by Miriam Bell
I’m too distressed to respond. I don’t want to sort through my memories of Tom’s death in front of a group even if their faces are familiar. I think back to the warmness of my bed and long for the rough blanket until the expressions of those in front of me cause my legs to falter.
The room is familiar with it’s bare walls and worn carpet. While deciding on whether or not to be a scout, Mrs. Emerson had called me into the sizeable room several times to talk. She now sits watching my entry from across the room with the other group leaders. They all have a spot at a long oak table positioned as if I’m in an interrogation. My attention strays to Mr. Herdon. He gives me a mournful smile in greeting; His greying hair tousled as if he’d been running his hands through the strands. The gesture was usually his sign of unease.
My gaze travels along the table. An older lady sits beside Mr. Herdon. Her hair is the color of snow and is braided intricately on top of her head. I’ve seen her many times a week sitting outside alone. She always seems to enjoy the wind on her face as she imagines the world outside our fences. I can’t remember her name since she doesn’t usually acknowledge me. Although she seems as delicate as a dandelion, her eyes are sharp and intelligent. The woman observes expressionlessly as I sit down in one of the many chairs around the table. Even though I see her strength in the way she holds herself, she is unable to hide the faint red blotches of her skin where she has been crying. Were her and Tom close? The idea that I really didn’t know Tom all that well gives me a quick punch to the stomach. I should have taken the time.
“Glad you can join us,” Mrs. Emerson says curtly.
Her blond hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail drawing attention to her sharp features. Her deep blue eyes reflect her anger and annoyance.
“I’m sorry about being late. I was so exhausted that I made the mistake of laying down,” I say, venturing not to break eye contact even though regret fills me.
“You need to remember Millie what I told you when you approached me about joining the scouts.” She holds my gaze. “If you want to be a scout you need to be able to process everything, good or bad, and not let it demolish our procedure.”
Her eyes narrow on my weary face.
“Procedure leads to order and order provides us our survival,” she quotes the familiar phrase like a mantra.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” I reply and attempt to gather as much conviction as I can muster.
Her response is to glance to the man sitting to her left. The cold eyes of Mr. Jensen are not focused on my face but rather on my hips where the weapons I found at Tom’s childhood home are still strapped into place. I guess one of Connor’s lessons stuck.
“You forgot to turn in your supply bag, Millie, and I see you’ve acquired new weapons,” Mr. Jensen comments.
My nerves prickled as he leans back in his chair. The muscles under his dark brown skin tense. His intimidating aura gives the impression of authority and dominance.
“I needed to see my dad and with all the commotion, I simply forgot I had the bag,” I say, pretending innocence.
“And the weapons?” Mr. Jensen inquires, his expression probing.
“They’re mine. I claimed them when being attacked by the infected,” I pause. “You now know about the infected? Right?”
Mr. Jensen toned arms cross in front of his muscular chest giving me the sinking feeling I should keep my mouth shut. Mrs. Emerson interjects before he can say a word.
“Yes, we do. No thanks to you.”
Her face is a mask of irritation and displeasure.
“Calm down, Sidney. I can recall a few mistakes in your past,” Mr. Jensen comments and gives a nonchalant hand gesture to my instructor.
She straightens.
“Supply bags are important and she‘s an hour and a half late!” Mrs. Emerson exclaims and turns to glare at me.
“I don’t think you’re gonna help the situation if you keep talking,” Mr. Jensen replies, earning a glare of his own.
He begins to lightly rub the temples of his head.
A tiny laugh escapes the elder woman sitting beside her. She tries to cover her mouth with her wrinkled hand, but it’s too late. Mrs. Emerson hears the laugh and begins to sulk in her chair. With a big sigh she states to no one in particular.
“Let’s get this over with then.”
“Great,” Mr. Jensen continues, “Now Millie, tell me what happened with Tom.”
His eyes transform into an appearance of sadness and pity, for me having witnessed the death. Mr. Jensen had grew up with a younger Tom, a Tom who had taught him most of what he knew and how to lead the scouts. The news of his death must be hard for him but Mr. Jensen remains strong, giving the outer appearance of control and confidence. I admired him as I braced myself for the words forming on my lips. I don’t want to talk about Tom’s death. My mouth opens and then closes without sound.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell us all the details, just start as to why y’all separated,” Mr. Jensen coaxes.
My mind instantly clicks to the image of Tom falling. I begin.
“Tom decided to take a direction off the main path. He spoke as if he was searching for something but wouldn’t tell me what- only told me to be useful for a change.”
I glance at the white haired woman. Her intelligent gleam gives me the impression that I’m missing something important. I continue.
“I walked ahead of him because he stopped to peer out onto the creek. I didn’t see what made him fall- only saw him tumbling down the steep embankment. When I got to him he’d broken his leg and had minor cuts and bruises.”
I glance toward Mr. Jensen to find him satisfied with my answer. He tilts his head at me.
“And you decided to leave him?”
I take a deep breath.
“Yes. I set the leg and realized I’d nothing to brace it with. He wasn’t going to be able to travel without being treated. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if he would be able to travel treated. Luckily, I was able to find supplies a few miles away and was hopeful to be on our way back to the prison the next morning,” I say.
“That’s when you met Connor, correct?” Mr. Hendon questions.
I glance toward him, his hands resting on the surface of the oak table, his face completely enthralled by my words.
“Yes,” I answer. “I also encountered my first infected. I informed Tom about the experience and of the two strangers I’d come across.”
Mrs. Emerson decides to speak up.
“If you met these two young people and by their accounts they killed the infected, why leave them?”
I make sure to stare her down when I answer.
“I had an objective to get back to Tom and keep him safe. I didn’t trust them then and didn’t want to put him in danger. He was well hidden and waiting for me.”
She nods accepting my explanation.
“Very well. What happened the next day?”
I freeze as I attempt to bring the next words to the surface.
“Remember Millie, you don’t have to tell us every detail,” Mr. Jensen’s voice echos in my head while I struggle to voice my troubled thoughts.
“We’ve already gotten everyone’s accounts of that day,” he says.
“Okay,” I reply quickly, trying not to linger on the images conjuring in my brain. “That morning, I woke up in a daze from a lack of sleep. Tom realized when I’d awakened and started teasing me. He was at the creekside when the attack by an infected happened. The trench I dug for shelter was too far away for me to react in time.”
I take in a long breath.
“She ripped at him like he was something to eat. Blood was everywhere.”
I choke on the memory.
“I rushed toward them but it was too late. He was gone. I killed the woman and remained by the water, holding onto Old Tom’s body.” I pause, remembering his lifeless eyes. “Clover found me there and explained about the theory of beheading the victims so the disease wouldn’t spread.”
&nbs
p; I turn my head unable to meet the eyes focused on me.
“I buried my friend in a grave of rocks. It’s marked on the map incase...” I let the sentence drop and bite my lip, finding it difficult to hold in my emotions. One of the bricks of the wall surrounding my mind falls. I swallow hard.
The room is quiet while I gather my distressed nerves. I lift my head in time to notice a silent tear race down the elder lady’s cheek. Mr. Herndon turns from me and abruptly stands.
“I’ve had enough.” His hands shake as he attempts to hide them behind his back. “I think we have a good idea of what happened these last few days.” He pauses before addressing me. “If we have more questions, you will answer them.”
The statement sounds more like a question.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
I want to leave this room just as much as he does. I remain seated as he storms out of the room without another word. The air is heavy with silence, thickened with the sorrow of a lost friend. Mr. Jensen is the first to speak.
“I’m gonna take your supply bag, inventory it and pretend you turned it in when you were supposed to.” He pauses, deciding on his next words. “Let’s not make forgetting about procedure a habit.” He stands, glancing at Mrs. Emerson. She nods her approval as Mr. Jensen straightens.
“From now on you’re to train with a new instructor.” He takes a breath, “and keep your weapons you’re going to need them.”
“What about a new scouting partner?” Mrs. Emerson questions.
“I imagine we’re going to have to rethink partners. With this new information, groups of five seems more efficient,” he remarks as she nods sharply.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Mrs. Emerson says, standing to join Mr. Jensen. She isn’t as intimidating as the scout leader but I know from my training, she can hold her own.
“Learn from this experience but never forget that Tom was very proud of your progress.”
They leave the room together discussing a new procedure and certain changes. My eyes follow them until I realize I’m alone with the white haired woman. She sits unmoving, observing my appearance and the wounds on my arms. When neither of us move to leave, she speaks. Her voice is like gravel and slow to form.
“Do you know my name?”
I shake my head still trying to force back the images of Tom’s last moments.
“I’m Elizabeth Shackleford,” she announces.
I meet her gaze.
“Tom and I were good friends. We were even classmates at our school before life changed.” Her pale hand lifts to wipe away a tear. “He was a blessing to everyone of this community and will be deeply missed.”
I smile at her kind comment.
“Tom referred to this community as lazy ass scared folks. I’m not sure how much he’ll be missed.”
Elizabeth chuckles at my blunt statement.
“Oh yes, that’s my Tom. Well, I will miss him,” she says with a mischievous glint.
“I’ll miss him too.”
The admission is too difficult to elaborate on so I examine the new slender scabs on my arms, tracing the rough texture with my fingers. I can feel her perceptive gaze as she regards me. I attempt to focus on anything but her.
“You’re very much like your mother and aunt.” She pauses. “Spunky, and a little wild.”
Wait, What?
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I ask.
All emotions drain from her face leaving a mask of indifference.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m an old woman, my memory isn’t what it used to be.”
I stiffen.
“Did my mom have a sister?”
Elizabeth stands using the table for balance.
“I’m sorry child. I don’t remember.” She takes in a breath. “Lonnie.” She raises her voice- her voice being louder than what I expect from a fragile looking lady.
“Wait!” I exclaim, moving toward her.
Lonnie opens the door cutting off my attempt to speak.
“Mrs. Shackleford?” he questions.
“Oh, stop calling me that. Call me Elizabeth.”
He smiles warmly as she ignores my presence.
“Please.” I beg quietly so only she can hear.
Stepping out from behind the table she shuffles toward the door. Wearily, she glances at me.
“Forgive me dear.”
Her expression is one of distant past and mournfulness.
“Would you like me to walk you back?” Lonnie gently takes hold of her thin arm.
“Yes, sweet boy but I want to go to Tom’s room first.”
I stand motionless replaying her words in my head. Did my mother have a sister or is she mistaken because of her age? Tom didn’t have that problem.
“Elizabeth,” I say, testing the unfamiliar and informal name.
Everyone in the community that held some type of title was addressed as a Mr. or Mrs. It was a form of respect. Elizabeth places her unsteady hand on the wooden doorway. I notice that one of the tips of her fingers is missing. It’s an old wound or she was born like that because I don’t see any redness on her flesh. She studies me.
“Millie, don’t pay any attention to me.”
She gives another kind smile and then she’s gone. I hear the mumble of their voices as they walk down the hall. Lonnie’s laughter fades after a moment and Jay enters the room.
“You know even though you were late, you still don’t have to sit here to make up the time.”
Still focused on Elizabeth’s words I answer.
“I liked you better when you were quiet.”
Jay shifts, annoyed in front of me.
“What? That’s all I get? You would think after such a long rest you could do better,” he quips.
“I’m not in the mood,” I say, bypassing him.
Jay’s outstretched arm blocks my path as he allows concern to show on his face. It isn’t like him to care but then his eyes narrow. I feel myself squim under his scrutiny.
“Do you know if my mother had a sister? Ever hear anyone talk about it?” I blurt out. He shakes his head.
“No one really talks about your mother. Only when…” He abruptly stops his sentence.
“Only when what?” I say, getting equally annoyed. He sighs.
“Only when they want to scare us into staying inside these fences. Like a cautionary tale of what happens if you leave.”
My eyes widen.
“That’s sick. Who says that?” I ask, disbelieving.
Jay glances away, obviously uncomfortable with the situation, and lets his arm fall.
“Millie, don’t worry about it.”
I feel myself become hot, my irritation getting the best of me.
“No, I want answers! What are you not saying?”
Jay’s expression softens.
“Look, Emerson sometimes will say to a new recruit that if you don’t follow procedure you will end up like Kayla and never come back.”
I flinch at the use of my mother’s name.
“She never mentioned a sister.” He pauses. “Why do ya ask?” I try to ignore my irritation.
“Just something Mrs. Shackleford said.”
Jay grins.
“I wouldn’t read too much into what she says. Last week she called me Lonnie and told me a story about a cat she used to own as a child. Something about Snickers.”
The tension I didn’t realize was building up in my chest, releases.
“You’re right,” I say, walking toward the door. “She’s what, ninety?”
Jay keeps me company as I walk toward my room. The wide hallways, ever winding, give me the impression I’m in a complicated maze. I never paid attention to the walls before but the whole building has become restrictive and constraining. The lightly painted cement and sage tile floor has me longing for the openness of the woods. Everything I encountered out in the red zone felt more alive, more dangerous, than inside the security of these fences. For the first time, the prison feels m
ore like its definition than a home. I scold myself. I’d been yearning for these fences for days and now that I’m here for a few hours I’m thinking of leaving? Insane.
Jay remains silent with his face a mutual mask. This is the Jay I’m used too. A strong silent type who keeps to himself. Even growing up I don’t remember him being as talkative as he has been the last couple of days. Jay must be reaching his limit. I take comfort in the companionship until the hallway to where him and Lonnie lives comes into view. It leads to blocks A and B with a few storage rooms and offices along the way.
“Tomorrow, we’re beginning a new training schedule. The plan was decided before you finally graced us with your presence.” He smirks. “First practice starts at seven in the morning.”
I groan looking into an open door as we walk pass. Inside the room, I catch a quick glance of a middle age woman sitting at a desk, writing.
“Do you think you can make it? I mean, I don’t want to mess up your sleeping patterns,” Jay comments, looking straight ahead.
I disregard his snarkiness.
“Don’t worry about me.”
He gives me one last look before turning down his hallway.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” he replies, striding away.
I watch him wishing for the days when he didn’t speak so much- just nodded and grunted. Giving way to my exasperation, I make a face at Jay’s retreating back side. Sticking out my tongue and forming bull horns with my fingers, I’m instantly rewarded. Clover, who has hidden herself inside the entrance of one of the many doors, jumps out into the hallway. She lands right in front of Jay, giving a quick shrill “Boo!” He leaps backwards with a frightful start, clutching his chest.
“Damn it Clover!” he bellows, reaching for her.
With catlike reflexes and laughter echoing off the walls, Clover dodges Jay’s hands and sprints around him. She is so quick that she is halfway down the hall before he turns around.
“Gotta learn to lighten up Jay,” she shouts behind her.
Clover’s eyes land on me and a smile I don’t think I can contain appears on my face. As she races pass, she grabs a hold of my hand pulling me with her.
“Quick Millie! There might be an angry stampede coming!”
Another round of laughter burst out from her as I listen to Jay’s curses. I race down the adjoining hallway, hand in hand with Clover. A few people scurry out of our way when we reach one of the common areas.