Tracey Ward - Backs Against the Wall

“You people keep saying that,” I interrupt.

Sam frowns. “Saying what?”

“’Zombies’. That’s an old word isn’t it? From horror movies and mythology. I mean, I use it sometimes but almost everyone on the outside in the wild calls them Risen.”

Sam chuckles. “Don’t let Taylor hear you say that. He already thinks you’re a Colonist and that’s their word. Westbrook came up with it. It’s biblical. Some kind of reference to Lazarus who was actually a good guy so I don’t get how it works, but that’s what the Colonists all call them. Risen.”

Ryan glances at me. “What does Crenshaw call them? Devils?”

“He makes me call them Wraiths.”

He grins. “Nice. I like it.”

Trent leans back in his seat, putting his book on a nearby table. “So your people came in and wiped out the zombies then that was it? You were just allowed to stay and live fat off the farmers work after that?”

“No,” Sam replies, sounding offended. “We had a lot of really smart people with us in our group from Warm Springs. A lot of military from one of the outposts too. People who knew how to use water to make power and all that. People who knew how to fight. The farmers were happy to have us.”

“Better you than the Colonists,” I say, trying to smooth over the feathers Trent ruffled.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “Those people were glad to see us go. They thought that if we were willing to leave the Safe Zone, then we were just as damned as everyone else. They even tried to kill a few people before we got out. People that Westbrook said were tainted.”

The door swings open, startling everyone. Stocky, or Taylor as Sam calls him, comes in with three plates carefully balanced in his arms. He nods to Sam.

“You wanna open the door for me so I can pass them their dinner?”

Sam jumps up. “You got it.”

“It’s nothing special. Mashed potatoes, some pot roast, carrots,” he rattles off, looking right at me. “Couldn’t find filet mignon, sorry. And the house wine is water. You’ll find it on tap in the bathroom. Or the toilet, whichever you prefer.”

“We’ll just have to make due, I suppose,” I tell him bitingly. “Hopefully the desert will make up for the dinner.”

“I’ll see what I can find special, just for you.”

“Joss,” Trent calls to me, “if he brings you anything chocolate, don’t eat it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Trent.”

“You’re welcome.”

After that, after we eat and Taylor leaves us alone with Sam again with strict orders for quiet and lights out, we go to bed. Ryan pulls his mattress up close to the bed, positioning himself on the floor between me and the cage door. I don’t say anything when he does it. If it helps him sleep better, I want him to do it even if I don’t think I need protecting. Even if I don’t want to need it. I wait, lying perfectly still and silent, until I hear Ryan start to snore. It doesn’t take long. He’s had a long day. One I’m going to try my hardest to forget because despite what an impressive fighter he is, watching him in that arena was gruesome, morbid and terrifying. My heart has stopped and run faster than it ever should more times tonight than I want to think about. I also don’t want to think about what that means. That it’s all for him. That my heartbeats are tied to his, carried away and brought to a standstill by his actions. By his wellbeing. By his smiles.

“Joss,” Ryan whispers sharply.

Gentle hands shake me roughly.

“Joss, wake up.”

I pry my tired eyes open, trying to bring them to focus. To make sense of the Ryan shaped shadow forcing me awake.

“Wh-what’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“You were talking in your sleep.”

“She was moaning in her sleep,” Trent says, his voice muffled and distant.

“I got this,” Ryan tells him. “Go back to sleep.”

“Gladly.”

I run my hand over my eyes. My fingers come away wet.

“I was moaning?”

“And whimpering,” Sam calls from across the room.

Ryan drops his forehead against my shoulder. “I said I got it, man.”

“Only trying to help.”

“I’m sorry, guys,” I whisper, feeling horrified. Ryan is sugar coating it. I was crying in my sleep.

“Don’t be,” Sam says.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Trent asks, his words almost indiscernible. I think his face is seriously planted in his pillow.

“Absolutely not, never, no, thank you.”

“Cool. Can I take this opportunity to say that I find it insulting that our guard is sleeping on the job?”

“Are you going to try to break out?” Sam asks him, already sounding like he’s falling back asleep.

“Not tonight.”

“Well then I’m going back to sleep. Let me know when you’re breaking out.”

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“Goodnight, guys,” Ryan says. It sounds like a warning.

Either they listen or they’re already asleep again. Doesn’t matter, they don’t respond.

“You okay?” Ryan whispers, his voice barely making a sound. It’s more of a stirring of his breath near my face.

I shake my head, feeling humiliated and small. “Apparently not.”

“What’s wrong?”

I close my eyes hard, pinching them shut until I see bursts of light against the backs of my eyelids. A tear slips from the corner of my eye and runs down the side of my face. I cringe when it lands in my ear.

“I don’t know. I think I had a dream.”

Ryan settles on the floor beside the bed, his arm draped over my stomach. His hand is tracing slow circles on my forearm.

“A nightmare? Was it about the Risen?”

I chuckle darkly. “You mean the zombies?”

“Infected?”

“Undead?”

“Humanly challenged?”

I sigh, amazed that I’m actually smiling through my tears. I open my eyes to find him grinning at me.

“I think it was about my dad,” I hear myself say.

I don’t tell him that it was about my dad on Christmas day. That it was the same dream I always have and always ignore. The one about the tree, the door, the lights, the neighbor, the doll, the screams, the blood, the keys, the car, the days, days and days of being alone with nothing but my pink Hello Kitty bag full of snacks and treats left over from our road trip to grandma’s house. That I never opened the door. That I peed in that car, in addition to other things. That I found my dad’s iPod in the center console and I clung to it, silently sang the songs I knew were on it, but I never plugged it in, never listened to it because I knew if I made a sound or shone a single small light they’d find me. I don’t tell him that they found me anyway. The Risen, the zombies, the infected, the undead, the sons of bitches that stole my light. My life.

I don’t tell him, but I know when he looks at me that he understands it. He gets it because he’s lived it. And because he sees me, like really sees me, and I want to hide from him but I don’t. I don’t because it’s not so bad being seen. Not when it’s by the right person.

“Joss, I’ll sit here with you until—“

“Can I sleep down there with you?”

He’s shocked. Me too, but I meant it. I mean it. I want it.

“Can I?” I press when he doesn’t answer, only stares.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Yeah,” he stammers, making me smile faintly.

I grab my blanket and pillow then slide down onto the floor, onto his narrow mattress beneath me. When I lay down on my side facing the cage door, I feel him hesitate. I think he’s scared. Scared of scaring me and I’m worried about it too but I want to know. I need to know if I can have him close like I think I want him to be and not freak out. Not break into a sweat or scream or run or punch him in the eye. I want to see if maybe it won’t be bad at all because I think, I hope , it will actually be better.