Nine

          My hand twitches for my shotgun but the person behind me catches the slight movement like she was staring at my hand the entire time.

            “Don’t touch it,” a girl’s voice orders. It’s shaky, nervous, but still threatening, like she won’t hesitate to fire on me.

            I put my hands up and slowly turn around, facing my attacker. I try not to let the shock cover my face when I see it’s a young girl, no older than thirteen. Her hair is like mine, long and brown. But while mine is recently washed, hers is matted and crusty, sticking out at odd ends. Her blue eyes meet mine as they glare at me.

            “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

            “Those are two questions,” I say gently. I have to calm her down so she doesn’t misfire. “Which one do you want me to answer first?”

            She purses her lips. “How did you find me?”

            “I didn’t know you were here,” I reply honestly.

            “Answer the first one.”

            I lower my hands slowly to my sides and sigh. “This was the first house I could find and I wanted to look for supplies.”

            “So you weren’t in that truck?”

            I shake my head. “I’m on your side.”

            She narrows her eyes and fixes her aim on me. “You don’t know what side I’m on.”

            I take a cautious step towards her and she takes a step back, not realizing how I’ve gained leverage from that simple movement. “You’re on the surviving side. You’re not with the military, you’re just trying to stay alive.” I take another step. “Am I right?”

            “I don’t owe any information to you.” Her grip on the pistol wavers. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot.”

            “Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can share some things with you. Then I can leave you be and go on my way. You never have to see me again and I won’t tell anyone that you’re here.”

            “Stop.” Her voice is shaking but I’m closing the distance between us. The floorboards creek underneath my weight and when I reach here, I put my palm on the gun, lowering it towards the floor. The aim stays there but I don’t remove my hand.

            “When was the last time you’ve eaten?” Her cheeks are sunken, her close hanging off her thin frame and her eyes are foggy and dull. How could a little girl like her have survived so long?

            “Stop,” she whispers, taking a step back. Her hand shakes and the gun falls to the floor. “Please.”

            Bullet growls at the sound and the girl suddenly looks at him, realizing he’s in the room. Fear plants itself in her eyes and suddenly she’s trembling all over. Her clothes, like her skin is filthy and covered in grime. When I realize she’s scared of Bullet, I lower myself to the ground and pick up the gun.

            “I won’t hurt you,” I tell her gently, looking inside the gun. “Neither will he.”

            I set the gun down on a small end table. Inside, it’s empty. Not a single bullet.

            The girl still isn’t at ease so I make my way into the dark living room and sit down on the floor. I pull back backpack onto my lap as Bullet settles into a sitting position beside me and search for any leftover food I’m carrying, hoping that I have at least something okay to offer.

            “What’s his name?”

            When I look up, still searching, the girl is perched beside the edge of a couch, watching me with curious, scared eyes.

            “Bullet. I don’t know his real name though, that’s just what I named him.”

            “Oh.” She’s quiet as I pull out a can of mandarin oranges. “I haven’t seen many dogs since the monsters. Only the men in uniforms have them, and sometimes at night you can hear the wild ones howling.”

            I stop pulling the lid of the can open and meet her gaze. “The military has dogs?”

            She nods. “They’re well trained, kind of like yours.”

            I try not to let my emotions get the best of me and look down at the can, finishing my job. I refuse to think that a wonderful animal like Bullet might be part of the group of people murdering the survivors while they search for me.

            “Do you like fruit?” I ask, placing the cup on the coffee table. The girl nods and I tilt my head back towards the dusty kitchen. “Why don’t you go find yourself a spoon?”

            When she returns she looks cautious as she puts the first spoonful into her mouth. I watch as she begins to eat it greedily, but tell her to slow down. I don’t want her throwing up the only thing I have because her empty stomach cannot handle it.

            As she eats, I decide that if I’m resting, I might as well search for information. “How did you get here?” I wonder, sounding sincere.

            She responds with her mouth still full, all manners before the apocalypse out the window. “This is my house.”

            My eyes widen. “You lived here, before the zombies?” She nods and I hold her gaze as she digs around in the can, the sound of the metal hitting the sides beating in time with my heart. “Where is your family?”

            I hate to ask it, but I have to know.

            Her eyes harden. “Where’s yours?”

            I shut up and rise to my feet to retrieve my shotgun. Back on the floor, I wipe it down with a spare t-shirt and check to make sure it’s loaded. The whole time the girl watches me, eating her oranges, and I wonder what happens now.

            Do I leave her here and go on my way? Do I take her with me, or hand her over to another group of survivors, if there is one? I already left the people I travelled with, the ones who I’ve come to love. I didn’t intend to replace them with someone who I have no forgotten memories of.

            I squint to see through the window. The day is still cloudy, but sun is peaking through them, trying to lighten up the day. I need to go searching for food before the day is lost, so I have to hurry this up.

            “What’s your game?” I ask.

            Her voice is quiet; innocent. “Gwen.”

            “I’m Sloane.”

            Gwen places her spoon on the table, creating a small puddle underneath the metal. She holds the can to her lips and drinks what’s left of the juice, hesitating before setting it down on the wood.

            “I need to go look for supplies.” I return everything to my backpack and stand. With it over my shoulder, I glance down at Gwen. “Do you know if there’s any food in the other houses?”

            She rises to her feet to stand in front of me and suddenly I realize how pale she is. “I can show you the ones I haven’t been through.”

            I take her offer because I don’t want to waste any more time than I have to looking in houses that are already empty.

            “Can I get my things, first? So I have something to carry what we find in?”

            I don’t know whether this means we’ll be travelling together but I don’t see much of another choice. I wait patiently for her and she returns several minutes later with a pink, butterfly backpack hanging over her shoulders.

            Together we step into the cool day and Gwen leads me down the cracked pavement, not even glancing towards the homes we pass.

            “I’ve been too scared to go very far by myself,” she admits. “So I’m sure there will be things in the other houses. I haven’t seen anyone going through them before.”

            We walk in silence for a long time, listening the wind blow the few trees that sit on the overgrown front lawns. It feels like I’m living in a completely different world when I look around myself or down at Gwen, but the quiet moments, the one when the scenery isn’t enough to distract me, they get me thinking of Jagger and Cole and of before.

            We’re rounding a corner when I hear it again, the rumbling.

            Bullet growls, a low and threatening sound as his ears perk back. Before I can say anything I take Gwen’s hand and pull her beside the waist high, broken fence. It’s too late to rush into a house, especially when it’s boarded up, and I refuse to risk standing out in the open.

            The three of us crouch low to the ground and watch through the cracks in the fence. The armoured Jeep returns, its dark green camouflaged pattern blending it into the hill. They continue down the road they went along before, not coming deeper into the way we are. The solider on the top still spins, looking around with the barrel of his gun. When they fade out of sight, I let out a breath but don’t get up right away.

            “How long have they been coming here?” I whisper to Gwen.

            “I don’t know.” She sounds breathless. “They usually just pass through. Twice in one day, that’s never happened before.”

            I swear under my breath and get up. “We better hurry and get through some of these houses. I want to be as far away from that road as possible by tonight.”

            There’s a silent understanding between us that Gwen isn’t going back to her home. I don’t know how long it’s been since she’s seen another human being before and with the military so close, it’s not safe for her there.

            “Do you see many zombies out here?” I ask as we walk, keeping my eyes peeled and my shotgun in my grasp.

            Gwen shakes her hair, her hair catching in the wind. “Not since the start of it all. I think most of them are locked in their houses. That’s why I always listen before going inside.”

            She looks concerned and I wonder what it’s like to live this long on your own, especially without killing the zombies.

            “We’ll be fine,” I assure her. “I’m more worried about the military than the zombies.”

            Her eyes find mine and they’re glassy. “You don’t even know the half of it.”