Along the Winding Road

by Marlee Pagels

  “Um, you’re not going to shoot me with it, right?” he asked.

  She looked up at him with a smile. “Yes, that does seem to be a problem around these parts, doesn’t it?”

  “In my home? Never!” he replied, adding an insulted gasp. Swallowing, he scrubbed a hand through his tangle of hair. “Er, really, though. I don’t mean to say you’re a terrible person—I very much think you’re not—but people haven’t exactly been that trustworthy in all this, um, even back when they were still in the area. You’ll have to forgive me for being paranoid, but there is a reason I took it off you in the first place.”

  Charlotte sighed. “I’m not going to shoot you unless you give me reason to. By this point, I feel like you won’t.”

  “Thank you. I suppose.” He let go of the rifle. She lowered it to herself with a thanks.

  “I, um, will head out, then.”

  “Have fun.”

  With a nod, Arthur backed up. Fetching a plastic bucket for the water, he set it down and got out his bow.

  “The bow still looks to be in good shape,” he muttered, rubbing the string. “Of course, I’ve been waxing it dutifully. Or maybe too often. But there isn’t much I can do about my sense of time, and I don’t seem to be hurting the string much. I still have one spare if I remember correctly, so if I could keep this one good as long as the last one, I’d have it made for… for… for some time longer.”

  Passing a hand across the bow case, he shifted his weight between his feet. “I was just doing something else, wasn’t I?” His eyes wandered around the room for a minute before he caught Charlotte’s eye.

  “Still planning to get more water?” she started slowly.

  Arthur smacked the side of his leg. “Yes! Yes, I am. Thank you.” He charged out the door then stuttered to a halt. He stared at the ground for a moment, the wind flicking at his hair.

  “It could be useful to bring the water drum with me.”

  Backtracking, he took up the empty bucket and went out the door, successfully this time.

  He was gone before Charlotte thought to toss him some jerky. But he had made it this far without her help. Maybe he’d found the cure himself. Or maybe he was just skilled enough to avoid exposure altogether.

  Either way, her only option was to trust him. If she couldn’t even pull herself to her feet, there wasn’t much she could help with. She’d just keep

  herself safe and pray that he’d do the same.

  3

  Arthur paused, searching the sky before he continued. A few clouds hung overhead for once, although none seemed ready to send him any water. Why couldn’t it rain more in this place?

  Scratch that—there was plenty of rain. What he meant was, why couldn’t the rain be reasonable? Steady, rather than in drenching bursts inevitably accompanied by thunderbolts and lightning? He had been able to build that filtration system, so it wasn’t a life or death issue, but the principle still stood! What was so wrong with a constant drizzle? The clouds could look dreary, but they would at least shield him from the dastardly heat. It was only spring, early on in it, too, but it felt like summer already. He hadn’t hemmed this shirt sleeveless just because its previous owner had narrow shoulders.

  His slipped his bow out of its sling as he approached the edge of the neighborhood. A handful of decomposing houses still sprawled between him and the lake. Traditionally good hiding places for zombies, but there wasn’t much point in searching them. The reek of rotting flesh and the monsters’ lack of stealth ensured they couldn’t surprise him.

  In fact, there was one quite obviously ambling towards him right now. It was a few houses down, but it looked to be in decent shape, and it wasn’t taking its time. Letting the bucket thunk onto the ground, Arthur drew an arrow and nocked it. He pulled back, aimed for a small tear on the monster’s shirt pocket, and let the arrow fly. And that was that.

  Thank goodness he hadn’t shot Charlotte so precisely. Whether it had been pure luck or some inkling that he may have been aiming at a living human, he wasn’t entirely sure. Whatever the case, it was the first, and likely the last, of his missed shots for which he was thankful.

  After one more check for incoming zombies, he lowered his bow, took up the bucket, and marched onward. It wasn’t worth the effort to put his weapon in the sling again, so he rested one end on his shoulder as he went along.

  He was quiet enough not to attract attention for a while, but when he made it to the shore, more zombies had lined up. With a sigh, he set the water drum down and prepared his first shot.

  The nearest monster got an arrow to the remnants of a name tag. Rolling his wrist, Arthur readied another shaft as the other three creatures hurried towards him. At about thirty meters, the second zombie got an arrow through the edge of a festering slash wound.

  The next went down about twenty meters away. Arthur backed up, separating another shaft from the rest in his quiver. Focusing on a dull cartoon eye of the monster’s faded shirt, he sent that arrow flying as well. The zombie tumbled to the ground at less than fifteen meters. The next went down under ten.

  Three remained, at a perturbingly short distance. Two were currently tripping over one of their fallen comrades, but the other glued its glazed eyes to Arthur in pursuit of blood. He stepped back, rolling his shoulder, and shot it down.

  By then the next creature had its open jaws near his left hand. With a grunt, he slid the bow into its case and slammed his heel into the zombie’s stomach. It stumbled back while its friend stepped up. Stomping his foot down, Arthur cracked his fist across the creature’s face. He snapped his elbow back into its head before it could fall out of reach.

  The other zombie had recovered somewhat, crawling ahead and reaching out for his ankle. Arthur swung his other foot into its head. Drool and blood shot out of its mouth as its face snapped to the side. He then drove his shoe into its back, spongy ribs giving way beneath him.

  As that monster went sluggish, gurgling rather than breathing, Arthur turned to the other. It hadn’t gotten up. He took a moment to drive an arrow through it just in case.

  Checking for any others, he nocked another weapon, but nothing else seemed to be hurrying over the gravel.

  With a grunt, he pulled up the water bucket and made sure no zombie parts had made it inside. Once he had waded into the lake, he scrubbed the blood off his hands and arms as well as he could. After a few steps upstream, he lowered the drum under the surface. Water rushed inside in a whirlpool that nearly dragged the bucket out of his grip.

  Blasted lake wasn’t about to win this tug-of-war! No inanimate object was going to make a fool of Arthur Deering! With a grunt of distaste, he ripped the full drum back towards the shore. The sheer force made him splash some of the cold contents onto his pants, but, well.

  No victory was perfect.

  ~*~

  As exciting as it was to watch Arthur dump water into his filtering system, Charlotte’s attention only held for a minute before she sat up.

  “Where’s the restroom?”

  Arthur recoiled, water sloshing onto his shoes and beading up on the duct tape that kept them intact. “Why on earth would you want to go in there?”

  He gave her a look before his features relaxed in realization. “Oh. Well, it’s not as if any of the facilities are, er, operable…” He furrowed his brow. “Do they have running water where you live?”

  “Come again?”

  “Do they—oh, never mind. Um, but no, you won’t be wanting to use any of the restrooms in here.”

  Nodding, Charlotte stretched her arms back. “I don’t think going outside and squatting would work out so well as I am now. Is there another house that’s not… backed up?”

  “I haven’t tried using any, so perhaps. Um—” Arthur’s gaze swam around the kitchen until it reached the garage door— “I don’t believe I have any crutches, but allow me to check.”

  She nodded, making a game of holding her breath as he went to the garage. She wasn’t sure how many tool
s he was fumbling over there, but he came back empty-handed. He ran upstairs while the air in her mouth struggled to break free, but his descent was not victorious. They sighed in near unison as he took the last plodding step into the living room.

  “I’ve nothing of the sort,” he said. “Do you know how to fashion a crutch from other materials?”

  “Not one I can put weight on.” She looked up at the water stains on the ceiling and nibbled at her lip. “Can you… carry me?”

  Arthur looked at her as if she’d suddenly begun rotting in front of him.

  “I could try to hop around,” she said, starting to push herself farther up but grunting in pain.

  “No!” Arthur took a step towards her to support her with shaky hands. Wow, their faces were quite close right now. “Um, I mean, er, no. No, it’s, um, no problem. I can… I can carry you. And all.”

  “Okay, good.” She reclined to make herself easier to pick up. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  “No, no. I—well, I’m the one that put you in this condition. So…” After a wild moment of hyperventilation, he got a hold of himself and began to lift her. She sucked in a breath but relaxed a bit once she was propped against him.

  “Outside, then,” Arthur said, his voice breathless but high-pitched. It was such a peculiar sound Charlotte had to snigger. He didn’t hear.

  Only when he stepped outside did she have another reason to laugh. She still suppressed it. The sun’s low rays were close to orange, but Arthur’s cheeks were still plainly red. She had a hunch it wasn’t from the teensy bit of exercise.

  This time he glanced down to see her giggling. After a moment’s inability to speak, he stammered, “What?”

  Charlotte grinned. “Just—you.”

  He peered into her eyes in an unfruitful search before flicking his gaze ahead.

  “But really, Arthur,” she purred, moving her mouth closer to his, “why are you blushing so much?”

  He didn’t give much of a response, though he did look back down at her. She swung out her free arm, as if to stretch, and smiled at him.

  “Does being so close to me—” she grasped his chin and tilted it until their noses brushed “—make you uncomfortable?”

  At that, Arthur’s knees gave out and he lurched forward.

  “Oh, cr—don’t faint!” Charlotte yelped, bracing for impact. Arthur managed to right himself, though he just stood there staring into the distance for some time.

  Regardless of the ache in her leg, Charlotte dissolved into mad giggles until she had to fight for breath. Arthur straightened up and resumed walking, though his unresponsive expression lingered.

  “Oh, gosh,” Charlotte sighed, a few last giggles trailing off. “I shouldn’t laugh so much when I have to go.”

  Arthur gave a vacant nod and walked onward. Charlotte, limbs heavy but eyelids not so much, watched the path ahead as well. After a moment’s observation, she smiled.

  “Heading into the sunset and everything, huh?” she commented, grinning at him.

  He didn’t even attempt to make eye contact, instead blurting out, “Look! The next house!”

  He scrambled forward, gravel tumbling underfoot as he fought to make headway. Charlotte snorted and clamped her mouth shut to keep from laughing again.

  Finally Arthur was able to make a hard right, and they neared a front door. He rammed it open, shoes slipping on wood panels as he tried to find a bathroom. He came up to one, panting, and looked down at the woman in his arms. Though he was still a mix of woozy and panicked, he had enough control to set her down on the seat. She winced, listing to the right, and pressed her palms against the walls.

  He cleared his throat and backed away. “I’ll, uh, make sure that nothing comes after you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Taking deep breaths, Arthur shut the door with a slow, whining creak. He peered through the half-lit area to see if anything was coming, but the house was empty as far as he could tell.

  He didn’t usually have to worry about zombies as long as he stayed close to his house. Only if he went out towards the lake did he need to keep a strict lookout, and—oh! He was running low on water, wasn’t he? More work to do, lovely. Though it could always rain. Possibly. He wouldn’t get his hopes up. More than likely the sky would stay clear, and he’d have to—No. No, wait, he had gotten the water earlier. Right. Well, one less thing to worry about.

  “Arthur? Ready to go?”

  “Oh!” He turned to find the door slowly swinging open, Charlotte still obscured. “Yes.”

  Charlotte pulled the bottom of her shirt snug over her hips and braced herself. Arthur stepped over and forced gasping deep breaths in before he scooped her up. The corners of her mouth turned up, but she didn’t laugh this time. To be honest, her head was a bit fuzzy, and she was fighting off waves of drowsiness now. But since the sun had almost set, that was acceptable.

  Not long after he lay her back on the couch, she dropped off to sleep.

  That made things a bit more comfortable for Arthur. He could watch her without worrying what she would think about it, or feeling like he had to say or do something.

  Or worry about her flirting. That—that was just… He didn’t know. Cruel? It wasn’t as if it gave him any terrible feelings; by no means was that the case. But he didn’t like making a complete fool of himself, especially in front of her. With everything else happening these days, it was just the perfect time to be having girl problems, too.

  With a silent sigh, he pulled a thin but soft blanket off the floor. It had slid off the couch into a crumpled mess, so he gave it a shake before drawing it over Charlotte’s shoulders. He paused to make sure that didn’t wake her before slipping on his own jacket. On tiptoe, he slipped to the the side door, locked it, and returned to sit by her side for the night.

  4

  After several weeks, Charlotte improved enough to limp around on her own. Her pill cutter got plenty of use as she weaned herself from the painkillers. The awkward swing in her gait lessened. She spent a good deal of her waking hours walking around the house, stairs and all.

  She and Arthur were sitting in the living room, the scream of cicadas filtering through the walls, when she finally stood and said, “I think it’s time for me to go.”

  Arthur, mid-sip, looked up at her and blinked across his cup of water.

  She leaned to pick up her ammo bag and pulled the strap over her head. “I think I can handle the trek now, so there’s no reason to wait. Thanks for helping me out, and I forgive you for accidentally shooting me in the first place.”

  Swallowing, Arthur set his cup on an armrest and hopped to his feet. “Er, you’re welcome and thank you, then.” He helped her pick up the duffel bag but didn’t let go when she seized the handle. “Are you well enough, though?”

  “Well enough to walk and shoot,” she replied, tugging the duffel out of his grasp. “I’m not going to make much progress at first, but it’ll be more progress than walking circles in the house.”

  “Point taken.” After ensuring he hadn’t left anything out of her first aid kit, he zipped the duffel shut. As Charlotte picked up her rifle in its scabbard, he took a few steps back, bobbing on his feet.

  “Here,” he started, turning to the kitchen. “Let me get packed up, too. I promise I won’t take long.” As he walked, he stooped to pick up an empty water bucket and glanced at the filtration system before deciding against it. “Not too much to pack, anyway. This, bow and arrow, toiletries.”

  He hurried back through the living room and into the garage, the bucket handle clattering around against its plastic hinges. He didn’t so much as glance at Charlotte. “I have plenty of soap and things if you think we’ll need extra. Raiders generally just took the food and guns and headed out.”

  Something was sliding and scraping around the bottom of the bucket as he came back into the living room. “E.g., they never took toothpaste from any of the houses. I have tons of that. Doesn’t usually still taste good,

  b
ut—”

  “Arthur?” Charlotte gave up on hoping he’d have to stop for breath.

  Startled, he stopped mid-step and turned back towards her. “Er, yes?”

  “You don’t have to come with me.” She leaned against the couch. “I can take care of myself. My hip still hurts, granted, but you’ve made up for that. Don’t take responsibility for me.”

  “Well, I’m not really.” His eyebrows pulled together. “But surely I could be of some help? I, um, I could at least shoot and skin some game—oh! I haven’t fetched a knife yet.” He proceeded to do so.

  Charlotte pinched her nose. “Sure, I’m not great at hunting non-infecteds, but…” She watched him pocket a folding knife and keep checking drawers in a ruckus of rolling items. “It’s my journey—I can’t hold you responsible for my lack of foresight.”

  Arthur located his skinning knife, dropped it in the bucket with a thunk, and slid the drawer shut. He stepped back into the living room, glancing at Charlotte before closing his eyes.

  “I’m not trying to take responsibility for you,” he said, shoulders finding the wall. “I’m—I’m trying to come with you. Am I supposed to let you leave, just like that? Once a nice girl comes into your life, you’re not supposed to let her walk away. They write songs about that—it’s-it’s a terrible idea.”

  Charlotte covered her mouth with a curled hand and giggled. Arthur’s eyes opened, and he blinked at her a few times before a flush crept across his face. He looked down, spinning the plastic cylinder at the top of the bucket handle.

  “And, um, I mean, I won’t, uh, tag along if it’s not all right with you, I just… I, um, I thought I could be helpful, and all that. Your—your choice, still.”

  With a wide smile, Charlotte shook her head. “Of course you can come.” She ducked her head towards him and looked up, though she couldn’t catch his eye. “It’ll be nice to have someone watching my back.”