by Justin Clay
There’s nowhere else to run, so I don’t tell June to get out; they’re closing up every possible escape route. So, I just do the last thing I can think of. I just put myself over her, holding out my handgun and fire as much as I can. I’m able to clear the first round that attempt to claw their way to us, but they just keep coming. There has to be at least twenty of them now. I’m breathing heavily, my heart pounding into my conscience — I can’t think of what will happen next.
I hear June scream as one of the Infected grabs a hold of her, and I swing my arm about and whack him in the face with the butt of my gun. The Infected, what used to be an older man, falls back shrieking, and it’s then I notice from my periphery that another is lunging at me. I whip about and aim my pistol at the damn thing, attempting to fire. But there’s a dull click, signifying it’s empty. My hand trembles as the Frother, unstopped, flings itself atop me.
I scream, cursing, going down, and feeling the wind being knocked out of me as I’m smacked into the asphalt. The Infected boy screams, swinging his arms about, and rears his head down upon me. With the last of my waning strength, I catch him by his throat, gagging him. I hear bones pop as the thing keeps screaming, and I feel its nasty drool drip onto my face, filming my eyes, so I’m forced to shut them. I feel the slobber continue to stream along the sides of my face, and hot bile surges up my throat. I’m going to be sick.
It’s when I hear my sister’s agonized scream that I lose all control, and I am willing to let death take me. I don’t want to hear her screaming in pain anymore. Nothing is worse than that.
But death never comes.
Other chaotic sounds erupt instead…They sound like gunfire — but I can’t see. I hear a blasting shot just above me and I’m too breathless to scream. My ears are ringing and I feel dizzy. I crack my eyes open to see the blurry outline of the Infected boy slumping over, gushing out gory blood. He then topples over me, now headless. How?
Rolling over on my side, I see there’s a man…A tall bearded man walking toward me. He’s carrying a shotgun. Normally, I would fear for my life. But I don’t. I’m too exhausted. Let him kill me and be done with it. I’m tired of fighting in this messed up world anyway.
The figure becomes too blurry: becoming two — no three men, before I’m lost in blackness.
2
ELI AND LENA
I’M THERE AGAIN, AND I don’t want to be. But I am.
I’m only fourteen and June is six. She’s much smaller now, much more afraid.
June is sitting on our bed in our tiny room with me. We have to share a bed because of how limited space is here in this refugee camp in North Georgia. But no place, no matter how wonderful it is, or how well guarded it is, is not completely safe for long. It hasn’t been too long since the Outbreak happened, and we have stayed in three camps like this already.
Although this one isn’t so much of a camp as the one we had been at before in the suburbs of Atlanta; this place has a militaristic feel to it. There are guards everywhere, a few strands of the National Guard left who would protect us. And, they do protect us, but the end had come. So their protection doesn’t come as cheerfully as you would like. It comes with a terrible price...
I remember a man being beaten near to death because of an infraction he committed: some petty crime, and the punishment had gone too far...I believe he had stolen more food than we’re rationed, and everyone had been forced to watch to keep it from happening again...
I’m holding June’s hand. She’s trembling like a leaf in winter’s chill. It had been winter then. Mid-January. A snowfall had occurred only yesterday. You could still see the snow out on the Blue Ridge if you look far enough. But we do not dwell on such things, when other horrors are present in these times.
“Are we going to die, Rian?” June asks me, and my heart nearly stops for a moment. “Please don’t lie to me…”
How can I answer a question like that? It pains me to think that a girl her age, so young, would even think of such a thing. When she has her entire life ahead of her. But in this world, this dark, dreary world life expectancy has become a gamble every day. People you think would last, good people, die or kill themselves. Or worse. Bad people die too but not as quickly. Because they end up doing what sane people will never attempt.
Point is we all die. We all will eventually.
“Some day,” I tell my sister, softly, “but not today.” I smile, comforting her with a gentle hand. It is not lie. Not truly. June continues to look at me with those large blue eyes of hers, searching my face for some better truth; she’s frowning, and the shadows of the dim light wrap around her face, and I begin to see the tears come. I hate those tears. They are the worst kind. June’s tears.
“No, no don’t cry,” I say kindly, embracing her closely, rocking back and forth. “We’ll be all right…”
“Promise?” she whispers. She sounds so small. Well, she is...But even more so just now.
I take a moment to think, and swallow nervously. “I promise,” I lie this time for her. She needs that lie more than I do.
The door to our room is shaking, and I nearly scream, but when it bursts open, I see our parents fly in, both of them wild-eyed and concerned. Our father is a stout man in his early forties, his balding hair combed back, revealing deep wrinkles on his forehead. He’s holding a gun and standing beside my mother who doesn’t look her age at all, being in her late thirties. Her face is still young and pretty; she’s thin with long, wavy hair brushing against her shoulders. She too is holding a gun, but hers is smaller. I notice there’s blood splattered on both of them, and I don’t think it’s theirs.
“What’s happening? What’s going on?” I ask, bewildered.
Dad sighs and looks to me. “I’m not going to lie to you…It isn’t easy to hear but it’s happening…We’re being overrun…I — We don’t have much time…You both need to grab your things as quickly as you can. Rian, you need to come with me…There are some things I need to give you.”
I depart with dad out of our room and into theirs, which is a bit larger, with two windows at the bedside. He grunts as he crouches over and yanks out an aged leather trunk, popping it open. Inside are bunches of different types of weapons; my eyes widen.
“You’re pretty good with a bow,” he says to me. “…The archery lessons didn’t go to waste and you’ll be decent enough with a pistol…I know you’re only fourteen and if these terrible circumstances were any different I wouldn’t be doing this, since you are still a child…But I won’t send you off without at least a chance of survival…And that’s what these will give you…”
“Send me off...?” I ask, feeling breathless and overwhelmed at the same time.
My father looks at me with severely pained eyes. He appears as if he is near tears when he admits, “You and your sister will be taken to safety, first. That is priority; then we, your mother and I will follow behind.”
He turns back to me holding first the bow and a quiver of arrows. I take them, slinging the quiver over my head and grabbing the smoothly wrought wooden bow. I had never seen this weapon before. I look it over in awe as he goes on, “Now, Rian these — Rian please look at me…This is very important.”
So I do. It’s hard to pay attention in times like these. When nothing feels real. And all you want to do is wake up. And stop living this nightmare…
His glimmering eyes are so intense it almost scares me. “These are no toys…They are deadly, and meant to be so…When you fire, keep both eyes open…And always shoot to kill…Because that’s what your enemy will do…Take no chances…Trust only yourself and your sister, unless you think it right…Use these weapons to keep you and your sister safe…Always keep June safe.” He hands me something else. “Now here’s the pistol: take good care of them…My father gave them to me...I can’t believe I’m giving these to my children...” The last bit is mumbled and I am not sure if he’s exactly talking to me.
“I will,” I say despite the strangeness I’m feeling,
taking the pistol, which shimmers in the moonlight.
“Now we will go meet up with your mother and sister; let’s go.”
I follow dad out into the dim, crowded corridor, the fluorescent lights above flickering sporadically. There’s so much movement and commotion, I nearly become dizzy. I feel dad grab my hand and pull me firmly forward. After a few minutes hustle through strings of panicking people, we finally are able to find mom and June.
“Now take good care of each other,” mom says to us as we’re packed in the narrow hallway underground with so many other people. I’m holding June’s hand and I notice we’re standing with a few of the family friends like Dale, who is a bit overweight but generous, and his wife, Gabby, a tiny but fierce woman with short, choppy black hair. Mom has kneeled herself in front of June, holding her hands.
The small girl with the long golden hair can already sense how wrong all of this is. The horrified screaming muffled by the ceiling above doesn’t help either. She knows what will happen and because of it, she is already crying.
“No, no please don’t leave us!” she shouts, her voice hoarse. She’s clutching onto mom’s hands. Mom’s eyes are watery too.
“Oh, sweet, sweet girl, we’re not ever leaving you…Mommy and daddy have to take care of something first okay? We will be back for you…Both…I promise.”
“Please don’t — please don’t go,” she cries, throwing herself onto mom, clutching about her neck fervently. Mom looks to me and then to dad, pleading, not sure what to do. She’s wearing a face of broken desperation, like many of the parents here. My mother has no idea what to do. She is as helpless as everyone else here.
Dad manages to help gently lift June from her iron clasp onto mom, and he holds her tight, patting her head softly. “Don’t cry, baby girl,” he says over the cacophony as best he can.
We are getting ready to leave with Dale, Gabby and few others, who would be with us as we travel to an outcamp a distance from here, where it is safe and free of Frothers for now; the plan was that our parents would assist the armed forces here in getting out other children and the elderly before it is too late and then take a R.V. to the outcamp where we would be waiting, alive hopefully.
Little did they know that never happened.
I should have stopped them when I had chance. Made them — begged them to come with us. But it wouldn’t have made any difference. They’re dead now. And I still don’t understand their reasoning for what they did. What they didn’t do. We were their children. We should have been their first priority. Staying alive for us, not for the children they did not even know. I guess they didn’t see it that way. I don’t know what way they saw it, but I feel like I will never get it truly. Maybe I will when I get older, or maybe I won’t.
Dad sits June back onto her feet; she is sniveling, immensely hurt. Her face is flustered red, and she tries to hide it.
“Now,” dad begins as gently as he can, kneeling in front of June, “we will come back for you and your sister…Alright? Things will be okay…There are good people who will take care of you in the time being…We want you to be safe first, okay? We’ll see you soon…I promise…”
Suddenly, there is a shout from an official in the background announcing that the transfer vehicle has arrived outside the complex; we will have to take an underground tunnel to get there, though. It’s a five-minute walk. Our parents say their last goodbyes to us, and that’s when I start tearing up, and the crowd begins to move, and we are caught up in the motion, unable to resist. It’s like being forced along by the ocean’s persuasive undertow. I call out to dad, shouting “Wait!”— but my hand is lost from his in the upheaval, and Gabby tells us it is time. Time to let go. I don’t want to let go. Don’t make me…Please…Don’t make me…
I give them one final look as we are carried away, trying to remember their faces as much as I can, before they are lost with the other faces in mass of shifting refugees. I have to turn away and move forward, holding tightly onto June’s hand. We’re heading to a future that is unknown to us, and equally frightening.
All the time I have been sitting on the long seat of the transfer vehicle next to one of its windows with June beside me, waiting to leave, I couldn’t take my eyes off the apartment complex, its dark brooding structure splintering into the cloudy night sky.
June has fallen asleep with her head propped up against my shoulder; the exhaustion of all it all has finally caught up with her.
The vehicle begins to vibrate violently. As we lurch forward at last, I place a hand against the window gingerly, staring outside of it, both yearning and hopeless. The vehicle moves further into the darkness, consuming me, and it’s then I see fire, hot and boiling, burning me alive. I hear June’s horrified scream, my mother is talking, and my father is talking too. All of their last words are swirling together and I can’t take it anymore.
It’s then I wake up screaming.
...
Wherever I am, it is dark here, and there’s a potent dampness to the stagnant air. Everything is spinning, and I feel like I’m going to be sick again. I don’t even have the energy to swallow. My mouth is too dry. People are talking. I don’t understand what they’re saying, but they’re somewhere nearby.
The floor is hard against me, and I can feel cold metal poking me from behind. It’s digging into my shoulder blades, and I’m forced to move. I blink and notice a flickering light in the distance, hanging from a low ceiling made of iron rafters.
From what I can tell, I seem to be in a warehouse of sorts. There are piles of what looks like forgotten storage in varying sized wooden and plastic boxes. Mounds of trash, wet and crinkled, occupy the corner beyond me.
Someone is getting closer. I can hear footsteps now, stifled scuffs against concrete. I check the side of my jeans and realize my holster is missing my pistol, and now that I think of it, I can’t feel my bow and arrows either. Where are they?
A dull pain tingles from my left arm, and the violent flashback of slipping through a shattered window revisits me. Confused, I raise my arm up and take in the strange sight of being wrapped up in bandages…Who did this?
“Well, it looks like you’re awake now,” a gruff voice speaks, and from the darkness emerges the same man I remember last seeing. He’s wearing a button down shirt, with long sleeves rolled up and fixed at the elbows and dirty blue jeans. I eye this man carefully and remain sitting down, even when he adds, “How’s your cut?”
“Hurts a little,” I say quietly, “but it’s all right…Did you do this?”
He nods silently, looking at me intently.
“Where’s my sister? Is she all right?”
The man, his leathery face chiseled and entrenched with shadows, gives me a wondering look. “Yes,” he finally says, clearing his throat. “She is fine…She’s sleeping…You screamed…Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say heatedly, “but I swear to God, if you put a hand on her…Or hurt her in any way — ”
“Easy, easy there,” he says cautiously, raising a large hand my way, fingers spread out. He’s attempting to calm me, and it’s not working. “We’re not the enemy here…In case you hadn’t realized, we saved both you and your sister from those Infected…Luckily, we showed up at the right time, or you’d both be…Well, it’s just good we saw you when we did.”
“Luckily,” I breathe, not taking my cold stare off of him. Did luck really have anything to do with it? I’m not sure if I believe in luck anymore. “But what do you mean we? Where are ‘we’ at anyway? And where are my weapons? I want them back, and I want to see my sister — ”
“Settle down,” the man says to me, becoming irate. It just makes me more pissed. “I mean we — because I’m not alone…Your sister is with Lena. She’s taking good care of her…As for where we’re at…We haven’t left the city, if that’s what you mean…And your weapons are safe too…We couldn’t take the chance that you’d use them against us, because, frankly, we don’t know you.”
I
guess I couldn’t blame him; I’d probably do the same given his position of finding a banged-up stranger near dead on the road. Who knows if they are actually sane or not. I appreciate the honesty at least. I look away, not knowing what to say, and the man sighs heavily.
“I’m Eli,” he says, and I see that he’s holding out a hand. Should I trust him? I remember what my father said, and for it’s worth, the guy did save my sister and me. So I guess he’s all right in my book.
“Rian,” I reply, grasping. He pulls me up as if I weigh nothing, and I’m left a bit stunned when I look at him upright. He’s so much taller than me. At least six feet. And his shoulders are so broad. This guy would come in handy, if we stay together, that is...But do I want that? Is that in our best interest? To stay with these people? Who we don’t even know?
I guess choices aren’t all that plentiful anymore. You have to take what you can get while you can get it, right? Including people’s aid, when it’s offered. And that in itself is a rarity nowadays, when folks rather see themselves live another day than you — some other person they don’t know, another mouth to feed.