Within These Walls: Series Box Set

by Tracey Ward

  It’s then that I decide I need to know if he’s alive.

  I make a detour home that takes me longer but it also takes me by the wall. I look at his message for a moment, wondering what to say back. I think of a hundred things that I immediately cast off as stupid, lame, boring, too obscure or too suggestive.

  And then it starts to rain. There’s no prelude to it, no soft pitter patter of tiny first drops leading the way. No, it downpours from moment one, soaking me to the bone in a matter of seconds. On the bright side my rain bucket upstairs will be full in no time and I will have fresh water. On the dark side, the one that seethes inside my soul and throws zombies off rooftops as part of a stress management system, I’m reminded yet again that my adventure was all for nothing. I nearly died multiple times and all for not. It’s not a new thing in my life, I’m just painfully aware of it right now. As I am painfully aware of a lot of things lately.

  Finally inspired, I pick up the brick on the ground, cross out a part of his message and write one word of my own. It’s not pretty and it’s not poetic, but it is honest.

  Welcome to the apocalypse blows.

  When I wake up in the morning I still can’t find the calm. The numb. The tap out I need in order to be the me that survives. It’s troubling and I blame Ryan. One more thing on the poor guy’s shoulders, I know, but credit where credit is due. This is his fault. I thought about telling him as much last night on the wall.

  You gave me the sickness.

  I don’t know a lot but I know enough to know that sounds dirty. I don’t know how he’d take it, I’m not sure what types of books he’s been reading, but I doubt it would have been interpreted as I meant it.

  I give it another day before I decide I feel enough like myself to be trusted in the outside world. I spend my time indoors watching The Breakfast Club and letting myself laugh audibly. It feels weird but I like it. And when the credits roll I’m still smiling because I noticed something about this movie that I’ve never noticed before, even after countless watchings: I can relate.

  I am a brain.

  An athlete.

  A basket case.

  A princess.

  A criminal.

  And when I step outside and cruise past the wall, expecting to find it washed clean of our small scribblings, I notice something else.

  I’m no longer alone.

  Put down a Z in your name today.

  Bringing you a better world, one kill at a time.

  Chapter Nine

  I’m scared of spiders. I scream like a girl.

  I’m scared of clowns. I’m glad they’re all dead.

  What about a crawler clown?

  You’re the devil. I’ll have nightmares for months.

  I could come stay with you. Keep the clowns away…

  Stay away from me, dipshit. I have spiders and I know how to use them.

  I’m the King of the Dipshits!

  We’re writing almost every day now. I feel like it’s getting dangerous. It’s dangerous for us to develop a routine that the Colonists can track. It’s dangerous to leave these messages in my neighborhood that anyone can see. It’s dangerous to have him sneaking here to write them because eventually someone will see him do it. It’s dangerous to have my back turned, unguarded, as I write stupid things to a guy I’ve only met once and should have walked away from at the start.

  But I didn’t and everything has changed because of it.

  I’m crouched down under a tree, waiting like a snake in the grass for a bird to leave her nest so I can steal her eggs, when I hear him. His voice rings out, echoing through the park and resonating in my ears. It startles both me and the bird, alerting it to threats in the area and I lose all hope of scoring those eggs today. That boy cannot help but mess up my world.

  It’s been a month since the night I met Ryan and I’m surprised that I recognize his voice immediately. He’s in the far side of the park near where we ran into his friend Bray. I crane my neck to look for him. What I see first is a tall, thin blond guy a few years older than I am. He’s somewhere in his twenties with a weathered face and sharp eyes. I sink back down low, scurrying silently into a patch of tall grass and ferns. I’m hiding from him. I don’t realize it until I’ve already done it but I’m glad. His eyes make me nervous. I watch through the patchy green blur of leaves and blades as he moves languidly through the brush, barely rustling it as he walks. Beside him is another unfamiliar face, an older man with dark hair, probably somewhere in his forties. He’s moving with far less care, almost crashing through the grass and chuckling with his head bent down. He’s laughing with Ryan.

  I can see him now. He’s slightly behind the other two, walking farthest from me near a bank of trees. He passes in and out of shadows under the canopy of the foliage, the sunlight shining on his dark hair, brightening it then losing it to blackness. When he glances my way, looking at the older man beside him, he’s smiling broadly.

  I feel a small pang. An itch in my chest that I can’t understand and I can’t scratch.

  They keep thundering through the forest; Ryan, the older man and the lithe footed guy with the freaky eyes. I follow them. This, I acknowledge, is stupid. But I’m seventeen and I’ve never done a stupid thing in my adult life. I figure I’m long past due. Besides, that pang in my chest will not be denied.

  Eventually the tall blond holds up his hand, says something inaudible to the other two. They quickly scatter. They fan out to create a triangle around a small area of low lying grass just at the edge of the trees. In under a minute I can’t see or hear any of them. It makes me sick to my stomach to see it because I realize I could come walking through this area and cruise right past all of them, never knowing they were there. Not until it’s too late. Suddenly I wonder if I haven’t done that already. Do they already know about me? Have I been spotted before?

  My hands are clammy and my heart begins skipping painfully in my chest.

  Odds are I have been. I’m stealthy, clever and quick, but there are a lot of eyes in this area. It’s unrealistic to believe I’ve gone unnoticed by all of them. I sit and fret about this until my legs go numb but I don’t move. I can’t move, not until they’re gone. I’ve gotten myself into this situation and now I have to wait it out. They’re obviously hunting and their patience is impressive. And annoying. I wish they’d get bored and move on already.

  Then I see what they’re waiting for. Moving into the clearing with great caution is a buck. He’s tall and broad. A big, hulking, powerful package of meat and deliciousness that has my mouth watering just looking at him. I’ve seen old advertisements in decrepit, broke down fast food joints. I know what used to make people drool. It was the end product. The final presentation of a piece of meat after countless ugly, messy and thoroughly disturbing things happened to it all at the hands of someone or something else. Tell me the phrase ‘mechanically separated chicken’ doesn’t send a chill down your spine. I read it on a bag of dry dog food once (yes, I ate the dog food) and I almost gagged at the thought. Not on the dog food, though. That was tasty.

  What I’m saying is that my idea of delicious is so much broader than it used to be. It’s more big picture and the big picture right now is an 8 point buck with a body full of finger lickin’ good.

  I wait anxiously as the buck saunters into the clearing, munching on grass and occasionally surveying his surroundings. I’m surprised he doesn’t smell the Lost Boys sitting so close by or hear one breathing. The fact that none of them have coughed, yawned or even swallowed too loudly is amazing to me. I guess because I don’t see them hiding from others the way I have to. All I see them do is walk through the world like they own the place and I assume they aren’t any good at sneaking. But today I stand, or sit with dead legs, corrected.

  Suddenly the blond guy is on top of the buck. It happens so fast and is so unexpected I actually gasp. The buck is just as startled as I am. Probably more so. He goes to run but the guy has a hold on him and they both stumble slightly. Ryan
and the older guy grab onto the buck as well. The thing puts up a hell of a fight, ducking his head down and using his sharp horns to keep the men at bay. Ryan takes a point to the arm and I watch as red blood blossoms on his shirt. He doesn’t slow down though and I’m not even sure he can feel it through the adrenaline. They struggle with the buck, almost losing it at one point before the older guy grabs onto the thing’s hind legs above the knee. He’s taking hooved feet to the shins which I know will bruise for days but he holds on. There are shouts and cries, grunts and panic, but then it all goes silent. The buck collapses to the ground. I look around in surprise, wondering what did it.

  Until I see the blood. It’s fanning out over the green grass making it look shiny and wet like it just rained. Only it’s red. Vibrant and angry red. And there’s the sharp eyed guy standing in front of it, dripping red knife in hand, blood splatter across his shirt, neck and face, and he’s grinning. He’s grinning down at the expired animal at his feet and the light in his eyes and the knife in his hand make my blood run cold.

  ***

  I don’t tell Ryan that I saw him. I don’t tell Crenshaw either. Ryan would be excited, Crenshaw would be mad and at this point I don’t even know how I feel about it so I keep it to myself. I’m good at that.

  What I do tell both of them is that I’ve seen a lot of Colonists lately. The zombies are still in full force but I’m getting used to that again. It seems like they’ve always been there. An omnipresent threat that I can put in the back of my mind and deal with on auto pilot. They’re dumb and predictable and I don’t even have to kill them if they see me. If I’m tired or loaded down with supplies, I have no problem evading a Risen and letting them keep on shuffling. All it takes most of the time is crossing the street. Crisis averted. Zombies were a big problem in the beginning when everyone and their mother was becoming one but now with the humanity herd thinned down to those of us who can survive it and the number of people in the area outnumbering the zombies, I don’t worry about it nearly as much. Probably not as much as I should.

  But right now my biggest worry is the Colonists and their recruitment tactics. It’s been a month since the rise in the zombie population thanks to the loss of one of their Colonies. After the fight and fire I saw in the street they stopped with the helping hand routine and went back to rounding people up like strays. I’ve warned Crenshaw, though he met the news with his usual disinterest and sage, wizardly advice:

  “Luck favors the prepared,” he intoned, swaying his staff back and forth like the swinging pendulum of a clock. I’m pretty sure he meant to hypnotize me. “Keep thy blade and wits sharp.”

  Spoken like a fortune cookie from Frodo’s kitchen.

  I left a message for Ryan the other day warning him as well.

  Colonists are the new plague.

  Watch your back.

  Don’t I know it.

  Do you nee

  His message is cut off. My heart slams to a halt. That’s all he wrote. He must have been interrupted but by what? A Risen? A Colonist? Another Lost Boy? There are so many possibilities of what could have gone wrong that I feel helpless trying to figure out what happened to him. And I am not the helpless type. It actually occurs to me to go to his gang. It’s ridiculous and so stupid but I seriously consider it. I can watch from afar for a little while, see if I can see him coming and going. And if I can’t? I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ll do then. This is the second time I’ve been worried for his life in a very short amount of time and I wonder what exactly it is I’m doing here. And for what? A little conversation on a wall and the memory of broad shoulders and brown eyes? Yeah, I feel less lonely and I feel a lot more of a lot of other things I’d forgotten existed, but to what end? How many of my old rules am I gonna break over this? And where does it stop? When I’m dead? It makes me sick just thinking about it but I can’t let this go. I can’t let him go.

  I’m hurrying past the wall, heading toward his part of town, when warm hands reach out from the shadows of a darkened doorway and yank me back. I don’t scream. I don’t panic. I’m conditioned well beyond all of that. As I’m falling backward, my back slamming into someone else’s front, I reach for my knife. I’m spinning it deftly in my hand just as an arm encircles my waist and a hand covers my mouth. That’s fine. That’s good, waste that constraint to smother a cry for help I never intended to loose. All the more room for me to swing out my arm, bring it back hard and drive my blade deep inside my captors gut. He’ll bleed out for hours from a wound like that. That is if the zombies don’t scent him first.

  “Joss,” he breathes in my ear.

  I halt my arm just in time, just as the tip of my knife is pressing into his flesh.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ryan says quickly, feeling the prick of my knife. “Jesus, Joss, don’t stab me.”

  “Dunf creen ab vee,” I growl against his hand. I’m breathing hard through my nose, my adrenaline spiked and coursing like lightning through my veins. I can feel his chest rising and falling against my back. It’s slow and even.

  “I know, I’m sorry I grabbed you,” he apologizes in a whisper, somehow understanding my angry muffle speak. “If I let you go, will you scream?”

  “I erfer seen.”

  “No,” he chuckles softly. “I guess you wouldn’t. I’m letting go. Please don’t stab me.”

  He releases me in one quick motion like he’s releasing a wild animal. His hands go up in defense and he takes a step back when I round on him, knife still ready in my hand.

  “If I was going to stab you, you’d already be dead. Or dying,” I say, my voice tense but quiet.

  He smiles. “I believe it.”

  “What are you doing here? Why did you grab me?”

  “I heard a Colonist truck coming by a little while ago.”

  My eyes shoot to the street, scanning what I can see of it. As far as I can tell it’s clear.

  “It’s gone,” Ryan assures me. “I was writing you a message when I heard it so I hid in here. Even after it left, though, I was worried it could come back. I was worried you’d be writing back to me when it did.”

  “So you waited for me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was stupid.”

  He snorts, shaking his head. “You’re welcome.”

  “You’re staying out in the open for too long. What if a Risen wandered by? You have that cut on your arm and—“

  “How do you know about that?”

  I stop and berate myself for being the stupid one.

  “I was there. In the woods. I saw you guys take the buck down.”

  He grins at me looking proud. “You saw that? Pretty good, right?”

  I shrug, looking away. “You got hurt doing it, so it wasn’t that impressive.”

  “You’re cold. And jealous. Trent’s an amazing hunter. You should dream of having half his skills.”

  “Which one was Trent? The tall guy?”

  “Yeah. He’s our main lookout. He’s usually parked in the crow’s nest but we pull him out for hunting now and then because he’s just so freakishly good at it. He hears and sees everything.”

  “Yeah, I believe it,” I mutter, remembering his eyes. I feel uncomfortable all of the sudden. I feel watched.

  “So, hey, my message wasn’t finished. I was going to ask if you need anything. Are you doing okay?”

  I frown at him. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

  “Yeah, obviously, but it doesn’t mean I can’t help you out. You helped me.”

  “And it almost got me killed. Twice.”

  He smirks as he looks at the knife still at the ready in my hand. “Are you going to kill me if I try to help you? Even the score?”

  I sheath my knife and take a step back, pressing my back against the cold, stone wall behind me. “I don’t need your help. Thanks.”

  “Because you said ‘thanks’ and that probably nearly killed you, I’ll let it go. But if you ever need anything will you ask me?”

&nbs
p; “Probably not.”

  He grins. “You’re difficult.”

  “You’re dangerous,” I mutter before I can think.

  He lifts his eyebrows in surprise. He takes a step toward me. It’s not much, he’s not touching me, but I still feel claustrophobic because of it. Because of one small step.

  “You scared of me, Joss?”

  I snort. “What’s there to be scared of?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s a dumb question.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He takes another step toward me.

  “You don’t think at all,” I tell him, trying to sound angry but it comes out breathy and strained.

  “I’m thinking pretty hard right now,” he says, taking another step closer until he’s nearly touching me. He’s looking down at me with his warm eyes and I can see hunger in them. Not the Risen hunger I’m used to and not the starved animal hunger I see all around me during the winter. This is different. New. Exciting.

  “You’re thinking with the wrong parts,” I whisper. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

  When he chuckles I feel his breath on my face. He doesn’t back up and I don’t push him away. I should. I should get out of here, away from him and never write on that wall again. But it’s already been done and whatever damage we’ll incur for all of this is already here or swiftly on the way. There are things I’ve seen, heard, felt and want that I never understood could actually exist outside the frame of my tiny TV. And this Pandora’s Box, once opened, does not close easily.