Текст книги "Writing on the Wall"

Автор книги: Tracey Ward

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

Chapter Six

The rain has left the world looking shiny and bright. When we hit the sidewalk outside my building, I’m pleasantly surprised to find no evidence of the zombies we killed out here last night. Since no more showed up later on, I’m assuming the rain took care of Ryan’s blood too. Everything is as it should be, aside from the eight corpses now rotting in a nearby room inside. But that actually works to my advantage. They’ll mask my scent and keep zombies and animals both away. Animals don’t like the dead when they’re walking and they certainly don’t like them when they’re rotting for the last time. If it weren’t for Ryan knowing about me, I could stay here.

I’m not crazy and I’m not so stubborn that I can’t entertain the idea that he’s on the up and up. He may very well be able to keep me a secret, no matter what happens with him and his crew. But it’s a big question mark and one too dangerous to gamble on. I want to stay, I really do, and honestly I want to trust him. But I don’t. I can’t.

“You should get a rain system started.” he whispers, poking his head around a building and scanning the road.

“I’ve got one.”

“The bucket?”

I shrug. “Among other things.”

“In other places?” he asks, looking at me sideways. I return his stare but I don’t answer. Eventually he nods. “It’s smart. It’s better than going to the holes.”

“I never go to the holes.”

“Good.”

I frown at him. “Why do you care?”

He chuckles and shakes his head.

“What?” I ask, annoyed at being laughed at.

“It’s a weird question.”

“No it’s not. It’s a good one. Why are you so concerned with me and how I manage?”

“Because I’m a human being.”

“I’m human and I don’t care how you survive.”

“Really? Is that why you ran out of your apartment after me this morning?”

He has me there and I don’t feel like talking or thinking about that so I look away, scanning the crumbling buildings around us. There’s no movement. No animals or otherwise. I remember enough about life before to know it should be weird, but these days, it’s really not. There’s not enough of us out here, dead or alive, to make a lot of noise.

“I just…” He hesitates, running his hand over his face once. “Don’t get mad, but you’re a girl. There aren’t many women left around here and even fewer young, pretty ones. I worry what will happen if the wrong person sees you.”

“I make it a point not to be seen.”

He looks at me, his face serious. “I see you.”

I hold his eyes, seeing how golden they are in the morning light. How warm.

“I made a mistake.” I whisper.

“By helping me?” He doesn’t sound hurt. Only curious.

I shake my head and shrug, looking away. I don’t know. I don’t regret helping him, even with what it has cost me. I don’t regret letting him into my home and letting him fill the empty space. I don’t regret showing him the movie and the music. But most importantly, I don’t regret telling him to go.

“Promise not to get mad again?”

I laugh and shake my head. “No.”

“Okay. I’ll say it anyway. Come with me.”

I take a deep breath, knowing where this is going. It’s going where it always goes when people find me, the lost little lamb out in the wild all alone, and they want to save me. And years ago, I would go with them. I would let them help me and I would watch them die and I would be alone all over again.

“I am coming with you. You’re showing me your home.” I say, dodging the request.

“You know what I mean. Come with me permanently. Stay with the gang. You’ll be safer.”

I snort a laugh. “Yeah right. You just said I’m at risk with all the men out here. Now you want me to move in with a mob of them. No thank you.”

“I can keep you safe there.”

“How? By claiming me? Making me yours and keeping me in your bed so I don’t wind up pushed into someone else’s? Or worse, passed around like a toy?”

He doesn’t answer right away and I feel my blood boil.

“It wouldn’t be like that. That’s not what I’m suggesting.” he finally says calmly. “I would never—I’d never be a threat to you. I’d make sure no one else was either.”

“No thanks.” I tell him curtly.

“I—“ He takes a deep breath and lets it out harshly. “This all came out wrong.”

“Hopefully, yeah. Look, I get it. You want to help me and I believe you. If you were willing to do something heinous, you’d have done it last night. It would have been easy. But how is it a good idea to bring me somewhere that you have to protect me all the time? And what happens if you’re gone? What if you die? Can I just walk out the door or do I belong to the gang then?”

He doesn’t answer and I’m done because I’m right.

“I’m better off as I am.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you are.” he says quietly. I can tell this really bothers him. He’s sorry he can’t help me and I hate that. I don’t need help. I’ve got this. I’ve had it under control all on my own for years now and I don’t need some knight in shining armor to come running up and save me.

As we walk in silence I see the park peek through between the buildings. The tall trees that have overrun the area standing proud and waving in the light breeze. Crenshaw is in there. Crenshaw who has never offered me help beyond what I ask for. Who makes his trades with me, offers his advice when asked and then pisses off. Crenshaw who never calls me by my name.

“Thank you.” I blurt out, surprising us both.

His brows pinch in confusion. “I thought you were mad at me. What are you thanking me for?”

“I am. I’m kinda mad at you. But you’re being nice.”

“You’re mad at me for being nice?”

“No, I’m thanking you for being nice.”

“I am so confused.”

I grin at him. “Me too.”

“Joss, I want you to understand that—“

“Shhhh! Shut up!” I whisper harshly, grabbing his arm and pulling him down into a crouch with me. “Look.”

A deer. It’s strolling slowly, almost casual, as though it doesn’t have a care in the world. Not for zombies and certainly not for us.

“What do you want to do?” he whispers, leaning his head close. “Do you want to go for it?”

I nod excitedly. “I haven’t had anything but rabbit in forever.”

“Not stealthy enough to take down a deer?” he asks, smirking at me.

I glare at him. “Not alone, no, and neither are you. But if we work together…”

“I thought you don’t play well with others.”

I chuckle softly. “Ryan, for a chance at deer meat, I can be very agreeable.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. It’s heading for the park. Let’s cut over a block so we can run without spooking it.”

We rise slowly out of our crouch, trying not to land in the deer’s peripheral. Once we’re clear of its sightline we take off at a sprint, running quietly down the street on the balls of our feet, landing on as little surface as possible to make the least amount of noise. We have to push through tall grass and dodge cars and rubble. Fallen street signs and sections of buildings. A refrigerator it looks like some idiots threw off a roof for fun. I wonder briefly, since we’re in his neighborhood, if it was Ryan’s band of idiots that did it.

When we reach the edge of the park we find that we beat the deer here. We quickly hide crouched down in a row of thick bushes just on the edge of the park where we can see the break in the trees where he’s going to come in. I get impatient and stand up briefly, looking for him. He’s walking so slowly I wonder if he’s not sick. I don’t want to eat rancid deer meat and get sick again. Food poisoning is deadly and I’ve only had to deal with it once. All I can say is thank goodness I had my toilet.

“Why is he moving so slowly?” I breathe as silently as I can.

“What should he be hurrying for? There’s nothing chasing him.”

“Not that he knows of.”

“Maybe he’s just a laid back guy.”

“You two could hang out. Become bros.”

He snorts quietly. “I need a good dinner more than a bro.”

“Okay, he’s in. I’ll circle behind him on his right, you flank him on his left then we’ll close in on him together. Good?”

“Good.” Ryan stands up, his head and shoulders coming above the bushes. I stay crouched, ready to spring up like a sprinter out of the blocks. “Ready?”

“Ryan!” a voice bellows from behind us.

The deer jerks its head around, its ears twitching and its large black eyes scanning the area. Whether it spots us or the owner of the obnoxiously loud voice I don’t know. But it makes the smart choice and leaps into the thickness of the trees, disappearing into the shadows.

Ryan whirls around, looking for whoever is calling to him.

“Stay down.” he mumbles.

“No shit.” I reply, tucking myself farther into the bushes by his knees.

“Bray?” Ryan calls.

“Yeah, man, what are you doing?”

“Trying to catch some dinner. I was following a deer.”

Bray laughs. “Come on, a deer? You’re good but you’re not that good.”

“I’d be better if people didn’t shout at the top of their lungs and scare it away.”

“Sorry.  I didn’t know. I’ve been out looking for you all morning. We weren’t sure we’d find you alive.”

“You’re not supposed to look for me.”

“Yeah, I know. But with what happened with Kevin… Well, we made a decision to skip the rules a little and go looking for you at first light. We just lost him. No one was ready to lose you too.”

A silence falls between them and I can see Ryan’s hand clenching his knife tightly.

“But you gotta come in now.” Bray tells him, breaking the silence. “Everyone needs to. Trent’s in the crow’s nest with the specs and he spotted bad news.”

“What’s up?”

“Risen. The dead, man, they’re back in force.”

“What? How?”

“Don’t know, but we have theories. Trent has spotted at least fifty, probably more. And they’re fresh.”

Ryan curses under his breath. “Women and children in the mix?”

“Yep. You get the idea of what’s happened, right?”

A Colony has fallen.

“Colony.” Ryan says darkly.

“That’s what we think.” Bray agrees. “It can’t have been more than one and it can’t have been one of the stadiums. The numbers would be higher. That means there’s more of them out there than we know about.”

“Unless the Risen are spread out. There might be more than Trent can see.”

“We think there are. We’re pretty sure it’s just one section that’s gone down though. A smaller one. We’re hoping anyway. If all of the Colonies in the area get infected…”

“It’ll be like the start of it all over again.”

“Yeah. As it is it’s dangerous to be out right now. We’re going on lockdown until we get a better idea of how big this thing is going to get.”

“Alright.” Ryan says warily. “Let’s get back.”

Ryan flexes his hand and drops his knife into the soft grass beside me. I glance at it, then back up at him, wondering what the hell he’s doing but he’s already walking away. I watch and listen as their footsteps recede and he disappears from sight. I start counting, waiting it out, wondering how long I should give them to be out of sight entirely.

“What are you doing?!” I hear Bray call from far off.

“My knife!” Ryan calls back. He’s close and getting closer. “I dropped it. Wait there, give me a minute!”

“Hurry up!”

Ryan runs back and drops down on his knees in front of me. His face is pinched in concern.

“You heard Bray?” he whispers.

I nod, my mouth pulled in a grim line.

“I should walk you back. It’s not good to be out alone right now.”

“You’ll never shake this guy. Besides, I can make it. I’ve survived worse with less experience.”

“I feel like a jerk just leaving you.”

“You’re not a jerk.”

He grins. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

His face falls serious, his eyes searching mine.

“I’m gonna find you again.” he says softly.

I smirk. “You can try.”

I hope he understands, that he takes that statement for what it is. Permission, or at least as much as I can give. I want him to find me and, foolish as it may be, I know I’m going to make it easy.

“Ryan!” Bray shouts, sounding closer than before.

“Screw it.” Ryan murmurs.

He crushes his lips to mine. A surprised whimper escapes the back of my throat, urging him on, and suddenly his hands are on my face and in my hair. I grab his shoulders for support as he pulls me forward and off balance but then I’m pulling him to me. His chest presses against me as his lips soften and move slowly over mine. This is dangerous. His friend is close by, zombies are in high numbers again but I can’t begin to care. It’s my first kiss, quite possibly the only one I’ll ever have, and I let myself melt into him. I give up, I give in. I hold on and I enjoy the moment as the comet crash lands onto the earth and razes the entire world.

When he pulls away, his hands still in my hair and on my skin, his breathing is ragged. I, on the other hand, have stopped breathing entirely.

“Watch for me.” he says roughly.

“What?”

He holds my face firmly in front of his, so close I can feel his breath on my skin. He locks eyes with me and repeats, “Watch for me. Keep your eyes open.”

“I will.” I whisper.

“Good.” He lets go of my face and squeezes my hand briefly. “Be safe.”

“You too.”

He smiles at me one last time before he goes.

Then I’m alone again.

Chapter Seven

“Crenshaw!” I whisper loudly into the wilderness.

I’m standing in the thickest section of trees in the park turned forest, scanning the brush. I have to be careful because Crenshaw is a shifty old man who loves setting traps. Traps for food, traps for zombies, traps for people. I think the people traps are his favorite. Yep, there’s a makeshift rope running up the inside of a tree. I’d bet my last sip of water that it’s connected to a loop in the underbrush. I am not taking another step.

“Crenshaw!”

“I’m here.” a disembodied voice calls from within the trees. He emerges from the shadows looking like Merlin if he’d fallen on hard times and got really into pot. He even has a staff, for God’s sake. “What do you need of me, Athena?”

Yeah, he calls me Athena, like the goddess of war. Years ago he said Joss was too mousey, that I was a survivor and deserved a survivor’s name. He toyed with calling me Xena for a bit but I refused to respond to it. By the time we got to Athena, I just didn’t care anymore.

“Nothing, I’m fine. I came to warn you that there’s been an outbreak in the Colonies. I’ve seen a lot more wraiths recently.”

Wraiths, yes. That’s what I said. I’ve entered into Mordor here.

“Ah, it was inevitable.” he rasps. “The gates of Hell were bound to spring open again eventually. How many have escaped so far?”

“I’m not sure. I overhead some men talking and they’ve spotted at least fifty in the area, probably more.”

“You were in the company of men?”

“No, not really. I was in the park and I overheard them.”

“And they didn’t see you?” he asks skeptically. He’s a crazy old bird but he’s sharp. Irritatingly so.

“One of them might have known I was there.” I admit grudgingly.

“Be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Be doubly careful.” he says, striking his staff on the ground twice for emphasis.

“Ok, yes. I’ll be triple careful.”

“You’re sure you don’t need anything of me? Tea? Food?” I shake my head, smiling at his generosity. “Water?”

Suddenly I’m reminded of Ryan’s warning.

“Don’t go to the watering holes.” I blurt out.

He scowls at me, looking offended by the idea. “I never do. Why would I?”

“I don’t know, but don’t go there. The men also said that the holes are dangerous. That the Colonies are doing a lot of roundups there.”

He watches me in silence for an uncomfortably long time, his face entirely devoid of emotion.

“These men,” he finally says slowly. “They said an awful lot, didn’t they?”

I shrug, trying to look unconcerned. “They were chatty.”

“All of this while you were in earshot.”

“Chatty and stupid.”

“No one alive today is stupid, Athena.”

I roll my eyes, getting tired of the interrogation or accusation. Whatever this is, it’s wearing on me. People in general are wearing on me and I think I’ve had way too much interaction recently. I need to detox.

“What do you want me to say? What do you want from me?” I ask, letting my frustration show.

“I want you to be careful.”

“And I said I would. I will be. I always am.”

“What is more dangerous than the wraiths?” He asks it like a condescending school teacher and I have to suppress a groan. I’ve heard this lecture a million times.

“Snakes?”

“Athena.”

“People. Living, breathing, thieving people.”

“Remember it well.” he warns. Then he steps back, blending into the shadows. It’s very theatrical and I wonder if he practices when I’m not around.

“You try and watch out for people.” I grumble, heading for the exit. I’m wondering how giving him a heads up ended with me being scolded. I want out of the woods, out of the park, out of the whole city. Out of this mess entirely.

I’m debating what to do about dinner tonight and which water supply to tap when it happens. An early warning system goes off. From a tree about a block and a half down, a massive flock of birds takes to the sky. Aside from the beating of their wings they don’t make a sound. No cawing. No screeching. They’re not freaking out over the dead, so what are they running from? It’s something human or another animal. If it’s an animal, it’s big. Threatening. If it’s human, they’re not used to treading softly and only one type of person nowadays hasn’t finely honed their creeping skills. They don’t have to. They live behind fences and walls and sleep on mattresses and sheets and wash their hair with real soap, not with some beige bar made in Merlin’s Magical Shop of Wonders in the woods.

Colonists.

I hide myself deep in the bushes, close to where I was hiding with Ryan. As my breathes come in short and painful I feel so far removed from Crenshaw’s Athena or Ryan’s bitch Joss. Now I’m Jocelyn, eight years old and terrified, hiding behind a tree again while evil closes in on me. I can pretend to be as tough as I want, but the person who knows the truth is the only one who matters; me. I know every single day how scared I really am. How tired, how angry, how lonely. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks or if I work my ass off to make sure there is no ‘anyone else’ around to see it. It’s still true. I’m still scared.

I don’t have to wait long for the silent, silver electric car to come rolling by at a ridiculously slow speed. Most roads are cracked, sprouting weeds and grass or filled with stripped out cars and debris, but there’s a trail cleared that winds through the area. It’s something some of the gangs have done or maybe the Colonists did it? I’m not sure. Either way, areas on this trail are the marketplace for the crews who are willing to barter with one another. The morning after a new moon you can find them gathering at random locations along this road to trade goods and act like morons together. I’ve obviously never attended but I’ve watched from the roof before and, if I’m being honest, I’ve watched with a little envy. Most of the Lost Boys get along, laughing and shouting together. Like friends.

But now the roads are empty and silent, barely a sound coming from the ridiculously small, shiny car gliding through this derelict world. It doesn’t belong here. They don’t belong here. The sight of a car, something that was once so common place and now so nauseatingly strange, sends chills down my spine. I feel cold sweat break out over my clammy skin and I remind myself to breath evenly.

They can’t hear me. They can’t see me. They don’t know I’m here. They will not take me.

I try to tell myself to calm down. I doubt they’re doing a roundup right now, not without their vans with the doors that lock from the outside. It’s not really a good time anyway, not for anybody. All of us in the wild, those with any sense at least, are holed up in our homes waiting to see just how bad this latest outbreak is going to get. If any sense of responsibility still existed in the world, the Colonists would be out here to kill these things off once and for all. Clean up their mess. But there isn’t and that’s not why they’re here. They’re here to make a point. To let us know that not all of them have fallen, not everyone in their golden city is infected. To warn us not to come looting.

You better believe that if they ever did fail entirely those of us in the wild would descend upon their stocks like vultures. I dream about it at night when I’m not having nightmares about crawlers eating my legs. I don’t wish them ill, I’m not hoping they all die, I just want to take their stuff. Is that bad? I don’t even know anymore. This type of moral questioning wasn’t covered in The Breakfast Club. I fear the structure of my upbringing is noticeably lacking.

***

The next week is a bear. My life, already more than a little stressful, gets way worse. The biggest, most notable source of my anxiety is the fact that I haven’t moved. I can’t. The zombie threat is back and bigger than it has been in years leaving me thinking that the numbers Ryan’s friend quoted were conservative. There are definitely more than fifty dead bloating the ranks out there. In the middle of the night I can hear the groaning outside breaking the silence I hadn’t realized I’d grown accustomed to. This is the old days, the early days. The bad days.

My other problem is the Colonists. They’re everywhere. The trucks and vans are out patrolling the streets and blaring over the loudspeakers again, something they haven’t done in a long time. They play up the threat of the dead, telling us the only place to be safe from this latest outbreak is in their compounds. Are we idiots out here? They must think so, because we all know where the fresh dead came from and the idea that we’d be safer where the infection found footing again is laughable. It’s also infuriating.

“Fuck you!”

I freeze, shocked by the unfamiliar sound of human life outside my windows. I can feel pins and needles prickling under my skin as I run to the window, sticking to the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun. From this height I can see the street a block over, looking down over the lower buildings to the east. The Colonist trucks are there. Three of them.

I watch as Lost Boys run at the vehicles, weapons raised. There are at least ten of them, a decent gathering, but I worry. Word is, if Crenshaw’s sources are good, that the Colonists still have guns, though I’ve never seen or heard them used. The Lost Boys attack, swinging weapons that look long, dark and deadly. I hear indiscernible shouts, words lost in the wind or the distance. Or in rage. Maybe they never meant anything other than anger.

The Colonists are spilling out of the vehicles to defend themselves and I wonder if they have anyone locked inside. They collide with the gang and the shouts intensify. The clang of metal against metal, screams of pain and more curses carry over otherwise silent streets and up to my fractured window. I watch carefully, trying to make out the shape of the men. The color of their hair. I’m holding the softened, rotted wood of the window frame with white knuckles and I’m wondering, worrying, if Ryan is with them.

There’s a flash of orange light. Fire. The Lost Boys have lit a torch. Or I think it’s a torch until it flies through the air and lands at the rear tire of the trail vehicle. It explodes into an inferno, crawling up the side of the van like a spider, spinning a web of heat and smoke behind it. More cries ring out from both sides and the men disentangle themselves from each other as the fire becomes the true threat to everyone. The gang retreats, quickly gathering a fallen member from the ground and dragging him away. A trail of red mars the ground behind him, appearing especially bright and red over a patch of yellow, dry grass.

The fire is coming for it. It consumes everything, devouring the van and burning brightly over nearly the entire surface. The Colonists pile into their remaining two vehicles and quickly pull away, leaving the fallen van to burn itself out. Within the space of three minutes the confrontation is over. The only signs it ever took place are fire and red grass, both of which are burning away, flaming out. They leave behind only a pillar of dark smoke in the sky and a black stain on the ground. And I wonder again, as I watch it all burn, if they had anyone locked inside.