by Tracey Ward
Numbers don’t lie.
So that’s how I just know this shadow messing with my plans is a guy. Probably part of a pack of his own, the thought of which makes me drop yet another step back into my building. I’m a girl stuck in Neverland with The Lost Boys. I’m no Wendy, I can hold my own. I don’t need to wait around for Peter to save me but I’m also not an idiot. I know my enemies.
After what feels like forever he finally makes his move. The shadow rushes quickly and surprisingly stealthily through the tangle of weeds, grass and ravaged cars until he’s directly behind the animal. I shake my head at how utterly stupid a move this is. You’re about to see why.
The wind shifts. The wolf smells him and he’s on alert, his haunches going up, his teeth becoming exposed. He turns slowly toward the guy. There’s a long tense moment while they watch each other, neither moving a single muscle. My own muscles ache just from watching and I realize that I’m crouched down, either ready to fight or spring into a sprint.
Fight or flight. I think. Come on, guy, what’s it going to be?
Color me every shade of the rainbow surprised when he picks fight. He’s either crazy brave or just plain crazy. As he runs at the wolf I catch a glint of steel flash against the failing light of the day. He’s got a knife. It better be pretty big and he better be unbelievably fast with it. I’m trying to sort out why he would even attack this animal in the first place when they collide. The wolf snarls as the guy grunts, then they hit the ground and I can’t see them anymore. Now would be a spectacular time for me to get out of here. To either go upstairs, lay low and make do with my emergency water rations or head for the hills to find more.
I’m scanning the sidewalk, surprised it’s still clear, and leaning toward the water idea when the guy cries out in agony. The sound makes me cringe. I instantly hate myself for it. You learn not to empathize here in this mad new world. Sympathy will only get you killed. But something about the sound gets to me and I hesitate. He’s going to lose. He is going to die and the wolf is alone, meaning he won’t eat all of him. Either many more wolves will be here helping him feast when I get back, this guy’s buddies will be here cleaning up the mess of his desecrated body or the infected will have descended. No matter how you slice it, if he dies on my front porch like this, I’m not making it back in this building tonight. And with the possibility of Lost Boys this close to home, I probably won’t ever return.
I swear under my breath, thoroughly pissed off. But I’m also trapped. I have to either do something or go back inside and be prepared to wait it out. Without water that’s going to suck. So I do the one thing I really do not want to do.
I save a man’s life.
I reluctantly pull out my knife as I silently close the distance between myself, animal and idiot. From a distance I thought the wolf was pretty but up close it’s beautiful. It makes me even angrier that I have to do this. There’s not much beauty left in the world, I’d rather leave it when I can find it. Like walking around a flower somehow blooming in the broken pavement of a desolate road.
I roll up on the wolf in his blind spot, his eye covered by the guy’s one good hand that’s trying desperately to keep dripping, gnashing teeth out of his jugular. It strikes me that it doesn’t look that much different from fighting a Risen. His other arm is a bloody mess pressed against the animal’s chest, coating his fur in red.
When I’m within striking range I slash at the wolf’s side. My knife goes in easy because if I do anything in this world right it’s keep my weapons deadly. But I make sure not to sink the blade in too deeply. I’ve decided I won’t kill it, a decision that is incredibly stupid but one I can sleep with tonight. I don’t want to kill it. I want it to keep running its patrols with its pack keeping infected and Lost Boys at bay. I’ve only grazed it, only grabbed its attention, and even though it’s probably a really bad choice, I don’t regret it. Not yet anyway.
The animal leaps off the guy then turns to face me, seeing me as the new threat.
“Get up,” I tell the body on the ground, never looking away from the wolf. “Slowly.”
He does as I say and I’m surprised when he does it silently. I expected groaning and moaning, maybe even ungrateful proclamations of his ability to handle it himself. Had he done that I wouldn’t have hesitated to let the animal have him. But he gets up and comes to stand beside me, his knife at the ready in his uninjured hand.
“Get out of here,” I tell him, my voice low and soothing for the wolf’s sake.
“No way,” he replies quietly.
“I wasn’t asking. Go.”
“No.”
I’m shaking mad now. His blood is dripping onto the pavement at an alarming rate. I’m doing the math in my head figuring how fast that crimson pool will bring the infected. Not long now.
“Get out of here. NOW,” I grind out through gritted teeth.
The wolf takes an angry step forward, the low vibration of his growl standing the hair on my arms on end.
“Not until he’s dead.”
“Seriously?” I whisper incredulously. I shift my knife in my sweating palm. “You want wolf for dinner that bad?”
“I want revenge that bad.”
“This is for revenge?” I ask, feeling shocked. “On a wolf?”
“He killed my brother.”
“Unbelievable.”
I should have let him die.
I begin to back away from him and the animal, making my way slowly toward the sidewalk. They can sort this out together. I’m heading to one of my buildings with a water source. I’ll camp out there tonight and find a new home tomorrow. I hate it but with all this blood out front and him knowing where I live, no matter who wins this fight I’m the loser out of a home.
I hate people more than ever and I like animals a lot less too.
“Where are you going?” he whispers.
The wolf is advancing, empowered by my retreat.
“If you won’t leave, I will. Good luck with this. You’re gonna die.’
Before I can make it two steps, low growls emanate from up and down the street. I spot dark, lean wolves advancing on us from out of the growing shadows. So far I count six. Three each, he’s down a hand and he couldn’t even handle one at full strength. Now we’re both gonna die.
The guy curses, stepping back in line with me.
I chuckle bitterly. “Yeah.”
“We need to run. We can’t fight them all off.”
“We can’t outrun them all either.”
“No.”
“Back up. Keep backing up and head to the left. There’s a doorway. That’s where we’re going.”
He glances over his shoulder quickly, verifying that the way is clear.
“You’ve been in this building before?”
I nod sharply. “A time or two.”
“There’s a door close by that we can close on them?”
“Why else would I be taking us there?”
“Sorry if I don’t trust the judgment of a total stranger.”
I fight the urge to stab him. “You’re really saying that to the girl who just saved your life? If I’d known you were getting revenge,” I say, my voice dripping in sarcasm. “I would have happily watched you die.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” I whisper viciously.
“I didn’t ask you to help me,” he nearly shouts, pissing me off further. “You didn’t have to be part of this.”
“No, but you needed help. And you made me part of this when you staged your Shakespearean drama at my front door.”
He glances at the building behind us again, frowning. “This is where you—“
“Run!”
I shove him in the shoulder, launching us both in the direction of the door. When we take off running, the wolves fall in step behind us and they are fast. I’m not even sure we’ll make it to the door unhurt. I quickly dart in front of the guy, making sure if they get ah
old of anything it’s his dumb ass.
We sprint over the cracked marble floors, the skitter of claws following close behind. I grab onto the door and begin to swing it closed behind me. And, no, I don’t check to make sure he’s going to make it. That’s his issue, not mine.
He jumps to the side just as a wolf is lunging to take a bite out of his back. Good on him for keeping himself safe but that move leaves me wide open. Luckily I’m already shoving the door closed on the animals face. He rams into it, bouncing off harmlessly. But the door isn’t so much a door as it is a gate and when he lunges again he gets ahold of my coat. He jerks back on the fabric and I’m wrenched hard against the steel. I cry out in surprise and pain as my arm is twisted then pinned at a strange angle. The guy yanks me back, pulling me from the animal’s clutches. I stumble against the wall as he releases me quickly to latch the door, barely snatching his fingers clear before they’re bitten off.
“That was close,” he says, breathing heavily.
He looks at me with a lopsided grin.
I punch him in the face. The sound of skin on skin and bone connecting through meat vibrates through the small space. It takes him by surprise, sending him stumbling back a step.
“What the—what is your problem?!” he cries, rubbing his cheek. His grin is gone.
“With you? I don’t know where to begin! I’ve known you five minutes and you’ve almost gotten me killed twice!”
“How was this my fault?” he demands, gesturing to the snarling wolves and metal. “You said there was a door! This is not a door.”
“It’s not solid but it’s still a door. It’s keeping them out, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, is it? Let’s ask your coat.”
He points to my sleeve. I look down to find the fleece ripped wide open.
“No, that’s okay,” I say sarcastically, glaring at him. “I have tons of clothes. I can afford to be missing a coat in the dead of winter.”
“Sorry, princess, didn’t mean to destroy your wardrobe,” he mutters, glancing around.
We’re deep in shadow but a small shaft of light is coming through one of the broken windows giving me my first decent look at him. He’s tall and lean with brown eyes and dark hair. He’s about my age, seventeen, and clean shaven so he must have a home somewhere with some amenities. Some comforts. His clothes also look decently clean which means he has access to water and a safe place to wash. I peg him solidly then and there as part of a gang.
It doesn’t mean what it used to. He’s not a thug, at least I doubt he is. He’s just a guy who signed up to be part of a group that helps each other survive. Kind of like the Colonies but less like a prison. It’s another situation I can understand people entering into, it’s just not for me. Especially since these gangs are almost all men.
His eyes land on me then and I’m annoyed that he caught me examining him. His brows crease together in confusion or annoyance. I wonder what he sees in me that makes him do it. I’ve looked in mirrors. I’ve seen old ads scattered around. I’ve even seen a few movies. I know what pretty is and I know I’m it; tall, thin (though that’s out of my hands really, I’d be fat if I could be), dark red hair, fair skin, pale blue eyes. Guess I’m not his type, though in the end of days I’m surprised to find a teenage boy so picky.
And now I have to deal with him. Probably all night. He can’t leave now and I can’t hide where I live, not unless I want to stay in one of the empty, blown out rooms somewhere else in the building. Pretty much every room but mine is missing windows or a door. Not ideal living quarters, even for one night. Not in the cold of winter. Not with blood outside.
“Come on,” I tell him grudgingly.
I lead him up the stairs as the wolves snarl and yap angrily behind us. I flip them off over my shoulder. He falls in step behind me without a word and part of my animosity toward him slips. We walk up ten flights of stairs before I take us out of the stairwell into a hall. This is where I live, or lived before he came around to ruin everything. My animosity is instantly back. I lead him halfway down the hall where I open the door to the warehouse apartment I’ve called home for almost a year now. It’s one of the first times I’ve actually gotten settled. I have more things in here than I can carry out on my back, a huge deal for me. Now I’ll have to leave almost all of it behind.
As I hurry to light a couple of small candles for his sake (and the sake of my possessions I’d rather he didn’t trample over) I glance over my shoulder to make sure he closes the door. He looks around, sees the board I use to barricade it and quickly slips it into the braces that cradle it horizontally. We are now as safe as two teenagers in a world full of zombies can be. I fuss over the ripped sleeve of my jacket but I’m watching him out of the corner of my eye as he takes in my place. He seems surprised by it. He should be. It took a lot of time and a lot of effort to get it this way.
“You live here alone,” he says, not even trying to make it a question.
I snort. “I’m not exactly social.”
“Shocking.”
“Don’t take it as an invitation. I can defend myself.”
He looks over at me, his eyes surprised. “Never crossed my mind.”
“Sure.”
He shakes his head in disgust, looking away. “What’s with the exercise bike? Don’t get enough cardio running from the Risen?”
“I don’t ride it for exercise. I ride it for fun.”
“Yeah, you seem fun,” he mutters, kneeling beside the bike to examine the wires trailing from it. They lead a short distance across the distressed floors over to a small generator. From there they lead up to— “Is that a laptop?” he asks incredulously.
I have to suppress a smile as I work to keep the pride out of my voice. “It’s a portable TV/DVD player. Riding the bike powers it.”
“Nice,” he says admiringly. His large fingers gently run along the wires, tracing them. “Do you use it to power anything else?”
“Yeah, of course,” I reply, suddenly bristling at his proximity to my world. His hands are all over it. I’m finding that I kinda like it but then again I really don’t. “My iPod, my hair dryer, the fridge, the oven, my cell phone…”
“I get it,” he says darkly, straightening up to glare at me. “Take it easy, would you?”
I shake my head. “Whatever. Do you want to clean your arm before it falls off?”
“Are you doing it or am I?”
“You are. I’m not touching it.”
I’m not touching you. I think, and the problem is that I actually kind of want to.
He’s good looking. Now that I see him in better light, I’m much more aware of that fact. He looks strong, solid. Warm. I haven’t been touched by another person in six months and that was old Crazy Crenshaw who lives out in the ‘woods’ like a wild man by himself. He’s helped me a time or two, though both of us made it clear we didn’t want each other’s company permanently. I went to him when I started running a fever and vomiting awhile back. I couldn’t see straight let alone take care of myself. I stumbled to his hideout in an overgrown city park, shambling and moaning like an infected. He took care of me, but when I was better a few days later we went our separate ways. Before that, before he wiped my forehead with a wet cloth and wrapped me up in blankets to fight the chills, I hadn’t been touched in four years.
So, yeah, standing in the same room with a guy my age for the first time in my life is throwing me more than a little off balance. As I said, I like it but I don’t.
“What’s your name?” he asks suddenly.
I blink as I realize we’ve fallen silent studying each other.
“Jocelyn. Well, Joss,” I stammer, my heart racing. I haven’t said or heard my own name in a long time. It feels strange on my lips. “What’s yours?”
“Ryan.”
I immediately think of Jake Ryan in Sixteen Candles, my favorite movie. He looks nothing like him but the association is made. This, I understand immediately, will make things so much more co
mplicated.
I turn sharply toward the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Who knows what germs were in that wolf’s mouth? He could have had infected blood in there.”
Ryan follows me quickly, understanding the risk he’s at. Animals don’t contract the virus but they do carry it. If that wolf took down an infected recently, which he very well might have, he could still have active blood in his mouth. The infected don’t die, not unless you force them to. The virus doesn’t either, making a truly dead zombie almost as dangerous as a mobile one.
I set him up with a couple clean strips of cloth and some alcohol, a tall bottle of Gray Goose vodka I found in a desk in a dentist’s office. That and the handful of toothbrushes I scored were the highlight of my week. I hand the bottle to him then quickly leave the room. He can take care of himself, or so I assume since he’s still alive. Anyone who couldn’t fend for themselves or dress a wound died of starvation or infection years ago.
“So have you always lived here alone?” he calls from my small bathroom. It’s a legit bathroom with a toilet and everything that I use leftover washing water to flush once a day. More than that if things are… well you know.
“Yeah,” I call back, noticing how my voice echoes over the destroyed hardwood floors up into the vaulted ceilings. I don’t usually speak in here. This is already weird. “You in a gang?”
“Yeah. My brother and—hell!” He gags out a curse. I know he just doused his open wound in the alcohol. When he speaks again his voice is a little breathier than before, more strained. “He, uh, he and I joined them when our parents died.”
I nod to myself, not surprised. All of us out in the wild are orphans.
“What about you?” he asks, stepping out of the bathroom as he wraps the cloth around his forearm. He’s fumbling with it, trying to manage it with one hand. He’s failing.
“Here,” I hear myself say. I’m across the huge room and standing in front of him before I realize what I’m doing. I wrap the cloth quickly around the wound, being sure to cover it entirely. Nervous, I tie the ends off a little too tightly, pinching him. He doesn’t make a sound. “There, that should hold.”