Within These Walls: Series Box Set

by Tracey Ward

  Jordan is coming outside with his bat, swinging it with that athletic grace I’ve come to know, and I wonder if he’ll really need my help after all. He might have a better tolerance than I’m giving him credit for. He is a college boy, after all.

  “Should we stick close to the house or go out to meet them?” Uncle Syd asks him.

  The question is surprising and it makes me wonder what they talked about while he was bandaging Jordan up. There’s a deference to his opinion that I did not expect at all and I have a feeling that the runner who almost made Jordan lunch is the reason. Uncle Syd wasn’t prepared for this.

  “We don’t want to get surrounded, definitely not by these guys. They’re too fast. For once,” he looks at me and winks. “Let’s put our backs to the wall.”

  I grin at him because now I know he is indeed a little drunk. Winking at me? Really?

  “Are all of the windows and doors locked?” I ask my uncle.

  “Yeah, this door here is the only one open.”

  “Good. We’ll stick close to it and if we have to we can use the attic access and get on the roof. Hopefully it won’t come to that, though.”

  “I think I see one,” Jordan says, squinting into the gathering dusk.

  He’s right. There’s someone, alive or dead or undead, running toward us. They come up to the fence and ponder it a moment, looking up and down the length of it, probably looking for a gate. Suddenly they grab onto the barbed wire and jump it. Either they are very scared or they are very dead.

  “Are they alive?” Uncle Syd asks, shouldering his rifle.

  “I don’t think so,” I reply, pulling an arrow. “Hey! You! Stop!”

  They don’t stop and I don’t know what that proves. If I was running from an infected, I probably wouldn’t stop either. But I would call out for help or say something, anything to keep from being shot, but this person just keeps on running. It’s a tough call and one I don’t relish making. It reminds me of the girl by the river who vomited on Jordan’s shoes. I knew she was infected because I could see her bite marks, but aside from that, right up until she started sniffing him, I didn’t know for sure. I remember the animal feeling she had about her, the predator building inside, and I watch the oncoming runner to see if I get that vibe off them as well.

  I don’t. I’m not getting anything but doubt and it’s turning to fear and I’m no longer sure I can do this. I’m the last person who should be making this call but Jordan is intoxicated and Uncle Syd is still a zombie virgin, so it looks like it’s up to me. I have to make a choice.

  I grab the handgun that’s sticking out of Jordan’s belt loop, probably something I should have done earlier all things considered, and I take aim. I shoot the person in the thigh, blood spraying dark and wet in the last bits of light, and they tumble. A normal person, a non-infected who was running for dear life, would stay down and clutch their wound, afraid of what’s behind them but equally afraid of the bullets in front of them. An infected, however, will not be deterred.

  The woman, I can see her slight frame and long hair now, growls and stands.

  “Not alive!” I shout, raising the handgun again and preparing for another shot.

  Uncle Syd beats me to it and the shotgun blast removes any semblance of a face from the body. It falls with a wet thud and stays down.

  “Nice shot,” Jordan tells him, staring at the fallen corpse.

  “Not my first rodeo,” Uncle Syd mutters, and both Jordan and I have the common sense not to delve further into what that means.

  We stand and wait in silence, listening to the distant sounds of chaos and watching as more fires ignite or go out entirely. As night falls completely, we see headlights through the fields and trees. People are fleeing the camps and heading for the road, but it’s a road to nowhere and we all know it. Going south will get you nothing but a taste of the barricade and a bite in the back. From what I understand, the west and the coastline are the same fate. There’s no way in hell I’m going north again, not after seeing what happened to Salem and Portland, so the only other option is to go east. Toward the mountains. I don’t enjoy the idea of meeting an infected in the woods, but if that’s what it takes to get away from crowds of people and stuff like this, then that’s what we’ll have to do.

  I’m turning to mention this to Uncle Syd when more shadows move in the trees. There are more infected and they’re coming for us quickly.

  “Should we worry about them surrounding the house on the other side too?” I ask, knowing it’s not a helpful thought because how would we defend it if we had to?

  “Probably,” Jordan says, taking his gun back from my hand.

  “Are you a good shot?”

  He shrugs. “In video games, yes. Definitely. In real life? We’re about to find out.”

  Three more rush the fence and three more decide it’s worth it to slice their hands up and vault over. They aren’t as close to human as the last one was, their growling and groaning are dead give aways. Uncle Syd doesn’t hesitate and by the time I’ve got an arrow notched there are only two left to deal with. I take one down easily, pacing my shot and waiting for the head to be in clear view. Jordan is still holding the gun at the ready but he hasn’t taken his shot yet. Uncle Syd eventually takes it for him, living the impatience I was feeling.

  “Sorry,” Jordan mutters. “I’m a little off.”

  “It’s alright,” I tell him amiably. “Shooting isn’t your strong suit anyway.”

  “What is?” Uncle Syd asks warily, eyeing Jordan’s gun and probably wondering if the boy’s hand is the best place for it.

  “Beating the hell out of them,” I reply. “Incoming.”

  There’s more than three now and I know this is when it gets real. This is our stand, where we decide if we cut and run, head for the hills and hide, or stay and fight for what is ours. I have to admit, I am damn tired of running. I notch another arrow and sight the first one trying to climb the fence. Not more waiting, no more hesitation. I neatly put an arrow between his eyes and deftly notch another before either of the guys has raised their weapon. I’ll use every last arrow and run into the fray with my knife in my hand and rage on my lips like a friggin’ gladiator if that’s what it takes, but I’m not retreating anymore tonight. I’ve given up enough ground to too many things.

  I hear Uncle Syd’s rifle fire and another goes down just as it’s clearing the fence. Jordan fires and misses entirely, causing him to curse and lower the gun. I worry about him for a moment, but then I get busy sighting another infected and putting my point into its skull. I’m focused and honed in, too much so because I don’t notice until it’s too late that Jordan has walked away. He’s walking toward them, his bat raised in his hands.

  “Uncle Syd, stop!” I cry, reaching for him and pushing his rifle down before he accidentally shoots Jordan. “Jordan, no! What are you doing?!”

  “Whatever I can!” he shouts back, and takes his bat to the first infected he reaches.

  It’s a good, solid hit and he drops the thing to its knees, but it’s not dead, not entirely. It grabs at his shins, tugging at Jordan’s pants and I’m worried it’s going to topple him. All of the other infected are focusing in on Jordan now, running toward him instead of us, and Uncle Syd and I both swear at the same time and break into a run heading straight for him. I watch as Jordan tries to raise his bat to swing down on the infected but his injury slows him down and I hear him cry out in pain.

  “The gun!” I cry.

  He looks in my direction which strikes me as infinitely foolish given the circumstances, then pulls the gun casually from his belt. The bullet goes in and the zombie goes down, but he has bigger problems coming his way. I pause for a moment, take a deep breath and shoot an arrow in the skull of the closest infected to him. As I take off running again, Uncle Syd stops and does the same, knocking out the next one. We take turns shooting while the other is recovering and eventually we’ve got him cleared. At least we thought we did.

  Jordan
checks his surroundings and then comes ambling toward us, his bat hanging limply by his side. None of us sees it coming from the trees, none of us even hears it, not even Jordan who is closest, but the infected comes nonetheless. It launches itself at Jordan, leaping onto his back and barring its teeth. I want to scream, but instead I take my footing, notch an arrow and zero in on its head. Jordan has sunk to his knees and taken them both briefly out of my eye line, and just before I lower my sight to track with them, I see her.

  Long white dress. Long blond hair.

  It’s the same as before; I can’t see her eyes but I can feel them. They bore into me and fill me with a cold dread that sends my hands to shaking. I stop breathing for that moment. I think I stop living altogether. As she watches me, I watch her and I feel her hate and I agree with it, meeting it with my own. I failed her. I let her die. And now Jordan is dying as well.

  The thought snaps me back into brief focus, my vision flaring to white around the edges and then going dark. A shot rings out and I worry I’m too late already, that I’ve cost him his life. I move the sight, drag it to where I believe Jordan fell, but I can’t find him. Frustrated, I drop the bow and pull out my knife, running for him blindly.

  “Al, no!” Uncle Syd cries, and I worry too late that I stepped in front of his shot.

  “Jordan!” I scream, lunging at the mound of bodies that I believe to be his and his attacker. My vision is still flared and wrong and I can’t feel movement beneath me. I wonder if I’m tackling an already dead infected and Jordan is ten paces away being eaten alive, but then I hear a moan.

  “Jordan?” I whisper, desperate for him to answer me.

  A hand grips mine and I gasp in relief that it feels like his; warm and calloused from days of rowing. I pull on it, trying to help him up from under the heap of the dead lying on top of him. When he sits up and begins to stand, I want to cry I’m so happy.

  Instead, I cry out.

  His face is mauled and eaten, the skin and flesh around his neck chewed off. He’s dripping blood and tissue from his cheek bones and his lips, his warm soft lips, are shredded and all but gone.

  “No,” I whimper in defeat, slouching down beside him. “Oh, Jordan, no.”

  His eyes meet mine and he stares at me blankly. I’m grateful he’s not too hungry yet. I’m grateful for this moment that I can sit and stare at him one last time and see his eyes so brilliantly blue. Hot tears pour down my face and I want to swat them away, but I also want whatever that’s left in him that’s human to see them and know they’re all for him. I want him to know that I will miss him. That I loved him.

  “Ali,” he says, and his voice is still so perfectly his that it makes me sob even harder. “Don’t cry. I’m alright.”

  He reaches for me and I know I shouldn’t, but I let him. He touches my face and wipes at the tears gently. I shudder and take a deep breath, knowing he will want to go out like this; like himself. I deftly take the gun from his other hand and press it lightly to his temple.

  “Jordan, I l—“

  Fear and panic enter his eyes, breaking my heart. “Ali, what are you doing?”

  “Alissa, no!” my uncle says urgently from behind me.

  “Uncle Syd, I promised him. I’m keeping my promise, Jordan, the one I made in the boat. I won’t let you become one of them,” I say sadly, cocking the gun.

  “Al. He’s not infected.”

  I shake my head in defeat. “How could he not be? Look at his face.”

  Jordan’s eyes dart to my uncle’s then back to me. “There’s nothing wrong with my face. I wasn’t bitten.”

  I frown, confused. “Uncle Syd?”

  “He’s right, sweety. He’s fine. Not a scratch on him.”

  “No, you’re wrong. He—he has bites all over his face. All over his neck!”

  “Ali, look at me. Really look at me,” Jordan says calmly, only a small quaver in his voice belying any fear. “I’m fine. Listen to my voice. I’m still me. I’m not hurt.” I watch as he swallows hard, his throat constricting under his ravaged skin. “Please don’t shoot me.”

  “But…” my voice and hand shake with uncertainty, the gun slipping across Jordan’s sweaty temple. He’s terrified.

  “Huckleberry.”

  I freeze at the word and think of Snickers in my sight.

  Pulling the gun from Jordan’s head, I scurry backwards, slipping over corpses and pressing my hand into sludge that I can only hope is a cow pie.

  “No, no, no!” I cry, putting as much distance between myself, Jordan and my uncle as I can. “My God, I could have killed you. Jordan, I’m so sorry!”

  “Hey, it’s okay. It’s fine. Everyone is fine,” Jordan says, putting his hands out in a calming motion people use on wild horses. It would be soothing if he still had a face.

  Uncle Syd doesn’t say anything, but he comes toward me and offers his hand.

  “No time for this. That won’t be the last of them,” he says gruffly, and I’m eternally grateful for it.

  I put my hand in his, and when I’m standing, he puts my bow back in mine. He meets my eyes as I take it and gives me a tight smile and sharp nod. Despite the fact that I just almost killed an innocent, healthy man, he has faith in me. I don’t deserve it, but I’ll take it.

  “We need to burn the bodies,” Jordan says, surveying our kills and I make sure to look at his feet and not his face.

  “Why?” Uncle Syd asks.

  “It works as a barrier. When we were holed up in the sporting goods store a pile of them was burned by some people outside. Infected stayed away for days after that. I think the scent of their own burning covered the scent of us.”

  “They can smell us?”

  “Yeah,” I say weakly, fighting for normal and not quite getting there. “That’s how we survived the first night in Portland. Infected were everywhere, including the building we were in. Jordan had the idea to use a dead infected and… another body to cover our scent at the door. No one bothered us all night.”

  Uncle Syd is watching me closely and it’s no longer because of my deadly mistake.

  “Uninterrupted all night, huh?”

  I blush and frown at him. “Don’t start.”

  “Sir,” Jordan says, sounding scared again. “I’ve never—“

  “Don’t start!” I shout, silencing both of them. I head for the shed off the side of the house, knowing there’s gas for the lawnmower stored in there. “Let’s burn these bodies and get out of here, shall we?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  We don’t leave that night. How could we? After the chaos at the campsites and I imagine inside the now overpopulated city of Corvallis, the roads are jammed with people ripe for the eating. It’s Portland all over again and Jordan and I refuse to go out like that. There’s talk of taking the river again, just as we did out of Portland, but it’s a bad gamble all around. We’d have to get to the boat launch and put Uncle Syd’s fishing boat in the water, preferably without being eaten while we did it. Then we’d have to navigate the waters in the dark on a river heading straight for the one place we know everyone else is going and that isn’t taking visitors at the moment. No, the river is out. We all agree we need to head east, into the mountains. There’s been talk on the news and between the people in Corvallis that they’ve blocked passage over the mountains too, not letting any of us out into the open desert of Eastern Oregon, but it’s still our best bet. Even if we only make it a short ways, it’s still going to put some distance between us and the buffet making its way south.

  We sleep in shifts, Uncle Syd sharing mine and I know why so I don’t ask or complain. He and I sit on the porch as Jordan sleeps on the couch nearby and we watch our funeral pyres burn. I tell him that Jordan and I said a blanket prayer over everyone who has and will lose their lives to this disease, and he nods in silent appreciation for the gesture.

  “You two,” he says quietly, his voice deep and resonant in the dark. “You’ve seen a lot. Been through a lot together, haven�
��t you?”

  “Yeah,” I say hesitantly, not sure really how to answer that because I’m not entirely certain where this is going.

  He nods. “I can tell. The way you talk to each other. The way you roll with punches together.”

  “The way he forgives me for almost killing him,” I say bitterly.

  “Exactly that. Scared the piss out of him, but he was right there with you during all of it.”

  “Like you and mom,” I say, remembering the way he would talk to her, how he was sometimes the only one who could.

  Uncle Syd frowns and I wonder what I said wrong. I know my mom is a tough subject for both of us, but I’d thought the comment was complimentary.

  “Al,” he says reluctantly. “I need to tell you something, something I wanted to tell you a long time ago.”

  I feel myself start to tremble as though I’ve suddenly gone cold.

  “What is it?” I whisper.

  “Honey… I—I’m not your uncle,” he says, sounding scared and unsure, something I’ve never heard from him before.

  “Then what are you?”

  He looks at me pointedly, asking me to fill in the blanks, but I don’t want to and I remain motionless and silent. Finally he sighs and looks away.

  “I’m your dad.”

  I shake my head. “My dad left. He walked out on us.”

  He shakes his head as well. “No, I didn’t. Your mom threw me out.”

  “What? No, that doesn’t make any sense. It was so hard for her to do it alone. She wouldn’t have thrown away help.”

  “She didn’t throw away help. When have I ever not been there for you? When was I not there for her?”