Jack had finished his food and was watching silently, wondering what she was going to say to him. He knew she was well aware of what was going on out there, maybe even what happened. He also knew already that she didn’t seem to take any bullshit, and Joe had no idea who she was and how she came to be here.
Mac stared him right in the face expressionless, “So is that what you were doing out there just now?” He stared blankly at her, “You were out there stopping all this? Cleaning it up?”
Nate scoffed and answered for him while Joe just sat there, unsure of what to say, “I believe we were out there hunting some cans of baked beans, and a bag of sugar.”
Cara suddenly remembered those items were in her backpack, and waved her finger in the air. She patted Nate again. She reached into her pack, pulling out just that, and brought it into the kitchen to the pantry closet.
Joe suddenly got much quieter, “Well, what were you doing out there, then, Ms. Mac?”
All five of them stopped what they were doing, intently waiting on her answer. Jack and Laila couldn’t seem to look her in the eye just yet. The silence was deafening, only the hum of the refrigerator had the courage to make a sound. Mac looked at him intently and unblinking. She suddenly dropped her shoulders, whipping her head to him, and gave him a huge, unsettling smile. Nate jumped at the sudden movement in the silence.
“Just out there sitting pretty, sweetheart. Waiting for my Prince to save me with a can of baked beans,” she just kept looking at him with a sweet, innocent smile, and something in her eyes that frankly would scare the shit out of anyone.
No one laughed, but the majority swallowed hard and waited. Jack and Laila knew what she did out there, and they all knew the type of guy Joe was. Nate finally broke the tension by taking a loud slurp from his water. Cara came out from the kitchen again, and sat back in her spot.
Laila stood up slowly, “It’s time for us to head up to three. Show Mac where she’ll be staying. Plus we haven’t even had a chance to unload yet.”
Jack gathered his pack and bow, then went for his dirty bowl.
“I’ll take care of that,” Cara said, shooing him off.
“Thanks,” he said, still glancing every now and again between Joe and Mac.
“Come on, Mac. I’ll take you to your room,” Laila said, and she headed for the door that led back out into the gymnasium.
Jack hung back, waiting for her to stand and follow him out to Laila.
When they were almost to the gym Jack asked her quietly, without turning towards her, “There was nothing else you wanted to mention to Joe back there?”
She answered, “You didn’t seem to mention it either, Robin Hood.”
He cleared his throat nervously, and they walked out to meet Laila waiting for them at the base of the stairs.
CHAPTER 3
A Room with a View
Mac stared out of the tall windows and looked down into the courtyard. The small group of children she saw peeking at her earlier were playing outside on a small play set. The woman who shooed them away was working through the dried and yellowed weeds of a raised garden bed, exposing some of the rich soil every time a tangle of roots was yanked out. She would occasionally glance over at the kids, then return to her work again. An older man came out of one of the two small green houses, holding potted plants that had died, some leaves crumbling to the ground as he brought them over to the weed bucket and dumped the entirety of them inside.
“This is the third floor. The majority of us are down on the second. The fourth was never completed. This is one of the teacher’s units. It’s twice as big as the students with a small ‘kitchen’,” she said making air quotes, “and its own bathroom.”
It was pretty much identical to the second floor where Magda’s office was located, but this floor seemed to only have rooms like a college dormitory. The students’ rooms lined one side, each one connected to another by a shared full bathroom. Fewer doors lined the other side of the hall, with larger rooms for the teachers. The entire floor was divided by the path of the hallway which made a square around the perfectly cubed building and the courtyard at its center on the ground.
Mac turned her face away from the window just enough to show Laila she was listening, and to glance at the short counter with a small sink, tiny microwave, and a two cup coffee maker.
“Sorry it’s dusty. We don’t really come into the empty rooms. We can stock you up with some things if you need it. A blanket, pillow, towels. There may already be some things here and there.” She walked over, and opened the cabinet over the sink. Inside sat two plastic cups, a mug, and a plate, everything stacked up on itself. Laila then opened one of the drawers which tinkled with the sound of metal on metal. She reached in and pulled out two of each kind of utensil in her fist to show her, then put it back in.
“Did someone already live in here?” Mac asked, her gaze back out to the courtyard.
Magda and Charlie had just entered, and the man from the greenhouse walked over to them, his hand to his brow. Magda looked at him with great concentration as he spoke. Charlie had his hands on his hips looking down at the ground as he kicked up some dust from the parched earth. His ear was pointed at the man, also listening. His head suddenly shot up as the man finished what he was saying, and held his hands up with his palms out, shaking his head back and forth.
“I don’t think so. There was more people here, teachers right when this started, but they left to go to their families or loved ones or to just not be here. Some left things behind.”
Mac watched as the three adults walked into a greenhouse they all just barely fit into. The woman pulling weeds had stopped, and sat back on her heels, wiping her hands on her jeans. Then she leaned her head against her hand, and watched the kids as they climbed to the top of the slide, taking their turn going down.
“Are you a teacher?”
Laila smiled a little, “No, I was a manager actually, at a clothing store. Before this.”
“I am,” Jack said from the doorway.
Mac turned away from the window completely giving her attention to him, “And what do you teach?”
“Well, earth science I suppose.”
“You suppose? So you’re a scientist then?”
“I’m a geologist. I was a geologist,” he corrected, “I was an adjunct professor at a university in upstate New York. Then I was hired here,” he said, shifting a little from the weight of the bow and his backpack he still carried.
“Rocks?” she said, not so much in jest, but more in confusion. She asked incredulously, “Do you all find rock knowledge very important at the moment?”
“I teach them-“ he cut himself off as he heard the agitation in his voice, and took a breath. “I was hired as an Earth Science teacher, but we never really got that far seeing as we never got to the first day of class. And this school is different from regular ones, so our lessons vary.”
The three of them took a moment, as Mac looked from Jack back to Laila and finally asked, “Why are you here?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Um, it’s safe,” she said condescendingly, her jovial attitude slowly fading.
“You’re not a teacher. This was a school and you have not been here since the beginning. Why are you here?” she asked again curiously.
Laila looked at Mac, her patience slipping a bit, and took a breath, “I couldn’t stay in my apartment anymore, so I left looking for a better place. That just seemed to be any place empty and capable of locking for a while. When I was out looking for another place that locked, I found Charlie and some of the others. They brought me here.”
“The machete?”
“A lot of sheds around here have interesting things inside…and some lock.”
Mac turned back again to the window. The courtyard was now empty.
“How many kids live here?”
“Seven. Listen, I appreciate what you did for us, and honestly I doubt we’ll ever be able to repay you with what you deserve. But I’m not s
ure I’m understanding your feelings towards us right now, and I’m starting to get-“ she looked down, and slightly shook her head trying to come up with the appropriate word.
“Annoyed,” Jack said. “I’m going to go put this stuff down.
Mac turned around and saw he was looking right at her, stone faced. Mac gave the slightest of grins, and he turned around and walked down the hall.
She looked at Laila, “Sorry. I’m just trying to get the picture here.”
“What picture?” Laila asked confused.
“I can’t figure out if you’re trying to act ignorant or if you all actually are,” she answered absentmindedly as she saw someone a level down walking around in one of the other teacher’s apartments. Then she realized it was Jack entering one of the teachers’ rooms across the courtyard, one floor down, and a room to the right.
“Excuse me?” Laila said showing some anger.
Suddenly a door from one of the student rooms opened up a door down and a teenage girl popped out.
“Laila, there’s a lot of them out front at the gate.”
Laila was still glaring at Mac, but slowly walked her way down and across the hall into the girl’s room. Mac followed, the teenaged girl staring at her the whole time. When they entered, Laila was already at the windows holding to the side a thick, dusty dark blue curtain like in all of the other rooms, and was staring out the window. But this room was pretty well furnish with a matching bed set, little rug sitting next to the bed, and lots of pictures hangin on the walls.
“It’s fine,” she said dropping the curtain back, leaving the room dark save for the slight glow the sun still made behind the fabric. She walked over to the girl and put a hand on her head giving her blond hair a playful petting, “They’re ready at the gate.”
Mac walked past them both to the window, throwing the curtain to the side with her good arm. Outside of the gate, about a dozen of the dead wandered around. Their attention on the metal opening, then sleepily their heads would turn back towards the dusty road. Their mouths gaped at something she couldn’t see. The men at either side of the gate were popping up and down on their make shift platforms like something from of whack-a-mole game; one Mac had no idea how to play. Then she realized they were throwing things: rocks, cans, sticks, as far as they could behind the small, sluggish crowd of the dead. But just as one would turn towards the movement or noise and take a step away, another would walk right into the sheet metal of the gate, and draw all of their attention back with the booming sound. Mac whipped her head around looking at Laila in disbelief.
“What the fuck are they doing out there?” she asked appalled.
“They’re getting them away,” she said protectively, sidling up against the girl.
“They’re trying to ‘get them away?’” she said in disbelief. With that she stormed out of the room and towards the stairs.
She flew as fast as she could, the pain shooting through her side with every step, her breath catching with every foot fall. She could hear Laila making her way behind her. Once she reached the first floor she made a sharp right at the bottom of the stairs, and set off with all the purpose in the world. She sped past the nurses station, then reached the side door she wasn’t allowed into upon arrival. She burst through, slamming it against the bricks of the building. The men at the gate froze in confusion, one with a rock in hand mid-throw. They both slowly sunk back down, crouching on their platforms and looking to each other for any answer as to what to do next. Mac walked right up to the ornately twisted iron gate meant for the school, now covered in a quilt of soldered scrap metal more suited for their current world. She flicked opened her large knife, and turned to the guy manning the door.
“Open the gate!” she spat at him.
He just looked at her, panic stricken, frozen at the little gate house control station.
She shoved the knife into her slightly limp left hand, then pulled her Glock 17 from its holster, pointing it right at his head from five feet away, “Open the fucking gate!”
He quickly slammed down on the button, and the metal slid away to the side, then he stopped it when it was about three feet open. She put her gun back and placed the knife into her good hand as the first turned, and started to drag itself through. It had gotten a foot in, then an arm jutted through breaching the safety of the border wall. When its head poked in next, Mac walked right up to it and shoved the tip of her knife with precision into its right eye. She pulled it back out again almost in one fluid motion. The body dropped immediately, half in and half out of the gate.
“Mac!” Laila shouted from twenty yards behind her, “Wait!”
But she had already stepped over the body and out into the group. She walked up to the next closest, shoving the knife into its ear, then quickly spinning to the side to pierce the top of a shorter one’s skull. It crumpled to the ground.
More people from the Block had run out to see what was going on. First, Jack, behind Laila, then Charlie and Magda came out after with the man from the courtyard greenhouse. Joe, Cara, Nate, and Liam followed, all but the latter with weapons drawn. All of them stood frozen in their spot when they saw the scene in front of them. One of the men from atop the gate screamed to close it, then Christina came out and to the front of the crowd.
“What the hell is going on?” she stopped and took in the scene from the three foot gap.
Mac had now finished off nine of them, and was moving in on the tenth.
“Why is no one helping her? She has one usable arm, Goddamnit!” she shouted, turning back to the rest of them just standing there, no one saying a word as they watched.
She finished all but one who was shuffling back to them after following a thrown can lucky enough to roll a bit further away just before the gate was opened. She turned back to the people of the Block.
“This is what you do? You let them wander around your walls? Are you fucking playing a game?”
Mac stood there, chest rising up and down more from anger than exertion. Her breath quick and loud as it was being expelled in disbelief. She held her knife tightly in her hand, a drop of dark, thick and rotting blood from one of the turned she just ended slowly pulled itself down and off, falling from the tip to the driveway. Her injured shoulder hung just slightly lower than her right as she favored it a bit, keeping it out of the melee.
The last of the turned was now ten yards behind, making its way toward her. Crooked feet dragged it as fast as its decrepit body could move. The people of the Block stood stunned, eyes widening as they watched it approach. A few started to retreat, taking small steps backward behind the rest. Mac looked into all of their faces. Fear, confusion, concern, nervousness. They were deer frozen in the woods after hearing a stick break, with their muscles taunt. She held up her knife, pointing it at them.
“You are letting groups of them grow outside of your walls. You think there’s less danger in not putting yourselves out there to stop them than letting them roam around your land? Groups of the turned are dangerous,” she said slowly, calmly, and filled with anger.
She placed her knife into her left hand as it hung down her body. She stuck her right arm out into the air to her side just as the last one was steps from its closest target.
Jack put his hand on his gun and took a step towards her. Fear filled his eyes as he saw it start to raise its hands, covered in dark gray, wrinkled skin, reaching for her. He was about to shout to her to look out, then Mac looked right at him and he stopped.
What used to be an older woman, with long salt and pepper hair up in the remains of a disheveled bun closed in on her. The walking corpse wrapped her fingers around Mac’s bicep while she just kept glaring at the crowd of the living. She shot her hand up grabbing the knot of hair left on top of the dead's head, pulling it just enough to leave it leaning over the fabric of her shirt. The only thing between her and its teeth. It’s mouth opened and the lower jaw swirled around looking to make contact. As it pulled against her grip you could see the skin of its hair
line start to tear away from the forehead little by little.
“But there only needs to be one,” she said softly to them. “Especially if you’re not prepared. It only takes one to keep this whole fucking thing going, and they don’t stop unless we make them,” Mac said quieter now, and even more calmly.
The dead pulled harder against her hold, and its decayed flesh ripped away enough now to see the front of its skull. Old black-green blood oozed leaving a thin coating on the bone. You could see its grip tightening on her more as it tried to find the leverage to connect to the meat of her arm. Slowly the thinned, dried skin of its finger tips started to bunch up to the first knuckle as the end of the bones poked through showing more obvious pressure points on Mac’s shirt. It let out a little lunge in a frenzied effort to finally meet its objective. The movement almost had it entirely scalping itself just to be free of her grasp so it could sink its teeth in to her. But just as it went for her, Mac used the hold she had left to simply move its head closer to hers, leading it to bite down on its own hand which held her. It gnawed down not seeming to notice it hadn’t hit fresh flesh yet, and worked its teeth side to side cutting through its own leathery skin immediately hitting bone. There its teeth slowly started to push outward until they released from the rotten gums, rolling out of them and to the ground. And it kept going. Coagulated, greasy blood slowly oozed from the top of its hand and mouth.
It started to reach a mania from its actions. The routine connecting some still working synapses that told it it had reached its goal, and to sustain force. It needed to go and go until it had devoured. It started rooting around like a suckling new born trying to find the sweet spot, when Mac sunk her fingers deep into the bottom of the bun, and pulled its head back sharply with a snap. She whipped up her injured arm effortlessly, hand still clenching the knife, and thrust it up through its exposed spot under the chin, and into its brain. The only way you could tell that action had hurt Mac was from the clenching of her jaw and the slight tremor that flowed down her body. The corpse dropped to the ground next to her in a pile. Mac stood there, holding a cap of skin and hair. Her injured arm across her chest, held as if it were in a sling, still had the knife. A splash and spray of rotten blood dotted the side of her face and neck, and a little puddle was left near her shoulder where the last of the group of turned had rested its head.
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