’ve always lived and where they’ll most certainly die, because I have no doubt either the suits will find them and kill them or they’ll leave death traps inside the buildings. There’s been too much trouble here tonight, and they won’t leave the towns that attract such trouble standing.
Raven’s close to the edge of the bank when the heavy splashes of water begin—many of them, like giant rain drops. As I turn, I feel the waves hitting the backs of my legs. My heart is frozen expecting to see the governmental recruiters, and instead I see more ordinary citizens running and leaping into the water, pushed there by no further choice, more of them than I would have ever imagined. In the distance, I can faintly make out blurs of dark clothing running for the short bridge we almost took, but from the inky black more lights turn on; there are vans sitting there waiting for them.
Now what’s left of the people of this town rush into the river and follow us across in hopes of sanctuary in the woods. Even as my feet rush up the side of the muddy bank, I have to ask myself: did we bring this upon them? Were the vans still looking for us, or is it pure coincidence? I can’t stop looking at them, and the only reason I’m moving is because Raven is determinedly running straight forward without looking back, her fingers like iron on mine. Their faces are frozen in fear despite their desperate bodies—falling over each other, some already injured in the struggle. The two generational couples collapse under the weight of a man jumping straight down on top of them. There is only a faintly muffled shout, and even over the sirens, screaming, gunfire, and rushing water, I hear the snap of bone.
We’re free, all three of us, Raven standing on the top of a small hill on dry land, me right behind her, and Poppy crawling up the muddy side, her hand having slipped from mine. From the new height vantage, we see the walking hazmats lining the edge of the water on the other side. Raven yells something. I can’t understand her, not with the hoarseness of voices and sirens and gunfire, but I know what she should be saying: we’ve got to make it to the trees, and fast.
We’re full-on sprinting now, and with my longer legs, I take the lead, Raven bobbing along right behind me. For a moment, even with the pounding of my heart and the noise of destruction behind me, I can almost forget that there are others. For the first time in the past few days, I am on my own again, relying only on myself for survival. There’s nothing in front of me and nothing behind me.
Except there is. There are more gunshots, gunshots hitting the water like a storm hitting a shore. There are thundering footsteps behind me, seemingly more and more—some making it to the grass behind us. There are too many voices, and then there are coherent words: a name. My name.
“Brie! Brie, help me!”
When I pause to turn around, Raven rushes past me. Of course, it was silly to think it might be her calling my name for help. It’s Poppy—a woman has grabbed her, a woman stumbling to keep on her feet. She’s bleeding—probably been shot.
“Keep running, Brie!” Raven yells, most of her voice lost in the wind because she refuses to look back. She will never look back.
Which means I have to. Poppy is closer to the river than I thought, and with every backward step, I feel like I’m sinking farther and farther into the ground. It’s welcoming me, enfolding me, ready to bury me. The woman slumped over on top of Poppy has wispy black things on, like a macabre burial gown from the eighteen hundreds, and her hair is horribly matted over her face.
“Get off her!” I scream, using my momentum from running to push her off. It’s only when the woman falls backward that I see her nose bleeding freely. Gushing, I think, would be the more accurate description. It’s not only coming from her nose, but from her ears too. She flops around helplessly on the soggy soil, moaning like something from a zombie film. She can’t seem to form coherent words.
Beside my feet, Poppy gasps and shakes. There is blood on her face and arms—speckled across her skin like new freckles. Shocked at its implications, I do nothing when she plasters herself onto me.
It’s fine, I think. I’ve been around carriers before—all those people during the city exodus, some others on the road since. I’ve survived exposure once, but the nagging thought in the back of my mind surfaces. Can I be so lucky to survive it again?
Meanwhile Poppy is halfway to hysteria; she can barely stand on her own two feet. In a day from now, if this remains true, we will both likely be near death, but at present, I know it’s only caused by shock.
“Get up.” I drag her up and along behind me, but her shaky legs stumble in the grass. A whizzing noise ends abruptly behind us; a bullet splatters through the babbling woman’s head. I curse, hoist Poppy on my front to shield her, and run as fast as possible. Now we are the stragglers; anyone left alive is running in front of us, which makes Poppy and me the most exposed targets. I can’t see Raven anywhere, which is a relief. I hope that means she’s made it to cover.
My legs feel so heavy that for a short second, all I can think is how fantastic it’d feel to dump Poppy. Dump her and then run. But I can’t—I promised Bryant—and somewhere out there the bodies of Poppy’s parents are probably well buried and decayed because they only wished for the safety of their daughter. I can’t leave her. I’m all she has now.
Someone falls in front of us, shot in the back, although they immediately begin crawling forward again. When did we become so fearful of our government? I knew even in the beginning that I had to get out of the city when I still could because I knew we’d be on our own inside. Left to starve or be eaten by the infection, although which fate is worst, I can’t say.
Another whizzing sound passes my ear, this one closer than before—someone has me in their sights. Then I don’t hear it, but I feel it: an explosion in the back of my shoulder. I scream, and it’s unlike any noise I’ve ever made before. I pitch forward and fall on my face. Poppy’s gangly limbs sprawl over me still, struggling to get out from under my weight, but I barely feel her thrashing. Only my shoulder.
I’ve never broken a bone before, never suffered any major illness; all I’ve dealt with are chronic allergies and a few sprains from badly played soccer. Nothing could prepare anyone for pain like this, but out of everyone, I feel like I could be least prepared. It hurts so badly I feel like life itself has been a betrayal. There’s screaming everywhere, but most of it must be my own. This isn’t a tranq that’s hit me; it’s a bullet. A solid, metal bullet.
“Brie, get up!” Poppy manages to slip out from under me, and now she has more blood on her front. My blood. She stays on the ground next to me—good girl. Standing now will only get her shot.
“Just run!” I yell at her. My hands are struggling to find the exact location of the bullet. My entire shoulder feels like it’s burning up, so much
that I barely feel the extra pressure of probing fingers. What I do feel is the amount of blood I’m losing. There it is. A hole no bigger than my fingertip. I put my whole left hand down on it to staunch it, but I can barely reach it.
“Brie!” Another voice calling my name, but this is the only one I really hear. I stop my frantic actions for a moment to look for her, but I see only the darkness between the trees.
“Raven!” She might come for me—help me the last few yards to safety. We’re so close to the woods now. That’s why I keep pushing Poppy away from me. She can make that distance on her own. “Go! Just go!”
Raven doesn’t emerge for me. Cold river water, blood, and the tears running down my face and neck soak my body like an abrupt baptism into a new world. Trying to push myself to my feet brings only more tears. I’m screaming louder than anyone else for sure, pushing Poppy along in front of me. Despite the injury in my shoulder, I realize I’m limping—I must have twisted my ankle when collapsing on myself. My face stings from the burns and cuts the fall has given me.
When I burst past the first tree, the second one exploding right next to me from another gunshot, I realize I can only hear myself screaming because I can’t hear anything else at all.
Chapter 8
TRAVELING THROUGH the woods doesn’t guarantee protection, but it does make it easier. Not only are there places to hide, but in the forest, the dark finds you unlike anywhere else. Here you can disappear if you have the fortitude to do it. Here you can make a home, mend your wounds, and pray for another day to find you.
The hazmat suits follow us into the trees, but their lights give them away, and they aren’t equipped to leave their supplies behind and foot it in pursuit. We, on the other hand, live in darkness now. I find the best footing, despite the deadening pain in my shoulder, my ankle, and my ears. They’re ringing at a frightening pitch, which I think means I’ll at least hear again, but it might be a while before anything sounds normal. I might get killed during the wait.
