Chapter Text
Her body was near collapse. Shoulders and back ached from strain and the weight of the backpack she couldn’t put down. And her legs were going to give out on her, new muscles be damned. Please, just keep moving, Rena urged herself. Up ahead, two people moved with purpose. She could just make out an opening in the thick copse of trees where they stopped and waited for her to catch up.
After endless days of walking through wilderness with seemingly no end in sight, Rena wanted to cry in relief. A one-story house sat a short distance from the treeline. Faded chipping red paint, two steps that led up to a screen door, no porch. Cozy, except for the boarded up windows and overgrown lawn. Its abandoned state meant nothing; someone could still have claimed it, the original owners might still be here. Or it could be full of walking dead people.
J.P. ran a hand through his unevenly cut dark hair, strands slick with sweat. His tone was more demand than request when he said to Stacey, “We’ll take a look.” A disdainful look thrown in Rena’s direction and the pair went off to scout around the property. Rena pretended not to see that look as she watched Stacey move away until the house obscured her view. She tightened the coat tied around her waist, then leaned against the nearest tree. Eyes darting everywhere, ears perked for the smallest sounds. Steaming hot air mocked her with stickiness. She swiped at the bead of sweat sliding down her temple. Sweat gathered in other places she didn’t want to think about without wanting to retch. Her scalp itched, skin itched. Mosquitoes feasted, but she dared not scratch at the bites too much or that’s all she’d be doing. It was all she had done since leaving that cursed bunker. That and losing her mind.
Her focus split between being on guard and looking in the direction Stacey had gone. They should have been back by now. She didn’t hear anything, but that didn’t necessarily mean they were alone. At times, if she were quiet enough, she could make out individual sounds belonging to some animal or insect, having no clue what it was. Things she never knew until she had been forced to know; the loudness of nature. But those were all natural sounds. Walking corpses had their own distinctive growling and snarling and most definitely not natural. Her right hand tightened on the hunting knife that hardly ever left her hand anymore.
When her two companions came back into view, Rena took a deep breath and followed them inside. A flat screen TV sat mounted on one wall, with a couch, long wooden coffee table, and an old plaid armchair having been arranged in a semi-circle facing it. Everything looked many decades old, reminding her of one of her aunt’s homes. Scraps of paper littered the floor, along with a few dated magazines and newspapers. Cigarette butts overflowed the dingy clear ashtray that sat in the middle of the coffee table. The urge to tidy the place was nearly as overwhelming as her hunger and fatigue. Was this what her own place looked like now? Were strangers at this exact minute going through the artifacts of a once rich and vibrant life? They wouldn't find any food there, or anything they could really use in this dead world. They'd leave the place messy, same as whoever had been here before them. No one cleaned when they could barely stand.
Two people had been lost just days ago on a botched supply run. The first, an acquaintance of an acquaintance who used to work as a store manager in Minneapolis. He hadn’t recognized Rena at first–and who could blame him, she’d been a mess–but after some conversation, he had brightened up at seeing her. Finally a familiar face after these long times spent in constant fear, not seeing anyone for miles. Rena had clung to that feeling for all of a day until the dead claimed him. As the group’s de-facto leader, he had looked towards the future, unaware that his own would be cut short. The other had been a librarian and historian, his pack stuffed full of journals. Now gone. All because of a mistimed arrival that allowed the dead to get to them before she had.
That left the two who now crept around the space, knives out and ready. Stacey had been in college studying to be a grade school teacher when the wildfire virus swept through the world. At just twenty, she’d had her whole life ahead of her, future bright with possibility. Rena felt immediately protective of the younger woman. At least, she tried to be, as mentally scattered as she was. J.P. was a former landscaper with medical experience, and liked getting his way too much for Rena’s liking. Even though he could patch them up if need be, she still didn’t like being around him. Not since his people were bitten and he’d been forced to put a knife through their heads. Yet need, desperation to end the loneliness in her had overtaken her.
This one shows up out of nowhere, and two of ours dies? J.P. had angrily declared after they’d gotten to relative safety. He continued to rant every so often, actually believed Rena had been sent here to take their lives, like some kind of bad luck charm. She tuned out much of his ravings but the point stung. A distraction had allowed her to get further from the group than was advisable, and resulted in her not getting back in time to take out the snarling corpses that had zeroed in on their next meal. Rena continued to mentally lambast herself over and over again, stringing curses in a loop in her head.
The three survivors inspected the stuffy place, moving from room to room. No bodies. No dead walking corpses. The bathroom was in the same state as the rest of the house, much to Rena’s dismay. After so many recent dead ends, hope for finding food hidden away in cupboards or hidden pantries dwindled. Disappointment couldn’t take you by surprise if there were no high expectations to begin with. Nothing aside from dust and empty containers greeted them until they were back in the living room.
Stacey tiredly pulled off her backpack and sat it on the coffee table. The hair tie off her ash blonde hair came next. She shook out the strands, then tied it back. Rena didn't bother doing anything with her pulled back twists; they stayed put and out of her face. She really ought to do something about the rat’s nest. Tomorrow, she always told herself. Tomorrow never came.
One can of beans remained between the three of them. After having one spoonful each, J.P. snatched it out of Stacey hand. He turned it up, dumping the contents into his mouth.
“Jase!” Stacey hissed, her tone weary.
Rena glared up at him.
He spoke with his mouth full. “I'm the one leading us. Takes energy. We should be in Washington by now.”
The words landed where they always had. Across her face like the slap it was, a punch in her stomach that would have doubled her over if now for the backpack keeping her upright.
There it always was, the tirade of how their slow pace kept setting them back. Rena tried and failed to contain the guilt she felt at being the weakest one here.
Even so, that can was for all of them.
Having sheathed her knife just a second ago to eat, she now placed her hand on the hilt. Why was he like this? Why had they all been like this? So few normal people left. They may as well have been the only three in the world. Her eyes narrowed. “That’s enough. Give it back,” she said. He had already had an entire can to himself that morning.
He paused eating and lowered the can, eyes narrowing in challenge. “Or what?” He swallowed, bean residue around his lips, stark against the natural brown tan of his skin. Tossing the can, he took a step forward. Rena’s entire body tensed, her pulse kicking up. Imagining how much of a bloody mess he could leave her in, like his eyes telegraphed to her.
Stacey’s hand landed on Rena’s arm, her brown eyes pleading. “Please don’t,” she whispered to her. She had a habit of getting in the middle of conflicts, always stifling arguments before they got out of hand. Her soft heart was too good. She got up and turned to J.P. “It’s fine. We’ll find more.”
It wasn’t fine. Rena grit her teeth and leaned back. She could barely move–losing a fight was guaranteed against someone physically stronger. Besides, she had done enough damage with that last search for supplies, had failed enough. The last of the food they had had come at a cost. Two people, like her parents, had lost their lives. J.P. backed off, muttering under his breath.
Spots were picked, and Rena chose one of the bedrooms. Bone tired limbs sank into the softness of the unmade bed. Her arms felt weighed down by boulders as she grabbed her water bottle. Her throat remained dry after swallowing down the last few ounces. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough these days. Capping the lid, she tried not to wonder how long it would be before she would drink again. Taps against the windows had her spine straightening. More taps in rapid succession, followed by rumbling. Their bottles filled quickly. God had forsaken the world, forsaken her, but Mother nature still followed her patterns.
Back in the bedroom, Rena thought she heard voices coming from the living room, drowned out by the occasional boom of thunder. Each of them had an opinion of where they should go next, but Stacey was no match for Jase’s domineering personality. Not willing for that particular battle again, Rena stayed seated on the softest surface she'd felt in days.
When she had first met them, they had welcomed any direction Rena could provide–which was very little, aside from what time it was. She hadn't known where she was going, only where she wanted to be. Now narrowed eyes and accusations were thrown at her. Shame burned. Exhaustion threatened to steal what was left of her breath but she held it together. Even through crying breakdowns, rages, and weakness, she had stuck with them. Rena could not make it on her own.
It was her turn to have first watch, but the storm grew worse the later it got, throwing angry tears and wind around. Once in a while a bang shook the house, making Rena question the structural integrity of the place. They stayed awake for the duration all night, listening to nature's rampage. Rena didn’t bother untying the coat from around her waist, but removed her backpack, setting it on the floor next to the nightstand. The absence of its weight made her feel like she’d float away in the storm. In the early morning light, Stacey took over watch, and Rena finally laid down and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
—
Birdsong was the first thing she heard. The digital watch on her left wrist said 7:02 a.m. She pushed herself upright. Light streamed through the gaps in the boarded up windows. She walked into the living room to find it empty. Checking the other rooms proved empty as well. Thinking they were outside waiting for her, she stepped out. A wave of wet earth scent hit her and more than a few buzzing cicadas sang their song. Around her was nothing but greenery, completely rearranged from the storm. Branches of different sizes littered the area. Nervous dread settled in her stomach. Getting back inside, she took up the couch, a folded up piece of paper catching her eye.
He wanted to go East. Sorry
-Stacey
Rena stared, as if she could glean more meaning from the written words. They couldn't have. No. Her stomach sank. They had to be out scavenging for food or something, maybe fighting off a gang of walking corpses. Or they’d gotten killed. Dropping the paper back on the table, she swallowed rising panic and returned to her spot on the bed.
Stay here. That’s what she should do. Make this place a home. Maybe they will return. Leaning her elbows on her thighs, she put her head in her hands. Tried to breathe and shove away the aloneness crushing her. This was happening again.
Nowhere near ready, she left the little house. Walking the immediate area, she noted the lack of homes; this place was secluded, rural. She tried to orient herself, but she didn’t know the area. A familiar tightness in her chest grew with each minute.
J.P. had the only map. And he wasn’t here.
Time couldn’t be measured in how many steps her feet took. Each one was through mud, even when she looked and only grass met her gaze. Callouses on the pads and heels of her feet stung and ached. The numbers displayed on the watch bled into each other. But she couldn't stop–she had rested enough. Hunger and thirst continued to gnaw. That selfish asshole had taken her last bite. Maybe she should have pulled her knife. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Just then, she took a look around. At the looming trees, water-drenched branches that bent towards the sky. Dark spots danced in her vision. Belatedly, she realized she was breathing too hard. All at once, she was nine years old again, lost in another forest like this one.
Start counting.
The mental command came from the part of her that had been counseled to work through a spiral. She could have told herself that she wasn’t lost, that she just need to catch her breath. Same as she’d done many times before; convince her mind of something that wasn’t reality. The last thing she wanted was… something out of reach. A wire in her tripped, snapped like a twig.
Finding a tree, she slid to her knees, heaving air thick with unforgiving humidity. Her limbs refused to get her back up.
Normal people were not fit for this world. It was overrun by dead people who didn’t know they were dead. Rena couldn’t go on any longer. She could do no more. The last of her group had left her behind because she slowed them down. They might have made it to his hometown by now, J.P. had said more than once, if they didn’t have to keep stopping. Virginia heat was unkind to non-natives. But the facts were clear. The only family who would have cared were gone. Would it have been so bad if one of those reanimated bodies bit her? Every time that thought crashed across her mind, her mother’s image came immediately after, a rebuttal. Unable to move, her skin so blistering hot Rena could all but see the waves of heat it radiated. Why had she gotten bit? Because Rena had been too busy on the other side of the neighborhood, letting the shakes control her.
Her father had died only days later. Again, something she couldn't prevent.
Everyone will behave like wild animals, he’d said. Back when news reports of people dying and coming back undead were increasing, emergency services being overwhelmed, phone lines spotty. He'd told her people would be only out for themselves. Anarchy was the law of the land. The couple that had operated a small plane which was the reason she was here in the first place. Those two brothers who had owned that bunker, then the group Stacey and J.P. had belonged to all proved him right.
And she would never find her uncle at the rate she was going. There was no way he would have survived this long.
“Jameson,” she whispered brokenly. “You would have cared.” Perhaps she would have been stronger if he had lived, like her own mother.
Calm acceptance settled over her, breathing returned to normal. There will be no more struggle, no more hunger, fighting… being afraid every second of the day. She will not have to be on guard all the time, waiting to be attacked or having to keep killing the dead—or the living. Only her and her little boy as it should have been this whole time.
She pulled the coat off, folded it neatly then laid it on the ground next to her. The three-button designer piece in maroon had been worth a lot of money during the times when money still meant something. Its bottom hem stopped just a few inches above the knee, single-breasted lapel, came in at the waist before it flared out slightly in clean lines. Good condition if you ignored the tear in the shoulder, a loose button and the fact it was covered in dirt and grime. Someone would find it useful, maybe give it to someone special. As for the contents of her backpack left in that house, there was only one thing that would matter to history. The photos would serve as a record of her life, of the woman she had been.
She pulled a blue bandana from her pocket to wipe at the blood on her knife. That done, she held it up and watched sunlight glint off the steel. The blade slid easily back into its black leather sheath, which she removed from her belt and placed on top of the coat. Reaching into her shoe, she took out the small red handle pocket knife she kept there just in case. Unfolded, the blade was only two inches. Her mother’s face slammed into her mind again, tears welled.
I need you to keep going, she’d begged her only daughter. Find my brother.
Rena felt that fight leave her. Her mind latched onto the realization that there was no point. Her uncle was dead. He had to be. After all this time there was no way he survived any of this. Scenes of how it likely happened ran through her mind, each one a punch to the chest, closed around her heart.
Her fingers tightened on the handle. One clean swipe and this nightmare would be over. She could rest. And it wouldn’t matter that she’d made a promise that she ultimately couldn’t keep. It wouldn’t matter how unequipped she was to continue a journey there was no hope of finishing.
She closed her eyes and pressed the blade to the side of her neck. The abyss opened.
It happened so quickly Rena delayed in registering the movement. Her arm jerked away, then the knife was being roughly torn from her hand. Bewilderment left her mute and immobile. Something soft pressed into her neck. Her lips went to tell them it was too late but her voice caught in her throat. Strong arms picked her up and that was it. The last of her energy flickered out.