Kristen Simmons - Three

Every indentation in the sand was scrutinized. Every piece of trash that floated in the shallows was inspected. One of them would be the sign we needed: a footprint, or a discarded can from someone’s meal. No one wanted to return to the mini-mart with nothing to show. But an hour passed, maybe more, and there was still no evidence of survivors.

When it was my turn to carry the radio, I kept it in the trash bag over my shoulder so it wouldn’t get wet when the rain finally came. With the responsibility came paranoia; convinced I would miss the call, I checked the box every few minutes, but the red light had yet to flash green.

It was the smell that reached us first. The breeze had turned in anticipation of the storm, and carried on it a putrid, dead stench.

“What is that?” Billy finally asked, pulling the sweat-ringed neck of his T-shirt over his nose and mouth.

No one answered.

We slowed. Chase, Jack, and Rat took the lead, though Chase was the only one not to draw a gun from the back of his belt. Beside me, Sean put a warning hand on Rebecca’s shoulder, but she ignored him, leaning heavily on her crutches and shuffling onward through the sand.

Jack gagged. “Fish,” he called. “ Dead fish.”

Billy and I moved up to see, but the closer I got to the front, the more nauseating the stench became. Taking Chase’s cue, I buried my nose in the crook of my elbow, and then stopped short as a sudden breeze swept aside the fog.

The sand here wasn’t fine and white as it had been, but black, painted by waves of sticky oil during high tide. It pooled in every divot in the ground, gleaming and pearlescent, even without the bright light. Littered all across our path were animals coated in it. Fish, turtles, sea creatures I didn’t recognize. Birds, white feathers tarred and matted, beaks open, eyes blank. Not even the bugs ate them.

It went on for miles.

I fought the urge to vomit; the bile in my throat tasted like rotting things. I imagined what it must feel like to choke on oil. How it would slosh in my lungs and coat the walls of my stomach, sleek and poisonous. A warning to turn back shook through me, but all that remained behind us was more death.

I glanced over to Chase, who stared forward, and I could feel his pity for all these living things lost.

“Sick,” whispered Billy.

We stood in reverent shock for only a moment more, and then with a deafening roar of thunder, the sky broke open.

IFthere were tracks in the sand they were swept away by the storm, so we moved inland and scoured the brush and trees beside the beach in search of bits of torn clothing, campfire remains, anything to show that someone had passed through. But the raindrops fattened, and it didn’t take long before our clothing was drenched. The clatter drowned out the noise. It wasn’t until Chase was standing before me, pellets of water bouncing off his bare arms, that I noticed he was trying to tell me something.

“I said Rebecca’s falling behind again,” he repeated as I checked the red blinking light on the radio for the umpteenth time. “Sean’s got to take her back to the mini-mart.”

He was the only one besides Sean and I that kept tabs on Rebecca. At first the others had given her wide berth, like she was bad luck, but now her presence was starting to wear on them. She wasn’t as mobile as the rest of us, which made her a liability. Most hadn’t even bothered to learn her name.

I glanced back the way we’d come, sore because he had a point—Rebecca should have stayed back, despite how much I wanted to keep her in my sight. The last time we’d been apart she’d been hurt, and this was the only way I could guarantee her safety. Still, though searching was slow work, her speed was half ours, especially through the brush and knotted roots off the beach. She wasn’t going to be able to keep up much longer.

When I turned back Chase was gone, having disappeared through the mist. A frown tugged at my mouth; he was clearly worried. Somehow Rebecca had become his responsibility, too.

Billy was nearby, and I grabbed his sleeve to get his attention.

“Have you seen Rebecca or Sean?”

He glanced around impatiently. “They were behind me earlier.”

The water ran in rivulets from the tips of my hair, and I shoved it back from my face and held a hand up like a visor above my eyes. Only gray surrounded us; the low light made even the trees lose their color.

I shoved through the underbrush back the way we’d come. The mud puddles deepened in the gaps between the trees and every sloshing step soaked my socks. The beach was to my right; surely Rebecca hadn’t waded through the oil and dead animals. To my left the grass grew tall and thick, and it struck me that any number of things could be living within it.

Rebecca could be hurt within it.

“Becca!”

Sean’s call drifted over the slimy, wet field. Sweeping both hands in front of me to clear the way, I surged forward.

“Sean! Where are you?” I was glad the rain was still loud. Though we hoped to find survivors, we didn’t know who lurked in the evacuated Red Zone. For the past few days we’d stayed as quiet as possible so we wouldn’t attract unnecessary attention.

Finally I saw him—head and shoulders above the grass that tickled my neck. He spun frantically, still calling for Rebecca.

“What happened?” I asked when I reached him.

“She was right behind me,” he said, a muscle in his jaw bulging. The water matted his darkened hair and streamed down his face.

We pushed forward ten more feet, then twenty, until the grass gave way suddenly to an open, single-lane street. Rainwater cascaded down thick cracks in the asphalt, and weeds, some as tall as me, grew from the potholes. Boarded-up houses, all with a similar brick front, lined the opposite side.

Before I could make myself move, Sean had yanked me down into a crouch. Anyone could be hiding in those houses, aiming a shotgun through one of those busted windows. Maybe even one of the survivors we were tracking.

I searched the windows first, then the spaces between the buildings. Every door was marred by a Statute posting. Even the rain couldn’t peel them from the wood.

“There!” Sean pointed up the road to where a solitary figure stood on the center yellow line. Before I could stop him he was running, and with one final glance around I followed, eyes trained on the houses for movement. As we neared, the staggering gait became familiar, and two silver crutches came into view.

Sean didn’t slow as he hauled Rebecca out of the street. A short scream of surprise burst from her throat, and then she was fighting him, falling in a heap in the wet grass. Mud splashed over her clothes and freckled her face.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sean yelled. “We’ve got to keep off the roads, I told you that.”

Rebecca pulled herself up into a seated position, legs splayed out before her. She’d lost her crutches in the fall, and where they usually fastened to her forearms were raw, bleeding patches of skin. I bit back a cringe.

“Afraid I’ll get hit by a car?” She stared at him defiantly, cheeks stained, arms open to the empty street behind us.

“Yeah, Becca. That’s what I meant.”

“Stop it,” I said, inserting myself between them. “You never know who’s hiding in places like this. That’s all he’s trying to say.”

“He’s trying to say I’m a child. That’s all he’s trying—”

“Maybe if you’d stop acting like—”

“Sean!” I turned on him, pointing up the road. “Go find the others. We’re right behind you.”

Sean laced his hands behind his neck, then slammed them down in frustration. “Fine.” A moment later he disappeared through the grass and rain.