Tracey Ward - Writing on the Wall

It happened at Christmas. Quite a time for the world to end, but if we could pick and choose when Hell unhinged its jaw and tried to swallow us whole, we’d probably pick never.

As it is, I suppose it could have been worse. Being nine years old and watching your neighbor break through the sliding glass door like it was made of paper isn’t the most traumatizing thing ever. His blood spurting from shredded wounds and dead vacant eyes that somehow still see you, really see you? You can come back from that. After a few weeks I’d even get over the black blood that dripped onto my brand new Cabbage Patch Doll with the blond hair and pretty, smiling eyes. It’s fine. That’s all fine.

What you don’t come back from is watching him eat your parents. Literally, honestly, violently eat your parents. I saw it. All of it. Huddled behind the Christmas tree, peaking out through the fragrant green needles and soft glow of the multicolored lights, I watched it happen. And I remember. The sounds, the sight, the smell. I’ll never forget. Nearly ten years later I can relive it with perfect clarity, but I seriously try not to. Life is horrifying enough. I don’t need to borrow on past troubles.

Today my trouble is a wolf. Have wolves ever really been an issue in downtown Seattle before? I don’t know, I was just a kid when crazy came to town, but I’m willing to bet not. They’re everywhere now. A lot of animals are. The city has become a wilderness in a whole new way. Used to be you had to worry about walking alone at night because you might get jumped by a member of a gang or a desperate soul pushed to the limit. Now you have to worry about getting jumped by an animal in a pack or a starving zombie desperate for your brain, not your wallet. There really aren’t that many of them left anymore, though. I mean, they’re around, don’t be fooled and don’t be stupid. I’m just saying it’s not like it was. Not like in the beginning. But right now I’m pretty sure the wolves outnumber the dead.

This one is a dark gray color, long and lithe. He’d be pretty if he weren’t so deadly. And if he weren’t in my way. I need to get out and get fresh water from one of the rain traps I’ve set up on other buildings farther out. I make sure to never do it on my own building aside from one small hidden bucket for emergencies. It’s about half full but I’m thirsty and it’s getting late.

I’m standing in the dark entryway of my building watching the animal wander the street, sniffing the knee high grass growing through cracks in the asphalt. The roads are a mess these days. Really makes me wonder where our tax dollars are going. I’m just about to step out and make a break for it while his back is turned when I catch movement in another doorway farther down the street. I freeze, waiting and watching, barely breathing. It moves again, too tall to be an animal and too precise to be a zombie. It’s another person. This bothers me more than anything else. I shrink back farther into the shadows, making sure I’m completely hidden, and I watch to see what the guy’s plan is.

I know it’s a man. Not from any details of his outline or instinct or scent on the wind. I know it because statistically it’s probably true. There aren’t many women out here in the wild, not anymore. Most of us either died or entered the Colonies, of which there are too many if you ask me. There are several spread all over the city with hundreds of people in each one which to me sounds like a great way to spread the virus some more. Really bring on the second coming. I’m one of the few people, male or female, doing it alone and being a woman on the outside is not ideal. In fact, it’s downright dangerous and some of us can’t make it. There are a lot of predators out here and odds are one of them will get you eventually.

Numbers don’t lie.

So that’s how I just know this shadow messing with my plans is a guy. Probably part of a pack of his own, the thought of which makes me drop yet another step back into my building. I’m a girl stuck in Neverland with The Lost Boys. I’m no Wendy, I can hold my own and I don’t need to wait around for Peter to save me, but I’m also not an idiot. I know my enemies.

After what feels like forever, he finally makes his move. The shadow rushes quickly and surprisingly stealthily through the tangle of weeds, grass and ravaged cars until he’s directly behind the animal. I shake my head at how utterly stupid a move this is and you’re about to see why.

The wind shifts. The wolf smells him now and he’s on alert, his haunches going up, his teeth becoming exposed. He turns slowly toward the guy. There’s a long tense moment while they watch each other, neither moving a single muscle. My own muscles ache just from watching and I realize that I’m crouched down, either ready to fight or spring into a sprint.

Fight or flight. I think. Come on, guy, what’s it going to be?

Color me every shade of the rainbow surprised when he picks fight. He’s either crazy brave or just plain crazy. He runs at the wolf and I catch a glint of steel flash against the failing light of the day. He’s got a knife. It better be pretty big and he better be unbelievably fast with it. I’m trying to sort out why he would even attack this animal in the first place when they collide. The wolf snarls as the guy grunts, then they hit the ground and I can’t see them anymore. Now would be a spectacular time for me to get out of here. To either go upstairs, lay low and make do with my emergency water rations or head for the hills and find more.

I’m scanning the sidewalk, surprised it’s still clear, and leaning toward the water idea when the guy cries out in agony. The sound makes me cringe and instantly hate myself for it. You learn not to empathize here in this mad new world. Sympathy will only get you killed. But something about the sound gets to me and I hesitate. He’s going to lose. He is going to die and the wolf is alone, meaning he won’t eat all of him. Either many more wolves will be here helping him feast when I get back, this guy’s buddies will be here cleaning up the mess of his desecrated body or the infected will have descended. No matter how you slice it, if he dies on my front porch like this, I’m not making it back in this building tonight. And with the possibility of Lost Boys this close to home, I probably won’t ever return.

I swear under my breath, thoroughly pissed off. But I’m also trapped. I have to either do something or go back inside and be prepared to wait it out. Without water that’s going to suck. So I do the one thing I really do not want to do.

I save a man’s life.

I reluctantly pull out my knife as I silently close the distance between myself, animal and idiot. From a distance I thought the wolf was pretty but up close it’s beautiful. It makes me even angrier that I have to do this. There’s not much beauty left in the world, I’d rather leave it when I can find it. Like walking around a flower somehow blooming in the broken pavement of a desolate road.

I roll up on the wolf in his blind spot, his eye covered by the guy’s one good hand that’s trying desperately to keep dripping, gnashing teeth out of his jugular. It strikes me that it doesn’t look that much different from fighting a Risen. His other arm is a bloody mess pressed against the animal’s chest, coating his fur in red.

When I’m within striking range, I slash at the wolf’s side. My knife goes in easy because if I do anything in this world right, it’s keep my weapons deadly. But I make sure not to sink the blade too deeply. I’ve decided I won’t kill it, a decision that is incredibly stupid but one I can sleep with tonight. I don’t want to kill it. I want it to keep running its patrols with its pack, keeping infected and Lost Boys at bay. I’ve only grazed it, only grabbed its attention, and even though it’s probably a really bad choice, I don’t regret it. Not yet, anyway.