by Marlin Grail
To be honest, I’m not one to truly being okay having poor physical cleanliness or hygiene. I know having blood-stained hair and uncared-for teeth could wreck one’s chances of survival. That was stressing me out even further.
After I had brought myself down, I laid on my cushion with trembling hands. I then came to a conclusion I was prepared to try. “It’s better than nothing in the gullet,” I said, looking directly at the mutilated corpse of the pine marten.
I wasn’t in my straight mind. I felt I couldn’t return to the group, because I’d be giving in, but if I didn’t try to eat, then I felt I’d be giving up.
I carefully reached in the glop that was now the body, looking to find a neat and clear spot of meat—no organs. The undead made it challenging to know what was what, and my nails would sometimes prick from accidently shoving directly into a bone.
I felt this was my punishment. I couldn’t survive more than a few days without eating absolutely nothing. I had heard through research that humans could live without food for maybe a month. There I was, starving for the very chewing motion that comes from eating. There I was, more animalistic than before, and not even a day’s worth of time had passed since I had departed.
I was able to find my most optimistic chunk possible. Observed its bits sponging to both of my hands. Before I could close in on it with my mouth, a small voice came from behind.
“I wouldn’t eat that if I were you.”
Good. Maybe I could take some food from this person.
My reaction was to spin around and aim my gun at this voice. I saw him…a boy. Though a boy, he wasn’t incompetent to the fact I’d point a weapon at him. He’d done the same before me.
A young man, without a doubt pre-pubescent, stood above me, carrying a large bag behind his back, one looking close to his actual height. “A chewer is very unsanitary. You’d probably suffer death from poisoning,” he warned.
I only gave a further look of alienation, wanting him to simply leave me.
If he was an adult, or even just a few years older, I probably wouldn’t have given him the chance to walk away unharmed.
The boy stayed in his spot. “I’m not leaving because you scare me to do it. When I leave, I will choose to. Right now, I choose to stay.”
I only rose from the ground, purposefully wanting to tower over him. “Boy, unless you want a whooping, you best leave, because—”
“Because what? Because you’re older than me? Most adults still behave like children, yet they excuse that because they’re in a bigger body.”
It was then he showed impressive insight, but I couldn’t let a child be around me.
I then got into his personal space, more than I already was. “Leave. Now.”
His pistol’s barrel was on my stomach, but again, I couldn’t be intimidated by a child. His unwavering eyes continued to press on mine, but I was losing to our “staring contest”.
He eventually broke in with “Fine, I’ll be over by that stump over there.” The boy raised his free hand to point at the direction he was speaking of. “I know you wanted that animal. I’ll be over there enjoying my own.”
I found his implication to be bold talk designed to make me feel bad. “You’re just saying that,” I said, while he began to walk away.
With an annoyed breath, he let his backpack drop, unzipped a compartment of it, and out came two dead ground squirrels, visibly seen to be uneaten.
I won’t lie. I was interested, but I’d gone this far to make it a point that we weren’t friends.
“Well, enjoy those squirrels,” I said. When he lifted his bag up, like the strong lad he was, I made sure to provide him wisdom only an adult would tell him, the good ones of today. “Don’t just show your earnings to anyone out here. There’s strangers you could come across.”
Such as I was.
The uplifted spirit in him came out, confident I wouldn’t find it insulting. “If you looked like an adult when I saw you, then I would’ve counted you as a stranger, but I don’t see you that way. Come over here, won’t you?”
I was tired, hungry, and also, alone.
I couldn’t imagine this boy developed enough to be misleading or deceptive in any way. When I didn’t answer, he started towards the large tree stump ahead of us. He bumped up against the outer rim, then slid down to the ground, letting his back be hidden, but head unaware to the dangers that could be behind the stump and roots.
He couldn’t seriously have been on his own out here, could he? Where were his providers? Anyone else beside him?
Minutes went by, with me simply staring at the undead’s squished face, the destroyed pine marten, and the boy, purposefully unzipping and re-zipping his bag, so it would catch my sight and taste buds.
There was no denying I was hungry, and there was no denying he wanted us to be allies. In that moment, I would rather say I protected him, as long as he gave me one of those squirrels.
I swallowed my pride. As I walked, I caught his attention. He immediately drew up his gun, ready for the instance I would’ve tried to assault him.
He was respectful, because he knew to not just assume who I was—or anyone I’d depict.
I held up my hands, with my gun holstered to my pants side. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to harm you.”
His voice, still youthful, sounded like it dropped a pitch in cheeriness. “Sit crisscross-apple-sauce, and say please.”
His age came out in his demand. Weirdly enough, it lightened the environment up.
“Ha, sure.”
As I did so, he had a little bottle he squirted onto an impressive pile of twigs and leaves. I showed him I thought it was water, and told him that’s not survival-like. “Don’t expect my water neither,” I stated after.
“This isn’t water,” he responded. “It’s lighter fluid.”
I was just teasing him, so to gauge what his knowledge was.
Actually, the timing couldn’t have had been more perfect, for the sky began to grow dark.
I did worry, because, as Gary had shared, undead advance at night, and are more aggressive because of it.
The fluid dripped all over, and it was begging to be lit. He then sparked a match before sacrificing it to the pile. We let it settle in, watching the art of orange do its dance. Then my desire came back—the squirrels.
“Well, let’s get started,” I brought up.
His expression suddenly became one of embarrassment.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Well…I have the squirrels, but I have to be honest…they’re my first catch.”
It was clear he was suggesting he didn’t know where to start.
In a flash, I reached for one from the net pocket of his bag. He raised his gun again. “Relax. The first step is to check them clean, then skin them.”
He listened to my explanation, then handed both to me. I didn’t have a knife to prepare it, but that worry evaporated when he tossed me his own. I concentrated intensely on our food, letting my incision points get illuminated by the fire.
He remained quiet the whole time, clearly unsure what to speak of—related to the topic anyways.
I initialized it for him. “Skinning is important for almost any furred animal you catch. Cutting off the hands and feet, of course, head too, is vital.” He had the behavior of more his age at this point, but I could also see his eyes glisten a bit with disappointment.
I knew the feeling, too. If I’d allow myself, I would let down a tear or more. When Janice told me about those teens, Jacob and Mitchell, I wanted to bawl, but I couldn’t do it. That’s not what I can permit. It’s not my place to make it about me.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” I said. “Learning is important. Let the lessons come when you still can.”
He rubbed the side of his hand up against to his eyes, further showing me his comfort to letting himself be exposed like that. “I know. It’s just…I’m supposed to be out here for a few more days. I’m like on a sort of ‘scout’s traini
ng’ program.”
Okay, so now I knew he wasn’t alone.
I momentarily paused the skinning process. “You being out here is training?”
It sounded curt, but it was with pure curiosity, and not from feeling like he held back information from me.
“You could say that. Well…the plus side of you being here is it gives me a mark off my to-do-list.”
“Okay, and what would that be?”
He remained silent at first, looking like he was binding together his thoughts. “Well…have you wondered what it would be like if you had a large number of people that you could trust, as long as you did your part in keeping the community strong? Do you think that’s possible in this world?”
It felt like my heart ripped its chains off to dive to my stomach.
I couldn’t believe it.
He had to have been referring to C. I tried to get away from the very madness C. spoke of, and here this young boy was pitching it like a salesman.
However, this did prove C.’s point that there were in fact others. Those people didn’t all stay imagined as horrible adults to me after this point.
Due to the rapid speed my interest grew in this person, I allowed him to continue onward with his offer. I now wished to boost his confidence. “Please, go on,” I said as I continued preparing our dinner.
Chapter XII
(Gary)
Will now stands there, looking at me fully while I get out of the doorway. I know he was not just waiting for me. I saw him snap himself up off the ground, as if he’s trying to keep something only he wants awareness of.
Well, as long as he’d think the secrecy is for the best of both worlds, his and ours, then I won’t peel it out of him. After all, I’m not comfortable sharing with them what happened last night…well, most of it anyway.
“Good timing for you, Gary. I was just finishing using the bathroom. I’ll take watch if you want,” he tells me, with his chirpier tone.
“That’d be great, Will, but, actually, I need to share something with you.”
He lets his shoulders drop more comfortably. “Okay? What?”
I pause, because I am not keen on sharing with Will about another discovered surprise. I know how much he hasn’t appreciated the surprises. “Well, last night, the mission did go as planned, but…”
“But what?”
“The man we brought back showed us something I don’t think anyone would’ve thought possible… He could control undead.”
Will sucks in his own lips, slowing turning his head downward, then placing both hands on his hips. “You’re saying we’ve got another lucky son-of-a-bitch that we’re going to have to bite our tongues at? Is that it?”
At this time, I don’t have any disagreeing opinion on Will’s inner fury bubbling to the surface. If I’d allow myself, then I’d definitely not be capable of keeping my composure right now. In my last encounter with our supervisor, I kept having snap images of shooting him straight in his temple.
I let myself loosen up my posture. My words slightly flounder. “Yeah, but, you know, as long as their efforts aren’t directed at neither you, me, and the others, then we’ll continue on as though nothing’s different.”
How interesting to think of it that way. Nothing “different” than things have already been. We’ve gotten to that point, haven’t we?
Will gives a tiny chuckle, telling me to head over to the bathroom, but, as I begin walking, he posts another reminder. “You’ve been going out more on your own.”
“I know.”
“Maybe you should consider having a second-in-command around when you’re not.”
I figured this would come up, because he’s not wrong to have me note the matter. It’s a worry I’ve had floating in the back of my head for some time. If, one day, one solo mission, I don’t return……then my position needs to be taken by one of my group.
I turn back to him one last time before heading off. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to make a decision soon.”
With our affirming nods, we each continue on with our current purposes, mine to relieve myself. While moving, I can’t help but sculpt a warm smile. Even though it’s not directed towards any one here, at least present.
We’ve all done exceptionally well since when we first truthfully began as a group. I’m pleased that our conversations can be shorter in length, because there’s no murkiness to the points or meanings we have. In this regards, I cannot deny the time being in C. has had its positives.
Yet, should I even have a smile though? There’s been good things for us out of this time spent, but there’s been terrible things too. Is it fair to think, maybe, the horrible things keep the smile gone, but the good things keep it from frowning?
No smile, then. Only a stoic face.
I make my way to a private spot, looking around before I dedicate fair time to this aspect of human life. When I look to my right, I see that biology is going to be interrupted, but not by an undead, instead a person.
They recklessly stick themselves to a tree that, while hides their frame, leaves their feet down below as a dead giveaway. I cautiously grab the gun I brought out for emergency—just in case if something went unexpected.
I know they’re trying to stay silent from me. The fact they haven’t tried to attack gives me some comfort there can be a less disastrous trade-off, the kind where no one’s life has to be taken at this very minute.
“Come on out,” I firmly tell them. “Are you with C.?”
A small-sounding voice responds, almost at the same pace as his feet corrects themselves to be within the tree’s trunk. “Y-yes?”
I could lower my weapon now, but I can’t. He could just try to say what he thinks I want him to say.
“Okay. Then, what is the name of the supervisor’s roadblock code?”
The space becomes void of vocal words, except the sound of this, who I presume to be quite young, person rolling out a long “Uh” tone. “I-I don’t know.”
Well, they’ve been cooperative. Perhaps this is a good time to convince someone. It failed yesterday. Today could be part of that new “different” I mentioned earlier.
“All right. That’s fine. You can stay hidden if you’d like, but I need your most absolute oath that you will not try and harm me. Do you understand?”
In conjunction with the last word I say, this figure curls around the trunk. My mind expected this person to be young, but my gaze remained head level to someone close to my height, someone likely adult-size.
Instead, a young boy is standing before me, with one hand held to his sternum, and the other with a gun pointed straight ahead of him. I have a glitch of any reaction, because I don’t know how to react to this.
Aside from teenagers, I had yet to see a kid actually within the wilderness, all on his own.
I study his features, trying to get a ring of recognition if I’ve ever seen him.
I don’t recall him at the assembly. He said he’s with C. Are the kids already being out and about?
I recognize that, while he’s young and becoming an emerging survivor, he’s also already carrying a dangerous weapon.
I couldn’t imagine he’s put much time and practice into the appropriate handling of a handgun. The slightest flinch he might have could jolt his entire body to react, including his trigger finger.
“It’s okay,” I calmly say, making my voice lighter and more welcoming. “I’m with C. If you are, then that’s great. If not, then don’t worry. We can be friends.”
His open mouth pooches out, visibly taking concentrated and heavy breaths. “I can’t trust you,” finally comes.
I let my gun tilt upward, indicating my aim is no longer at his radius, nor is it going to be quick for me to point it back at him. “That’s okay. You don’t have to, but just know that I came out here on my terms. I wasn’t looking for you.”
Neither of us seem to know anything more we could say that suggests we don’t want to harm one or the other. He simply keeps it raised, and
starts to back up several feet away from me. Then, a menacing snarl snares my fascination from watching his bravery.
Sorry, kid. You may try and shoot me if you wish, but I won’t allow the undead to take more majestic and youthful warriors away. It may not see you as a child, but I do.
He swings his head back, then returns it to me when he hears one spring to his side. With one arm, I bar it by the kid to refrain him from being the closest to the undead, and my other to the undead. One side doesn’t take much energy to keep him at bay, while the other side is tougher to control. I manage to leverage my body weight down, raising up the leg by the undead, then side kicking the center of its core.
It slips and falls down with no resistance to the impact. I silence it for good when the eyes tell me for sure it’s not haze-incubating. I go over to tell the kid, “You may want to close your—” but I see he’s running straight to the path I followed.
The path to our shelter.
Will’s bound to hurry once I shoot off, but he’ll run straight into this kid.
In this instance, I make the choice to leave the undead, certain it will fall victim to its physical restrictions to get up and follow. I hurry along behind him, mindful to observe the nearest cover from the tree trunks around us, because I’m certain he’ll worry about the movement. Regardless of if it’s me or the undead behind him.
He’s made his way down the mountainous slope I just came from, turning his head left and right in a frantic swing. Just when I expect he’ll turn to view behind him, he then looks at the point of interest I worry being Will.
Don’t worry, Gary. Don’t worry, Gary.
I hurry to grab his shoulder, but he flees straight at Will, who in return kneels to the ground with open arms. “Bud! My goodness! I can’t believe it!” Will ecstatically shouts.
Before I even go over to find out more of how those two know each other, I clench both of my knees as I stand there at the edge of the slope. I’m just relieved that, once again, Will has brought peace at the shelter. As I walk over to them, it soothes me further when the boy looks back at me, giving an apologetic expression.