Authors: Miriam Bell
Jay gives the signal for the people along the perimeter to renew their efforts. Their voices raise louder, drawing the infected away from our unlatching of the outer gate. The first group exits without gaining the attention of nearby infected. They move together in one unit, backs inward, forming a tight circle. Once cleared of the gate’s opening, the second group exits, then the third. They move throughout the horde. First the lead person sneaks behind one of the badly decayed infected, taking a knife, he efficiently slices the head off. When the noise catches the attention of a nearby infected, the person to the right of the lead scout attacks that advancing infected and so on, until all the infected of that area have been dispersed.
I regard Connor as he moves with a deadly grace among the unsuspecting horde, Joseph protecting his back with his own. The bodies drop one by one as the blinded foe are uncertain as to where to attack. The infected who are not as decayed as the others put up more of a fight but eventually they are overcomed by the practiced skills of our scouts. I am suddenly grateful of all the hard work Mrs. Emerson required of the scouts. Many of the community didn’t think the daily training was necessary. Who was beyond the fences anyway? No one had came to our prison for decades seeking sanctuary from a dying world.
I turn to consider the large number of dead infected on the ground when a startled scream sounds through the air. Justin, having slipped to the ground, left Lola’s back unguarded. His delay in warning was long enough for the last remaining infected to latch onto her shoulder. I stare unable to act as the infected deepens his bite. She screams again, releasing the infected she had her blade to- her cut not fully removing the head. It’s mouth snaps toward her as she kicks savagely at its injured leg. The infected falls, twisting its body toward her as the other reels for another bite.
In a strike too fast to follow, Connor hacks at the still standing infected. The infected man stumbles but rights himself in order to turn on Connor. Lola’s blood shines, smeared across his remaining skin.
“Joseph finish off the other infected!” Connor shouts but Joseph is already in motion.
He tightens his grip on the handle of his long knife and slices through the brittle bones and muscle of the fallen infected. The scene is over in a matter of moments- Justin crawling to Lola’s collapsed body.
“I’m sorry Lo. I slipped. The blood. I’m so sorry.” His cry is laced in agony and regret.
Connor gathers her in his arms as if she weighs less than a bird.
“These things happen Justin. This wasn’t your fault,” Connor says, racing toward the prison.
I hurry to open the outer gate for everyone to withdraw back into safety.
“How bad is it?” I ask when he lays her down in front of Mr. Jensen.
“I’m not sure,” he replies, turning her on her side and ripping larger the hole in her shirt.
The skin is angry and torn, blood flowing in a steady pace from the wound. The sight is followed by gasps from all those around her.
“She has lost a lot of blood,” Connor says, leaning away from the injured scout, “if the rumors are true, she will turn.” He sighs heavily before standing.
“What are you doing?” Justin crys, rushing to crumple by her side. He tears at his shirt, applying the sweaty fabric to the open lacerations.
“Have you seen someone turn after being bitten?” Mr. Jensen questions Connor.
“No, only heard others speak about it when I was still in Americus. I never chanced learning the truth while in the red zone.”
“Then we’ll treat her and keep her alive the best we can,” Mr. Jensen replies.
Connor glances to Justin’s shaking hands applying pressure to the bite.
“And if she turns?” I ask, horrified of bringing the disease inside our home.
“We will post a guard. If she becomes one of the infected than we kill it.” Mr. Jensen says sternly before opening the inner gate.
Two of the women who had distracted the infected at the fence rush to Lola’s side. They examine her body before Cam heaves her into his arms- Justin not having the mindset to handle the situation. I watch as they hurry to the infirmary with four scouts on their trail.
“I don’t like this,” I offer aloud.
“I don’t either,” both Jay and Connor respond. Mr. Jensen turns toward us.
“You don’t have to,” he remarks and crosses his arms in the cold breeze. “Go clean yourselves up and rest. You’ll gonna need it.” With a curt nod, he barts. “Joseph, Tiffany, John, Peter and Jim, pile the remains and burn them before the snow starts.”
I raise my head to the gray sky. In all the events, I didn’t pay attention to the clouds. Suddenly, I’m cold as the adrenaline seeps out of my weary muscles. Dad puts his arm around my shoulders.
“Come. Why don’t we head to your quarters?” he suggests.
I nod my head, faintly aware of Connor and Chevy following close behind me. Clover and Tessa run to greet us when we reach the main building.
“They wouldn’t let us out to help,” Clover complains as she gives Connor a tight embrace.
“Good,” he remarks, rustling Tessa’s hair. They both smile brightly.
“Welcome back,” Clover says hugging me with a gentle grasp. Tessa slips her hand within mine and squeezes.
“What no welcome back for me?” Jay remarks, striding with a purpose to meet us.
“Not looking like that,” she teases and backs away. Jay frowns at his crusted clothes and stalks past.
“Jay?” Clover calls in confusion.
“That blood isn’t from those infected,” I comment in a low remorseful voice.
Comprehension flickers over her face.
“I’ll meet up with you later,” Clover says and turns to follow after Jay’s retreating form.
“Come on Millie. Let’s go.” Dad takes my arm lightly to lead me inside.
My grip tightens on Tessa’s hand still laced with my fingers.
“Alright,” I reply.
As my foot steps inside the dim entry into the prison’s cinder block hall, Chevy growls. I spin along with Connor to discover the young dog poised with his hackles raised. My eyes follow the clever animal’s sight to the woodline.
Snow begins to trickle down from the sky as I breath in the disease smell of rot burning. Past the growing pile of infected being reduced to ashes, a shadow emerges. Connor’s hand drifts to his weapon without an ounce of mindful effort. The action is second nature to him as it is to me, I realize when I perceive the gleam of the blade I’d pulled from my side.
“Go inside,” I demand at my father and Tessa. He stiffens, ready to refuse.
“Please Dad,” I pled.
“We’ll be in the library,” he remarks, reaching for Tessa’s abandoned hand.
A figure stumbles slightly as it trudges toward the prison.
“Behind you!” Connor yells, “Tiffany! Behind you!”
The young woman swirls to face the oncoming threat. We rush back to the closed gates, searching the surrounding wood line. No other figure materializes as the snow falls harder. Having warning, Tiffany marches toward the infected, Joseph by her side.
From this distance away, I can’t make out any details about the infected besides the staggering limp it processes. Connor and I stop abruptly at the fence. My fingers twist around the cold metal.
“She can handle one infected. She took out three in the redzone by herself,” he comments.
“Badass,” I suggest as I tilt my head to view the scene.
“You could say that,” he replies as Tiffany reaches the lone infected.
I hold my breath waiting for the final blow. My stomach clenches at the realization I’m no longer affected by the gore around me. I instead anticipate the strike with desire to witness the death of this once vibrate person. I remember the scream of the first infected I saw. How he seemed almost human since his decay was not as evident as the others who found me the next day. Would things have been different if I had not ran away?
In the middle of scolding myself for asking “what if” questions, the infected does something strange. Before Tiffany delivers a strike intended to cripple the infected for good, the creature drops to the ground, raising its hand in defense.
“What the hell?” The words slip from my mouth.
“Come on. Let’s open the gates,” Connor whispers.
“No,” I say and reach for his arm, halting him in his tracks. “Let’s see what happens, then we signal others.”
I struggle attempting to understand what is being said. Unfortunately, all I comprehend is the gesture of Joseph helping the infected to his feet. I gawk as Tyrus sounds the bell for the second time today.
People of the community burst out of the prison, all the while, the outer gates are being unlocked. Tyrus contains the severely beaten man within the secure space.
“No,” I murmur as recognition filters through my confusion.
I near the scouts and shift, catching the man’s gaze.
“No!” I spit. “Don’t let that man inside these fences.”
Connor holds my shaking body away from the flinching stranger, surprised by my outburst. That is until he registers the facial features behind the swollen and bruised skin.
“Bryan?” he blinks, releasing me to take a better look. “Bryan is that you?”
The treacherous man bows his head.
“Please,” he begs with a damaged voice. Connor bends to study his face.
“Don’t get too close,” I warn. Connor disregards my concern.
“If he tries anything, he knows you would kill him before he stands.” He reaches out a hand tilting his face toward his. He hisses. “Someone beat you pretty bad.”
“The- the cult’s soldiers,” Bryan replies with a painful wince.
“Seems to me you threw in with the wrong lot.” He releases his hold, drawing a grimace.
“Who is this guy?” Tiffany asks.
“Met him out in the red zone. Thought he was a friend until he betrayed us to the cult. Carter and Daniel died with help from him,” I grit out between my teeth.
“I didn’t kill your friends. I had no control of that,” Bryan cries.
“You were just the cult’s spy, telling them the routes we take, gathering information for them to use against us?” I sneer at his grave expression.
“Millie, I-”
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear another word you say.”
I pull Katlin’s knife one more time, stepping toward the man who was at least partially responsible for their deaths. Connor steps aside allowing me to pass.
“Stand down, Scout,” Mr. Jensen orders from behind me.
My back stiffens but I don’t dare disobey.
“Tiffany, Joseph, this man is now our prisoner. Make sure his wounds are treated,” he states with authority.
They nod, grabbing Bryan’s bloodied arms. He blanches the color of the new snow as they assist him in walking.
“Wait,” Connor remarks, stopping their progression with a single raised hand. He proceeds to pat down the loose and torn clothing, pulling out a single knife when Bryan exhales. “Okay. Now go.” Connor steps out of their path.
“He is a traitor,” I say, narrowing my eyes on his retreating figure.
“Haven’t you learn yet, Millie?” Mr. Jensen pauses and glances at Connor. “The red zone changes a person.” His eyes still on the blade in my tight grip, then he turns to leave. “Secure the gate and for heaven’s sake, rest. No one is attacking anyone in this weather.”
“He’s right. It could be snowing for hours,” Connor agees.
I look up into the grey hazed sky and observe multiple snowflakes as they land on my skin, hair and clothes.
“What would you do if you were the cult?” I ask.
“I would wait out the storm, gather resources, review my plans and keep my soldiers from getting frostbite.”
“And if you were crazy?” Connor remains quiet.
With a gentle touch he brushes delicate flakes from my hair and lashes. My heart leaps.
“Let’s get you warmed up,” he says softly. I give him a small smile filled with weariness and relief.
We secure the gate and leave Tyrus to watch the pile of infected burn to ash. Within the privacy of my quarters, I bathe in a tub Mr. Jensen had brought up. The hot water caresses my skin as I sink back within it’s soothing embrace. I stay submerged until the water cools and wrinkles the skin of my finger tips. My body is slow to fall asleep, the images of the death I’d seen still fresh but sleep does come followed by repeated nightmares. I’m sure to stay quiet, suffering in silence.
When the first hint of sunlight plays softly on my cell’s floor, I get dressed and wrap my faded blanket around my shoulders. The air is crisp outside, smelling fresh and clean. A heavy layer of snow blankets the prison yard. In the peaceful stillness I can almost imagine my life differently. Boring, perhaps, a life eluded from the horrible things laying in wait outside the prison. I would be in the library, reading the same books over and over again, begging for the scouts to retrieve new novels or textbooks from their missions. I would accept my mother’s disappearance taking comfort in the stories of faraway worlds and distant kingdoms. Tom, Carter and Daniel wouldn’t be lost but then I wouldn’t know Connor and Clover, or Bryan. I sneer at his name.