Eight

          It’s hard to sleep with my impending trip on my mind. I still need to talk to Cole and Jagger about going to find out what the military wants from me, about what they or whoever it was did to me. But even as I lay wedged between Jagger and the bottom of the u-shaped couch, I can’t shake the fear and worry from my mind.

            Even though there’s messy, unkempt beds down the hallway, enough for each of us to have one to ourselves, we felt safer in the living room. Like a sleepover, we made a fort of blankets, dragged from those beds with their pillows, and made our arrangements between the three sides of the u-couch. With Cole on one end, Jagger and I on the other, we have plenty of room, even with Bullet wedged somewhere in between.

            “I know you’re awake,” Jagger whispers into the back of my hair. His arm is draped around me, his torso against my bad and his head in my neck.

            Instead of lying, I tell him the partial truth.

            “It’s nights like these that make me think of what we’re missing.” As my lips go over the words, I wonder if I should have said who instead. But Jagger understands anyways.

            “They’ll always be with us,” he tells me, his voice quiet in the night. “And we’ll always miss them. But I don’t believe they’re missing.”        

            I disagree so I stay quiet and close my eyes. Sleep should be a release, a place to escape the apocalypse that has become my life. However instead my dreams are just as bad as when I’m awake, and the night brings the weight of everything in a heavier dosage.

            So as I keep my eyes closed, I concentrate on the soft breathing of the boys and dog behind me. The in, the out, the sighs. It distracts me from my swirling thoughts and eventually, my breathing joins in time with the others.

In the morning, I wake up in darkness and the sound of rain beating against the ceiling. With Jagger and Cole still asleep, I rise from my bed and head to the window. It’s not until I’m in front of the glass, staring into the subdivision that I hear Bullet’s panting behind me.

            When I turn around, he looks up at me, his eyes unblinking and sad. It’s as if he knows what I’m thinking. The idea had been in my head since yesterday, and even though I vowed I would talk to the boys first and see if we can come to some sort of understanding, I know it’s impossible. Either they don’t let me go and I leave on bad terms or they come with me and I put them in danger, more than I already have

            And on top of it all I don’t know what the military wants with me. Me. Jagger and Cole will just be disposable to them, no matter what they mean to me.

            Even though I could overthink things for the next while, I already know my mind is set. It would break my heart if anything happened to them, especially if the military is going to treat me exactly how they treated the civilians in the safe houses. I would make Bullet stay with them too, knowing it’s safer for him, but as he follows me around whilst I pack up my things, I know he would never allow it. The dog is smarter than anyone gives him credit for, and if I locked him in the house, he would simply find a way out and chase after me, no matter how far I went.

            When I step out into the early morning, suddenly everything dawns on me. I might not ever see Cole or Jagger again. I would still have so many answers gone left unsaid. But if I could forget them once, could I forget them again? Could I leave Jagger so soon after kissing him, finally admitting my feelings for him?

            I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of rain left on the ground from the night before. I have to do this. I can’t let the military go on killing so many innocent people for no reason. I need to find out what they want with me, and maybe, just maybe, if things are somehow good there, I can find Jagger and Cole after and we can all be safe.

            It’s a long shot, this happy thought that pushes me off the porch. But I grasp onto it with both hands as tightly as I can. If I let go of it, I might turn around and give into fear, and right now I just can’t do that.

            Walking through the suburbs alone is eerie and peaceful at the same time. Everything is quiet except the soft shuffling of zombies in the distance, walking aimlessly in torn front yards as they fail to notice me.

            I stop to look at the map while I have the chance. Instead of continuing through the streets I opt to head uphill and into the forest that backs onto the houses. The route is quicker, saving me maybe a day or two’s journey and I assume fewer zombies have been successful trekking into the woods. With roots and branches and dead limbs, it would be too easy for one to get caught and stay there forever.

            It takes only moments for my books to become damp but I’m thankful that they’re strong enough to keep the water from seeping into my socks. The underbrush is sopping and when I grasp the bark of a tree to get into the forest, the wet bark peels off in my hand. I stop and wipe my hand on my jeans, adjust my backpack, and begin on my long trek.

            For the most part the journey is peaceful and quiet, only squirrels and birds that are easily able to startle me. Everything takes much too long to dry in the chill of the start of autumn, and dying leaves fall to the ground from the weight of their dampness. Everything smells fresh and the quiet of nature makes me feel like everything that happened is behind me, like it happened to someone else. But somehow, I end up thinking of Emily.

            In my brief memories of her and what I’ve been told from the others, we were like sisters. She helped me get ready to go on dates with her brother, laughed with me, cried with me. And in the end, she trusted me with the secret that she was bitten. When I met her at the school, she was the opposite. Bitter, angry and full of hate for me, for reasons I didn’t understand until now. I disappeared a few months before the plague and showed up without any recollection of my life beforehand. How can you not be upset with your best friend for leaving you without a word and waltzing back into your life?

            When night begins to fall I search for the driest part of the forest and set up camp on the ground. I move fallen leaves into a pile to make something close to a pillow and wonder if I can make a fire without alerting threats, human or undead. I decide it’s okay and start a small fire in a pit of rocks, just for keeping me warm and the company. Bullet curls up beside me, wide awake like he’s guarding me as I snack on a bag of expired chips. They’re a bit stale, but taste just fine nonetheless. My stomach is growling but I can a palm full to Bullet anyway. It’s not healthy or will give us energy, but until we can get out of the forest and onto the other side to find a place to raid, it will have to do.

            As night begins to cool off I take a jacket I took from the first house and wrap it around me. Pulling the hood up, I cover ears and eyes, knowing that if I don’t I’ll be jumping up for every noise or movement that most likely is just the wind. Bullet moves closet to me, settling down on my pile of leaves.

            “I just made that,” I tell him as I lean my head back to rest on his side. “But you’re a much better pillow.” I give him orders to keep an eye out while he rests tonight, even though he probably has no idea what I’m saying. Then I close my eyes tightly, wrap my arms around myself in a hug, and listen to Bullet’s breathing until I can drift off.

☣

            I have to spend another night in the woods but I’m thankful for the break from the apocalypse. Even if it’s only a little while, it makes things seem normal, if living in the forest is considered something of that sort.

            Light trickles through the treeline, signaling that I’ve finally reached the other side. My muscles in my legs ache from the walk, not used to working with such uneven terrain. I pause at the edge, again on the top of a hill. In front of me at the vast expanse of land made up of fields and houses. I’m no longer in the city, but through the trees, I’ve made it out to the country.

            As I climb down, deciding to spend my day scavenging in the abandon homes for food and clothing, I wonder if Jagger and Cole have come looking for me. And if they did, I wonder if they know which way to go without the map.

            I pause for Bullet to race down the hill, making each paw print calculated and careful. He looks sad in the cloudy weather, like it’s just making everything weigh down on us harder than before.

            I’m walking up the ditch, pushing the damp, tall grass out of my way when I notice Bullet’s ears perk back. He drops so quickly to the ground that I wonder if he’s been shot, but then I hear the rumbling.

            Kneeling in the grass, I keep my face hidden enough to not be seen but can’t help but peek through the breaks to see what’s coming. An armoured Jeep with tinted windows and huge bumpers drives slowly by, scanning the vacant houses for any signs of live. The man on the top holding the attached machine gun spins around, looking on my side of the road before turning in the opposite direction. Then they’re out of sight and the rumbling fades.

            I wait a few extra moments before slowly rising, looking down the way the men left and then the way they came. When Bullet walks ahead of me I know the coast is clear but still keep my back up and low to the ground, shaken.

            We take refuge in the closest house. Unlike others, the windows are boarded, and as I turn the doorknob, I notice that all the other houses within eyesight are boarded up, too. They must have been the last to have the disease hit them and held themselves up in here.

            My shoe kicks something and I jump. A few boards lay at my feet, nails still attached. I wonder if who was inside was trying to get out or whether something was trying to get in.

            Inside, the place is dark and dusty, with particles floating through the air where the strips of light peek through the wooden boards. Everything is covered in filth from being abandoned for so long and I hope that means there’s food, but as I bend over to look in the cupboards, they’re all empty, completely bare. Only one has a single pretzel at the bottom and I’m not desperate enough to eat it.

            I close the cupboard with a sigh but don’t make a move to get up. Running a hand over my face, I take a moment to myself to plan where to go next and if it’s boarded, how to get in. Then I hear the footsteps behind me.

            And a click of a gun.