“When night comes, the deaders will wander off.” Big Guy walked over to Skinny, offering a hand to hoist him up. Then he said with his back to me, “You can wander off then, too.”
“You can wander off any time you want,” the shaved-headed guy spat at Tom as he rifled through one of their bags. I caught a glare between him and Big Guy that told me they weren’t friends.
“Scored from the credit union, lucky you.” Shaved Head retrieved a first aid kit. He walked up to me, keeping his feet slightly apart, the knee on his back leg slightly bent.
Skinny sat against the retaining wall, rubbing the wrist of his hand that held the knife. I was betting Shaved Head had taken him down, and now he was ready in case he needed to take me down.
Shaved Head took out rubber gloves and put them on. “No glove, no love,” he mumbled, and by his chuckle, I assumed it was a sort of joke. His lips trembled and his hands shook. That I was completely calm probably unnerved him. He unraveled my dressing and patted the bite with alcohol. It stung, and I cringed.
“So, you do have emotions. That’s a good sign,” he said.
“You’re not doing this to help me,” I said to him. “You want to see what kind of wound I took. Dog or human.”
Shaved Head stopped, and his eyes grew wide. I wanted him to know he wasn’t fooling me, just in case they had any other deception planned. They could tell me they had nothing to gain by saving me, but even that was a lie. They could learn the location of my shelter and scavenge my stuff.
“Dog, definitely,” he said, examining the bite. “Have you had a tetanus shot?”
“Their blood got on me. Might have got on my wound.” I wondered how smart I was to tell him that, but right then I needed to know this wasn’t going to infect me. And if it were, I needed to know what to do.
“The virus only transmits from an infected’s bite. How can you not know that?”
“And only human to human, else you’d be checking the dog, too,” I mumbled to myself. Good news for when I ran out of food and needed to hunt.
Big Guy stared at the street, and Skinny sat against the retaining wall. The pup was still beside me. Guess I was now its mom.
“You can’t just blaze into town anymore,” Shaved Head said to me. “You need to be smarter if you want to live.”
When the world as we know it ends, you will be the first to die. My stepfather’s words still cut, and now Shaved Head’s words cut as deeply. I crawled back into that familiar little boy, helpless and scared.
I forced myself back. Shaved Head smiled.
“I saw that. Not as impenetrable as you want us to think you are.” He gently punched my shoulder with his gloved hand, and it felt strange. I didn’t know what to do when he did this. Say something? Punch back?
“You finished?” I asked and pushed him away. That felt most natural. He nodded, and I looked at the street below. “That’s the infection . . . it drives people insane?”
“No.” Shaved Head paused as if waiting for me to speak. When I said nothing, he added, “The infection just makes people sick until they die. What’s down there is the people after they die.”
I let that sink in for a moment. After? I remembered my stepfather talking about there being no after, saying that once we died, we were dead. Period. This is why we must take what is ours now. No after, no God, no right, no wrong. Just survival of the fittest in a world that existed for only as long as we drew breaths. It is why everything I do is just, he’d say.
“I don’t understand,” was all I could think to say.
“The Big Bang—surely you’ve heard of that?” Skinny Guy’s voice dripped with malice.
“That started the world?”
“No.” Shaved Head spoke first, interrupting both Skinny and Tom as they mumbled something I didn’t quite get. “New Year’s Eve last year in every major city in the world. When the fireworks started, someone in the crowd infected with the virus killed themself. The deaths happened hours apart, but they all woke near the same time. They started biting people, spreading the infection, so we called it ‘The Big Bang.’ ”
People bitten by infecteds. They’d go to work, school, on play dates, whatever, even if they were unwell. No doubt some checked into clinics or hospitals—dying and rising and biting. Human ignorance of sickness used against us. Made sense.
“Who did this?” I asked. My stepfather would have believed the government—no matter what the evidence might have proven.
Shaved Head shrugged as he continued to clean my wound. “Some say terrorists, others blame the military. The world fell too fast and people got too sick too fast to really know.”
“Where did all these people come from?” I asked, partly as a diversion but also actually needing to know this. “They aren’t all townies.”
“Were you in a cave when everything went down?” Big Guy said, as if I were just stupid.
Funny thing, I kind of had been in a cave.
“Some are doctors that were flown in,” Shaved Head said. “Some are families that returned after moving away. Many people believed the rural, smaller cities would be safer. All it took was one infected to bring down the whole town.”
“And the military,” I said, wondering what would happen when I met a deader wearing body armor.
“If I could update my status right now,” Skinny said to no one in particular, “it would be ‘Six weeks and the whole world is gone.’”
“You don’t know that!” Big Guy sounded angry, as though they’d had this conversation before. For a short time, no one spoke again. I started to understand the horror I had been spared while living in my hole.
THE EDGES OF THE MOUNTAINS glowed bright orange as the sun disappeared behind them. As if beckoned, the creatures below started wandering off. Skinny paced back and forth. Big Guy sharpened a machete, the sound of metal on stone echoing against the darkening sky. A part of me wanted to take it from him and pound him into the cement—payback for what he had done to me when the world had rules.
Shaved Head continued to stare at me just as he had since they’d hoisted me up. “What’s his name?” He nodded at the puppy at my feet.
I shrugged. I wondered if their encampment was close to mine. Were they low on supplies? Would they try to take mine? Was my stepfather with them?
“We could have left you down there,” Big Guy said, as if giving a warning.
“Should have left you all down there,” Skinny mumbled. “None of us would be up here if that army kid hadn’t shown up.”
I glanced over my shoulder as Shaved Head held up his finger to shush them. It made me think of when my mom did that to stop me from speaking my mind to my stepfather. My guess was Shaved Head was a college student, first-year education. He had that teacher vibe down pat.
“I had a dog before this mess happened,” he said. “A Maltese named Spike. From Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”
Shaved Head was trying to connect with me to build trust. He needs to be scared of you. That will keep you safe. I ignored my stepfather’s advice and looked down at the shivering puppy. He was pressed against my leg, alert to every noise around him that we couldn’t hear. He needed food. He needed water. Another mouth taking away resources. If I became friends with these other kids, they’d also become extra mouths to feed.
“Connor,” I said with a throaty breath. The only thing I remembered about my real dad was his name, Connor. I don’t know why I made that choice to call the dog after my real dad.
Shaved Head reached into a pack and took out an old, ratty towel. He walked close to me and kneeled beside the puppy. Connor growled as Shaved Head reached out for him. Shaved Head stopped, turned his hand knuckle-side up and let him sniff. Connor still growled, but when Shaved Head started to stroke his back, he calmed. He continued petting Connor as he wrapped him in the towel.
“He needs you to tell him it’s okay,” he said to me. I wondered if that was more about his needing to hear that from someone. I nodded, and he said, “I’m Ol
iver.”
“Ethan.” Speaking my name felt odd, like spitting out a weird meal I didn’t expect to taste a certain way.
“We need to eat,” Skinny said, “but I don’t have enough food for everyone.”
“I don’t need your food,” Oliver said back.
I thought about the machetes strapped to my back, the knife in my boot, and the slingshot in my pack. Oliver had had some training, so even though he wasn’t the biggest, if I had to, I’d take him out first. Next I’d shoot Big Guy. And finally I’d take out Skinny. No doubt by that point he’d be cowering in a corner begging for his life. It’s not murder; it’s survival. If I wanted their food, there would be little they could do to stop me. Murder to survive was how my stepfather had trained me for this new world.
My pack was still on my back, so I slung it off to the ground. As I opened it, Big Guy took an interest. His hand clenched on his machete, and he waved his eyebrows at Skinny, who grabbed a metal bar. I rummaged around in my pack until I found the feel of two cold plastic bags. My MREs. I pulled one out and tossed it to Big Guy.
“I have enough food for all of us”—I gave the pup a pat on the head—“including Connor.”
I was giving away too much, but they had saved my life. And a part of me didn’t want war with these boys—not even Big Guy.
Big Guy dumped the MRE’s contents and grabbed the biggest pouch, the beef stew. He tossed the crackers and peanut butter to Oliver, and the candy bar and gum to Skinny. It reminded me of my dad, keeping the lion’s share because he considered himself most worthy.
Oliver looked at the crackers and made a pshaw sound, and Big Guy said, “What? I’m the biggest and need the most food!”
Oliver offered the crackers to me, but I shook my head and pulled a second bag from my pack. I took out the beef stew, and Connor stared up with eyes that told me he understood somehow this was food. I opened it, squeezed some onto the ground for him to lap up, and then tossed the remains to Oliver.
“Thanks,” he said through lips that stuck from the peanut butter. The way he devoured the food, I was sure he hadn’t eaten in a while. I sloshed the water in my bottle. I estimated it to be about half full. I poured some into my hand and let Connor lick it off.
“Maybe we could save the water for the humans.” Skinny’s voice was filled with that same condescension my stepsiblings had when showing me their new toys. They are my favorites, my stepfather had explained to me about his sons. They are mine.
I decided enough was enough. This wasn’t my pack. I couldn’t look out for people who didn’t want my help. In this world, I had to stop playing by the rules I’d only wished existed in the last.
First, I considered my options. Big Guy was busy with his stew, and Oliver was watching me while smacking his fingers clean with his lips. Skinny scowled at me with that same mistrustful glare that I often gave my stepfather’s sons. I approached him, holding the water out. His face scrunched for a second, and I jiggled the bottle to show him he could take it. He reached out, and when his wrist was close, I grabbed it and twisted his arm behind his back. He struggled, but I bent his wrist back and kicked out his legs so he was kneeling in front of me. My bottle fell to the ground, the water no doubt pouring out. I didn’t care. Big Guy was up, but Oliver shook his head at him to stay put. Clearly they’d had a scrap, and Oliver had won. I leaned in close to Skinny’s ear, making sure Big Guy could hear me as well. I growled, “What is mine is mine. If I choose to share, you just be thankful for what I give you. You tried to leave me for dead, so I owe you nothing.”
I kicked him in the back, sending him face first to the cement floor. He cursed but made no move to retaliate. As he stood up, he fished a puffer from his pants pocket and took three puffs. He wheezed but breathed steadily. Connor barked. Oliver picked Skinny up and patted his shoulders as if to calm him. Putting Skinny to the ground didn’t make me feel better. Not at all.
“Do that again, and I kick your ass. For what, the third time?” Big Guy warned from behind me.
I ignored him and wandered to the retaining wall. I stared down at the walking corpses as they bounced off each other and filled what should be silent air with tormented moans. The deaders. A word that sounded saner than the unspoken one most appropriate: zombie. Could a virus animate the dead, imitate organ functions, and create a world of horrific resurrection? I thought about the comics and books I’d read. According to Zechariah 14:12, “This is the plague with which the Lord will strike all the nations that fought against Jerusalem: Their flesh will rot while they are still standing on their feet, their eyes will rot in their sockets, and their tongues will rot in their mouths. On that day people will be stricken by the Lord with great panic. They will seize each other by the hand and attack one another.” Was I now looking at a walking risen army come to punish those left behind?
Connor’s barking started the deaders over the wall returning to us. When everything was quieter, they seemed to reset to their original positions. I wondered why. Did deaders return to the place where they died? With dusk approaching, the sun’s amber glow made everything look like a sepia photograph.
“I guess we’re hunkering down here for the night,” Big Guy mumbled as he watched the deaders.
“Right. I’m going to sleep here, trusting that you three won’t either shank me or rob me of my stuff,” Oliver said directly to him.
I caught a moment on Big Guy’s face when it looked as if that comment had actually hurt him. Skinny just scoffed.
“Because you could possibly have anything I want,” Big Guy muttered.
“Where are you holed up?” Oliver asked me.
Info I shouldn’t share. They could have had others on the way for a rescue. But I knew they didn’t, otherwise they wouldn’t have come to the town alone seeking supplies. Nor would they have scrambled up here when the army guy showed up.
Considering the way they ate, I assumed they didn’t have many supplies. I bet the stores had been pillaged long before, which made coming into town dangerous and fruitless. If there was even gasoline left in the cars, it would be the only thing still of value.
“Maybe we should have taken our chances that the army kid would have helped us,” Skinny said out loud, and both Big Guy and Oliver nodded.
“Are you all stupid?” I put the emphasis hard on stupid to get them glaring at me. To get them paying close attention. “Did she look like she was checking for survivors or looting supplies?”
Big Guy crunched up the empty stew bag and threw it over the roof. No one answered me, so they all knew my words were truth.
“I have nowhere to go,” Oliver admitted in a quiet voice.
“We’ve run out of places to find stuff. And we don’t know how to grow anything,” Skinny said, ignoring a hard glare from Big Guy.
“That true?” Oliver asked Big, who just nodded.
I knew Big and Skinny too well from school to know they weren’t lying about this. Oliver was the wild card, the one who showed up in town last minute before the apocalypse. Kind of like finding that last restaurant at the end of the universe just before the end times come. If he’d wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have fought Skinny to make Big Guy pull me up to the roof.
“Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.” My favorite quote from William Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. For the first time since I’d found myself on the roof, I understood this might be my moment for having greatness thrust upon me—whether I wanted it or not.
“I can save you,” I told them as matter-of-factly as I could. We had to act before the sun disappeared completely and the darkness made it impossible to find our way back to my home. We wouldn’t know if we were attacked until it was too late. Escape needed to happen now.
“You can save us?” Oliver asked, smiling as though this was the oddest thing he had heard yet. Odder even than the dead rising to life.
“Yeah. I have a fortified home. Plenty of food stocks. And I can train y
ou to protect us and to grow us all food. The question is, can you all trust one another as the same colony?”
“No, the question is,” Oliver said to me, “can we trust you?”
“I knew him from school,” Big Guy said. “He’s weird, but I think we can trust him.”
“If you want to be in my pack”—as I said this, I wondered where my stepfather had gone, and whether he’d found a colony too big for me to defend against alone—“I am the Alpha.”
Oliver nodded and gave the other two guys a fierce look. They nodded, too, but only after a snort of disapproval. I now had an army of three. Four once I got Kady.
By now the creatures had scrambled in front of the credit union door, all cramming together. Shadows on the skylight told me they were also milling about inside the credit union. I wandered around the roof, looking down at the street. Deaders seemed to work in packs, and I watched as one moved and others immediately followed. I could have waited until it was nearly clear again, but how would I have gotten off the roof?
Connor pushed his shoulder against my leg and nestled back to the ground. Unless I left him behind, my options were limited.
“No one is coming for us,” Big Guy said out loud.
“One of us has to lead the deaders away,” I said.
“Don’t get bit,” Oliver said to me, his voice cracking in a high pitch as if he were jesting. As if any of them could survive a minute down there.
“Lower me down first, and let me clear out the back. There are stragglers, but I should be able to thin them out.” I started to gather my stuff and took one more look at the pup. “I’ll put Connor in my pack.”
“That was sarcasm,” Oliver said.
“And how do we know you won’t just take off?” Skinny spoke, immediately taking another puff. They were all just scared kids, not much older than I.
“He needs us, too,” Oliver said. “That’s why we can trust him.”
“Meet me at the junction where Cariboo Highway meets Loon Lake Road,” I told them. “Walk off the highway, through the hills. Stay out of sight of the deaders who follow me down the highway.”
Children of Ruin Page 5