Hilary & Deacon.
“Hilary, baby, you gotta come inside.” Deacon’s arms wrap around my hunched shoulders.
My eyes stay fixed on the old couple, dead in the front yard, blood still dripping from the holes in their foreheads. “Did you really need to kill them, Deacon?” I turn to look up into his blue eyes. “We could have talked to them—explained.”
He leads me back inside and into the dimly lit front room. “You know I had to, baby. It was them or us, and it will
always
be us.” He guides me to the sofa and sits me down, coming to kneel on the floor between my knees. He looks into my face. “Maybe we could have talked them down, but the way grandpa was pointing that gun at you. . .” He shakes his head before continuing. “I know it’s hard, but we can be safe here now. At least for a little while. You rest up here, I’ll move the bodies—”
“Bury them,” I say. “The last thing they deserve is to get eaten by those dirty flesh-eaters.”
Deacon nods, seeing the fight coming back into my eyes at the mention of the flesh-eaters. He kisses my forehead. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to lock the door. Listen out for me, okay?”
“I should come with you.” I start to stand, but Deacon gently pushes me back down.
“We haven’t seen anyone in weeks. I highly doubt that we’re going to stumble upon anyone else for a while. If you want to help, see if you can scramble us something up to eat while I deal with the bodies.”
“Don’t treat me like your little woman, Deac.” I glare up at him. At six-foot three, he towers over me. “I don’t need you to look after me.”
Deacon laughs. “I know you don’t, Hilary, no need to get snappy.” He laughs again, the sound seeming odd in our quiet surroundings, especially after what we just did. “I don’t think you’re a little woman either.” He chokes on another laugh. “I just don’t think there is any need for us both to be out there. You really want to go shoveling dirt around and burying dead bodies, you go right ahead. Or you can stay inside and cook us up something good so we can eat, and get some rest. It’s been a long day, baby. I’m tired and I bet you are too.”
I relent with a roll of my eyes. “Fine,” I pout, “but be careful.”
Deacon heads to the front door, stopping to look back at me before he goes outside. “Hey, if you can hunt out any ramen noodles, you know I’d love you forever, right?”
“You’re going to love me forever
, anyway, but I’ll see what they have.” I grin, all thoughts of the old couple that he just killed long gone.
It was their own damn fault for not letting us in, anyway. What did they think was going to happen once the flesh-eaters caught up and ate us? I turn and walk into the kitchen, listening as the front door opens and closes behind Deacon, and I begin searching the cupboards.
The cabinets are unsurprisingly empty, but as I search further I come across the old couple’s food stash, safely tucked away in a small downstairs bathroom under some old towels. It makes me wonder if these people had been looted before, and that’s why their things are hidden. I shake my head sadly, my spirits only lifting when I come across a box of mac and cheese. I smile, knowing how pleased Deacon will be, since he used to love this stuff. Only ramen noodles would make him smile more—well, that or maybe a chai latte.
I set the table in the front room, filling two flowery yellow bowls with the warm mac and cheese, and placing a bottle of water for each of us next to our food. It feels almost civilized when Deacon comes in with his shotgun thrown over his shoulder and a grim expression marring his face. That changes almost instantly once he smells the food, and a smile lights up his handsome face. He heads straight for the table.
“Um, oh no you don’t.” I hold up a hand.
Deacon stops with a puzzled expression.
“Take those dirty boots off before you come and sit at my table. Walking mud across my nice clean floor.” I tut at him. “I’ve been scrubbing these floors all day.” I tut again.
He stands there speechless, his eyes going from the bowl of food to me and then back again, until I burst out laughing.
“Baby, don’t do that to me.” Deacon heads to the table, leaving a trail of muddy footprints behind him, and sits down. He dives straight into his food without another word.
It’s only when he’s halfway through his food that he decides to start chewing some of the mac
and cheese instead of swallowing it whole.
He looks up at me with a huge grin. “This is so good,” he says over another mouthful.
I, on the other hand, am chewing it slowly and savoring every single morsel. It doesn’t taste quite as good as when it’s made with milk and butter, but it’s still heaven in my mouth after what we’ve been surviving on recently.
This whole situation feels weird though,
like a slice of normality, a memory of a previous life with every swallow. It’s only as I look around, seeing other people’s things, using other people’s silverware, that I come back to reality. This is our life now, but it isn’t really
our
life. Our life ended when the flesh-eaters burst in on my birthday celebrations back in Maine, killed our family and friends, and Deacon and I had to hide out in some caves down by the river for several months, living off the land and grieving for our families.
A hand touches my cheek and wipes away a tear that I didn’t realize had slid down. I look at Deacon with a sad smile. His hand covers mine, offering me some of his strength. It’s like this sometimes when the grief overcomes us both; but we have each other, and together we will get through it. We have to.
“Eat up.” I pull my hand from his and continue eating in silence.
*
Morning light illuminates the bedroom, the sun shining in on us both lying on top of the bedsheets and creating a light sheen of sweat on our faces, despite the fact that winter is closing in on us. I move closer to Deacon, reveling in his smell and the feel of his arms around me. If I close my eyes, I am home, and I have everything that a woman could ever need.
Deacon continues to snore next to me—not a soft, wistful snore, but a deep rumble from the back of his chest to the back of his throat—and after two or three minutes, I peek a frustrated eye open. I turn over, giving him a nudge as I do and momentarily stopping the
annoying caveman sounds he’s making. I feel myself on the edge of the cliff, waiting to drop back off into la-la land, when Deacon’s snoring starts up again.
I sit up with a grumble and decide it’s time to start the day. I’ve probably slept in more than I have in months anyway. Stretching my arms out, I stand and head to the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror with another grumble. I’m looking like shit these days: tired, worn down; the constant stresses of life are beginning to take their toll on me. I can’t help but hope that maybe we can stay in this little house for a while, maybe fortify it and spend the winter here. I can only hope. I check out the cabinets in the small room, opening and closing the small doors. There’s toothpaste and a toothbrush, but they were the previous owners
’ and there was no way I am using someone else’s toothbrush. I’ll never be that desperate. Instead I squeeze some of the toothpaste out onto the corner of a towel from a large pile in the linen closet and rub it across my gums and teeth until they feel clean. I smile at my reflection, feeling better already. It’s amazing what clean teeth can do for a girl’s attitude.
*
Breakfast is oats made with boiled water with some canned fruit mixed in. It is delicious. More than anything, though, it’s the first fruit that we’ve had in several months.
“There aren’t many supplies here.” Deacon looks up from his food. “We’re still going to have to do some supply runs if we want to stay here for the winter.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” I say.
“We’ll need to do some perimeter security too. This place is pretty well hidden all the way out here, but we stumbled across it, which means others might.” He shovels another mouthful in, looking thoughtfully out the window.
We eat in silence until both of our bowls are empty, and he helps me carry the dishes to the kitchen. I place them in the sink and automatically reach for the tap, twisting it for water. Old habits die hard, even after all this time. Frustrated, I twist the tap the other way to close it off, which only leads to me being more frustrated.
I turn to Deacon. “So, what’s first?”
“Security, I think. While we’re out we can get supplies if we see any, but let’s not go out of our way for them today. There’s a lot of game around here, and there’s the little brook at the end of this field I can fish from. The forest should provide pretty good basics for mushrooms and berries, so it should only be canned supplies and essentials that we’ll need.” He rubs at his scruffy beard, deep in thought. “I’m thinking chicken wire with cans tied to it all around the place, and maybe a trench too. We could put panels on the windows, and we’ll knock the steps to the porch off. If any flesh eaters get past all of that, they won’t be able to get up to us and we can pick them off easily.” He smiles, pleased with his plan.
“That could take weeks to do,” I say.
“So we’ll cover the hardest areas first. It can be an ongoing project. First we chicken wire the place, then we dig trenches. If we do it now while the ground is soft, I don’t think it will take too long. We’re going to need supplies first.”
I hate having to go on supply runs—they
’re dangerous, and you never know who or what you are going to meet out there—but it isn’t like we can order from the internet and have them home deliver anymore. “We better load up then and head out if we’re going to get started on this project of yours.”
We lock the front door on our way out, lest anyone think the place isn’t taken, and trudge back through the woods. I look at the two graves marked by a cross of stones on top of each heap as we pass. I hate that we killed these people, but it’s kill or be killed these days, and like Deacon had said, it will
always
be us that survives, no matter what.
Nina.
Emily sits with me each day while I eat, watching every forkful, insisting that I finish everything on my plate even when I say that I’m full. Our roles have reversed, and it seems that she is now the caregiver and I am the child in this unusual adoptive mother-daughter bond that we have. She brings first aid for me, antibiotics and painkillers, bandages and even another pillow for my bed. A guard is always stationed by the door watching us, making me feel uncomfortable if we’re talking too much. But I’m not touched again, not harmed in any way.
My concern for her—
for us—grows with each passing day. Every day I feel angrier at Mikey. He doesn’t come to see me and explain, or to check that I’m okay. Nothing, nada, zilch. I know my words hurt him, but they were true words. He is a murderer and I expected more from him, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see him—need to see him. Emily doesn’t tell me anything about him, and I don’t bother to ask, either, but only because I think I’ll completely lose it if I do. The oddest thing is that Emily doesn’t talk about the Forgotten or where we are, and if I try to talk to her about anything she makes a quick retreat and I’m left to my own thoughts again. So I stop asking and try to bask in the glory of getting healthy again, healing, eating, and still being alive.
I
watch the people from my window as I gain my strength back, my bruises fading but still vivid, my cuts healing yet still painful. I feel like I’ve entered the Twilight Zone: another world lives beyond the glass—another life, another existence. My jealousy of them grows. Why couldn’t I be one of these lucky people? Why am I always on the run or at death’s door? Being ordered around by assholes? On really dark days I think of Britta and Josie, JD and Duncan. Maybe even Crunch gets a passing thought—but then that bitch tried to kill me and
did
kill Britta. In the end, I guess she got what she deserved when she was taken down by the dead. Still, my heart aches for all of them.
It
’s by day five that it occurs to me that things might not be what I thought they were—a lightbulb being turned on in my puny little brain, kind of a halle-fuckin-lujah moment. As usual, Emily is sitting opposite me, watching every mouthful I take. I have questions to ask, reactions to garner, and I need to be sneaky about it.
I take another forkful of my
beans. “So, heard any good gossip lately?” I appear as uninterested as possible.
Emily makes a noise
and I glance up and catch the tail end of a shrug from her. “Nope.”
“You must have something exciting to tell me. I
’m bored shitless in here on my own.”
She shrugs again
and I look back down at my food. “Heard from Mikey recently?” I look up with my eyes to watch her carefully, my stare darting to the guard and back to Emily. He turns to look at us, and I know I’ve piqued his interest, if nothing else. It pains me to ask about him, but I need to know what’s going on.
She picks at her thin
sweater and shrugs again. “No, I don’t see him.” Her eyes dart to mine, and it’s there—so small that I wonder if I’ve missed it before: a quirk at the corner of her eyes, a twitch almost.
“Winter
’s coming.” I change the subject, sensing her discomfort.
“Yeah, it
’ll be getting cold soon. We have to get through autumn first—not long to go, though. Not long before it happens. Winter, that is.” Her eyes catch mine again as she gathers my dishes. “Make sure to keep eating your food, keep your strength up. It’ll help keep you warm.” Her mouth twitches again, as if she’s refraining from smiling.
“The food tastes like shit
, though, Mom,” I sneer, pushing back from my chair, feeling lightheaded with a small revelation that I’m still trying to work out.
“See you tomorrow, Nina.” She smiles at me and I watch her walk
toward the door. The guard—
Rick the Dick
, as I’ve decided to name him—looks bored out of his mind, yet he’s definitely watching us closely. He unlocks it and lets her exit first, giving me one last look before he turns and exits himself.
“See you tomorrow.”
I fight the urge to ask her to stay for a bit longer. I know she can’t. Something else is happening here, something bigger than me. I know, big fucking surprise, right?
*
The leaves are turning golden browns and oranges and falling from the trees. I stare for what seems like hours, watching them drift lazily toward the ground and land at the feet of the children playing. I wonder whether any of the people out there know that I am here, or if they even care. Their life seems so far removed from mine it seems like madness.
I watch, I wait, and I think.
Watching, waiting, thinking.
Watch, wait, think.
Tick, tick, tock. There’s no clock in this room, and if there was one it wouldn’t be ticking anymore, its batteries long since dead, but the weird ticking noise in my head helps me think. Like a piano player with a metronome, it helps me to keep my beat. One question keeps playing across my mind, one question I can’t seem to land on an answer for.
Why am I still alive?
The heat of the days is still there, but the weeks are passing, and soon it will start to get cold. Autumn will pass and winter will come. I think of my last winter behind the walls—the things I had to do to keep warm—and a sadness creeps over me. I’m so glad to be away from there, away from Lee and his men; but those other people, the ones I condemned for being cowards, what did they have to do to keep themselves warm? To keep their children and wives warm at night?
A tear slides down my cheek. For them, for me, for this godforsaken world.
A scrape of the key in the door draws my attention away from my brain’s incessant ticking. Emily enters, her tray in hand as usual. I wipe my tears away as my stomach growls in response to the smell of food, and I jump down from my little window seat to join her at the table per our usual routine.
She sits, I sit,
I wait, she stares. I stare.
“Dude, gimme my food.” I reach across and snatch
the dish away from her, lifting off the silver lid as I dive straight into the food with my fork. After a couple of mouthfuls of the overcooked pasta I stop, my eyes fixated on what lies under my food.
My eyes flit to the guard standing watch by the door.
He’s young—barely seventeen by the looks of it—golden brown skin and dark brown hair. He’s slender but strong-looking, and not paying either of us any attention. In fact, when I think about it, that’s not the same guard that normally comes in with Emily. I look back at her, seeing her smiling, a mischievous look to her face, her eyes gesturing downward to the food. My brow furrows and I dive further into the pasta, still hungry yet not wanting to eat it anymore. I push it around the plate, moving it to one side and revealing more of the large knife hidden underneath. I look up at Emily with worry, my emotions a mixture of uncertainty about what she’s expecting me to do, being petrified of getting caught and receiving another beating, and yet excited to kick some of the Forgotten’s ass like I’ve been dreaming of doing.
“It
’s okay.” She grins at me.
I swallow
hard. “Is it?”
“We
’re getting out of here.”
I reach for the knife, feeling the sharpness of it in the palm of my hand. My eyes look up at the guard coming
toward us and my face blanches. Emily turns to look, her smile growing wider.
“It
’s okay—he’s okay. He’s with us. With me, actually.”
He places a hand on her shoulder, and I
realize it’s with affection as their eyes lock and they smile at one another.
“I
’m going to help you get out of here.” He holds out a hand to me. “I’m Alek.”
I frown at his hand. “Well, you know who I am.” I shrug, holding
onto my knife tightly.
“Nina.” Emily rolls her eyes at me.
I roll mine back and huff, feeling like a teenager, but I’m out of the loop and I don’t like it, and Mr. Hero over here has his hands on my girl.
“Take your hands off her,
” I snarl. Images of him and her flood my head.
Jeez, now I know what my mother used to talk about when she said she worried about me and boys.
“Nina, stop it. He
’s helping us—helping you.”
“You
’re still a child, Emily.” I glare at him and his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I don’t think this relationship is appropriate.” I’m a fucking hypocrite and I know it, but I swore I would look after her and I’m doing a shoddy job so far.
“Nothing
’s happened, and I’m not a child.” Emily stands, placing her hands flat on the table. “He’s trying to help us escape, Nina. Stop with all this crap.”
I look at him and then her, and then away.
“I know that you’re scared. I am too—”
“No you
’re not.” I stand now, walking over to my window and looking out, never letting go of my knife. “Look at you, all grown up and brave with a big strong boyfriend to protect you, and here I am crying like a fucking baby.” I rub away the tears with the back of my hand. What is wrong with me? My freedom is being handed to me—literally on a plate—and I’m crying over Emily growing up and getting a boyfriend. She comes to stand next to me.
“I
am
scared, Nina. I’ve missed you. I
need
you.”
“No you don
’t. I failed you.” Misery engulfs me. I am a failure.
“No you didn
’t! I’d be dead without you.”
I turn to look at her. She looks so different from the girl I first met. I grab her and pull her into a hug.
“You nearly died, and they did so much to you, but we’re going to make them pay,” she whispers into my ear.
Tremors wrack me as I struggle to stop the tears
, and I pull out of the hug; it’s only making it worse. I’ve bottled it all in—every touch, every lash, every wound inflicted. I’ve bottled it and bottled it and now the cellar door is creaking, ready to burst the dam with my stupid emotions. And yes, I’m fucking scared too. Scared that we may get caught, and scared of living in fear of the deaders again. But most of all scared that I’ll fail Emily worse next time and end up getting her or myself killed.
“
I’m sorry, you’re right, I am scared, but fear isn’t something to dismiss. So grab hold of it and maybe it can stop us from making the same stupid mistakes as before, because Emily, I don’t think I can take this again.” And I mean it: I can’t.
She nods, tears glistening in her eyes.
“So what’s the plan?” I clear my throat. Fear hums through me like electricity, but she’s taking a risk for me, and so is this other person—Alek. She trusts him, and I have to trust her. The tables have turned, and she’s all grown up.
“Distraction, disruption, evade
, and escape.” She smiles.
“Come again?” I frown.
“Mikey is causing a distraction and some disruption right now, giving us the window of opportunity to evade and escape—a.k.a. get the hell out of here.”
“Mikey?” I frown harder, anger running through me and drowning out my fear.
“Look, we don’t have the time to explain everything. Just trust me—you have a weapon, and we have Alek.” She turns and smiles at him before looking back at me. “Now let’s get out of here.”