"Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?" — †

T E D D Y

Well, I'll tell you something — I'd seen a mouth without teeth, but I'd never seen teeth without a mouth. The little girl's jawless maw gaped, and her wire-bound prosthetic arm sparked as she lifted a straw hat. Its bottom was lined with food wrappers, licked clean.

The other Curados lined up on the lightning-cracked road made no sign that they'd noticed me stop, but their apprehension was thick and heavy in my mouth, even through the bandanna. The green-and-white cloth pressed against the tear on my mouth. My fingers ached to pick at it, but they were watching me, they were. Waiting. 

Could they know? They might. Some Curados can sense the Infected. 

I crouched to the girl's level. "Saving up for a new mouth?"

Hey, you had to wonder about it. I had my face chewed on too, you know.

She stared. She poked me with the edge of the hat.

"Well. Since you asked so nicely." I dug into my fanny pack. A mazapán landed in the center of the nest of wrappers.

She looked down at the tiny pastry, then back up at me. I could read her eyes: Cheapskate.

"It's valuable. Really. They don't make those no more."

She stared.

"Girly," I grumbled, scowling into the dark recesses of my fanny pack, "you haggle like a crone. You like Gansito cakes? Course you do. Here, take two. Hell, take them all for all I care."

Those she was excited about. Not the rare jewel of pastry sweet that I hadn't seen since before the Apocalypse. I stared into the hat, trying to convince myself not to wrestle a mouthless Curado girl over peanut candy.

"Bleed me dry and break my heart," I sighed. "Typical woman."

I turned away. Rats and birds and maybe a decent-sized dog, I scolded myself. That's what you need. Get what you came here for.

Back straight, head up, eyes aboveground. Look alive.

I hadn't even fully turned the corner when the screaming started. Stupid, stupid, I'd practically smelled it — I whirled right back around, breaking into a sprint.

Wrappers crackled underfoot as the Curados swarmed over each other. A stooping old man lumbered around them, lashing with his cane whenever he found an opening. A tiny woman with frizzled hair burst from the circle, spraying the air with bouncing sparks as she waved a small mechanical arm around her head.

The others knocked her over, wrestling and cursing and ripping at the naked wires. She screamed as they tore her hair, her clothes, clawed at the piercings in her nose. A skinny kid in a men's size Lumberjack lifted his Iron Man mask to hide his prize in his mouth.

I couldn't run toward it anymore. Christ, Holly, what do I do?

A spark bounced, landing between my feet.

Every time I think back to that day, I play out different scenarios in my head. I've imagined myself tearing the bandanna from my face with a roar, blue veins bulging in my neck. The distraction would send them screaming (or, most likely, change their target to me. My heart is the highest form of currency, you know).

My favorite vision was this: in a burst of undead strength, I'd throw them all aside. I'd shield her with my body and run back home, where Mama would scold us and pinch her nose and give us soup. I would try to smile my way out, but she would break out her infuriating Holly laugh —

They broke apart then, the Curados. They went back to their spots on the sidewalk, glaring jealously as they clutched their spoils. All that remained in the middle of the street was a torso, an arm, a head without a mouth — or teeth — they took those too.

She stared, forever.

"God." I covered my ears, pressing hard on my head like if I tried hard enough it'd burst like a fat grape. "Lord My God."

Though I walk in the shadow of the valley of death I fear no evil though I walk in the shadow of the valley of death and death and death and death

I couldn't run away.

Hey, Teddy, the dead girl's eyes asked. Wanna hear a joke?

It was Holly's voice.

You're not Holly. I see that now. I never even had a chance to save Holly. I could've saved you and didn't. Even worse — I might have saved you if you were Holly.

You'll like this one, the girl promised. What's the difference between a human and a Walker?

Fine, tell me. I wanna know.

They go after different parts.

I took a stumbling step back. My foot hooked on something, and I fell.

The kid in the Iron Man mask stood over me, his head tilted like a vulture's. Are you dead? He seemed to ask. Can I eat you?

I recoiled, scrabbling back to my feet.

My legs remembered how to flee, and flew me up the road. Back to the outskirts, back to the woods where my sister died and the world ended.

I dove into the brush, and the brush embraced me. Their craggy twig fingers tugged at my clothes, poking my exposed skin. Leaves shedded themselves on my shoulders and hair. I ducked low branches, avoided jutting roots.

I emerged stick-haired into a clearing where no less than twelve cats were sprawled on a grassy mound, sunning themselves. Behind the mound was a wooden shelter where nestled a CD player, old discs (Iggy and the Stooges, The Cranberries, The Warning) and cat figurines of plastic and porcelain and glass.

My heavy breath whistled through the hole at the corner of my mouth. I ruffled and smoothed my hair and clothes before bending to unlace my boots. Draw not nigh hither; put off thy shoes from thy feet, for the place whereupon thou standest is holy ground.

One of the cats lifted its head at my return, yawning. Barefoot, I walked up to the mound.

"Didn't I try?" My knees buckled. I let myself fall. I cradled my head in my hands. "I buried you. I made you a shrine. You always wanted a cat. I brought you cats. Isn't this enough? I can't change this crap world any more than you can. What more do you want? Tell me. Send me a sign. Anything. Please."

Something hard poked me in the back.

"Don't move," the young voice said, but I'd already twisted my body around and stared into the mouth of a shotgun. 

I raised my eyes to the dark holes of the Iron Man mask.