I ran my fingertips along the smooth curve of the bow. It was time for me to step up. Time to answer the question: What would Allison do?
EIGHT
There was no chance for me to test out my bow the next day. Winds gusted morning and afternoon, tearing at the shelter and sending cascading howls through the trees. The waves out around the shore became jagged, tall and peaked like whipped cream. There was a brief shower at midmorning and we were grateful for that. Our trips out of the shelter were quick, only to collect rainwater in the tin cups we had taken from the ship. We lined them up just outside the shelter and the rain pinged against the rims, making quiet xylophone songs, pixie music.
Our food situation did not improve. With the high winds blowing all day it was impossible to fish or really do much of anything. Every twenty minutes or so Noah dove for the twine ties holding down the shelter. The wind tore them free. When it was my turn to collect the rainwater cups I was sure the gales would rip the flesh right off my skeleton.
Without the fire, my reading daylight was used up by five o’clock; out of light, out of luck, like a shattered mirror in a closet.
I’m sure we should’ve been making intricate survival schematics or digging some kind of bear-proof trench, but instead Noah and I held a contest to see who could come up with the most convincing finger puppets for Shane. Riveting stuff.
It was a miserable day, and worse than the winds was the brief glimpse of a figure looming in the trees up the hill. No one else saw it, just me. I would recognize that kind of slumped, lumbering silhouette anywhere. The undead. A chill descended into my bones, settling there like a damp mold. We were not alone on the island. I watched the creature hesitate on the seam dividing the forest and the hill running down to the beach. He seemed to be testing something, maybe the steepness of the hill or the rockiness of the terrain. We had found out in Seattle they were not completely without ingenuity—hundreds had died when one single creature found its way through a mile-long stretch of ventilation pipe and into a warehouse. And now we knew they could handle themselves in the water. The thing vanished into the trees, its limp right leg trailing like a macabre little tail.
I said nothing.
What would it help, to spread panic like that? I couldn’t even be sure of what I’d seen. And if it really was one of the undead, I wasn’t equipped to take it out, not with an untried bow or Carl’s knife. Not to mention, why didn’t it just charge down the hill toward us? Sure, the terrain was rough, but just as a single zombie could find its way through an air vent, they could also be dumb as rocks. Animals were smarter. An animal might realize it couldn’t make a safe path down the steep hill. Whatever it was, I would stay up that night. If the eerie shadow made another appearance, or worse, actually ventured into camp, I’d share my suspicions with the others.
Right, because if a zombie tore through camp it would be time for reasoned discussion.
That night we got the flames burning again and I saw Andrea go to the first watch of the night. I joined her, claiming I couldn’t sleep. Two of us would be better than one, and I could sit up and see if the visitor returned. No matter how sleepy I became, I didn’t lie down, and when I started to doze the weight of my head falling jolted me back awake. I checked on Shane from time to time, and standing to do that helped keep me from abandoning the watch and giving in to sleep. The rest of the time, Andrea and I chatted softly or simply sat. She was the kind of person who didn’t mind sitting in silence. I appreciated that about her.
Shane was sleeping fitfully whenever I wandered back to the shelter. After midnight, when Andrea’s time was up, she went and roused Moritz to take his shift. Finally, when dawn came and went with no sign of another weird shadow, I joined Shane under the tarp, keeping Carl’s knife close just in case. Half-asleep, I heard Moritz get Noah up for his time at the watch, though I was too tired to make out much of what they said.
We survived the night without an attack. I woke pinned to the tarp by half of Moritz, who had sprawled out like a parachutist with a serious deployment problem. Crawling out from under his sour armpit, I verified that we were all alive and still human. Noah dozed quietly on his side. Andrea was up and fussing with the fire. The winds were down. Outside, near to the water, Cassandra was building a sand castle. When I gave the okay, Shane bolted out of the shelter and ran down to the beach. He watched Cassandra from a cautious distance away. She crowned the top of the castle with a little piece of driftwood wrapped in seaweed. A flag.
Oookay.
“That’s an impressive castle you’ve got there,” I said charitably, shuffling across the uneven ground. Her tower was lopsided and disintegrating into the sand. The flag was the only recognizable part.
“Thank you,” she chirped. “I couldn’t sleep, it was hot in there,” she said, using a voice that sounded remarkably like a child doing an imitation of a grown-up. The way she emphasized “hot” made my skin tighten.
“I hope you didn’t lose sleep,” I said. Then I turned and wandered away, motioning for Shane to accompany me, finding that Cassandra was too distracted to keep up the conversation. At the fire, Andrea was struggling to keep her eyes open. Shane went immediately to stoke the flames and tend the logs as I’d shown him. Poor Andrea. Her pretty face had gone puffy and there were dark violet bags beneath her eyes. I saw her throw a pill back and then blush when I caught her doing it.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
“What was that all about?” I asked.
“Just tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m a drug dealer. I might as well use the drugs, right?”
“Again,” I said sharply, tipping my head toward Shane. “Language.”
“Sorry,” Andrea muttered. She was glaring at Cassandra over my left shoulder. Andrea was the kind of woman who cleaned up into a knockout, but when she was pissed, she looked feral enough to bite your leg clean off.
“I thought that was the number one rule of, uh, pharmaceutical specialists,” I replied. Shane snorted, apparently unimpressed by my attempts to be sly around him. “Don’t get involved with the product.”
“Sadie, there are no rules. And if there are, well then fu—eff ’em.”
Her eyes wouldn’t budge from Cassandra. I waved my fingers in front of Andrea’s face. “Something you wanna tell me?”
“No.”
“Oh God,” I said, finally putting two and two together. The pills, the excessive crankiness, the glaring … “You’re covering her watches, aren’t you?”
Andrea leaned in close, dropping her voice. I could smell the fire on her hair. “She can barely chew her own food. Do you think I’m going to trust her with my safety? Nuh-uh, no thanks.”
“I’ll take one of them,” I said. “We can split it.”
Andrea nodded, silent, but I could read the relief in the sag of her shoulders.
“No more pills,” I added, turning to return to the shelter. “I need you sharp.”
She cocked her head to the side. I stuck my arms out and made a gargling groaning sound, rolling my eyes into the back of my head. “You know,” I said, straightening up. “In case we have company?”
Andrea chuckled and nodded, reaching up to tighten her ponytail. She had draped a blanket over her shoulders like a poncho and layered two pairs of thermal underwear. The wind and rain from the day before had left the beach drafty and foggy, unpleasant by anyone’s standards.
“Sadie,” she said. I stopped. “I know you just woke up and you probably don’t want to hear this, but we have enough food for today,” she said. “And today only. I can try to catch more fish but … they’re not exactly jumping into my lap.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I said.
“I beg your pardon?” She was laughing, watching me with her arms crossed over her poncho chest.
“I’ve got a plan.”
Boy did I ever. In the shelter, it took some creative limb arranging to shimmy the bow and arrows out from under the menfolk. Mori
tz started awake, his sparkly blue eyes flying open in alarm. I put my finger to my mouth and shushed him.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I whispered, nodding in Noah’s direction. “He’s still asleep.”
“What are you doing?” he asked. Well, he was awake now, no use lying.
“I’m going to go practice with this thing,” I said. And get my motherfucking hunt on. I didn’t say that part aloud.
“Where?”
“Just up the beach,” I lied, “I don’t want to hit anyone by accident.” I tested the end of one of the arrows. I had whittled it down to razor sharpness. My fingertip welled with blood. “These could shoot your eye out.”
Moritz swished his mouth to the side. He really did look like some kind of puppy. Those eyes could make a girl think twice about going off to war. Or to hunt. I smiled, gesturing breezily to the open air.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Do you actually want me to tell you?”
“Good-bye, Moritz.”
He sighed and rolled onto his back.
“Please be careful,” he whispered. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
Thoughtful man. Smart man. He knew he wasn’t going to win this one. Shane had stopped assaulting the fire with his makeshift poker, sitting next to the flames, watching from a distance as Andrea settled down to fish. So she was going to try and solve our food crisis, too, eh? A two-pronged approach. I liked it. I liked it even more when I remembered that I had never shot a bow in my life. What I didn’t like was the thought of leaving Shane behind while I went off to play hunter in the woods.
There was a bit of dried fish left in my garbage bag. It was starting to go rancid, but I choked it down and chased it with a dented (probably also rancid) can of Shasta from the cockpit hold. Andrea had tried to experiment with smoking some of the fish she caught over the fire. It resulted in slightly mushy, smoke-flavored, undercooked fish. Couple that with the fact that I had no idea what kind of fish it was, and you’ve got yourself a tried and true Mystery Breakfast. Her deboning skills could also use some work. If the zombies or starvation didn’t get us, then punctured tracheas might. My stomach growled. If I waited much longer I’d convince myself out of going. WWAD? I reminded myself. Allison would hunt. She wouldn’t sit around waiting for hunger or zombies or rogue fish bones to show her the door to hell. Just before leaving, I grabbed our compass, Carl’s knife, and a stale piece of white bread and wrapped it in a scrap of tarp. I’d need a break eventually and lunch too.
Shane was my last bit of business. He had started laying out his collection of shells and rocks next to the fire, waving his hands over his finds like some hypnotized, pint-sized shaman. I patted his curls, smiling wanly as I said, “I’m going to go practice with the bow.”
He gazed up at me and then nodded toward the forest. “Can I come?”
“No,” I replied. “I have to go alone. Stay here and keep the others safe.”
That made him smile. Leaving him, even momentarily, was hard, but desperate times call for desperately stupid shenanigans. Even so … I crouched down next to him. “I don’t want you to worry, yeah? I’ll be back as soon as I can. Are you going to worry?”
Shane’s lower lip trembled. “No…”
“You’re a terrible liar.” I ruffled his hair again. “Only I get to worry. Stick close to Andrea and I promise I won’t do anything stupid. With any luck, we’ll have something tasty for dinner tonight.”
With that I stood and paused before turning to the forest. “I love you, bud.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, what?”
“Yeah, you love me.”
“You could say it back.” I don’t know why, but I couldn’t justify leaving before hearing him say it.
He sighed, picking up one of the shells to use it as a pretend monocle as he mumbled, “I love you too.”
“Thanks. Be good.”
I started up the hill toward the tree line with my heart heavy and my feet dragging. I must have glanced back at Shane twelve times, feeling like a depressed Robin Hood and his band of Merry Gastrointestinal Complications. Hunger, dehydration, malnutrition, Shasta gas …
“Be careful,” Andrea called after me. She wouldn’t tell me to stay, wouldn’t insist that I was foolhardy and suicidal. It was really that bad. And apparently she had more faith in me than Moritz did. He didn’t need to know that I was going into the trees. Small, furry and edible animals didn’t generally hang out in the open on the beach, but art critics don’t spend a lot of time thinking about these sorts of things I guess.
The sun spread across the water, blinding me as I paused to look back at Andrea.
“You’ll shoot your eye out!” she cried.
“I already made that joke, loser!”
“You’re the loser, loser!” she shouted.
I laughed and waved back at her. “I’m taking the knife!”
“Fine,” she called. “Just don’t stay out too long.”
All variety of pants-pissing thoughts descended on me as I stared up at the fortress of trees marking the entrance to the forest. I remembered that we had no idea just how big the island was. It could be absolutely swarming with the undead or it could be some kind of killer bear sanctuary. Carl’s knife was big but it wasn’t that big. There was a bitter innuendo in there somewhere, but I was just too damn frightened to consider it.
Inside the tree cover it was about five degrees cooler. I took one of my arrows and aimed for a nearby tree. I would need some practice, and the trees were thinner here, with less brush. It would be a nightmare trying to find a stray arrow in the thicker parts of the forest. If I was going to blunder, I wanted to do it here, in the semi-open. With enough practice I might be able to make the trip short, and that meant getting back to Shane.
“Come on, Dad,” I whispered, testing the string. “Show me what you got.”
This should be the part where I explain that I spent two hours trying to relocate one arrow, or that the bow fell apart like an Erector Set the minute I tried to pull back the string. But one thing was going my way. The bow worked like a dream—and better, I was a natural.
On my second try, I hit the tree I was aiming for and when I went to inspect the impact, found that the arrow had actually dug in about half an inch. Hell yes. I stifled the wild urge to raise my bow and trill like Xena: Warrior Princess. I had more dignity than that … I’d wait until I was at least out of earshot of the others.
Silently, I thanked whatever bow-hunting ancestry lingered in my mutt heritage and, more importantly, I thanked my dad for dragging me along on all those camping trips. I’d absorbed something and his enthusiasm and attention had paid off. And maybe I was part Viking or Cherokee or simply part badass and Dad had failed to mention it. Satisfied that I wasn’t totally useless, and that a hunting trip might actually be worth the time and effort, I went a little deeper into the tress. If I could keep the camp due south, then finding my way back would be easy. Making liberal use of the knife would help, too, hacking a trail that would stand out against the untouched wildness of the forest. I would be back in a flash, I insisted, envisioning the look on Shane’s face when I showed him that even a clumsy, goofball aunt could put dinner on the table.
The density of the trees and shrubs swallowed up my footfall, muting birds and insects as if the vegetation and ground lay beneath a heavy blanket of snow. Here sounds simply died. I kept a close, careful eye out for infected animals. I’d seen my share of infected dogs in the city, and they tended to give themselves away quickly. They didn’t act like normal animals. They rushed, desperate, unafraid. I was pretty confident I would at least notice a fawn charging out of the brush. I looked up, awed by the height of the trees. The pines were king and they held court in force. Their white scent touched everything. I felt alive, weirdly alive, like … I don’t know. Like a person that wasn’t me. Like a person who actually enjoyed the hunt and the idea of killing. Just the suggestion of
hunting live animals used to give me kumquat-sized hives. But maybe there was something untapped in all of us.
Channeling Jack Handy would have to wait. There was a leafy rustling directly ahead to the north. Aha, yes! The prey, my prey, was near. It sounded perfect, just like it ought to, a deer maybe or a wild pig. Did those exist in this part of the world? I didn’t know, but my blood was running high, going straight to my head, making me giddy. The oxygen here made a significant impact, too. It was rich, clear, and made your body run differently, the way high-performance fuel gives a sports car an edge, a spark.
I crouched, not because I could even see the damn thing, but because that’s what my dad and people do in movies when they hunt. It made sense. Maybe if it were a deer it would spot me if I stayed standing. Dumb ass, a deer would smell you from a mile away. I pushed aside a tall ferny plant and tried to step over a thorny bush. The bush snagged my leggings and I cursed, stung by something that might have just been a nettle but felt more like a scorpion.
The rustling persisted. I hadn’t scared the thing off with my goofus tracking.
I followed, trying to keep a safe distance away in case it was something big and hungry, promising right then that if it was anything larger than a doe I would retreat and hightail it back to camp. It was much farther away than I had originally thought. I wasn’t going to lose it, not when I had this feeling. I could do this, I thought, and I even went so far as to picture myself returning to camp with a doe carcass slung over my shoulders like I was Kevin fucking Sorbo.
The forest emptied out into an oval-shaped clearing. The grass had been tamped down, flattened. There were deer droppings everywhere, sitting in clumpy land mines every few inches. I kept to the fringe of the clearing, trying to stay out of the den and still keep my eyes on the rustling. This was hard work. My arms were beginning to ache from holding the bow in its taught position, with the arrow carefully balanced. The forest had felt chilly and damp before, now it was just damp and I wouldn’t have been surprised if I was the dampest thing in it. I honestly couldn’t tell if I was hot, cold or just sweaty or maybe a generous heaping of all three.
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