“Please...” Brooke said with watery eyes. It seemed as though she wanted to say something else, but no words followed.
“I actually think we’re close to the road,” John changed the subject. “Let’s go grab some of our stash before the weather ruins what’s left of it.”
John tried to not show his appreciation for Brooke’s concern, but he didn’t release one of her hands as he led her through the trees.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
“What the hell happened to you?” Moto asked John when they’d returned. “I didn’t know you were going all the way to the road. Is that really all you could carry?”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine,” John said, laying down a few small cans of food next to Brooke’s. “It’s all we could carry, because it’s all that’s left. Some animal dug up half of it and tore through it. A lot of the stuff wasn’t just damaged, but gone. This is all that we could salvage.”
“Someone must’ve found the stash,” Brooke said.
Though they were happy to have retrieved any food, it came as a blow to find out that the little bit they had was all they’d be guaranteed for winter. Moto didn’t see any use of continuing the conversation and returned to showing Hillary how to build a fire without wasting multiple matches.
“Ok, so, after you dig the little trench, you stack some of the smallest sticks across it side-ways like this,” he instructed the very attentive Hillary. “And, once that’s lit, we’re going to add bigger and bigger sticks and then limbs until we have a real fire big enough to keep everybody warm and safe. But, remember, it has to be wood dry enough that it snaps when you bend it. If it’s wet, it’s harder to light and it’ll make a lot more smoke for people to find us.”
“That’s easy!” Hillary said excitedly as she pulled out the lone match Moto had allowed her to attempt lighting the night’s fire. But after a few failed attempts at even lighting her match, Hillary offered that she’d let Moto take care of lighting the fire for one more night.
“Ok, fine,” Moto responded. “But then you’ll have to let me teach you about bear bags.”
Sprite dropped from his dedicated pull up tree branch and approached John. “You get in a fight with the lady friend?” he asked, gesturing to the bloody rags covering John’s hands. “I bet it was a knock down drag out.”
“Ha, yes and no,” John laughed. “Just resorting to my roots more than using my head I guess. It’s nothing, though.”
“Punching is my first resort too,” Sprite grinned. “Don’t sweat the food; it’s nobody’s fault. We’ll find more.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m glad we found out now instead of when we’d really be counting on it.”
“Man, you wouldn’t believe how much training it took before I’d remember to use my taser instead of just sitting a kid down the old-fashioned way,” Sprite continued. “You can tell that I like to start with the south paw,” he said, while petting the scars across his left hand’s knuckles.
“Damn. It looks like you punched out a window,” John said.
“I used to drink a lot. I don’t remember much about that night, but the way the story is told, you’re not too far off,” Sprite said a little more softly.
“Don’t worry, mine is worse,” John smiled, pulling back the hair that had covered his brow to reveal a large scar. “I walked right through the sliding door to our back patio.”
“Oh, God I remember that!” Moto chimed in. “He was sprinting for a cut of cake on my 5th birthday. Still the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I was hoping you couldn’t hear us,” John said. “I can’t believe you still joke about it. I could’ve died, man.”
“Oh, whatever. You just remember it that way ‘cause you were a kid. That’s nothing compared to this,” Moto said, pulling up his pant leg to reveal a large, deep scar extending the length of his leg. “All the little ones are actually from zombies, but the deep one is from when I had to lay my bike down.”
“Oh, okay.” John scoffed. “You couldn’t figure out how to change lanes going over 40, and you nailed a curb.”
Everyone laughed before Moto had a chance at his rebuttal.
“I gawt wun!” Hillary said proudly with her tongue protruding from her mouth. “I bit off my tongue when I slipped in the shower.”
“I guess I’m just too coordinated,” Brooke said. “I don’t have anything impressive, maybe a scrape on my knee from softball; oh, and this one on my arm from donating plasma.”
“People still do that?” John asked.
“Oh, it’s definitely worth it if you have whatever I have,” Brooke said, showing her arm. “I got paid more for my plasma than I could’ve gotten at any part-time job on campus.”
The scar comparisons made for a pleasant evening of forgotten stories that had previously faded from memory. Each story seemed to plant a seed of remembrance for someone else’s experience that they never dreamed they could’ve forgotten. Until the darkness descended, everyone laughed and carried on for the first time in days, and the small campsite resembled something of a home. The men all took turns comparing the lengths of their post-apocalyptic beards and marveling at their mountain man appearances as best they could by the reflection of the stream. Once things had finally grown quiet, John realized that he was the only one still awake and had, by default, been nominated for first watch. He sat alone beside the dimming fire and thought about how happy he’d grown with his small group of survivors. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on the pleasant thoughts, though, and eventually deviated to those of dread at the realization that he would, more than likely, lose one or all members of his new family. The weight of the responsibility he felt for them all was ever-present and, at times, overwhelming. He couldn’t imagine the punishment he’d endure if anything were to happen. Especially if it was something he could’ve prevented—or something he’d caused.
John wasn’t sure if Brooke had just awoken or had never been asleep, but he was comforted when she slid over nearer to him for warmth. Instead of focusing on the pressure to keep her and the others safe, John embraced the opportunity and wrapped his arm around her. Brooke nuzzled her head against his shoulder, and it wasn’t long before she was sleeping peacefully.
John snapped upright and realized that, though he’d been able to stay awake, he had been zoning out for some time. Out in the woods, on what he presumed to be one of his freshly cut trails, John heard the distinctive sound of a large animal walking slowly on two legs. He had gotten used to even the smallest of forest wildlife sounding monstrous at night when traversing across the dead leaves of the forest floor. Whatever was approaching, he was sure, had to be at least the size of a grown man.
Thankful that he hadn’t re-illuminated their camp by adding fresh wood to their now dim fire, John grabbed his gun and snuck over to the tree line nearest to the sound of the approaching footsteps. The previously overcast sky had cleared and allowed for the large moon to light up much of the ever thinning forest. A short way down the path from camp, John laid flat and waited until finally spotting a human form stumbling around the final bend in the trail. John began to lower his gun, sure that the creature’s gait meant that the intruder was only a singular zombie. He normally dispatched the lone zombies in a quiet manner both to preserve bullets and to allow everyone else to remain sleeping. Suddenly, though, the creature called out to him.
“Hey, you. I see you!” The silhouette spoke.
John raised his aim again, finger pressed against the trigger while remaining silent. A dozen thoughts ran through John’s mind in a matter of seconds. What if they go back and tell their people where we are? Has he been watching us? Do we have the resources to fill another mouth? If something were to happen, what would become of the girls?
A loud pop rang out from the direction of the man, and John instinctively pulled the trigger.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
A feeling of panic struck John as he realized what had happened. Amidst the screams from H
illary back at camp and the final fading moans from the stranger, John realized that the popping sound he’d heard had only been a snapping twig at the man’s feet. After a brief moment of consideration, though, John stood by his decision. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but given another chance to face the choice under identical circumstances, he presumed that the scenario would play out in the exact same fashion. He had made a decision that his new family came first, and to accomplish that meant making hard decisions. Though he had already come to terms with that fact, he decided it was best to hide his actions from the rest of the group, regardless of his pure intentions.
After closer inspection, John realized that the old decrepit man was already dead. John was relieved that he had hit his target in a way that ensured that the man wouldn’t have to suffer and that there wouldn’t be any danger of reanimation. By the looks of the man’s skin, John would’ve guessed that the man had been severely infected already, and he had saved everyone a lot of grief over how to deal with the potential threat. Still, though, he planned out how to best conceal his actions from the others.
In the time it took for John to turn and leave the evidence of his mistake, Moto and Sprite were already upon him.
“What happened? Are you ok?” Moto asked as he approached.
“Yeah, yeah, sorry for the scare,” John said slowly, buying time to think. “I’ve been tracking a, uh, skunk, and finally had a chance to get him before he sprayed one of us or Timber. Who knows if the zombies are big on smells or not, but I figured it was worth the risk of a gunshot.”
“Oh,” Sprite said, a skeptical countenance communicated through his brow. “Glad everything’s ok.”
After settling the girls back down for the night, John waited anxiously for everyone to go back to sleep so that he could bury the stranger’s remains before the cloak of darkness had lifted. It hadn’t been long before silence had reclaimed their shelter, and John crept down the trail where he eventually stumbled over the dead body. He paused for a moment to compose himself and do his best to avoid completely covering himself in the man’s blood. In his silence, John heard obvious footsteps given away by the crunching of dry leaves along the same path he’d just walked.
“You really think you can lie to me after all these years?” Moto asked.
“Fine,” John whispered, “but keep quiet.”
“What really happened?” Moto asked.
John gestured behind him where Moto could barely make out the dead man’s outline. Moto opened his mouth to whisper a response, but instead heard a much deeper voice.
“Are you sure he was alone?” Sprite asked without having been seen.
“Damn, you’re stealthy for a guy your size,” John whispered loudly. “I don’t know for sure. I thought he was a zombie at first.”
“By the looks of him, he would’ve been one sooner than later,” Moto observed.
“We’ll have to keep an extra close eye out tonight,” Sprite said. “If any of his group is around, they’ll definitely come poking around where the shot came from after he doesn’t come back.”
“How’d you know it wasn’t a skunk? Am I that bad of a liar?” John asked.
“I’m country, man,” Sprite answered. “Skunks still spray if you shoot ‘em. Only way to prevent it that I know of is to trap ‘em and drown ‘em.”
“You can’t be serious,” Moto said.
“Oh yeah, man. It works. It’s like boiling a frog in a pot,” Sprite answered.
“You’re a scary kind of dude, Sprite,” Moto said.
The men settled for digging only a shallow grave after encountering the relentless root system just below the earth’s surface, and rested the unlucky old man in his final resting place without waking the girls.
Both Moto and Sprite told John that he had done the right thing, though they doubted that they themselves would’ve been able to follow through in a similar situation. Though Sprite and Moto offered to stay up for the rest of the night, John laid restlessly in the shelter. Even more disheartened than before, his mind ran wild about the unavoidable deaths that surely awaited him and his new family. If they were still encountering people out in the middle of the woods, he wondered how he could ever be confident in his ability to keep them all safe and fed. He wondered if he’d die alone, like the old man, and buried in a shallow grave, or if he’d end up laying down his life for the preservation of another’s.
After hours of reflection on his life to this point, and contemplation on the future, John realized that he was prepared for his days to be cut short. The thing he was not ok with was losing his humanity altogether, and living only for the sake of living. He didn’t know if he really and truly regretted the decision he’d made that night, but he wanted to make it a point to also try and nurture his human side whenever possible. Unexpected to even himself, his first course of action in preserving his humanity came in the form of seeking out someone to love and be loved by. Though it would undoubtedly end in an even more painful departure for one or both of them, he had to let Brooke know of his growing feelings for her. For the first time since being deployed, he fully let his mind drift to a place of daydreaming about happiness and selfless love.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
The next morning, John was shocked to see that the sun had already risen high above the horizon, and all of the others sat quietly around the fire finishing their inadequate breakfasts. Each one was taking turns talking about what their first meal was going to be after the world was rid of the undead. Only a few hours previous, John would’ve scolded them all for losing focus and wasting time fantasizing about something that would never happen. This morning, though, John struggled to find a reason not to be joyful and walked straight to Brooke by the creek where she was rinsing off her Styrofoam bowl.
“Well, look who woke up!” Brooke said cheerfully. “None of us could bring ourselves to wake you.”
“Thank you for that,” John said. “I can’t remember the last time I felt so rested. So listen, can we talk?”
“Well sure, but why not eat a little something and we can just talk on our hike?” Brooke asked.
Happy to wait for an opportunity to talk in private, John prepared a bowl of dry cereal and some bleach-treated water with a modest addition of lemonade powder to mask the taste.
“Man, remember dishwashers?” Moto asked. “Or even running water? I’m so tired of having to walk down to the creek and hunch over just to rinse my dishes.”
“We had no idea how good we had it,” Sprite agreed. “If I could go back, I’d slap myself around for taking it all for granted.”
“I used to flush the toilet just to get rid of my gum,” Moto recalled. “What I wouldn’t give for one working commode.”
“I had a thing for stray hairs,” John laughed. “I would throw out my whole bowl of cereal if one of my own hairs fell into the milk.”
“Oh, yeah,” Moto laughed. “He’d throw the biggest fits whenever mom made him eat around it. Even if she took the hair out for him, he would work himself to tears.”
“Easy, Ivory Coast,” John threatened.
“Wait, Ivory Coast?” Sprite asked. “I’ve gotta hear this one.”
“So, they let us watch that last World Cup when the U.S. beat Spain; so, keep in mind, this is like two years ago,” John started with a grin. “Well, the guys are all talking about the next match with Ivory Coast, and Moto is just completely baffled.”
“Shut up,” Moto said. “I’ll do anything.”
John continued without pausing. “Moto had gone for over twenty years thinking that Ivory Coast was a brand of bar soap.”
Everyone laughed, including Hillary after feeling left out.
“Ok, ok. Everyone pretend that you’ve always known every country ever,” Moto said.
“How did you even graduate?” Sprite laughed.
“I cheated,” Moto answered. “What? I’m sure you cheated your way through Spanish or something.”
“But I still don
’t get how you never picked up that little bit of information outside school,” Sprite continued. “We’ve failed you as a society.”
“Well of course you know where it is, you’re African American,” Moto said.
“Whoa, whoa,” John interrupted.
“No, I got this,” Sprite said. “If you wanna get technical, I’m Native American.”
“Holy shit, for real?” Moto asked.
“Well, not like you’re thinking, but yes. The people you’re thinking of are actually indigenous Americans. Native just means you were born there. I’m native, I just happen to be black as hell.”
“Ok, awesome,” Moto said. “Black is so much easier to say than African American.”
Sprite laughed out loud. “Yeah, let’s just go with that.”
John caught a subtle gesture from Brooke and stood to follow her out for their walk. He was frustrated when, after only a few steps down the trail, Moto predictably came running up behind them and spoiling John’s best chance to follow through with his promise to himself. Mercifully, though, Moto had only come to give John a rifle for their walk, considering the uninvited excitement from the previous night.
“I guess I just want to talk for a little bit and finish my spiel before you answer, is that okay?” John asked uncomfortably after Moto was out of earshot.
“Of course, what’s up?” Brooke asked with an interested but otherwise indiscernible look on her face.
“So, I’ve been thinking a lot lately… like a lot. I think it’s important that you know how I feel, because it wouldn’t be fair to either of us for me to just keep acting like nothing has changed. Whatever your response is is completely fine, but I just have to get it off my chest for both our sakes.”
John hesitated when Brooke’s only response at this point was, “Okay…”, even though he’d asked her to hear him out. He felt the rifle begin to grow slippery in his hands and panic set in that Brooke might not have any interest in what he was about to divulge.
And the Blood Ran Black Page 20