Tracey Ward - Writing on the Wall

“Stabbings?” I ask.

“Exactly. Here.” Keys land beside my knees on the packed, frosty dirt. “Take those. Get out of here. Do what he was supposed to do.”

I shake my head, staring at the keys. At freedom. “The Hive doesn’t know me.” I protest weakly. “They’ll never listen to me. They’ll never even speak to me.”

“Take this.” Vin says. He pulls his ring off his finger and slips it on mine. On the ring finger of my left hand. He smirks through a grimace. “Don’t get excited, it’s just a loner.”

“Nothing would thrill me less.” I mutter, staring at the ring. It’s a dark metal full of dents, scratches and dark blue flecks. It’s beautiful.

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Act like I don’t know.”

“Will they recognize it?”

“Marlow will. He knows it was my old man’s. It’s the only thing that’s ever meant anything to me.”

I look in his eyes and feel like crying. He could die. I could die. We all might die no matter what I do but suddenly I feel so cold and bone tired I don’t even know which way is up anymore.

“They won’t listen to me, will they?” I whisper.

His lips form a grim line. He shakes his head sharply. “Probably not.”

I nod, looking at the ring and thinking it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Not if we never try.

“Alright, I’ll go.” I say, standing and quaking with cold and nerves.

“Hey.” Vin says. He’s staring up at me and in this light I can’t read his eyes. “You’ll get it done. You’re a better man than I am.”

I chuckle. “No shit.”

Two minutes later I’m wearing Tim’s sweater, carrying the knife and trowel and I’m running through the gates. I fumble in the dark, slipping on the wet boards of the dock. Finally I get my hands on a small rowboat and cast off, launching myself out over the cold, black water. If a guard sees me they don’t say anything and I wonder if some of them aren’t sick of the Colony after all. It’s a miracle I’ve made it out unseen and unhurt. It’ll be an even bigger miracle if I survive.

It’s icy cold out here and even with Tim’s sweater I’m still shivering violently. It’s not just the cold. It’s the lack of adrenaline after the fight, it’s the shock of having killed a woman, it’s the fear for Vin’s life, it’s the fear for my life and the fear of the Risen that surround this place in a thick wave that comes crashing in on me the second I take to shore.

I have to start running immediately and I can only hope I’m going the right way. Tim told me to head southeast. He said there are roads that are intentionally filled with debris and made impassible to force attacks from only one direction. Southeast.

I run as fast as I can, leaving a pocket of Risen behind and finding a blessed silent section of the city. I know the Risen are surrounding me on all sides, I can hear them everywhere, but I have to get it together. I slow my pace, slow my breathing and try to slow my mind. It’s racing ahead of me, running away from me. It’s already at The Hive. It’s already standing before Marlow, assuming I ever even make it that far without being killed or pimped, and it’s failing. It’s showing him the ring, he’s laughing in its face and he’s sending it to the stables. All my worst fears are running around me, after me, before me. I feel so boxed in and terrified that I stop moving entirely to lean over and vomit on the street.

A Risen stumbles in front of me from out of nowhere, though in this darkness everywhere is nowhere. It takes me a moment to get my bearings and it’s a moment I don’t have. I take an extra second too long to verify that it’s dead, that it’s not another Caroline and in that second it grabs me hard. I drop the knife to push on its forehead and keep its gnashing, drooling teeth from closing in on my face. I can smell the putrid breath of the thing rolling over me and I gag hard. I can’t get in a clean breath. I’m starting to see stars. I’m wondering what the hell is wrong with me when I finally get it together enough to jam the trowel into the Risen’s eye. It’s too large to go in far enough to damage the brain so I have to pull it out and try another tract. It will scar me further for the rest of my days, but I do what I know works. I start stabbing the trowel into the neck of the thing, front and back and sides, pushing harder and harder back until it finally does it job. The head falls forward useless as all of the muscles I’ve cut lose tension and give out. It’s drooling over its own chest now, unable to look anywhere but at its feet and as I back away it starts walking in circles looking for me.

I can hear the moan and groan of other Risen falling in close on me from all sides. They smell the blood on me. Caroline’s blood. It’s all over the shirt beneath Tim’s sweater. Even now with that sweater covered in the cold black tar that this zombie just sprayed all over me, they smell Caroline. There are too many here and I don’t have the kind of weaponry I need to survive this. Even with my ASP and a gun I don’t know if I’d survive this swarm. This is part of the Colony’s defenses, I realize. This is just another way they keep us locked in. Or dead.

I give up running. I’m lost in the dark at this point and exhausted beyond reason. I decide to head for the nearest building. It’s my only shot though it’s not much of one. I’m shivering and shaking as I sprint clumsily inside, feeling the agonizing press of the walls around me and the hands at my back. They’re everywhere, literally everywhere here and I wonder if this wasn’t the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. I make it to the stairwell and start to climb, my legs shaking beneath me. I stumble twice and each time it’s harder to get back up. I can’t see a thing in here and I’m working entirely on feel. Do you understand how horrifying that is? Being in the dark, nearly unarmed and surrounded by your worst nightmare. I expect every step to stumble me, every breath to be my last. Every corner holds the promise of stepping straight into the crushing embrace of a hungry risen, primed and ready to devour me with yellow, rotted teeth. They’ll sink into my flesh. They’ll tear it from the bones. All while I live and breathe and scream.

By the time I burst through the opening to the roof, I’m crying. I’m weeping, nearly hyperventilating and shaking from head to toe. I slam the door behind me, nearly screaming in relief when I find a working lock on it. I don’t hear the infected coming, but that doesn’t mean they’re not. They’re down there in the streets below, shuffling and moaning. They were in the building as I ran through. They know where to find me. It’s only a matter of time.

I collapse against the door, sinking down onto the rough rooftop. I’m feeling like this is as good a place as any to die. I work harder than I ever have before to find my numb. To get it back, to be the unfeeling, uncrying, unafraid, unaffected husk I have been for the last six years. To be the girl who survives. But I’m not her anymore. I haven’t been since the comet and the music and the kiss. Since the words on the wall. Since the back of the van. Since the kitchen and the laughter.

I’m not a survivor anymore. But I am alive.

“I’m awake.” I whisper into the cold darkness.

I doze off. Somewhere in the night my shivering isn’t enough to keep me awake anymore. But the sudden banging on the door is.

Directly behind me, separated by only inches of steel door, are clawing hands and shuffling feet. Gnashing teeth and hungry, dead eyes. I can feel the salty trails of my tears dried on my cheeks, making them feel stiff and strange. My body is achingly cold and angry from sitting in front of this door for so long. I can’t run. I doubt I can fight. Even if I can, how many are there? One for sure, for now, but how many will follow? Given enough time there will be enough to bring the door down and where will I go from there?