Along the Winding Road

by Marlee Pagels

  Was he honestly that stupid?

  Exhaling, Charlotte stepped over the message, shut the door behind her, and started walking. Her finger hovered near the trigger in case this was a trap, but she couldn’t see how. There were no signs of a break-in or struggle. Stupid as it was, going back for the deer was the only halfway rational reason for him to leave. She couldn’t think of any ulterior motives, unless he just wanted to return to his peaceful house by the lake.

  Did he want to? He didn’t give off that impression with how much he wanted to make up for shooting her, or how very interested in her he seemed.

  The other alternative: he was running around being crazy. It wasn’t impossible, though he wouldn’t have left a note. Unless the voices told him to.

  She made it past a handful of houses before she made out a crumpled figure in the middle of the road ahead. It looked dead.

  It also looked like Arthur.

  Only sparing a glimpse for monsters, she hurried ahead and stopped by his limp figure panting. He lay prone, bow off to the side, the fingers of one hand under his face, his chest not moving. She took a deep breath and, after one more check for enemies, felt for a pulse. It was there. Faint, but steady enough.

  Exhaling, she pulled back and dug her hands under him, flipping him upright with some effort. He seemed to frown a bit deeper in response, but his chest rose and fell enough to perceive. He shifted his arms and finally grumbled and opened his eyes. Once he made out her face hovering above his, he fell silent.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t make it to the deer,” she said.

  “Um—um—sorry.” He swallowed.

  Registering the heat coming off his face, Charlotte rolled her eyes and leaned back. “I hope you realize going out alone in your condition is a terrible idea.”

  “Yes, yes.” He started to push himself up but winced and gave up. “But it would have been such a waste of food—not to mention I still have two arrows in the thing.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “Would it really have hurt to give yourself some recovery time first? A few hours, at least?”

  “Well, not really, but, er…” He looked to the side and stretched an arm towards his bow. “I mean, I’ve held you back long enough, putting an arrow through you and all. If I took care of this while you were resting, it wouldn’t waste any more of your time.”

  She sighed, nudging his bow closer to his hand. “At least you’re being thoughtful about it. Maybe if you hadn’t just had the living snot beaten out of you, it would have been a good idea.”

  She provided a hand to help him up, and, after some hesitation, he accepted, arms shaking. Some blood leaked from his knuckles onto her glove, and she bit her cheek.

  “Although I guess that was halfway my fault, anyway,” she said as he rose. “If I had just gone ahead and shot him…”

  “No, no.” He grunted as he sat all the way up. “That’s fine, if you don’t like shooting people. I wanted to beat him up myself, anyway.”

  She smiled, putting her hand back on her rifle. “Just for punching me, huh?”

  “Well, yes.” His frown tightened.

  She got to her feet and held a hand out again. “At any rate, I can’t say it wasn’t helpful. Things were about to get pretty nasty before you jumped in.”

  He took her hand, though his pulling did more to upset her balance than regain his. “Was he just—was he going to kill you in front of everyone?”

  “Oh, no. The last thing he wanted to do was kill me.” She sheathed her gun to help him up with both hands. “He was going to make a public announcement to all the single men that…” She took a deep breath. “That I’d be free for a few one-night stands with any of them whenever they wanted.” She shrugged, though it wasn’t noticeable with Arthur tugging down on her arms.

  “He…” His eyebrows drew low and together. “He what?” He lurched to his feet but staggered, breathing hard.

  “Whoa.” She caught his shoulders until he steadied. “Yes, horrible, but I don’t have to worry about it now, thanks to you.”

  He glared ahead, his jaw set. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice low. “I should have killed him much more slowly.”

  “No, it’s okay,” she sputtered, putting a hand on his shoulder. It was tense to the point of quivering. “Really. All that matters is that he’s no threat to me now.” She nudged him ahead. “Let’s get to the house so you can rest, and then we’ll go back for the deer, okay?”

  Not budging, he continued to clench his fists, murderous scowl still etched onto his face.

  “Arthur?” A chill went down her arms, and she nudged his shoulder again. “Come on. You’re-you’re scaring me a little. Take a deep breath, okay?”

  He forced his eyes shut and attempted to slow his breathing. It took a minute, but some of his rigidity faded from his arms and shoulders. His hands remained clenched.

  “Back to the house, then,” she said breathlessly, sliding her hand down to his elbow and tugging him after her. Still sucking in deep breaths, he followed.

  ~*~

  As Arthur settled onto his mattress, Charlotte slipped out to check a few of the other houses. Raiders had stripped them bare—some time ago, judging from the piles of dust. Manfred’s villagers hadn’t taken care to move or bury most of the bodies, though. Granted, she didn’t want to touch them, either.

  Gnawing on her jerky for the day, she tried a few more empty homes before heading back for Arthur. Walking through the side door, she locked the bolt behind her and sat on her bed where she could see him.

  His right arm angled off the mattress, his toes stretching towards the bed’s edge. He was chest-down again, but his head was at least craned to the side where he could breathe. It didn’t look particularly comfortable. But after that fight, she doubted anything was particularly comfortable for him.

  Getting out some painkiller, she wandered to the window and looked out. The sky was pink, and the sun threatened to dip under the horizon before she could make any more progress.

  With a sigh, she walked back to her bed and sat, pulling her feet onto the mattress with her. There went another day. Hardly the progress she’d wanted. But she was still alive, if a bit beaten-down, and she still had food, bullets, and immunity jerky. It could have been worse.

  She looked in the direction of the village.

  It could have been much worse.

  8

  Arthur awoke fuzzy-headed.

  He awoke. He had been asleep. How peculiar.

  He stirred, but the pain came rushing back in. With a groan, he turned his head to the other side and kept his eyes shut. Now he at least wasn’t leaning on the whopping bruise on his jaw, but that hardly kept his ribs or abdomen from radiating pain. If he just stayed motionless, though, his limbs wouldn’t feel so sore.

  “Good morning,” called Charlotte.

  Swearing internally, he made himself roll over to see her. All her bags already hung off her shoulders. She held his drawstring backpack up so he could slip into it when he stood.

  “We’ll eat breakfast on the way,” she said as he begrudgingly pushed himself up. “It’ll take long enough to deal with the deer without lounging around here first.”

  “Right,” he mumbled, staggering to his feet and putting on the backpack. He made it over to his shoes and, after a few fumbles, slipped them on. Putting his bow over his shoulder with a bit of difficulty, he turned back towards Charlotte.

  “And good morning. To you, too.” Ducking his head, he started towards the door. Charlotte beat him to it, and they stepped outside together.

  They made it past a house before he squinted at the sun. “Is… is it morning?”

  Digging through her backpack, she glanced back at him. “Yeah. Thus, breakfast.” She took a scoop of trail mix and handed it back to him.

  He took it without looking at it. “So I slept the entire night. And—” another look at the sky “—and then some.”

  “What?” Before he could repeat himself, she interru
pted, “Ah, yeah. So it seems.” She got her own small handful and tossed the empty bag to the side.

  He stared at the horizon. “Something might be seriously wrong with me.”

  She chuckled, trying not to spit out her mouthful.

  “Well, besides the obvious.” He nibbled at his handful to find he was famished. He then proceeded to scarf down his breakfast without discretion.

  “Is it that weird to get a good night’s sleep?” She paused to shoot down a monster and load a new magazine. “I know you have those… voices to worry about, but surely you’ve been exhausted enough to sleep the night away before?”

  “Exhaustion’s never had anything to do with it.” He frowned. “I just… don’t sleep anymore.”

  “Hm.”

  The two walked out of the neighborhood before the next creature came into view. He watched it for a minute, wondering why she hadn’t shot it yet, before he realized she was looking at him.

  “If you’re still sore, I don’t mind firing again,” she said.

  “Um, no, no!” He fumbled to get an arrow. “I’m fine.” He nocked it, pulled back, and shot the zombie in the chest. His arms dropped to his sides immediately.

  “Okay, you may take most of the shots today, um, if you don’t mind.” He massaged his forearm as they approached.

  She smiled. “No problem.” She shot him a sideways glance and bumped her shoulder into his. “Wimp.”

  He stumbled to the side, and she grabbed his elbow laughing.

  “I just had to prove your case,” he mumbled, moving forward.

  Shaking her head with a smile, she helped him retrieve his arrow, and the pair walked into the trees.

  ~*~

  The deer’s legs were torn off at various lengths, and teeth marks disfigured the head. Enough torso had been devoured for what remained of the rotting innards to fall out over the forest floor. A shaft, kept somewhat upright by the arrowhead caught between ribs, still jutted out from the remains. Further investigation revealed the other arrow, its fletchings ruined and shaft bitten and broken.

  Arthur retrieved the only good arrow with no small amount of swearing and left the worthless remains behind. He stormed away for about a minute before Charlotte retook the lead.

  “I’m sure we’ll get to eat the next one,” she said.

  He counted his remaining arrows—was he short one extra?—and sighed. “I certainly hope so.”

  She let him sulk until he calmed down, but he still wasn’t jabbering when the two drew close to a river. Frowning, she slowed to a stop and looked westward for any bridges. Despite all the quaint but blood-spattered houses just across from them, no paths crossed the water. She tried checking the other direction, but even more trees crowded out her view.

  Arthur nudged her arm, and she turned away from the glaring waters to see two more infecteds coming up towards them. Ready to shoot before she saw a thing, she thanked God for reflexes and fired on one of the creatures immediately. The other was far enough away she didn’t have to rush reloading. It went down in a blaze of gunpowder, and she readied the next bullet before looking back at the river.

  “Thanks,” he started.

  “No problem.”

  He opened his mouth just long enough to draw her attention before clearing his throat and looking at the river.

  “Here,” she started, adjusting one of the straps over her shoulder and gesturing ahead. “It curves south just a little to the left, so we’ll follow it that far looking for a bridge. Maybe it’ll curve the other way, and we won’t even need one.”

  He nodded, and the pair got back to walking.

  Arthur stayed behind her, both because she was protecting him for the day and because he was thinking. The latter wasn’t particularly out of character for him, but he was thinking about important things, and he didn’t want to lose his train of thought whenever she caught his eye, nor did he want to focus on her looks. If he thought about that and everything else right with her, it would make the entire endeavor seem so much more futile. No, he could only behold the back of her head as he wondered how he could ask her on a date.

  That was the next appropriate step, wasn’t it? He had already established—much too clearly—that he was rather fond of her. She didn’t have to reciprocate first; that was the point of taking her on a date, wasn’t it? Surely, surely. And she hadn’t shown any overt disinterest, so it wouldn’t be terribly rude to ask her.

  But, ask her where? To a movie? A nice restaurant? Neither of those seemed to exist at the moment. And if he asked her anywhere else, he’d have no excuse not to talk, so he’d only get to make himself sound more idiotic than usual. That wouldn’t be particularly attractive, which put a damper over the whole idea of a date.

  With a sigh, he watched Charlotte’s feet ahead of him and wished his pulse would stop crushing his head every time it throbbed.

  So any sort of date would be doomed. What else was he supposed to do? Just keep following her and hope she’d fall in love without any provocation? Because he wasn’t exactly the charming type. To be honest, the more she got to know him, the more she’d want to sneak off while he wasn’t looking.

  What, then? Was he supposed to run away and hope his absence would make her want him more? Even if that somehow worked, she’d only be disappointed when he returned. He probably couldn’t keep away for any decently long stretch of time, either.

  Every attempt was doomed, then. Ah, well. He had sort of suspected that.

  A few trees and zombies later, a dirt path came under their feet; not much later, it gave way to crumbling asphalt. They went ahead on the path, although Charlotte couldn’t help but throw a few extra glances around. The last thing she wanted was another village with a Manfred or two.

  Fingering a lock of hair, she exhaled and continued along the path. A little smooth ground under her feet wasn’t all that bad, and she was still heading south.

  Arthur wasn’t any less tense than her, but he was more hung up on the scenery. Somehow it seemed familiar, but he doubted this was the only place in the state with water, trees, and a narrow road. Then he saw the first of the picnic tables.

  Picnic! He could take her to a picnic! That would be romantic enough, right? All he needed was food and a blanket or something, and that wouldn’t be too difficult to get together. He’d have to go out of his way to make it special, but if he took down some good game and found some herbs or something, it could work. And he would be able to eat, thus lessening his chances of saying too many ridiculous things during the date. Perfect!

  Caught up as he was, he made it to an offshoot in the path before some of the park’s battered signs drew away his attention. He was positive he had seen those before, though in better condition.

  They made it past a clump of trees before Charlotte’s next check of the river revealed a shadow in the middle of the sparkling water. A few bobs later, it was close enough for her to make out almost-human features. Slimy rot and blood also decorated the strained face. Infected.

  The monster wasn’t much closer to the shore before she put a bullet through it. Checking for any others, she switched out cartridges.

  “Did you know those guys could still swim?” she started the same time Arthur burst out, “I know this place!”

  They exchanged a glance before he looked away. “Er, sorry—you go first. What were you saying?”

  “Just commenting on infecteds—or at least that one—being able to swim.” She cocked her head to the side. “And you?”

  “Yes…” He glanced at one of the no-parking signs as they got back to walking. “I’ve been to this park before. Some mountain-bike race in which a teacher was participating.”

  He looked into the swath of trees to his left, squinting as if the memory would present itself more clearly over there. He couldn’t recall much. Just the lure of extra credit and some point in the car ride when he had rather profusely insulted one of the other occupants of the vehicle. As to why that had happened he had no recollect
ion.

  “All right.” Charlotte adjusted a shoulder strap. “So, does that mean Austin’s pretty close?”

  “Yes. I mean, that… river-shaped entity—” he gestured towards the water “—is Lake Austin, so…” A frown split his face as he watched his feet move forward. “I think it was less than an hour from the university, by car.”

  “That’s not bad.”

  He nodded, and they continued along the path until it veered to a parking lot on the shore. The river began to curve east, with no bridges to make up for the trouble it was putting them through. Frowning, Charlotte wandered over to one of the piers and looked over the water, then at the clusters of trees to the east. As she sat down, Arthur’s footsteps tapped over the wood.

  “I guess we could build a raft,” she started, voice devoid of any conviction. “Just swimming over wouldn’t be a big deal if it weren’t for the supplies, but…”

  “Ah.” After a moment of pause, he sat down next to her. “How long would building one take, though?”

  “No idea.” Cheeks resting on her fists, she watched the ripples in the water jump and shimmy. “There has to be a bridge crossing this somewhere, though, right? Especially if we’re that close to the big city.”

  “Yes…” Peering past her back, he watched the easternmost part of the river he could make out. “And, um, I’m starting to think”—he swung his head back in line with hers—”Austin might be east of here.”

  Sitting back, she pressed her palms against her knees. “Why do you think that?”

  “I-I don’t know.” He chewed on his lip. “I can’t give you any solid evidence, but I have a feeling. Given that I have been here and back, I would say it’s a shadow of the memory, but then again it could just be a peculiar thought with no grounds.”

  She looked at him sideways. “You’re not giving me a good reason to go out of my way.”

  He laughed weakly. “So it seems.”

  With an exhale, Charlotte looked back at the river. She could either walk back northeast, or she could build a shaky raft over an indeterminate amount of time and swim across. The latter sounded better until she realized such a raft might not even keep the supplies dry.