The Girl Who Punched Back: The Death Fields

by Angel Lawson

“Sorry.” The bruise looks beyond painful. Without thinking, I reach up to touch his inflamed skin, but Wyatt catches my wrist and gives me a hard look. “Right. So, can we talk? In private.”

  He gestures to his room while rubbing his hand over his face. Inside, he passes me and pushes away any help as he crashes back on the cot, grimacing with every movement. Realizing his annoyance is going to hit peak levels at any moment, I jump into my story. “Listen, when we stopped the other day and fought those Eaters on the way here, I noticed something on one of the infected. At the time it didn’t seem like a big deal—almost one of those ironic-end-of-the-world-things that jars you out of the moment, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Wyatt’s eyes flutter and he says, “Can I get a little context, please? What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, right. You know those plastic armbands they strap to your wrist when you go to a concert or festival or something?”

  “Yeah, or a bar.”

  Well, I wouldn’t know about that. My bar days got cut short.

  “Yes, like that. I saw one on an Eater the other day when we were ambushed on the road.” I hold up the band I’d cut from the Eater outside and pass it over.

  “Okay.”

  “I found that one outside, just now, as we were cleaning up the bodies from last night. I checked a couple more and they had them on, too.”

  Wyatt studies the band, looking a little more interested. “What are you thinking?”

  “That these Eaters all came from the same place? Maybe another camp? Is it Jane? Or maybe an evacuation center?” I don’t say what I really wonder, but Wyatt’s not a chicken like me.

  “Or one of Erwin’s camps.” he says.

  “Or one of Erwin’s camps.”

  He shifts like he’s going to get out of bed, but his long arm reaches out to the wall to steady himself. I press down on his shoulder. His skin is hot. “Whatever happened there is long over,” I tell him. “We can check it out when you’re better.”

  He nods, but doesn’t look happy about it. “Send Davis in here.”

  “Davis?”

  “Yeah, we’ll make a plan.”

  I step out of the room but pause. “So, you think there’s something to it?”

  He sinks into his pillow, shuts his eyes, and says, “We’re going to find out.”

  Chapter 14

  The branch flies in my face with a loud thwack, nearly taking out an eye. “Jesus, Parker, I need both my eyes.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Are you?”

  “Shut up, Alex.”

  “I swear if you don’t both shut up,” Wyatt mutters from the front of the pack. “I will use you as bait the next time we come across a group of Eaters.”

  Parker blanches, because she doesn’t know Wyatt that well and he’s completely terrifying. I keep my face even but swallow back any retort because I do know Wyatt, and yeah, he’s still a little terrifying.

  “Ramsey,” he says.

  “What?”

  He cuts me a look. “Come here, please.”

  Please? “Sure.”

  I push past Parker and Jude. Davis is in the back and Hayes is in the way, way back. After much discussion, we decided to bring him along to have another set of skilled hands. We got out of the truck thirty minutes ago and are walking in the thick copse of woods between the highway and the land beyond. Most of the land has fencing separating private and public land, allowing our left side to have a bit of security.

  I fall in step with Wyatt, keeping an eye out on the deserted road. We’re headed toward the access ramp where we’d been attacked on the way down here. “What’s up?”

  “Why did you bring her with us if all you’re going to do is argue?”

  “Parker?”

  “Yes.” He exhales. “Parker. The person you’ve been bitching with for the last three hours.”

  “She’s just nervous. I think that’s how she expresses it.” Again he gives me an exasperated look, his jaw tense and eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “Remind me not to put you in charge of recruiting for missions from now on.”

  I snort. “You guys chose them for the team. I had to assume they were up to snuff.”

  Wyatt abruptly stops, holding his hand out as a signal. The barricade of cars is up ahead—large vultures sitting atop like ornaments. From here I can spot the white, baked bones. Animals cleaned up the mess we’d left behind weeks ago. Even so, the smell of death hovers in the air. Wyatt and I wait until everyone catches up.

  “I do not want to go over there,” Parker declares, waving a hand in front of her face. It’s fall, but the Indian summer has lasted longer than normal. There’s been little rain, which makes travel easier. But the earth is dry, which has other repercussions.

  “We’re not going over there.” Wyatt jerks his chin toward Davis. “You got that map?”

  The other Fighter pulls a small map out of his pocket and hands it over. “I’ve marked our destination. It should be over that ridge.”

  Even now, Davis and Wyatt are tight-lipped, but they did confirm we’re headed toward what had been a school before turning to an evacuation center at the beginning of the crisis. Wyatt thinks this may be where the purple arm bands are from and not something nefarious, but still a situation that needs to be handled since it’s in close proximity to the medical clinic.

  “What’s the plan?” Jude asks.

  “We’ll go through these woods here and come up on the backside of the building using the forests as cover until we can assess the situation a little better.” He folds the map and hands it back to Davis, who tucks it away. “We’re looking to see if the Eaters that attacked our vehicle and the clinic are coming from that building, how many are left, and what we need to do about them.”

  “How did the earlier patrols miss this?” I ask.

  Wyatt tightens the straps on his pack and says, “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

  Chapter 15

  “A little help?” I shout, throwing my full weight into the Eater in front of me. Somehow, I’d been backed into a corner, and it was the only way to get the upper hand. My request for help is answered by a series of grunts, curses, and the sound of limbs dropping to the ground.

  Okay, then. No one is coming to help.

  The skinny bitch in front of me has three missing teeth, and I can see her dirty, yellow bra strap at the top of her shoulder. I hate her. She really hates me. She lunges, howling, with her nails coming at me. I take a fast, hard swing with my hatchet and cut her head clear off. It smashes against the trophy case. I brace myself for the shattering of glass but her head bounces off, dropping to the ground like a basketball and rolling across the floor.

  “Disgusting,” I mutter, looking around for the next assault, but the floor is littered with dead bodies. The others stand around the school lobby, catching their breath.

  “Guess this is ground zero after all,” Parker says, wiping blood off her face.

  Earlier, we’d squatted by the edge of the forest overlooking the school. A small field with a track around sat between us and the building. A playground painted blue and red was to the side. The opposite side of the building, near the gym, appeared to still be smoldering from a fire or explosion.

  “There’s your fire from the other day,” I point out.

  The outside was quiet. “Let’s go check it out,” Davis suggested. “We need to assess any further risk or potential resources. Hayes, you good on perimeter watch?”

  “Yep. I’ll signal you if necessary.”

  As we got closer, the stench of smoke grew. The whole place seemed deserted, until we busted through the side door.

  At first, they didn’t notice us. One weird thing about the Eaters is they seem to have a ’sleep mode’, a strange place they revert to not being on full attack. I haven’t quite figured out what they hone in on other than sight and movement. Maybe smell.

  I tried not to think about how bad I smelled, walking into that school.


  “Mother-fu—“ Wyatt muttered.

  “I think we can take them,” Jude had replied.

  That was when the first one shifted out of sleep mode and into attack mode.

  Now that it’s over, I glance at Parker to make sure she’s still functioning. Every day is a bit more real world desensitization. Other than shaking hands and a look of disgust on her face, she seems to be coping.

  Wyatt leans over the body closest to him and picks up its arm. “Purple band.”

  “Same over here,” Jude says, nudging one with his boot.

  Parker walks down the hallway, quietly poking her head into various doors. I keep my weapon at the ready, as does Davis, not knowing what could be on the other side.

  “The setup is the same here as it was at my school.” She points to an over-turned table near the entrance of the school. “Check-in was over there. We were given cot assignments and our schedule.”

  “You guys didn’t have arm bands, though,” I state.

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  Wyatt, with his gun at the ready, gestures for us to follow him through the school. At the gym, the door handles are bound together with a chain.

  “Back up,” Davis says, tapping on the door with his gun after we’ve pushed back against the wall. We wait, listening for any response at all, but the only sound is from our breathing.

  Wyatt unbinds the chain--which didn’t have a lock--and steps into the gym. After a moment, he leans back into the hallway and says, “It’s all clear, but I think I’ve figured out the breach.”

  One step inside and the problem is clear. Both sets of back doors had been blown off their hinges. The back wall is wide open, allowing anyone--alive or dead--in or out of the building.

  “Check out the floors,” Jude says, pointing to the scorch marks. There are more along the walls. “Explosive? Someone did that on purpose.”

  Between us and the opening is an abandoned encampment of cots and possessions. Bedding, backpacks, and personal items lay scattered on each bed and across the floor.

  “I’ll send a team back to pick those up,” Wyatt says as I walk over to check out the closest one. There’s not much in it, just some clothes. I move to the next one and lift it by the strap. The front of the backpack spins around and I inhale sharply, as though I’ve been hit in the gut.

  “Ramsey?” Parker asks. I glance up and she’s watching my hands closely. They’re shaking. I don’t respond, but unzip the top to rummage through the bag. “Girl, what’s going on?”

  A large hand closes on the top of the bag and I look up into Wyatt’s concerned eyes. I exhale. “I know this bag.” I poke the familiar red patch—the very last thing I saw before Paul disappeared with the military on the North and South Carolina border. “I, uh, I knew the owner.”

  “I’m sure it’s a coincidence.” His voice is soft—gentle. I swallow back my emotions and yank the bag out of his hands.

  “Sure. You’re probably right,” I agree, not agreeing at all. If Wyatt is talking to me like a child, then I may need to roll it back a little. Besides, it’s none of their business. Paul is none of their business.

  My mother and I met Paul when we first left our home. We’d been trapped by Eaters and he saved us. He sheltered us. In return, he followed us out of Raleigh, forming a bond like a brother. When it was time to split up he’d chosen to go off with a group of evacuees, who’d immediately been under attack by the military. Mom and I were unsure if Paul was one of the survivors.

  That attack was our first sign that the good guys weren’t necessarily so good. I touch the red patch. It the last thing I’d seen before the bombs dropped. Paul was one of the good guys. I knew this in my heart, and we’d been lucky to meet him.

  Wyatt turns and leaves the gym and I try to shake off the irony. Everyone in the apocalypse wears a mask. Some better than others. I put mine on, grab the pack and follow him and the others out of the gym.

  Chapter 16

  After an hour, we’ve filled our bags with supplies and fought off a handful of Eaters lurking around the empty classrooms, but we’re no closer to an answer about the armbands than when we got here. We knew there was a fire—or an explosion--that resulted in releasing hundreds of evacuees-turned-Eaters from the school into the surrounding area. They’d attacked us on the road and later at the clinic. We don’t know why, what the tags mean, and who’d intentionally released the Eaters. Or was it intentional at all?

  “It’s getting late,” Davis notes, looking at his watch. “We’ll need to head back soon to avoid getting caught in the dark.”

  The group collectively nods. No one wants to be outside the walls after dark. We’ve looped back around to the front of the school, standing around the front office. Parker shuffles through some paperwork behind the main desk. Jude sighs, slumping in a chair. Wyatt disappears down a narrow hallway leading to what I assume is other offices, while Davis stands watch at the door.

  It’s a rare moment of quiet for the day, and I look around the office, absorbing the reality of our location. Being in a school is one of those surreal post-apocalyptic moments. The room we’re in is like a time capsule. Plaques and children’s artwork mounted on the walls. The school mascot, an eagle, watches over us from the banner hung behind the desk, with menacing eyes and spread wings. There’s the impression that whoever took over the school figured that one day the students and faculty would return. The empty feeling in my chest would bet otherwise.

  “Anything interesting?” I ask Parker.

  “Well, this place was definitely under the control of the military. There are papers with their letterhead and logo. The National Guard was here. They had lists of the soldiers that came through, and supplies.” She flips through the papers rapidly until she gets to two sheets and holds them up. A frown sets on her mouth.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “More names. I’m assuming of the evacuees’. It’s got ages, hometowns, and all kind of numbers I don’t understand. Who knows, they could just be students from the school.” She drops the papers on the desk and rubs her temples. “I think I need to get out of here. That ashy burn smell is giving me a headache.”

  “For real. Let me go find Wyatt.”

  The hallway is more of the same. Award and accolades for the school. Class photos and some of teachers laughing, wearing matching shirts. I pass an empty conference room and another with a now-defunct copy machine. There are little slots on the wall where teachers got their mail. What I don’t find is Wyatt, and with each step I get a little more nervous, clutching my weapon in my hand. I hear nothing—not Wyatt. Not anyone from the front office. I reach the end of the hallway and I see that it turns off to the left. Before I turn, I take a deep breath and brace myself before moving around the corner, expecting nothing but anticipating the worst.

  I find the worst.

  Okay, close to the worst. My idea of worst has changed a lot lately.

  Wyatt stands at the end of the hallway, gun raised at a figure in a similar position. The person’s back is to an open door—a closet or another room. He and Wyatt are in a silent standoff, barrel to barrel. I can’t see the other person’s face—it’s cloaked in a hoodie—but it’s clear he’s human and comfortable carrying that gun.

  “Put the gun down,” I say in the strongest voice I can muster. I should have gone for Davis. He would’ve had this guy begging for mercy three minutes ago.

  No one listens to me, but my command gives the other guy pause, allowing Wyatt to get the upper hand. In a flash the guy is disarmed, the gun clatters to the ground. To his credit he fights back, but Wyatt is a force to be reckoned with, and it only takes a moment before he’s flipped to the ground, jamming a knee in his back. He grunts in pain and begs, “I’m cool, dude. Swear. Just don’t kill me.”

  I rush forward and pick his weapon up off the ground.

  With two barrels aimed at his head, he puts his hands out in defeat and continues to beg for his life. A purple armband is wr
apped around his wrist.

  “I’m not going to kill you,” Wyatt says. “At least not yet.”

  Wyatt grabs him by the back of his hoodie and yanks him to his knees, revealing his pale, sickly face. His hair is shaggy and a thin layer of stubble covers his chin. Circles under his eyes give him a sunken, hollow look.

  “Are you sick?” I ask.

  He nods. “Not with the virus. At least, I don’t think. I haven’t been bitten.”

  Wyatt looks skeptical. A deep line creases between his eyes. I’m skeptical too, but the symptoms he’s showing aren’t the same as when someone is infected. Not exactly.

  “Then what is it? The flu?” I guess, taking a step back.

  A sound comes from behind him—through the open door. Coughing.

  “Watch him,” Wyatt says.

  He releases his tight grip on his back and I level the gun steady at his head. From the way he slumps over, I get the feeling he’s not going anywhere. At least not fast enough to get away.

  Wyatt moves to the door and pulls a small flashlight out of his pocket, shining it inside. “Holy shit,” he says.

  “What?” I ask. With the gun still in position, I move next to Wyatt. The room is nothing more than a small, empty closet. In the faint light I see feet, all connected to bodies huddled together. “Oh God.”

  “Please don’t hurt them,” the guy on the floor says. “We’re not infected. It’s something else. Something they gave us.”

  “Who? Who gave you what?” I look away from the dark room.

  “A group of doctors came in and gave us shots—they said it was a vaccine. But everyone got really sick and some people…” his voice trails off.

  “Some people what?”

  He swallows. “They died. But that was a while ago. We’ve been holed up here since. Sick—but not dead.”

  Wyatt and I look at one another. His jaw is set.

  “We have to do something,” I tell him in a low voice.

  “What they hell are we supposed to do? We can’t risk taking them back. What if this is just another phase of the virus changing?”