What We Left Behind (7 page)

Yet again, he’s probably right, but the thought of my friends risking and possibly losing their lives on my fool’s errand is too much.

“I have to try.”

Sitting here on the bleachers, looking out at the blood-stained grass and smoldering embers from the fire, I struggle to hold back tears. The cart is still there, knocked to one side. The burnt remains of the frame that held the skin is just visible in the ashes. The broken glass and decapitated zombie head are gone. Probably tossed over the fence by one of the marauders.

“I’m not leaving you,” Steve says, losing his normal calm demeanor and speaking with a passion that shouldn’t take me by surprise, but does.

“But this could cost you your lives!”

“It could save our lives,” Jane replies. “If your dad’s right, this could change everything.”

“Quick,” David says. “The wagon’s coming.”

He grabs his pack and runs along the front of the bleachers, disappearing into the shadows. The sky above is lit up with streaks of deep purple and hints of ruddy pink as the first rays of light cross the distant horizon. Already, the silhouette of the dark mountains beyond the city is set in contrast against the sky. The cold of night is giving way to the warmth of day.

We follow David, crouching behind him as a horse-drawn wagon trundles by. The steel-rimmed wheels are surprisingly loud on the gravel. There are two soldiers sitting at the front of the wagon, guiding the horses. The deck of the wagon is easily nine feet above the ground, putting it out of reach of zombies.

“They’re taking supplies to the workers camped out in the cornfields,” David whispers.

As the wagon passes, he runs out behind the cart and tosses his backpack on the rear deck. We run after the wagon. David has already jumped up and is climbing under the canvas. Jane swings her pack up. David grabs it and stows it to one side. He reaches out and pulls her up over the low wooden tailgate. Steve is next. He scrambles up onto the wagon, kicking with his feet against the wooden frame. If it wasn’t for the noise of the wheels, I’m sure the soldiers would hear us.

I swing my pack, but I’m short and my pack falls short, almost wrenching my arm out of my shoulder socket as it swings back down. I’m five foot nothing. Oh, for a teenage growth spurt right about now, I think as I run madly behind the wagon. David leans down with his arm outstretched. Steve’s beside him, hanging out of the wagon.

I run hard. I can see the main gate ahead. I heave my pack, more throwing than swinging it, and I risk losing the whole pack if I miss. Steve grabs a strap and pulls it up. David pats the back of the wagon, signaling for me to jump. But I’m out of breath and tiring fast.

The wagon slows as it approaches the gate, giving me the chance to catch up. David and Steve have their arms outstretched toward me. I’ve got my hands out. Our fingers touch, but it’s not enough to get a handhold.

David swings his legs down as though he’s getting off the wagon. He’s got one arm over the back of the deck while his body hangs beneath the deck. Our hands touch, but he ignores the grasp of my fingers, grabbing instead at my wrist. Before I realize what’s happening, my feet are off the ground and I’m swinging toward the deck. Steve and Jane grab me before I fall and pull me under the heavy canvas. David climbs in, pulling the canvas over us as the wagon comes to a halt by the gate.

My heart is pounding in my chest. I lay as still as possible, knowing the guards in the tower by the gate have a clear view of the soldiers and the wagon. There’s talking, but I can’t hear what’s being said.

The wagon rolls forward and David lifts the canvas slightly, giving us a peek as the gates close behind us.

We’ve only traveled a few feet, but already the countryside feels different. Spike pits line the sides of the road, running along the front of the fence. I’ve seen these before, but only ever from behind. Looking into them and seeing the spikes facing outward, I get a sense of just how much effort has gone into securing our safety. Kids, teens, even the adults—we’re sheltered from the outside world by years of hard labor. Even with the odd example being made of Zee in the school yard, I’m painfully aware that I have no idea about the world beyond those gates.

The sound of the wheels drops to a hiss, which is a little confusing. I peer out the back and see that the trail is covered in soft sand, muting out motion.

“In about five minutes, the wagon’s going to slow down as they head over a wooden bridge,” David whispers. “That’s where we get off.”

David positions the packs to one side. He whispers with Steve, talking about how to dismount. He’s warning him about the fall, saying we’ve got to drop straight down or risk spraining an ankle.

Jane’s next to me. We’re lying on a pile of sacks that will be used in the harvest. I can’t help but feel overwhelmed. I’ve eaten corn for years without ever giving any thought to what those in the commune have to go through in order to feed a child like me. I knew laborers and farmers would disappear for weeks at a time, but I never thought about them braving Zee to make sure we had enough to eat.

We round a bend and move off of the sand, back onto rough gravel. The wheels make a surprising amount of noise. I turn to ask David about them when he taps me on the shoulder and signals for me to climb over the back of the tailgate. Steve slips over the edge of the wagon and falls gracefully to the ground. David cycles through the four packs, tossing them down to Steve as Jane and I crawl awkwardly over the back of the tailgate.

I drop, only to have a pair of hands catch me around the waist and guide me gently to the ground.

“Thanks,” I say in a whisper, but Steve has already moved on to catch Jane. David drops silently beside her.

Jane and I grab our packs and start to run into the woods when David signals with his hand, waving at the ground. We get down, lying flat on the bridge as the wagon continues on. I feel kinda silly lying there in plain sight. Shouldn’t we be running into the trees? I want to say something, but David, Steve, and Jane are all lying patiently beside me on the bridge.

Once the wagon has disappeared into the trees, David gets to his feet and grabs his pack.

I can’t help myself. I have to know.

“Why didn’t we just run for the trees? Why stay in the open?”

“You’ve got a lot to learn, Haze,” David replies, helping me with my pack. “Our eyes are good at detecting movement, especially on the periphery, right on the edge of our vision. As strange as it sounds, if those guys glanced around, they were far more likely to see us if we were moving than if we stayed still.”

“Huh,” I reply, falling in step beside him.

Steve asks, “What about the wagon? Why is it so noisy? Won’t that draw zombies to them?”

“Yes,” David replies. “It’s a magnet, a diversion, something to pull zombies away from the camp. They’ll pick up the pace to a trot once a few stragglers close in, but lose them easily, drawing them back into the forest. There are sandy sections every couple of miles—the silence confuses the zombies, it disorients them.”

Jane walks along on the other side of David, while Steve comes up beside me. We’re walking four abreast down the road.

“See this?” David gestures, swinging his arm in a line in front of us. “This is all wrong. As we get closer to the city, we need to be smarter.”

I’m liking David’s approach. He’s a natural leader. He’s taking the opportunity to talk us through what we need to know ahead of time.

“How many degrees in a circle?” he asks.

“Three hundred and sixty,” Jane replies.

“Our field of vision is one hundred and twenty,” he adds. “Less than half. Basically, we see only a third of whatever’s around us at any given time.”

Impulsively, I look over my left shoulder, then my right, wanting to assure myself there are no zombies creeping up on us, and he’s right. If I want to see everything around me, I’ve got to look both ways. Looking behind is not enough.

“Feel that breeze on your face?” David says.

I’m pretty sure everyone nods. I know I do.

“That’s a big no-no. The breeze should always be at our backs, coming from behind us.”

“Why?” Steve asks.

“Because they can smell us. If we walk into a breeze, we’re leaving a scent trail behind us and the enemy will come in from our blind spot.”

“But,” I say, “if the wind comes from behind us, blowing past us, doesn’t that mean they’ll know we’re coming ahead of time? They’ll smell us long before we see them.”

“It’s not the zombie you see that gets you,” David replies. “It’s the one you don’t see. I’d rather see them coming than be taken by surprise.”

My blood runs cold.

“It’s always better to know what you’re walking into,” he continues. “At the moment, we’ve got the camp behind us, so it’s not such a big deal. Wind patterns are going to determine how we approach the city. We can’t just go waltzing in there pulling a pack of zombies along behind us. That’s a surefire way to get cornered and trapped.”

We reach a fork in the road. David leads us to the right, along an overgrown path. I’d rather stay on the main track as it’s wider and the weeds have been trampled down, but the breeze is coming from behind us. By taking the side track, the breeze comes from our right, which I take to mean I should keep a wary eye to the left. Certainly, that seems to be what David does.

We’re marching at a fast pace. Any faster and I’d be running. It’s not easy for me to keep up with my short legs, but David slows as we pass by a large oak tree. It seems to remind him of something.

“It’s important to have rally points,” he says. “As we move through the suburbs and into the city, I’ll point them out. I won’t always say something, but I’ll identify them with a hand signal. You want to remember these waypoints.”

Steve seems as engrossed as I am in what David’s saying. David and Jane are the only ones keeping an eye out for zombies. Steve and I can’t help but look at David as he walks along, giving us insights into how the marauders operate.

“If we get separated, make your way back to the last rally point.”

Seems pretty obvious, I think.

“When you get there, you’re not going to have more than a minute or two, so leave a marker. Look around for something you can use to indicate you made it back that far, but don’t stop and wait for anyone.

“Remember, zombies use scent like we use sight. You’ll want to hide and wait. You can hide from sight, but you cannot hide from scent. This isn’t the movies. You can’t cover yourself in Zee juice without risking infection. Your scent is your worst enemy.”

David probably figures I’ll run and hide the first time we stumble across a zombie, and he’s right—that would be my natural reaction. I’m going to have to fight that urge.

“You can’t hide, so don’t try,” David says. “Remember, Zee’s strength is in his numbers. If you go to ground, he’ll surround you. Think one zombie is a handful? Wait half an hour and you’ll have ten to contend with. Wait overnight and there will be hundreds, perhaps thousands clamoring for your blood.”

Well, I think, at least he’s not sugarcoating the point.

“So you get back to the waypoint, but you’re alone. Everyone else has run off. What do you do?”

I’m not going to offer an opinion. I’m quite happy to be dumb on this point. I know I need to listen and learn.

“You grab some sticks, twigs, rocks, anything you can find to build a sign.”

He holds up two fingers, one on each hand, and lines them up briefly with the sun.

“You push two sticks into the ground, or pile up some rocks around them, but you line them up so the shadow of the first stick falls on the second. Then you put one last stick flat on the ground, or you lay out a row of stones, something to point in the direction you’re traveling.

“Zee doesn’t leave signs. We leave signs. The next person to get to the waypoint now knows three important pieces of information. They know they’re not alone, someone else made it. They know which direction you’re heading in. And by looking at how far the shadow has moved, they know how long ago you passed through that point. Keep moving. Let them catch up to you.

“Before they move on, they’ll put one more stick in the ground. They line that stick up with the shadow of the first stick, and the next person to come along now knows two people survived, and they know how far apart they are.”

“Got it,” I say.

The track narrows.

I’m getting nervous.

David must sense my unease, as he says, “Nothing to fear yet. We’re on the move, the winds to one side. Zee won’t have had a chance to lie in wait yet.”

Yet. That word sticks in my mind.

Last night, talking with my dad and then later with David, Jane, and Steve, this all seemed simple. Go downtown, get the meds, get back. Now, reality is setting in. We have a long way to go. I am so thankful David is with us. He’s right. I wouldn’t last an hour out here alone.

Suddenly, David’s down on one knee. He’s drawn his machete and has it pointing out into the woods. Jane, Steve, and I are much slower to respond, but we all crouch in the waist-deep grass, looking into the shadows of the forest.

Leaves blow across a bare patch of dirt ahead of us.

At first, I can’t see anything, but I notice the birds have fallen silent.

The wind moves through the trees. I never knew rustling leaves could be so noisy. My senses are heightened, but the breeze is a curse. Just a slight turn of my head and the wind catches my ears, and the subtle noises I could hear a moment ago are lost in a hiss of white noise.

David hasn’t moved. I’m not sure he’s even breathing. He’s holding the blade of his machete perfectly still out at arm’s length.

I follow the line of sight and I see him. There’s a zombie moving through the trees. At first, he blends in with the flickering shadows. Once I recognize him, he stands out, but just a moment ago he was invisible. I can only see his upper torso through the foliage. He’s easily a hundred yards away.

David whispers. “He hasn’t seen or smelled us.”

My heart is pounding in my chest.

“Keep your eyes on him,” he says, as though Jane, Steve, and I are going to look anywhere else. It’s only then I realize just how valuable it is having David with us. We’re so focused on the first zombie, we don’t see the second wander out onto the path not more than thirty feet ahead. I want to scream.