What We Left Behind, page 6
part #1 of Z is for Zombie Series
I drop, only to have a pair of hands catch me around the waist and guide me gently to the ground.
“Thanks,” I say in a whisper, but Steve has already moved on to catch Jane. David drops silently beside her.
Jane and I grab our packs and start to run into the woods when David signals with his hand, waving at the ground. We get down, lying flat on the bridge as the wagon continues on. I feel kinda silly lying there in plain sight. Shouldn’t we be running into the trees? I want to say something, but David, Steve, and Jane are all lying patiently beside me on the bridge.
Once the wagon has disappeared into the trees, David gets to his feet and grabs his pack.
I can’t help myself. I have to know.
“Why didn’t we just run for the trees? Why stay in the open?”
“You’ve got a lot to learn, Haze,” David replies, helping me with my pack. “Our eyes are good at detecting movement, especially on the periphery, right on the edge of our vision. As strange as it sounds, if those guys glanced around, they were far more likely to see us if we were moving than if we stayed still.”
“Huh,” I reply, falling in step beside him.
Steve asks, “What about the wagon? Why is it so noisy? Won’t that draw zombies to them?”
“Yes,” David replies. “It’s a magnet, a diversion, something to pull zombies away from the camp. They’ll pick up the pace to a trot once a few stragglers close in, but lose them easily, drawing them back into the forest. There are sandy sections every couple of miles—the silence confuses the zombies, it disorients them.”
Jane walks along on the other side of David, while Steve comes up beside me. We’re walking four abreast down the road.
“See this?” David gestures, swinging his arm in a line in front of us. “This is all wrong. As we get closer to the city, we need to be smarter.”
I’m liking David’s approach. He’s a natural leader. He’s taking the opportunity to talk us through what we need to know ahead of time.
“How many degrees in a circle?” he asks.
“Three hundred and sixty,” Jane replies.
“Our field of vision is one hundred and twenty,” he adds. “Less than half. Basically, we see only a third of whatever’s around us at any given time.”
Impulsively, I look over my left shoulder, then my right, wanting to assure myself there are no zombies creeping up on us, and he’s right. If I want to see everything around me, I’ve got to look both ways. Looking behind is not enough.
“Feel that breeze on your face?” David says.
I’m pretty sure everyone nods. I know I do.
“That’s a big no-no. The breeze should always be at our backs, coming from behind us.”
“Why?” Steve asks.
“Because they can smell us. If we walk into a breeze, we’re leaving a scent trail behind us and the enemy will come in from our blind spot.”
“But,” I say, “if the wind comes from behind us, blowing past us, doesn’t that mean they’ll know we’re coming ahead of time? They’ll smell us long before we see them.”
“It’s not the zombie you see that gets you,” David replies. “It’s the one you don’t see. I’d rather see them coming than be taken by surprise.”
My blood runs cold.
“It’s always better to know what you’re walking into,” he continues. “At the moment, we’ve got the camp behind us, so it’s not such a big deal. Wind patterns are going to determine how we approach the city. We can’t just go waltzing in there pulling a pack of zombies along behind us. That’s a surefire way to get cornered and trapped.”
We reach a fork in the road. David leads us to the right, along an overgrown path. I’d rather stay on the main track as it’s wider and the weeds have been trampled down, but the breeze is coming from behind us. By taking the side track, the breeze comes from our right, which I take to mean I should keep a wary eye to the left. Certainly, that seems to be what David does.
We’re marching at a fast pace. Any faster and I’d be running. It’s not easy for me to keep up with my short legs, but David slows as we pass by a large oak tree. It seems to remind him of something.
“It’s important to have rally points,” he says. “As we move through the suburbs and into the city, I’ll point them out. I won’t always say something, but I’ll identify them with a hand signal. You want to remember these waypoints.”
Steve seems as engrossed as I am in what David’s saying. David and Jane are the only ones keeping an eye out for zombies. Steve and I can’t help but look at David as he walks along, giving us insights into how the marauders operate.
“If we get separated, make your way back to the last rally point.”
Seems pretty obvious, I think.
“When you get there, you’re not going to have more than a minute or two, so leave a marker. Look around for something you can use to indicate you made it back that far, but don’t stop and wait for anyone.
“Remember, zombies use scent like we use sight. You’ll want to hide and wait. You can hide from sight, but you cannot hide from scent. This isn’t the movies. You can’t cover yourself in Zee juice without risking infection. Your scent is your worst enemy.”
David probably figures I’ll run and hide the first time we stumble across a zombie, and he’s right—that would be my natural reaction. I’m going to have to fight that urge.
“You can’t hide, so don’t try,” David says. “Remember, Zee’s strength is in his numbers. If you go to ground, he’ll surround you. Think one zombie is a handful? Wait half an hour and you’ll have ten to contend with. Wait overnight and there will be hundreds, perhaps thousands clamoring for your blood.”
Well, I think, at least he’s not sugarcoating the point.
“So you get back to the waypoint, but you’re alone. Everyone else has run off. What do you do?”
I’m not going to offer an opinion. I’m quite happy to be dumb on this point. I know I need to listen and learn.
“You grab some sticks, twigs, rocks, anything you can find to build a sign.”
He holds up two fingers, one on each hand, and lines them up briefly with the sun.
“You push two sticks into the ground, or pile up some rocks around them, but you line them up so the shadow of the first stick falls on the second. Then you put one last stick flat on the ground, or you lay out a row of stones, something to point in the direction you’re traveling.
“Zee doesn’t leave signs. We leave signs. The next person to get to the waypoint now knows three important pieces of information. They know they’re not alone, someone else made it. They know which direction you’re heading in. And by looking at how far the shadow has moved, they know how long ago you passed through that point. Keep moving. Let them catch up to you.
“Before they move on, they’ll put one more stick in the ground. They line that stick up with the shadow of the first stick, and the next person to come along now knows two people survived, and they know how far apart they are.”
“Got it,” I say.
The track narrows.
I’m getting nervous.
David must sense my unease, as he says, “Nothing to fear yet. We’re on the move, the winds to one side. Zee won’t have had a chance to lie in wait yet.”
Yet. That word sticks in my mind.
Last night, talking with my dad and then later with David, Jane, and Steve, this all seemed simple. Go downtown, get the meds, get back. Now, reality is setting in. We have a long way to go. I am so thankful David is with us. He’s right. I wouldn’t last an hour out here alone.
Suddenly, David’s down on one knee. He’s drawn his machete and has it pointing out into the woods. Jane, Steve, and I are much slower to respond, but we all crouch in the waist-deep grass, looking into the shadows of the forest.
Leaves blow across a bare patch of dirt ahead of us.
At first, I can’t see anything, but I notice the birds have fallen silent.
The wind moves through the trees. I never knew rustling leaves could be so noisy. My senses are heightened, but the breeze is a curse. Just a slight turn of my head and the wind catches my ears, and the subtle noises I could hear a moment ago are lost in a hiss of white noise.
David hasn’t moved. I’m not sure he’s even breathing. He’s holding the blade of his machete perfectly still out at arm’s length.
I follow the line of sight and I see him. There’s a zombie moving through the trees. At first, he blends in with the flickering shadows. Once I recognize him, he stands out, but just a moment ago he was invisible. I can only see his upper torso through the foliage. He’s easily a hundred yards away.
David whispers. “He hasn’t seen or smelled us.”
My heart is pounding in my chest.
“Keep your eyes on him,” he says, as though Jane, Steve, and I are going to look anywhere else. It’s only then I realize just how valuable it is having David with us. We’re so focused on the first zombie, we don’t see the second wander out onto the path not more than thirty feet ahead. I want to scream.
Steve rests his hand on my knee, wanting to get my attention and point out the second zombie, but I just about jump out of my skin.
Without realizing it, I’ve drawn my gun. My sweaty hands grip the pistol for dear life. I’m about to pull back on the hammer when David whispers.
“No noise. It’ll bring them in from miles around.”
The zombie on the track is close enough that his wounds are obvious. He’s lost an arm at the elbow. His clothing is torn. A few wisps of hair cling to his head, but he couldn’t have been more than twenty when he turned. His skin is a sickly green. His lips have rotted away, revealing yellow teeth.
Zee stumbles on back into the forest, walking in roughly the same direction as the first zombie.
“We’re good,” David whispers. “No need to panic.”
Really? Tell that to my bladder.
David sniffs the air, saying, “Can you smell that?”
Smell? Smell is the last thing on my mind, but he’s right, I can smell the rotten flesh hanging from the zombie.
“Moving from downwind to upwind,” David whispers. “We can smell him. He can’t smell us. He probably caught a hint of our scent, but he’s moving on the wrong angle. From here, our scent will grow weaker.”
Already, the zombie has staggered off the path.
We stay crouched in the grass beside the track for the best part of five minutes. I don’t like crouching as it’s uncomfortable and it’s hard to see through the grass. There could be other zombies out there and we wouldn’t know it until they were right on top of us.
“Why are we waiting?” I ask. I’m shaking. I can’t crouch like this for too long. I slip the pack off my back and sit on it, resting my thighs.
David replies, “I don’t know if they caught a whiff of our scent or if it was just dumb blind bad luck that brought them across our path. By sitting tight, we give them the chance to show their hand. If they circle back, we take them out, but we’ve got to use baseball bats and machetes, no guns. No noise and there’s no horde.”
Take them out. I feel stupid. I am so grossly unprepared for life outside the commune fence.
Steve hands me some beef jerky, saying, “You want some breakfast?”
Breakfast? I want to scream at him. We were just on the breakfast menu for a couple of zombies and he’s hungry? Get a grip, Haze, I scold myself.
Steve seems a little confused. He can’t read my inner turmoil. I guess I’m not giving too much off in terms of body language, so he keeps holding the strip of dried meat out to me. I smile politely, say, “Thanks,” and take the jerky from him while reminding myself not to be a jerk.
Jane’s facing backwards, watching the approach from the rear.
David takes a swig of water and offers his canteen around. We all have a few sips, and finally we’re on the move again. It can’t be much more than seven or eight in the morning and already I’m exhausted.
It’s going to be a long day.
Chapter 05: Dancing
I never thought I’d enjoy the sound of birds singing in the trees so much, but it turns out they’re the best form of early warning we have. Although zombies pose no threat to birds, they somehow sense things aren’t right when they’re around and will fall silent.
Occasionally, they’ll make a racket when a zombie strays close to a nest. Either way, they help us avoid another five or six zombies as we make our way down to the suburbs on the outskirts of the city.
Each time David stops, we crouch, peering through the foliage looking for Zee. Most of the time, I don’t see anything other than tree trunks and the leaves of low-lying shrubs. Steve seems better at picking them out than I am. We haven’t seen any runners. Fresh zombies are rare, but I’m aware that they’re the worst. From the stories I’ve heard, you have little or no time to react.
The few zombies I see through the trees blend into the forest. They’re grubby, muddy, and their skin has a sickly green tinge. It’s not the spring green I associate with growth, though, it’s more like grass wilting under a hot summer sun.
“If we get into a fight,” David says, and then he stops himself and starts again. “When we get into a fight. Drop your pack. Your backpack is a lifeline to help you survive for a few days out here, but in a fight with Zee, you’re interested in surviving for seconds, minutes, not days. Drop anything that won’t help you for the next sixty seconds, and fight like hell.”
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Remember. It’s all about speed. Zee doesn’t want to kill you, he wants to infect you. He needs help. If he can slow you down so others can join, he wins. You want to disable him as quickly as possible. You don’t need to kill him. Knock him over, kick him down a hill, anything to buy yourself some time.”
“Kick, push, punch,” I say.
“That’s the spirit,” David replies as we walk on.
We come to a rise and I can see the outskirts of the city opening out before us.
I don’t know the name of the city. I’m not a good judge of numbers, so I have no way of estimating how many people once lived here. I imagine it was hundreds of thousands, not millions. Small town, small number of zombies? I hope that assumption holds true. Although, thinking about it, even though it’s not New York or Atlanta, there’s nothing small about hundreds of thousands of zombies. Really, any number beyond zero is one zombie too many.
The track takes us back into the forest and we lose sight of the city.
With the sun high above us, it’s easy to relax and forget about Zee, just as we would in the commune.
“If you could have one thing back, what would it be?” Jane asks. She’s not looking at anyone in particular, just throwing her question out there as we walk along. “What do you miss from all we left behind?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Steve replies. “Hamburgers and french fries.”
I laugh, but I must admit, just the mention of junk food has me salivating.
“And a Coke,” David says. “Frozen Coke.”
“On a day like this?” Jane asks. Even with the warmth of the noonday sun on our faces, there’s a chill in the air. The season is changing.
“Even on a day like this,” David replies.
“What about you?” I ask Jane, thinking if she raised the question, there must be something burning in the back of her mind.
“I dunno,” she says rather absentmindedly. “Everything, I guess.”
We’re getting glimpses of suburbia through the trees. It’s easy to forget there’s ever been an apocalypse until we round a corner and see the corpse of a fallen zombie lying on the track. Not exactly what you’d expect to see on your average pre-apocalypse nature walk.
The corpse is old, but still repulsive. I guess it reminds me that life is fleeting. There’s a bullet hole almost exactly in the center of the skull. Most of the skin is gone, leaving a collection of bones and the odd patch of leathery skin clinging to a few ribs.
“Male?” Steve asks. “Female?”
No one answers. Straggly hair clings to patches of the scalp, having thinned as the corpse has weathered over the years. Most of the clothes have rotted away. The corpse looks like it has been here from the beginning.
“Death is such a bummer,” Jane notes. I love that about Jane. She has a way of wrapping up the complexities of life in the simplest of comments.
“So sad,” I say.
I spot a purse in the bushes. It’s not much bigger than a wallet, and has long spaghetti straps that have broken as they’ve rotted. I pick up the purse. It’s filthy, but I have to look inside. I’m curious to see if there’s a photo. “Poor girl. I bet she was nice when she was alive.”
“She was a failure as a zombie,” Steve notes. “Got shot through the head on day one.”
“That’s hardly her fault,” Jane says.
“Are zombies even at fault for what they do?” I ask. “I mean, she wouldn’t have wanted to end up as a zombie, or to end up shot like this, rotting on the side of a trail. Makes me shudder at how life ruins our best intentions.”
“I wonder where he shot her from,” David says, looking around at the terrain.
I ask, “Who says it was a him that pulled the trigger?”
David just laughs.
“What? Girls can’t shoot?” I ask.
David grins and is silent, but I catch him swapping a glance with Jane. There’s some unspoken banter going on, and I suspect he’s seen Jane’s marksmanship, or lack thereof, and is silently ribbing her. The look on her face seems to dare him to bring it up, and I’m intrigued by the playfulness between them. They’re madly in love.
I clean off the zombie’s driver’s license with a bit of spit and look at the picture before handing it to Steve.
“She looks pretty,” I say.
Deanne Oreallis was no more than twenty-five, judging by her photograph. She had red hair and pale skin. A small smattering of freckles line her cheeks, making her look cute. It feels insane to realize her sweet, innocent face was transformed into the zombie corpse before me.
