Carrying the Fire

My body felt battered and utterly spent once I'd finally been able to claw my way out from the torrent of rapids. Hauling myself ashore, I could do nothing but tremble purfusely, left dangerously crippled by exhaustion. Eventually I was able to crawl behind the treeline with a small spurt of energy, collapsing against the farthest trunk I could reach. There was absolutely no chance of me being able to seek shelter amongst the treetops in my condition. I drifted in and out of conciousness all day until the sun's light began to sink, casting it's shadows amongst the forest as I curled into myself to wade out the night. And what a dreadful night it was. Between my bones rattling under damp clothes for almost the whole day and my head a heavy weight every time it dipped with sleep, I was barely able to keep a look out for any approaching Biters or people who could take advantage of my very vulnerable position. Heavy with pain, my back protested just to sit up, aching to adjust myself comfortably after the beating it took amongst the rapids. Yet what ailed me most was the loss of my bow. That compound bow was the first weapon I had stepped up with almost since the beginning of the Outbreak, and it crushed me having to leave it behind. Todd had taught me how to shoot, and with plenty opportunities to practice, I'd been able to relax into it's aim much more comfortably than any gun. Sentimental values aside, the loss would now drastically effect my hunting capability. With the bow, I had been able to remain silent to the surrounding forest while tracking game and defending myself with quiet arrows, but now I would regretably have to rely on the rifle and Todd's sickle.
Absorbing the situation I'd wound myself in just caused me to grib tighter to the make-shift fletching I held close throughout the night, now my only semblance of protection until I could reach my supplies. Both bags were stored much too far for me to reach in the dark, so I would just have to make due until morning, without any weapon but the sharpened bolt in my hands. I felt so helpless stripped of my main security and companion.
"From the second you thought about it, when your rag didn't show, you wished you'd lose it."
Leaning back my weary head, I sighed against the tree I had crawled to, remembering my hallucination earlier. My mother's taunts burned at me. Even in death, Rhian had shit to talk, even if it was disturbingly close to the truth. It was shameful thinking back to that first month I had worried when my menstration never occurred, I had kept it a terrible secret and wished for the best that it couldn't be true. From a medical perspective, I pretty much knew once the second month rolled by, but still tried to cling on any theories I could think of that prevented my period; I'd been exremely malnurished the first few months trying to get a grasp on survival with just myself to depend upon, it wasn't unheard of that a woman could have unfrequent periods under strains of stress and emaciation. I'd been disallusional. Even now it was a struggle to comprehend my condition. And to top it off, I was increasingly finding comforts from the dead, relying on Todd's memories to keep me sane much more often. But was it really? I had almost let myself drown at the promise of being carried away in reminising, and that deeply concerned me.
Yet in the dark of the wilderness, all I could do was discreetly weep at the hopeless prospect this pregnancy promised and the cloud of smoke seeping through lips shutting behind a closed door. A pair of dead eyes leered back at me, muddling between pale sapphire and grey, the fog of infection sliding over the once lively shine of iris's in the dead of night. When I slept, I often had nightmares of Todd turning after his death. It was something I knew he was adament about preventing. Before my escape, I recalled gathering the courage to ask Merle the question that continuously plagued me after I was delivered the news of my boyfriend's death, if Todd had been laid to rest permanently, at least. Having been vague and only mildly discriptive about his comrad's death, it had been one of the very rare moments I ever felt Merle act truely sincere when he promised he'd made sure to take care that Todd was laid to rest peacefully. Yet that had never been enough to ward off the phantom who visited my dreams with his warped eyes now a blank dead gaze that beckoned me.
And oh, how earnestly I wished I could follow.
Thankfully through my battle of half-concious illusions all night, I had been left undisturbed to see another sunrise. Despite my severely stiff limbs, I was content to enjoy the bask of sunlight seeping through the tree tops above bathing the sky in it's soft magenta-gold glow. With the rise of the sun, my turmoils began to fade with the receeding shadows of the night and my spirits slowly began to thread back together as the forest awakened. Still feeling horribly weak from lack of food and water for most of the previous day, the new sun seemed to give me a gracious little dose of energy to begin examining myself. My back groaned something terribly, but as I bent myself over my lap and prodded gently along the knobs of my spine, I thankfully couldn't feel any bone fractures or slipped disks. That didn't disclude I hurt like hell, and my knee was just as banged up-looking swollen and purple when I rolled up my sweats. I rolled my shoulder to try and loosen it's arthritic-like stiffness, remembering it had been first to be hit once the river became deadlier. My body creaked like I was trying to grind old gears, but for the most part, it wasn't anything I wouldn't get through. I gingerly reached a hand to touch my face only to retreat back just as quickly, hissing from the sting of a wound below my right eye but I couldn't see. Feeling the crusty scab of dried blood along my cheekbone, I decided to just leave it alone for the time being, seeing as my already small stash of medical supplies was miles away. I timidly pulled up my shirt, lightly reaching to touch my rounded stomach. I knew that I was coming up on the months I should be feeling the fetus move by now, but it was still just my stomach to me, without any emotional attachment. The baby was still an it, but that didn't mean there wasn't a part of me that worried for it's health. I couldn't recall ever taking any hits to my abdomen while being tossed amongst the scatter of rocks, so hopefully I hadn't caused the still very small life inside any critical damage. Time could only tell I determined, pulling back down my shirt, but not before my thumb stroked thoughtfully over the still foreign-like bump that had taken residence in my body.
Heavily relying on the support of a tree, I was able to eventually haul my legs to support themselves and stand, whimpering in misery when my sore muscles were pulled on mercilessly. With my fingers practically embedded into the bark, I panted at the excertion, already felt like the process of dragging myself to my feet zapped most of the strength left in me. The knee I had bruised protested every time it bent, but I just willed myself to continue limping for the river, reaching out with my hands to catch the passing by trees to help me forward. I couldn't hear anything over the soft roar of the fast-forwarded stream. but I peeked around the safety of the treeline to make sure no one was preoccupying this part of the stream. With the water moving so fast, I deemed it suitable enough drinking water, carefully crouching down to cup my hands and sipping from the river. A sweet remedy for my cotton-mouth and dried lips, I dabbed at my face with wet fingers to soothe the cheek that had now swelled and cleaned the cobwebs from the corner of my eyes. Previously ashen mouthed and dehydrated, I definately felt a part of myself replenished, but the grumble of my stomach warned me it wouldn't last very long eiyher if I couldn't aquire it food soon.
Making it back to the tree closest with my supplies near the waterfall, it had been a tedious and slow trip following the river back. My knee eventually began to stretch out it's stiffness, but the rest of my muscles still burned exhaustedly. I continuously tried to make small windmills as I hiked, trying to loosen my starched shoulders, somewhat appreciative I had time to prepare my taunt back for carrying the beast of a bag. Tiny rustles and the echoes scurryied by in the trees, alerting me of the forest's creatures scurrying by right under my nose but could only listen on sadly with my lonely arrow and wish I had it's partner to catch me breakfast. Twigs and dried leaves crunched under my boots during the trip causing my paranoia to flare, I felt noisy but it was harder for me to step lightly with such an ailing limp. Reminded of the light footsteps I'd been lucky enough to catch when I did, I found them unfamiliar, unlikely from Woodbury- especially not the pregnant woman. Or that asshole who stole my bow. He must have belonged to a seperate group, one either sympathetic or merciful to watch over such a liability. My guess, it was just some other survivors who were passing through, scavenging like most from the highway. But that didn't mean they were any less dangerous, clearly showing they had no problem pulling the trigger on an intruder.
With such close calls one after another, I felt utterly spent and on the edge. Merle had probably reassured Philip by now that I was still alive and well out here so close by, no doubt aching to get his hand on me. The pelt of bullets from Woodbury, the arrow that shot right past my head, the shots from the chasing strangers; I felt a decision needed to be made about staying around this area of Georgia for much longer amongst all recent threats. Now that winter had receeded, I was no longer trapped by the cold and I felt healthier to travel. I didn't have to linger here. As much as I detested what Woodbury had become, I still felt an odd sort of attachment to remain close by. When I first lost Penny, I had been so blood thirsty for revenge I had conspired countless plans against the town, refusing to be the driven off as their successfully repressed secret. Yet now, after my rage became less of a mask, I knew better I wasn't in any position to put myself at such risk and resigned to survive like Todd had wanted me to. My heart felt weak, I couldn't deny the reluctance to leave was due to some irrational need to linger near a place I had once called home. Where the last of our lives were together. I wasn't ready to leave Todd behind. Not yet.
The river soon lead me back to the waterfall, but I didn't take the time to enjoy it's beauty this time and just hurried to check the perimeter incase the group from yesterday had lingered. Coming up clear, I rushed to the tree I remembered I had stored my bag in, feeling anxious to just leave behind this spot already. Climbing the tree had been a bitch. My knee shook with protests while my shoulders seared, but luckily I hadn't stored the supplies too high and was eventually able to unclip my bag from the branch I'd buckled it to, pushing it to the forest floor and tossing down my sickle and rifle with it. Finding it much easier to slide back down, I shook out the stinging of my knee after landing, reaching back to carefully position the straps over my shoulders and buckled it around my midsection for good measure. Looping the sickle through the gun-less holster of my utility belt, I slung the rifle back around me by it's shoulder strap. Storing away the arrow, I decided it was best to keep the fletchings stored away. zipping them completely closed inside the bag rather than half poked out to be quickly retrieved like they'd been accustomed too. Maybe one day I could come across another bow... in the meantime, I'd keep them with me and hold on to my wishful thinking. It was a strain on my back for sure, but I proceeded to trudge on under the weight on my sore shoulders. Sparing the waterfall once last look, all the tragedies conspired here desaturating it's marvel and I decided this would be the last time I would return here.
I'm sorry Penny.
I then began to make my way back into the depths of the woods; it was time I rejoined the rest of my supplies. On the way, I only came up on a few Biters, none giving me too much trouble that the blade of my sickle couldn't take care of. Even so, the physical excertion on my rigid ligaments from the melee weapon made me miss the easy aim of my bow, but tried not to sulk too long about it. A much longer hike than usual due to unpreventable breaks I had to take with the bag off my back, I used these times to snack on the energy bars I'd been able to take from the run just two days ago. They were tasteless in my mouth from such exhaustion, but I chewed anyways, in desperate need of nurishment to quench the shakes beginning to creep on me. I could only imagine how low my blood sugar must be at this point. After hours of scanning tree roots, I finally began to recognize a few of my markings, leading me to a more familiar route through the forest. Being a rather thick and tall tree purposely meant to ward off from anyone's sight, when I finally found it, I now regretfully dreaded having to climb that high with my body still feeling frail and bruised. Like the blubbering damsel I desperately still tried to repress, I tearfully struggled with such an obstable and my heart wrenched at how helpless I felt, alone and feeble.
"I'd wanna go to sleep too Babygirl, don't worry, momma understands."
Rhian's words from the day before whispered and disrupted my inner-turmoil, flickering a spark of desire inside to push past the wallowing and get through another mother fucken day. I would not sleep, and my mother didn't understand a damn thing about me. Leaving everything against the trunk to wait for me except for the M16 hanging strapped around my back, I climbed with a determined strength, gritting through the stiff soreness of my protesting body. Able to build up a rythm of reaching, pulling, and lifting, I grunted my way up the trunk, ignoring any attempts to be subtle and just focused on getting up. As I approached just below the bag, I strained to reach and unhitch the buckles securing my supplies, panting as I stretched for the clasps. At last I was able to unclip the buckles, edging out the way as the heavy bag was released and toppled from the branch to land unceremoniously on the ground next to it's twin. Climbing down carefully most of the way, when I was only a quarter of a ways left, I just let myself shimmy and drop the rest of the way, grunting as my knees and ankles gave out under my weight and was unable to prevent crumpling to the ground. Only slightly winded by the fall, I didn't care now that I was laid on the floor and heaved greatfully that there would be no more climbing. Wishing I could have just let my head fall back and drift to sleep, I couldn't just let myself rest out in the open like this and had to retrieve myself up off the ground with more will power than psychal strength.
On the way here, I had pondered what I should do about my camping situation. I had not the strength to carry two bags up any more trees and it didn't sit well with me spending another night camped on the forest floor. I than began unpacking my supplies, remembering I had picked a larger camping backpack that I decided to substitute. Rearranging the essentials; food, water, and ammo were squeezed into the new bag, compacted tightly as I could bulge everything together, even managing to slip the remaining grenades away, leaving the bricks of ammo on top. In my other smaller duffel bag, I stocked away blankets, clothes, soap, a tubberware of first aid equipment and other various supplies I could travel with, yet afford to part with if I absolutely needed to drop the bag and run. I sadly packed away my collection of fletchings in the duffel bag too, not having a need for their immediate reach anymore without the bow.
Throwing in the last of what I thought could fit, I paused at what was left crumpled at the bottom of the bag. Unfolding them back out, I chewed at my lip while my eyes scanned over the polaroid I remembered stuffing with my supplies in my rush to escape Woodbury, my heart hitched to take in the last traces of a life I had once lived before the world changed. My fingers traced over the creases in the older of the photos, the gawky teenage faces of my sister and I laughing so hard with each other it pinched our cheeks red and crinkled, Jemma in front of us red faced from crying. Our dad had been the photographer, capturing us cackling hilariously at Jemma while trying to rinse gum out of her toddler curls. It might have been a little mean spirited, but at the time, Nat and I had found our laughter much too contagious while globbing sandwich spread over our sister's hair. It had been my favorite picture of us, at a much simpler time in our lives when it just the three of us that mattered the most in each other's lives. The other photograph was old too, not so much that it was a polaroid but a developed print, still in just as shabby of shape as the previous. Grinning softly to see it was one of Todd and I, the two of us holding up glass boot-sized stines filled to the brim of bright amber beer while cheering each other with our drinks clinked together. This had been taken only shortly after befriending one another, progressing past the stage of meeting eyes across a bar every weeked to making the effort of aquintancing himself with passing by conversations whenever it was my turn to grab the next round. It had been a Beerfest theme that weekend and the movie's infamous stine was being sold that night. Convienantly we'd bumped into each other when I'd been inquiring about the boot, Todd exclaiming he was surprised to see a "small gal" such as myself was really going for the boot, so much so that he offered to pay if I promised to finish one with him. Never quite sure if it was the brandy on rocks I'd been nursing previously, or the fact I did in fact find him quite attractive, but I agreed. My girlfriend at the time snapped this picture of my drinking buddy for the night with her disposable camera and I secretly decided to take this one from her stack of developed photos, bashfully keeping it to myself after the buzz of that night. The camera had so happens caught a brief moment of me eyeing Todd out from the corner of my eye, trying to smile back at the camera but keeping him in my sights. Todd on the other hand, had completely turned his head to stare down at me, the sly-like smirk and glint in his eyes hinting at a smoldering lust. This was captured at the very beginning of our budding flirtation and had become my fondest picture of us. Losing so many photos I had once dearly loved, I had managed to save and cling to these last two throughout it all. Swallowing back tears that welling in the corner of my eyes I deemed pointless, I blinked them away to slide the photographs back with what I still traveled with. Once everything was sorted and arranged the way I saw fit, I rolled up the old bag to shove in as the last thing I zipped inside. Hitching the backpack over my shoulders, yet again, I couldn't help but groan and grip the handles of the duffel bag as well.
I began to make my very slow trek north in search of the small community of nothing but abandoned houses, deciding to revisit after passing by months ago previously. I could have followed the highway, but as tempting of a prospect at a clear path without the worry of getting lost, I was still apprehensive about approaching the main road through Georgia- well aware Merle or Philip could be patroling and just waiting for me to make an appearance. It was a shortcut anyways, cutting through the woods rather than winding completely around, but I was growing ever wearier and wished I could've just picked up a car with fuel and drove there. While I walked, I took in the almost tiresome sight of the woods, my old appreciation of it's beauty worn thin as I grew worn of this life. I knew I couldn't live here forever. Eventually, I would soon become that woman I had stumbled on the other day. Like a ghost in the back of my plans, that swollen pregnant stomach gleamed back at me, an inevitable road block I would need to start anticipating. How was I to run? To kill? To climb, with that full melon-size of a life inbetween?
These thoughts were nothing but salts to the wounds my mother had already clawed fresh, but like every other time the topic grew too stressful, I merely brushed it aside and carried on with the objective of the present.
After walking all god-forsaken day it felt, I finally found the small nestle of houses, intentionally meant to be lake houses by the looks of them. It clearly looked as if the small community by the small body of water had been dragged through several attempts of people trying to inhabit the area. It was now left as nothing but a city of corpses left behind. Whoever had last been here had picked off any remaining Biters that lingered from their last meal, but also took the liberty of stripping this place clean of any and all resources. I didn't care to scavenge and just wanted to find a place I could rest my feet already, walking as a whisper but held my sickle ready at hand. Amongst the lifeless suburban in the woods, I chose a house that had the least dead bodies and blood splattered across it's front entrance. Reaching to see if the door was unlocked, I noticed blood was stained on the doorknob and grimaced as I gripped my hands over it anyways, relieved to see it did in fact turn quietly open.
Instantly my senses were hit by a putrid stench that overwhelmed my stomach, sending me doubling over to puke in the doorway. Finally able to get a grip over myself, I coughed what was left to heave and wiped the corners of my mouth, making to grab the bandana out from my back pocket to tie around my face. Attempting to just breathe in and out through my mouth, I tried to enter again, I was instantly greeted by the very loud hums of flies buzzing heavily amongst the house, so much that I'd been afraid they were bees by how loud and how many were flocked together. Stepping through the house, I clutched my forearm close to stiffle the stench of what reeked up the house house while waving to shoo a path through the the front room with my other. I noticed like a sick punch to my stomach why so many flies flooded amongst the room. Bodies were sitting slouched along the walls, each with blood splatters just a couple feet above the fallen corpses, all with matching bullet holes through the foreheads. Maggots were crawling from most, some spewing out from slack jawed mouth's or out from under rotted eye sockets, flies flying and landing all over that sillhouettes were hardly recognizable under the dozens of tiny bodies. And it wasn't just the decaying carcasses lying execution style amongst the room that mortified me, but the words spray-painted in red across the house's walls': Only the dead have seen the end of the world.
I wondered if Plato knew just how accurate his philosophies would be.
Stepping inside and closing the door despite the rank stench, I proceeded to nudge over bodies with the toe of my boot, checking to see if each corpse was officially dead. Scoping through the rest of the house, I was greatful it was one story and met with various other bodies dead in the same manner as the ones in front. For the most part, the house was plain with only a few knocked over frames and generic decorative paintings, a vacation house no doubt, like most of the others around the neighborhood likely were. Sneaking towards the back, I slid open the sliding glass door as quietly as I could to slip out and take a gulp of outside air. But it was hardly much better, as a swarm of flies stuck around outside to roam more more bodies littered outside as well. Walking further from the porch, I realized these people had a rather large, kidney-shaped swimming pool dug out and cemented under blue tile, entirely empty. I couldn't help but roll my eyes that someone would have a pool at their lake house, but proceeded to step over the dead and look over the ledge at how deep twelve feet looked from the furthest end. Two Biters were wandering aimlessly around the bottom, most likely having fallen in quite some time ago by the looks of their extra weak, slow shuffling. Surveying the yard, it made me a little uneasy wondering how these Biters could've wandered in with a cement wall enclosing the entire backyard from all sides, but it seemed secure enough for now. Setting down my bags, I cracked the ache in my shoulders and arched my back to stretch before making my way to the step ladder, preparing to step down facing forward while keeping a hold of the metal ladder with my free arm to prevent my balanace from wobbling right into the arms of Biters now noticing my presence. Kicking away their fingertips with the tip of my boot as they growled and reached for me, I swiped down with the sickle in my free hand, missing the Biter's head with only the echo of steel slicing through air to show for my swing. Crouching down a little lower on the steps, my fingers sliding with me on the ladder as I gave myself more slack to reach further. Swinging the sickle down this time, I was able to embed the curved tip through the top of his skull to pierce the brain, swiftly yanking the blade back out before it could collapse and pull down my weapon and I with it. Kicking out, I landed a heavy boot to the face of the remaining Biter, giving me a chance to readjust myself on the steps while it stumbled to regain her footing and renew it's pursuit. Slicing back the sickle, I ended up hacking the blade across it's face, tearing open a huge gash in it's deteriating head and pulling out brain matter with the sharpened end after jerking it back out.
With the perimeter now Biter free, I felt content enough with the location I chose to settle in for the night, hopefully, maybe long enough until I recovered. Setting to work, I began dragging the surrounding carcasses to the best of my ability and began piling them up around the edge of the pool, keeping my bandana securely intact over my face. These corpses out here looked more to be the Biter's work than from inside, various limbs were missing, faces chewed off, some even so withered down they surely wouldn't make the trip without falling apart in shambles. There had been so many I realized, they made a lap around the entire pool almost twice, I couldn't help but wonder what went down but was just relieved to position the last one. Throwing my bags over, I decided this would be a sufficient enough Biter barricade incase others were tempted to wander back here somehow searching for a meal and I stepped back down the ladder, this time letting myself land in the eerily empty bottom of the pool. Once kicking aside the dead bodies towards the shallower end, I was finally able to begin settling down for the night. Unzipping the backpack, I pulled out the couple blankets I had rolled up so tightly I had to yank hard a few times to finally wiggle it loose, unfolding the sheets that had been with me all winter and spreading them across the dusty tile.
Finally able to sit, I sighed in satiated relief and my body sagged into the cement wall I'd propped against. Tilting my head back, I stared up at the light of the sky beginning to glow dimmer, concluding another day. So exhausted, I didn't bother toeing off my boots as I bundled myself beneath the covers, curling my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs, using them to rest my head against like boney pillows. Too tired to remain aware, my eyes immediately fluttered shut as I my conciousness slipt adrift. But not without my secured sickle next to me.
When I awoke later, it showed just how exhausted I had been to see I had slept through most of the night undisturbed by the looks of a dark sky beginning to tinge with morning's first light. The moment of recognition after batting away the cobwebs of sleep, my hand instinctually reached to my blade tucked away with me under the covers, easing back into comfort with the handle back in my grasp. It hadn't been the most comfortable sleep against the cold tile of the pool but I appreciated it none-the-less. Sitting up, I felt feline-like as I stretched out my still fatigued limbs, probably contributed from sitting all night and the soreness from days previous events, yawning while I arched to crack my back and stretch out the kinks in my shoulder. I was definately still sore from being smashed against boulders after already being dragged through the ringer from the run just the day before, but I was less restraining from yesterday and much more durable.
The morning was silent, other than the flies still hovering above, hardly a sound could be heard. We were surrounded by the woods, so the birdsongs could faintly be heard coming from the trees and I tried to tune of the buzzing of decay to enjoy the singing from the wilderness instead. Taking advantage of the quiet, I sifted through my bags to slide out the tuberware that rattled around various first aid supplies I'd picked up throughout various houses and stores I'd looted. Deciding to save the alcohol swabs for a more serious wound, I pulled out the antiseptic gel to squeeze a pea-sized drop onto the tip of my index finger. Feeling for the now itchy scab across my cheek, I carefully dabbed on the ointment, wincing as I could already feel the sting of the germy scrape disinfecting. I then took turns examining my hands, feeling how swollen and sensitive due to splinters I hadn't taken care of and allowed to fester embedded into my palms. Retrieving a pair of tweezers, I went to work picking out the hair-thin splinters and couldn't contain a few whines of frustration when some felt more like branches, trying to painfully dig them free or pinch loose like pimples the best I could. After the tedious task of plucking my hands clean, I grabbed the dark bottle of hydrogen peroxide to uncap and took turns tipping it to pour sparingly over my palms, biting my lip to keep from wimpering at the sting. Letting my hands simmer, I allowed the peroxide to do it's job in cleansing out the wounds. When it felt the prickling of disinfectant finally began ebb, I figited around through my bag until I came across the pair of gloves I'd found at Big 5. Grabbing the knife hidden in my boot, I flicked it open and proceeded to cut away at the ends of each finger until I had a matching pair to slide on as protection over my hands' scrapes and cuts.
Allowed to actually eat in peace, I pulled out one of the few remaining granola bars, chewing only to indulge my growling stomach while I examined the empty space thoughtfully. This could be a nice little set up if I made my own touches to it, but I couldn't help but feel weary to linger here after seeing the way it's former inhabitants had been slain. This place offered too much appeal to any who came across this little town close to the mountains. It had too much potential of attracting others and I knew better than to stay. Shame on me if I let such an incident happen twice. But for the time being, I reattached my bandana and explored a little more inside the house. Picking through the kitchen first, the cuboards had been picked clean like I had already predicted, the refridgerator that had been powered off long ago only holding a rotten carton of milk and leftovers long spoiled in tuberware containers. There wasn't much to take from the living room either, all the dvd's useless without electricity to power on the tv and whatever remaining furniture was dusty and lifeless. In one bedroom however, I took in the library lined up against each wall as if the bookshelf should've been wallpaper, a few knocked over from who knows what happened here. Skimming through the titles, I was impressed to see the collections of Lewis Carroll, Edgar Allen Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Irvine Welsh, Bret Easton Ellis, J.R.R. Tolkien... So many favorites I could spot.
Merle would've liked this place. But as briefly as that thought had flickered across my mind, it was just as quickly stiffled. There would no longer be exchanges between us. As much as I loathed the man presently, a small part of me missed the secret little distribution of books I would sneak to him. Merle would never admit it aloud, but he'd grown a fond hobby of reading the literature I took to picking out for him that I thought he'd find interested in. Motherfucker can find his own books, I thought bitterly.
Tracing over the spines of these forgotten novels, my hand lingered over the familiar title of the Bell Jar. Throughout my life, I could always draw a semblance of understanding for Sylvia Plath's writing. A woman battling through sufficating standards and the psychosis of solitude hovering constantly above her, ready to drop and enclose her back in maddening isolation. Thinking back on her writing, I knew the author's true back story and recognized it should have been a biography instead; either way, her detachment was now completely rational and understandable to me. I was unable to resist drawing the book loose from it's column amongst the shelf to take with me. Even if there was no Merle to suggest it to, I kept it for myself to read later. Rolling my eyes at no one, I scoffed at the idea of Merle reading the Bell Jar anyways. That sexist simple minded piece of shit wouldn't appreciate it aynways, I grumbled to myself bitterly, or at least would never admit so.
My eyes drifted amongst the various titles, about to move on when my eyes drifted to the spine of one in particular I recognized. It was a compiled collection of Oscar Wilde's various poems and plays. He'd once been a fond favorite of mine, remembering the days I used to take buses everywhere just to read and escape the constant uproar at home whenever my mom returned or a fussy Jemma, paying a dollar just to enjoy the quiet ride. When I cracked open the spine to flip through pages, one slipped out it's bind and fluttered to the floor. Bending down to retrieve the page, I was a little saddened to see the corner had landed in blood, staining the already worn paper. Skimming over the short poem, I recognized it was one of Wilde's obscure and less known pieces:
O well for him who lives at ease
With garnered gold in wide domain,
Nor heeds the splashing of the rain.
The crashing down of forest trees. -
O well for him who ne'er hath known
The travail of the hungry years,
A father grey with grief and tears,
A mother weeping all alone. -
But well for him whose feet hath trod
The weary road of toil and strife,
Yet from the sorrows of his life
Builds ladders to be nearer to God.

By the end of reading it, I felt as if a thick weight had taken residence in the center of my chest, enough so for me to fist my shirt over the gaping void while I reread the poem a few more times. Years ago I would have read this poem and told you it reflected on a more appreciative look on those who lived easier lives rather than those made tired in life, the suffering... but in this moment, I felt Wilde's words had morphed itself into a whole new meaning. How I longed to be the one to heed the splashing of rain... or the one to never know hungry years... I felt like Todd could be the man who now lives at ease, nearer to God, while I was the one still traveling weary road of toil and strife, building ladder wishing I could be get closer...
Before I let myself wallow too long on this, I began folding it to store away in my back pocket before I even realized what I began doing and stopped mid-fold.. Why save it? There needed to be a time I would have to let go of these sentimental attachments. I would soon need to begin letting go of what was already gone, just like I would need to let go of these woods and move on. My life had to stop being a damn memoriam of Todd and get a firmer grip on reality. I had half the mind to shred the paper into tiny little pieces, but with a sigh, I unfolded the poem back up and slid it back inside the book's pages, closing it to put back on the shelf where I'd found it. I decided I should stop looking at too many books before I starting bringing them all with me and stepped back over the ones littered across the floor where they'd been knocked over off the shelves.
Getting back to buisness, I double-checked every room. I hadn't achieved much else here, only salvaging the sheets still on the beds, a couple tall candles meant for prayer, and a few mismatched colored socks left in otherwise bare drawers. When I checked the bathrooms, there was nothing useful that wasn't drenched in blood. There wasn't a body, but towels were left on the floor seemingly trying to soak up a mess but were now rock solid stained up rags. The shower curtain had nothing but blood splatters over it that stilled me from unclipping them off the shower-railing, the mirror disappointingly shattered off the wall over the sink as well. Turning to walk back into the front room, the spoil of flesh and the buzz of flies were much more prominent amongst the dead bodies decaying into the floor boards. Attempting to hold my breath as much as possible, I shamelessly frisked the corpses for maybe anything useful on hand but came up empty-handed as well- obviously these bodies had already been picked clean of any weapons they might've carried before their deaths. One had a picture stuffed in his shirt pocket, a picture of him dressed in hospital scrubs and hair net holding what I guessed was a newborn baby, kissing the soft crown of it's soft head with such a touching tenderness I had to hurriedly place it back in the flannel pocket over his heart. I was surprised to find one woman actually had a few tampons stored in her back pockets. This would have been a fabulous come up months ago, but I now just left them to continue occupying her pockets. I would'nt have to worry about these for another five months anyways. And as if this house was trying to throw another fucking sign my way, after the next couple dry bodies, I found a pleasantly familiar sandwich bag with a crumpled up thin pack of rolling papers. Opening the bagging and taking a wiff, it was infact the spicy wiff of tobaccoo- or some really bunk ass weed I thought amusedly. I longed to roll one up right now and light up as many my fingers would roll, fondly reminding me of when Nat and I used to buy Buglers because they were ridiculously cheaper than a pack. After adding them up we'd realized we got twice as many cigarettes from the rolling packs than pre-rolls. Just reckless teenagers back than, we used to play "hey mister" by the liqour store while Nat tried to convince someone to buy them for us. Dad had driven by and caught us at it once, remembering how pissed he'd been and dragged us back home very embarrassingly. What I wouldn't give to have one now at the end of what world I thought I knew. Regretfully, I looked down at the reason I shouldn't and pouted rather dejectedly.
"If I get you through this shit, you better appreciate what I had to give up for your ass," I grumbled but could only softly chuckle, only half-serious. Unlike the tampons, I felt myself about to pocket the ziploc bag, but hesitated when I remembered I had scorned the idea of taking them. Five more months. I softly smirked, recognizing I really was anticipating life after this delivery. There would be an after. I just wasn't too sure if I believed it myself until now. Stashing away the tobacco, I sneakily took the tampons with me too.
The rest of the morning went by pleasantly peaceful, only running into a handful of Biters while making a run to the woods for firewood. I'd been sadly retrieved a book from inside to use the pages as kindling until the dry wood begun to catch. Even after finally catching a flame on it's own, I still monitored it kept low just in case but it seemed the deep end of the pool was helpful keeping the fire concealed. Grabbing out the only pot I managed to still fit inside the duffle bag, raising it above the flames to heat it first while I rummaged around for one of the popcorn packages I'd collected from the run. Ripping one open once the pot sizzled hot enough, I spilled the kernals in and shook it around to distribute the seeds to keep from burning. Anticipating the pops, I had to just anxiously await for them to be over before I hurriedly took the pot off the fire once they ceased and listened intently for a few moments if I could hear anything I might have alerted my presense to. Hearing nothing initially, I still peeked above the pool level to see if there was anything, then over the concrete walls to look around and make sure no on coming Biters were traveling around aware of someone living so close by. Greatful I was still undetected here, I leapt back into the dusty, dried up bowl and proceeded to indulge myself with a later lunch.
Still sore and rigid, my body appreciated the space to rest as I enjoyed the simplicity of the warm, buttery treat melt in my mouth for a few moments, savoring the popped kernal before carefully, I waited a to see if my stomach agreed with popcorn before I ate any more. These past months, I had no control over what my body approved of or not. If the baby didn't like it, right back out it would go. This had ruined plenty of meals I'd worked hard trying to find, just for me to heave it back up and no amount of tries would get me to stomach them. Once the usual amount of time it took my stomach to decide whether to reject passed, I was allievated to find my body allowed me the salty kernals.
Even in this brief contentment, I could already feel the wheels turning to conspire the next move, my thoughts already trailing to where I'd plan to go once I was healed enough, most likely tomorrow. The popcorn and tiny bit of provisions I had wouldn't last too many more days. Usually I supplemented my rations with the game I could catch, but now with the loss of my bow I felt hunting could be a little more problematic now. I couldn't really afford the bullets, and unless I was shooting down a deer, the M16 would obliterate the small prey I was accustomed to. Thinking back to the traps I'd spent so long working on, I wished there was a way to recycle their use but remembered Merle had found them and would surely keep a watch if I dared return. I just would have to start over I had to conclude tiredly, when I was back on my feet to travel, I'd take to building more snares. I used to hate those types of traps something terrible before the world took a shit, thinking them terribly cruel to the animals. It saddened me still that I had to subject my catches to such pain before their ends but it was one of the only snares I ever really got down while Todd tried teaching me, much to clutsy and impatient to construct some of traps he used to make.
Or you can take your chances on the road, leave like you know you should. It was a pestering thought always in the corner of my plans, but a very plausable idea. I was arriving closer to a crossroads, and it was inevitable that I would need to decide on the path I should take. This day-to-day lifestyle would no longer get me by and I couldn't leave it till I became like the woman I'd stumbled on. However, I did not have a group watching my back like she had and would eventually have to find somewhere I could hole up from the danger of being disturbed.
While pondering these realities, a shot echoed out, stopping me mid chew by the sudden crack of gun fire. Then, a distant rumbling of more shots errupting somewhere amongst the forest, far enough away but not enough to ignore the storm of gun fire. It lasted quite a while to my surprise, making me wonder if it was a fire fight happening somewhere between battling survivors or maybe some poor devils had stumbled themselves on a herd. It was much too far east for it to be Woodbury, knowing the kept from roaming past the red zone as often as they could avoid it. The shots continued on for several more minutes, eventually fading and leaving the Georgian forest in anticipating silence. No other shots followed, whoever had been lighting up either quieting down or was dead by now I assumed. My jaw slowly went back to it's chewing once it seemed that was all I'd be able to hear.
"Dumbasses," I muttered around another mouthful. "Attract every herd why don't you."
Huffing at some people's stupidity, you would've thought the senseless ones would be gone by now. "Should lock up sons'a' bitches like that still out there and save the Biter's the trouble."