by Burgy, P. J.
While he was rummaging around in the kitchen, Kara's attention moved to the windows. Outside, she could hear children calling to one another, playing a game.
A few moments later, a plate of cooked vegetables and chicken appeared in front of her, the fork already stuck into the meat, and she began to eat as he took his seat.
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem. Annie'll probably feed you too, y'know,” he said, turning to his drink.
Her smile widened. “She always does. I'll visit her tomorrow, before I go. I gotta ask her not to stuff me the way she does though, or I won't be able to run at all.”
“You need the calories, the way you haul ass out there.”
“You guys are too good to me.”
He pointed his fork at her. “You're family.”
Her tone turned bitter. “Family, hah.”
“You gonna visit Ash?”
“When we're done eating,”she said.
“Almost time to bunk down anyway.”
She smiled. “That's the best time to go see him.”
“I'm sure you don't do much talkin'.”
“That's kinda the point.” Her smile faded.
He swallowed back his shot of whiskey. “You better not quarrel with him.”
A snort escaped her. “I will if I have to. If he asks for it.” She continued to eat, ignoring Jim's heavy stare. Finally, she relented, and, mouth full, muttered, “What?”
“He's just doing what he needs to do.”
“That's what he says too.”
He frowned. “Because it's his job.”
“It's not his place.”
“It is though. It's his inheritance.”
Her eyes flashed. “Then it was wrongly given.”
“Elias knew what he was doing, Kara, trust me.”
“No, I don’t think he did.” She finally took her shot and set the glass down on the table, leaning back into the bench seat. “Ash has changed.”
“He had to. For Pleasant Tree. I’m sorry if that ruined your plans.” He poured himself another shot.
“We didn’t have any plans.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Exactly. Now, Ash has Fort Pleasant Tree. This is where he is going to stay, to protect its people, and that changes a man.”
“Not for the better,” she said.
“Then why even bother with him then?”
“It’s not like I don’t want to see Ash.” She pushed her empty shot glass toward him.
He poured her another. “You’re mad at him.”
“I’m mad at Elias. There were other, more capable people here. Carl. Val. You, for God’s sake. Anyone else but Ash.” She exhaled through her teeth. “Ash got it because of blood, which doesn't mean shit and you know it. None of the other forts do that. None of them! Leaders are chosen by the people.”
“He loves you.” He pushed the full glass to her. “He didn’t ask for this.”
“He didn’t turn it down either.” She took the shot fast and slammed the glass down.
“No, no, he didn't.”
She ate in silence as he watched her. Finishing her meal, she pushed the plate toward the middle of the table.
Jim frowned.
“I'm sorry, man. I'm just tired, and I need a shower.” She stood up, grabbed her backpack and swung it over her shoulder. “Tell Carl thanks for me, would you?”
“I'll tell him you barely gagged at all eating his cooking.”
“Dammit, Jim.”
“I'll tell him you liked it, okay? You stop by and see Annie and the kids before you head out tomorrow morning.” Jim watched her as she walked to the door. “I’ll be asleep, but stop and see them. They would like that.”
“Will do,” she said, then stepped outside.
Outside, the sky was turning dark, the breeze picking up. The clouds thinned into wisps and drifted off toward the far horizons. It would be a starless night. The people living in Fort Pleasant Tree were preparing to bunk down for the night and Kara heard fewer generators running than she had earlier. She enjoyed the sensation of cooler air on her bare skin as she walked.
An older man turned off a generator nearby and they shared a glance before he went back into his house, a handmade cabin reinforced with metal sheeting. The long bars on his windows were lowered and locked from the inside.
On the side of the largest house, a two-story brick building, a hand-written sound curfew sign hung limply, an edge catching in the breeze. The drawing depicted a sunset, a poorly drawn woman holding a finger to her lips beside it. Kara walked around to the covered porch out front. There, a wooden bench hung from chains, creaking softly. She saw more posters covering the brick between the windows, hung where they would be protected from the elements. Some were so faded that she could barely make out an image. Missing posters. Letters to loved ones that could never be delivered. Photographs of smiling faces glued up as a memorial. She stepped onto the porch, approached the closed double doors, and touched a photo of a family with two small children. They didn’t look sad or afraid. They looked happy, oblivious.
“We moved the rest inside,” a male voice broke the silence.
She turned to look behind her. A young man stood there, taller than her but around the same age. Mid-twenties, handsome, with boyish features. He had short, wheat colored hair, and big, sky blue eyes. His smile lacked any trace of happiness, but he was doing his best to greet her warmly. The shirt he wore was short sleeved, dark blue, his slacks tan and fixed with stitches in many places, and his sneakers had seen better days.
“You turned your house into a memorial,” she said.
“My father’s house. I live on the west side now, near the wall. I cover watches sometimes, so it’s easier.” He stepped up on the porch beside her. “I gave the upstairs rooms in this old place to the Langs after a summer storm took out their cabin. Seemed the right thing to do.”
A smile worked its way onto her face. “Hello, Ash.”
How long have you been here?” he asked, taking a seat on the hanging wooden bench. It groaned slightly under his weight as he rocked to and fro.
“Not long.” She sat on the bench beside him and heard the chains whine. The motion soothed her only the tiniest bit as he pushed against the ground. “I was on my way to see you.”
“I wondered if you would.” Ash seemed invested in the clouds.
“You know better.”
“How was the run?”
“No problems,” she answered.
“That’s good. The Red Brethren have been sighted nearby. I was worried.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “I didn’t see them, but I saw their sign. Don’t worry about me. I’m not afraid of those chumps.”
“I know.”
“How've you been?”
“Good,” he said. “I missed you.”
“Did you?”
He eyed her. “Of course, I did. It's been months.”
“We talked on the radio.”
“It's not the same.” His brows furrowed. “You don't need to take every single run they ask for, you know.”
“Who else will do it?” She shook her head.
“Plenty.”
“I'm the best though, right? I brought your medicine. In record time too,” she stated.
“Let someone else do it for a change. Take a break. Stay awhile.”
“Again, who else will do it?”
“I didn't say stop, I said take a break. I'd like to see you for more than a night,” he said.
She smirked. “You see me for a little in the morning.”
“I'm serious.”
Shrugging, she forced a little smile and gazed at the sky, admiring the clouds as he had done only minutes before. “I know. I'm sorry. You know how it is though.”
“Do I? How is it?”
“The forts need a runner.”
“And I need you,” he said.
“Yeah?” She glanced at him. “Maybe I'll run until you need me more than you
need Pleasant Tree.”
“That's not fair.”
“No, it's not. I've been saying that for years now...”
He sighed. “I know what you want me to do.”
“I'll say it again. Put Jim in charge. He's more the leader type anyway, you know. It's in his blood,” she said, “Then you and me, we can book it. We can hop in the Bella and-”
“It's time to let it go, Kara,” he said. “We aren't kids anymore.”
“We were never kids.” Her brows knit, an incredulous tone in her voice. “Who had time for that?”
“Maybe it's time to slow down then. You don't have to stop running, and I wouldn't expect you to. But you've got a home here. You've got me. I know you don't really like the idea of fort life, but it's a good life. It's a safe life.”
“Safe? You're one wall breach away from disaster. I think it's safer out there sometimes, out in the between. At least I can run. You're fish in a barrel in here if shit goes sideways. Nah, give me a rover and plenty of gas, and that'll be a good life.” She exhaled. “Fort life ain't for me. Never was. I told you that on day one.”
“You always go back to Blue Lagoon,” he said flatly.
“But I never stay there, do I?”
“No, but it's your home.” His eyes moved across her face.
“It's just another place to sleep, that's all,” she said.
After a few seconds of wringing his hands together and studying the clouds one last time, he rolled his shoulders, shaking his head, and turned his attention back to her. “I figured it was because of Renshen, to be honest.”
“Excuse me?”
“Renshen. I figured you kept going back because he decided to settle there.” He saw that she had stiffened and he sighed. “I know that you hated it when he did, like you hated it when I took over Pleasant Tree. I can’t imagine what being a rover was like, you’ve told me stories, I know, but it isn’t so bad to just stop for a little, stop and look around and maybe build something you can go back to.”
“Neither of you get it.” She stood up and walked away from the swing. The fire that burned behind her eyes also flushed her tan cheeks. “If you stop moving, you die. I thought you understood that, but you didn’t.”
“Kara.” He stood up as well.
“We could have gone anywhere, and you planted roots here. It wasn't supposed to be like this. We were supposed to be out there, living, not hiding behind walls.” She scowled at him before spinning on her heel and storming down the porch steps.
“Why do we have to fight like this whenever you’re here?” He called out to her, stopping her in her tracks about ten feet away from the house. “It’ll be curfew soon. Come on. We don’t have to talk about this right now.”
She slowly moved to look at him. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Good. Then we don’t need to worry about it.”
Kara shook her head. “You’re going to get killed thinking like that.”
“But I’m alive right now, and so are you.” He stepped down and began to head to the right, taking the stony path to the west. He didn’t check to see if she were following, but he did pause to continue talking. “Maybe not tomorrow, but that isn’t right now.”
He walked off.
She stood motionless for a moment and then followed after him.
Their wailing was high and sharp, it hurt her ears. Voices that were vaguely human called out and she could hear them clambering around in the kitchen. From under the sink, in the darkness, she waited, and hugged her knees. She felt sick from holding her breath for so long, and when she finally did take a quiet gasp the smell caused the bile to rise in her stomach. Kara almost vomited but held it back, her hands over her mouth and nose.
When the wailing had died down, she could hear the sound of crunching, chewing, and wet slurps. She knew what they were eating, and her insides twisted in knots.
She couldn’t see them from the dark spot under the sink, and they hadn't seen her, not yet. They hadn't smelled her, or heard her over the sound of the crunching bones. She prayed that they would leave soon. She wondered how soon the sun would come up and gripped her upper arms with her fingers. Would they even leave, since they were somewhere the sun couldn’t reach them and there was food to last them at least another day or so? How long would she be waiting, hiding, under the sink in the kitchen?
There was the sound of a struggle and the wailing began again. As soon as it had begun, it ended, a sharp cracking sound piercing the air only a second before. Another wail, deeper, and the things in the kitchen were rushing away, their feet padding on the vinyl floor. An eternity passed, or perhaps only a minute or so.
Soft, like a whisper, she heard her mother's voice, “Kara.” It sounded so small, so dreamlike. Time froze. She could only hear the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears.
More sharp cracks. Then, silence.
Kara waited there, hugging her knees, breathing hard and fast. When the door under the sink was opened, it was not by her. Outside, light and darkness. A shape of a man silhouetted before her. He reached down to pull her out, his voice low and gruff, as he spoke her name and told her it was going to be okay.
The barking of the dogs woke her and Kara opened her eyes. Her hand went for her machete, sheathed beside her on the bed, and she listened, frozen. She faced the far wall of the make-shift little cabin Ash called home. She could make out the shape of the mismatched furniture he had collected nearby. A folding chair. An old filing cabinet. Each object reflected soft shades of red from the lights outside, as did her skin and the bed sheets.
It was a starless night, but an alarm had been triggered moments before and a dim crimson glow was radiating from the swaying bulb hanging from the center of the room. For a few seconds, as the sounds from outside waned, Kara could hear the humming of the electricity. And then, there were voices, louder than before, and the dogs were barking again.
Men hollered on the wall and Ash got out of the bed as carefully as he could as to not disturb her, pulling his pants back up along his legs before fastening his belt. She rolled over, kicked her legs off the side of the bed and found Ash standing above her, his hand moving to her shoulder. In the red light, he looked eerily somber.
“Go back to sleep,” he said, voice low.
The first shriek came from somewhere not too far away, somewhere out in the night, somewhere outside of the wall and in the starless darkness out there, out in the vast nothing surrounding Pleasant Tree. Another wail. And another. Inhuman cries. The screams grew louder. Ash stepped back from her and grabbed his jacket, beginning to slide it on.
“I’ll help,” she spoke softly.
“You’ll need your energy for the run back tomorrow. Go back to sleep.” He opened the cabinet, grabbed for a long rifle, and checked it. It had a silencer built in, hand-crafted. He loaded the rifle, glancing at her only one more time before turning away.
“I’ll be fine. Get me a gun.” She stood up. It was cooler now, and in her bra and underwear she felt a line of goose bumps tingling along her shoulders and arms. She couldn't tell if it was the cool air or the sound of the Wailers which caused her hair to stand on end.
The dogs started barking louder and louder. Another wail, this time agonized.
He regarded her with his cool gaze. “See you on the wall.”
Not long after Ash had stepped out into the night, Kara joined him and looked up at the great high wall. It had been constructed out of cinder blocks, sheets of metal, anything they could weld, bolt, or hammer together. It was thick too, about four feet through, and nearly solid. A ladder led to the top, where there was a flat platform circling the entire wall, with another extension of the metal sheeting on the outside to protect anyone standing guard. They were protected from the waist down at least, and they could lean over to shoot down at the Infected gathering at the wall base outside.
There were huge lamps bolted in and attached with moving arms, able to swing in many directions to focus the
lamp toward the horde below. Guards had been positioned at some of the lamps, their sole responsibility to aim them around and catch the Infected in the torch. Every 20 or so feet, a lamp hung, waiting to be aimed as the swarm moved.
The generators had been thrown on the instant the dogs had begun barking; the lamps were the first line of defense. It was not a white light that blasted from their bulbs, but something else, something dim and purple. The lamps hummed, the purple hue traveling far and covering a wide area despite looking so weak.
It was UV light, and as she reached the top of the wall and took her place next to a guard in heavy riot gear, she saw the spotlight move across one of the Infected and it shrieked in agony. The Infected tumbled forward, scrambling to escape the torch.
In the UV light, that thing was ghostly pale and human shaped. It had been human once, hadn’t it? Its hair was long and unkempt. Crazed. Wild. Monstrous. The moment the UV light hit it, its skin shone bright, the veins underneath flashing white. Most of its flesh was exposed, whatever stained clothing it had been wearing torn away over time. It was barefoot with long, powerful legs, and toned, sinewy arms. The gunk all over its face and chest looked like wet tar in the UV light. It was leaking black oil from its eyes and mouth.
Kara couldn’t see its eyes from where she stood, but she knew what they would look like. They would be bloodshot, the color more of a deep mahogany than true crimson, with huge, black pupils, glistening with an oily film. The smell of sweet copper and sun baked garbage traveled far. She immediately gagged.
The Wailer fled from the light, shrieking, just for another two or three to run into the same wide spotlight, wail in pain, and retreat into the darkness. She saw some males, just as feral, coated in blood and grime. Another female tumbled into the UV and then ran along the side of the wall to be caught in a different spotlight further down. Then, a soft shot was fired, and a bullet punctured its skull. It fell to the grass, twitching violently before going still. The UV light was turning the thing’s skin dark. Even in death, their flesh burned in the spotlights.
“They’re running the perimeter again. Radio to Sykes and Yomar. Tell them to be ready.” Jim stood a few feet away from her, and he had been the one to fire the killing bullet at the female. He was poised with his rifle over the wall, crouched as he aimed. On the other side of her, Kara heard Ash on the radio built into the inside of the wall platform, relaying the message.