Ten

          I’m scared to move my eyes away from the zombie lying dead on the ground. Its vacant eyes stare up at the ceiling as its hands slowly loosen. I watch as they quickly let go of Cole’s ankle and fall limply to the ground, creating a thump that’s the only sound in the gas station.

            If Cole’s bitten, that means two of us are dead. Unfortunately, I’m not glad to have the company.

            “Cole,” Emily breathes. Her eyes are as wide as gold balls. I expected Jagger to be the first one to speak but his face is cold; hard. He’s staring directly at Cole and he’s looking right back, almost as if they’re speaking telepathically. It isn’t until Emily rushes forward, her hands grasping for Cole that their gaze finally breaks.

            She wraps him in her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. It takes Cole a moment to recognize what’s going on before his arms stiffly wrap around Emily, but his gaze stays hardened.

            I hear Jack throw up for the second time behind me as Emily finally pulls away. “Your ankle…?”

            Finally daring to look, I realize that there isn’t any blood. In fact, Cole’s jeans look completely fine, other than the slight rip where the zombie tried to bite him.

            “I think I’m okay.” Cole doesn’t sound like he can believe his own words. “I thought he bit me but he didn’t break through…” He trails off, shaking his head in confusion.

            “Don’t question it,” Jagger practically snaps. Finally he brushes past me, not daring a glance in my direction. “Just be happy you’re okay and don’t be such a jackass next time.”

            Cole doesn’t say anything as everyone else other than me scouts the gas station. He doesn’t meet my eyes when he finally turns away and steps outside into the fading daylight.

            For a few hours I’m alone, sitting by myself in the storage room in the back as afternoon turns into night. I can’t deal with Cole’s strange silence and Emily crooning over him and I’m in no state to be answering Jack’s constant questions.

            My hair falls to the left as I lean, trying to see out of the small crack in the doorway. When everyone is seated together, talking quietly, I decide to rewrap my ankle. All day I’ve been planning my escape so that everyone can be safe, but it’s like Jagger is anticipating it. Every time I come up with a plan he’s there, standing in the doorway.

            I reveal my ankle, trying not to gag at the sickening sight. I only see it for a moment before it starts to blur and then everything turns dark.

            A man in a dark suit is pacing an alley, smoking a cigarette as if he’s waiting. I can’t see his face; only his sunglasses that seem unnecessary to wear at night. Quickly he pauses, whipping around at a noise I didn’t hear.

            Another man walks towards him, a briefcase swinging against his gait. He’s also in dark clothes and continues to keep his head down.

            “Do you have the money?” The new man asks. His voice is harsh, like he’s losing it.

            The man in the suit nods before reaching into his jacket, his fingers searching for something. When he grabs it, he pulls his hand out to reveal a wad of cash.

            “That’s not enough,” the briefcase man says angrily. He starts to back away, ready to sprint when the man in the suit reaches into his jacket. His hand retrieves a slick, metal pistol and he points it at the escaping man in record timing.

            “Stop or you’re dead.”

            The briefcase swings as the man stops immediately.

            “You don’t know what you’re getting into,” he mutters quietly, his back still turned to the gun. “Giving what’s in the briefcase to someone…it’s not fair to them. It’s not what they would want.”

            The gun moves closer as the man walks towards the other, his gun never wavering from its perfect aim. One, small movement of a forefinger and brains will be everywhere.

            “But it’s what I want.”

            The man pulls the trigger and the briefcase spills onto the ground.

            “Sloane?”

            I recognize the voice but the yellow lights above me make my trip back to reality much more difficult than usual. I feel hair being brushed out of my face but I’m not sure by who, or what’s going on. I just had a memory…but was it mine?

            I blink a few times, the light in front of my eyes creating a silhouette of a figure leaning over me. I start to sit up but my head feels too heavy, as if I’m no longer carrying my own weight.

            “Let’s take it easy.”

            My eyes search the shadow for who’s here right now, sliding their hands underneath the back of my head. “Jagger?”

            “Yes, it’s me.” He starts to rise me up into a sitting position and everything blurs as I move.

            “What happened?”

            He doesn’t answer right away. While he holds me up I look around, trying to figure it out for myself. Checking my ankle feels foggy in my head, almost as if it was a dream. In fact, the possible memory I had feels clearer and more likely.

            “I heard a noise and when I came in here, you were on the concrete. I think you hit your head.”

            Jagger’s face finally becomes clear in front of me, like a camera focusing on an object. His chocolate mixed with blue eyes are piercing in the low light, making them look more unique than usual. I find myself unable to look away and I can’t tell whether it’s because I’m mesmerized, hit my head or both.

            He runs his thumb across a bump on my forehead and then moves his hand to brush his hair away from his face. His other palm never lingers from my back, keeping me propped up though I’m sure I can manage on my own.

            “I think you’re okay,” he decides, assessing me. I feel like this is becoming a regular thing; me becoming hurt and him fixing me. “How do you feel?”

            “Okay,” I repeat.

            His mouth turns into a frown. “How’s your ankle?”

            I turn my head away, moving my gaze to the floor. This conversation isn’t going to end well. Of course he knows it’s not good. Of course he knows I’m going to turn into a mindless, disgusting creature. But does he be realistic about it? Nope.

            “You know how it is,” I tell him through clenched teeth. It takes everything I have to not push him away from me and explain again that I’m putting him and the others in danger.

            “Let me see it.”

            I open my mouth and begin to tell him no but his free fingers are already grasping around the bandage and gently unravelling it. If he wasn’t holding me up I would jerk away but I’m unable to move in his grasp. Instead I’m left watching as he slowly unwraps the bandage, revealing more and more bloodstained white.

            I turn my head away, not wanting to see. Instead I look over the grimy floor, my eyes grazing over a few bloodstains. This almost seems surreal, like I’m dreaming. I can’t remember my past and all of the sudden the few people I know are the only ones I can trust. But now, the small life I do remember is all falling away because I am going to die.

            “Jagger, there’s something I need to tell you,” I quietly admit. His hands are no longer moving but instead I can feel them resting on my bare skin. “Because I haven’t exactly been honest and since things are about to change…” I trail off, not wanting to make him angry before I’m gone. “I’ve been remembering things.”

            I feel his body stiffen around mine. “I thought you couldn’t remember anything.” His voice is monotone, giving me nothing to go by what he’s thinking.

            “I couldn’t. But off and on since I woke up, I’ve been having…” I pause, searching for the right word to explain. “I’ve been having flashbacks,” I settle. “A lot of the time I can’t piece what I’m remembering together, because I don’t know who’s in them or what’s going on. But I’ve seen who I know is my dad in a few of them.”

            Jagger is silent and I know better than to meet his eyes. It isn’t until several moments go by that he speaks quietly, lowering his voice when the talking from outside grows silent.

            “When do they happen? How?”

            I try to piece together what I know for the explanation I’ve been trying to find for myself. “I think something has to be familiar for me to remember. When I was in the gas station with Cole, the zombie grabbed my backpack and that’s when I had a memory about wearing one. I can’t force them; I’ve tried. They just come when I least expect them.”

            Jagger surprises me. “That’s great, Sloane.”

            Something in his voice is off so I lift my eyes, giving him a daring look. I meant to ask him why he didn’t sound truthful but I don’t get the chance. Instead I follow his gaze towards my ankle, which was before I had a flashback, completely torn. Now, looking at it, it looks like it’s a few days healed.

            I gasp and Jagger’s head whips towards me, confused. “What’s wrong?”

            “It didn’t look like that before I fell,” I whisper. I can’t take my eyes away. The skin looks raw and dry, rather than infected and bloody. “How did this happen? Jagger, I swear it didn’t look like that. I know what I saw.”

            “It’s fine.” He drops my ankle and rises to my feet. His vacant eyes stare at the wall as he lets go of me completely and heads for the back door that goes into the night.

            “Where are you going?” I quickly wrap my ankle and stagger to my feet.

            “I’m going to think,” he replies before leaving me in the dark.

            Alone, I go off in search of Bullet, knowing he’s probably with one of the others. In the main area of the gas station I find no one there but my dog, who’s standing as if he’s been waiting for me.

            “Hey.” I pat his head and his tongue slides out of his mouth while he pants happily. The moment I remove my hand he takes off, leading me down one of the scattered isles. I step over cookie boxes and crunch on top of chips until I stop in front of Jack.

            I don’t know what to say to him. I never do. Even though he’s close to my age, he’s too innocent to be going through this and it’s taking a toll on him. He doesn’t even look up, letting his chocolate hair create a veil over his eyes. He’s slumped against a broken, white shelf, spinning something on the floor. It’s making a metallic sound that grows louder when it slows.

            Slowly, I sink onto the cold concrete beside him. I don’t say anything and neither does he. Maybe not knowing what to say is a good thing. With Jack, the company and silence of someone else is comforting, unlike the brooding silence of Jagger or the questioning from Cole and Emily.

            Bullet drops on the right side of me, keeping his ears perked for any threat or noise. The three of us don’t move an inch. Instead, we listen to the only sound coming from Jack’s fingertips. Finally, I look down to see what it is.

            Jack’s fingers grab hold of the pistol’s handle and give it a spin. He retracts them to watch the metal spin for a few moments before having to wind the gun up again. He never slows and never stops pouring his full intention into this little game.

            We’ve been up much too late without checking on the others when they finally come back into the gas station. Cole is yelling excitedly about a car he found and Emily refuses to let go of the latch she has on her arm. When Jagger follows behind them, he moves to the shelf in front of me and stands there with his arm crossed. Not once does he glance down at Jack but keeps his eyes trained on me.

             “This is amazing,” Cole bellows from the other end of the room. He walks into the aisle with Emily trailing beside. “We don’t have to walk anymore!”

            “We will need to stop and find gas at some point,” Jagger says.

            Cole narrows his eyes. “Why do you have to always ruin everything?”

            Jagger shrugs. “I’m a realist.”

            Ignoring him, Cole raises his arms in the air. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning for Fort Saunders!”

            No one replies. Instead, the only sound is of the gun spinning circles on the floor.