Carrying the Fire

The time spent residing in the culdesac by Jackson Lake had turned to actually be prosperous- once I was able to keep paranoid thoughts from running away with me. It took three days og living on edge before I was able to get over my initial suspicions of the eerily undisturbed town. Remembering the last homely place we had tried to reside in even before Woodbury, I couldn't help but feel convinced this was a trap; a stage town other scavengers used to lure wandering survivors to take their supplies- and most likely wouldn't leave with their lives. All who had originally escaped Atlanta were well acquiantanced with these types of places and made me dreadfully nervous I had stumbled on one. Even the pool hadn't felt secure enough- not just from Biters that is- so I spent the next night, and the night after, barricaded in the library-like room with the bookshelves shoved up against the door, unfortunately unsuccessful at keeping out the rank odor that seemed to stink up every room in the house. There wasn't much rest to be had those first few nights, keeping every light of mine dimmed I awaited any sounds or signs of intruders with the assault rifle in my lap by the window. Those days went by and I was left undisturbed, yet still I couldn't squash the unsettlement. I blamed my obsessive vigilance and lack of sleep for the momentary lapse of psychosis I was experiancing cooped up in a clammy decay-smelling house. Every attempt I made to shut out any incessant neurosis, memories were the only thing I ever saw behind my closed eyelids. And until recently, I was beginning to see faces bleed from the pages of my memory to leak over into my reality even after I opened my eyes; some days it was Penny, sitting on the other side of my lonely candle, the sliver of light flickering over the shadow darkening her face to reveal her smiling back at me like the way we'd been our nights by the waterfall, or sometimes I could still hear her softly singing that lullaby of her's, echoing and interrupting my thoughts... Bye, baby bunting, daddy's gone a hunting... But sometimes, in the dark of a sleepless night, she stared back at me with the pale reflection of moonlight on her face and her abdomen shining a dark, wet crimson that seeped through the tear in her polka-dot jacket. The last way I had seen that little girl. I was well aware these were blatant signs I was going shit-fucking-crazy, but was I truely going insane if I acknowledged the abbarations I was seeing were the work of an unravaling state of mind?
But after a few more days of confinement without another presense besides those in my head and the occassional wandering Biter, I finally allowed myself to sleep outside like I prefered. It didn't take long at all to spring back into my old health- not the greatest, but my bruises were no longer so sore and crippling which was enough for me. Once recovered enough, I took advantage of this deserted town to supplement my little to no food supply I had remaining, now able to properly explore through the settlement of houses. But just like the first time I visited this place, every house had been combed over pretty thoroughly. Surprisingly I was able to dig up a left behind flashlight that fortunately I had batteries for and a few utensils I'd plucked from a kitchen drawer, not remembering the last time I ate with a fork or spoon. As much as I detested the rotten stench that permanently polluted up the air, I tried to leave everything as untouched as I could manage, not wanting to give anyone the slightest clue there was someone living around here. The docks proved to have much more interesting crevises to look through; the few local tackle and bait shops had of course been included in the town's raid, but I was able to pick through a few of the meager aisles to find a few hooks lying spilled across the floor where a tackle box had fallen over, and a small wheel of fishing line- and a Milky Way I'd snagged behind the counter on my way out.
It seemed to be my knee that took the longest to heal and was unable to walk without a limp for a few days, so I used the time to gather as much wood I could find around the nearby woods to pile inside the pool with me. Not just to keep a fire for neccessities, but I collected some of the longest fallen branches to widdle and sharpen their ends enough into my own make-shift harpoons. Taking advantage of the lake, I used the large entrapment of water and began a process of hammering the thickest sticks I'd saved into the muddy lake floor, staking them secure enough so they could stand straight up on their own. I did this in a few scattered rows leading from the shore, thinning the space of water leading towards the lake's bank between the wall of sticks. Collecting some of the larger pebbles along the lake shore, I scattered them between the rows and clustered up the pathways for fish attempting to swim through would have to avert their direction closer to the shore. Keeping the few sticks I had sharpened especially, I spent the week wading up to my knees in the cooling lake water, using this technique of trapping fish which took just about a whole day's work inbetween perimeter check breaks. By the end of the day, my feet were turned to pale raisens showing just how much time I invested with my feet in the water. I would have to rely on this method for the time being, since most of my woodland hunting would have to be put at a hold, at least temporarily. It was Nick who actually showed us this nifty little trick. While Todd was the ever insightful tracker, brought up camping in the woods of Northern California, and Merle the exceptional marksman, born and raised hunting amongst the mountains of Georgia- it was Nick who showed the two outdoorsmen a thing or two about fishing, proving to be a rather helpful food supply. The lake did have a few trout-looking fish that I was able to spear once they swam close enough after the first few initial trial and errors. Gutting fish was just about as disgusting as skinning game, the first try causing me to hurl at the wiff of fish guts. But after the first incident I was able to hold my breath and continue on slicing off fish heads and open up underbellys to clean out in the lake water. However, I came to realize this lake had way more crawdads than fish after nearly being scared out of my skin a few times from feeling them crawl across my bare feet. So then after, I put to use the little fishing hooks and tied them to the fishing lines I'd found and dug up a few worms to skewer as bait that hadn't been difficult to find from the muddy lake's shore. Crawdad fishing proved to be much more taxing on my patience that I had anticipated, unlike hunting where I was constantly on the move I had to wait completely still at the water's edge for the worm to intrigue a wandering by crustation enough. Only holding the string with just my fingers, it took a couple tries and a few more worms to get the hang of yanking up the hook at the right time as it's bitten, but just before it can pull the bait from the hook. It was tedious to say the least, but it kept me busy with a purpose that helped negate the phantasms.
Once limber enough to climb comfortable, I wasted no time returning to the familiarity of the treetops, using their branches to set up small squirell-sized snares and carving up the bark with the long curve of my blade to remind me which would need watching, the said object now seemingly a permanent fixture in my grasp to replace the lost security of my compound bow. Scouring the nearby brush along the forest floor just as thoroughly as the foliage above, I wound wire around the loose bramble of bushes nearest to small paths of grass I could faintly make out frequented rabbit tracks. These proved to work sufficient enough, catching myself quite a few squirells although I regretably couldn't say as much for my rabbit snares. Rather than remaining disconnected from killing my prey with an arrow shot at a distance, I had to actually end the small lives by my hands if the squirell's didn't hang themselves from the branches they caught themselves on. I tried to be as humane as possible, plunging my knife quick and deeply through the jugulars to spare them too much more pain- much like the way I remembered I had once treated Biters.
Thinking back now, I had to refrain from rolling my eyes at how I used to go about the treatment of Biters. Now days, I couldn't give a two shits about their handlement. It's not that I didn't still take into account these were once people- someone's somebody- but these diseased have taken too much from me now and could only feel a certain degree of resentment that made it easier to deliver out any blade or arrow. These animals... they were untainted in this upheaveled world around them, and it disheartened me to end a life in such a bliss. These types of thoughts brought me back to the boy I had killed just a week ago. I would never know if he was a man of malice or just some young kid who'd been looking to prove himself... And I wondered about his brother, the voice I had heard Merle shouting at, and would think of how heavy this week without his brother must have weighed upon him. I was very familiar with loss and knew there would forever be a whole in someones life... but the first week was the most painful to the appendage in your chest. Unlike Merle, or Philip, or even Caesar, I still had a conscience for every life I found myself taking to insure my own survival, and every one came with it's own world of guilt, no matter what reason I may have had to silence their existance. But the second he pulled the trigger on me- it was me or him- and there was no regret after that point. Hell, it wasn't just me anymore, and I'd be damned if I let some kid snuff us out. I had to protect my fire.
After two days of crawdad fishing, I could no longer bear the slow process of baiting and braved to venture back to the river that had all but kicked my ass a few days previously- but remained well upstream from the waterfall. I was able to find a narrower part of the stream and picked this location to set up a wall, this time against a mild current. It was more difficult placing the stakes inbetween the layers of rocks on the creek floor than in the lake, but I eventually managed to manuever a few of the slippery stones around to even help aid the barricade I'd stacked them around. The river was much more efficient for Nick's method, even though I cut it close to eating shit quite a few times trying to balance on the slimey moss-coated stones with my bare feet, my fishing went undisturbed and I could actually relax my hackles enough in my surroundings and enjoy the sunlight beaming down and reflecting off the contrasting creek keeping my feet cool. Spending afternoons harpooning for my dinners paid off when at the end of the day I could indulge on smoked fish next to the fire in the empty kidney-shaped bowl. I had to admit, it was frustrating sometimes to file off the scales and pick the bones out while eating, the initial reason I never ate too much fish to begin with, but it satiated my stomach almost every night I spent by the lake houses and soothed the permanent pang of hunger I'd become accustomed to.
I let myself slip in a slight state of contentment with the routine I'd found myself comfortably settling into; fishing at the river at first light and returning to cook my catches before sun down. I could almost feel like I was back at home, like in my adolescent years when Nat and I would sneak off to Venice or Hunington, tagging Jemma along once she was old enough, and bussed our way to the beach to spend the whole day swimming, hardly ever leaving the submersion of salty waves. Wading in water up to my knees with my sweatpants rolled up and bare feet halting me against the river's current, I could almost pretend they were waves, the river's rocks and dirt turning to soft wet sand between my toes instead. I fondly remembered the bus rides had however ceased once my dad picked up on where we'd been going, though seemed more bothered we'd been lying rather than us going to the beach. Instead, he'd drive us himself afterwards, whenever he could with the explanation of- "you guys'll go anyways, so rather you all stay off the bus". My dad wasn't always the most involved parent, but it was understandable to me that the man had to work his ass of supporting three daughters on his own most of our lives. Yet I'd come to learn my dad was an insightful man and kept watchful eyes on his daughters, surprising us sometimes with his subtle efforts to make sure we stayed out of too much trouble. For a man who didn't always know what to say, I became more aware of just how profound his actions spoke louder than anything he ever said to us when I grew old enough to understand. Not every father would have stayed.
I had sworn to myself a long time ago I never wanted children, and I'll be the first to confess my reluctance at having such an impressionable responsibilty played a leading factor. Remembering back to a Psychology class I took, when studying human development and the theories on people inheriting their own mother and father's parenting when raising their own children had disturbed me. I would always harbor some biological reluctance of love for my mother- but fuck if I ever repeated any example she ever set. Yet now in this situation of mine, with an impending motherhood, I hoped to at least strive to protect this life with the strength my father had- even if it would have to be applied much differently in a more barbarous world than the one I'd grown up in. I would stay for this kid of mine. And that included the way I kept myself alive. There was a deep inner struggle to allow myself to relax in this stability the lake houses provided, but something just didn't seem right about this place and it never allowed me to sleep without one eye open. It was like I was waiting for the ball to drop, the consequence of a realization that could wash over me when it could already be too late. But for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what could be off about this settlement after another stretch of an undisturbed, peaceful week. As irrational as it sounded aloud- this place just seemed too perfect. And from seeing how the place was left- and not in the shape I'd left it the first time- I wasn't about to let luxury lure me like the crawdads I attracted for dinner. Every gut-feeling that had guided me through surviving this world squirmed in my stomach, tieing knots of anxiety I just couldn't untangle even after days I'd spent undiscovered here. My instinct had yet to fail me, so I allowed them to influence my decision.
It was sad leaving the community by the lake behind as I packed my life back up to carry back into the woods. I retreated back to spending my nights amongst the treetops, chosing a particular tree that had caught my attention when looking for a place to reside my first night back in the forest. Graciously tall, it's trunk seemed to consist of a few seperate, thick branches weaving amongst each other in the odd way they must have grown together and made it much easier to chimney climb up the intertwined trunks and even more convientant to slide back down. Hoisting my bags up high enough to store amongst the foliage that dispersed in the higher up branches, the tree proved to be a much more convienant than the last one I'd chosen to reside in. This would prove useful for the next few months that would be approaching and should anticipate my climbing abilities would not soon dwindle.

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I continued to live off the stream and the fish it graciously provided me from the migration of trout this time of year. Constantly keeping myself busy with a task at hand, I felt less distracted by the turmoils in life when I focused on a purpose instead. One day while checking up on my snares, I stumbled on tracks that particularly caught my attention. The soft soil I had been passing by had a pair of indentations pressed down into the still moist dirt, surprised that they were in fact hoove prints I hadn't recognized around this forest in quite some time. Outlining the footprints with my fingertips momentarily, they felt fresh across the mud and could still make out how defined it's edges still were. They were smaller than an average buck I noted, probably a doe by the size of the footprint. That didn't infringe on how giddy the prospect of a deer so close by made me, even if it was a smaller one, since I hadn't come across noy one since mid-winter. Unable to resist myself, I abandoned my original plans to head to the creek after my checks to follow the trail instead. Following alongside the hoove-prints I let them lead me through it's trek of the woods, the space inbetween it's steps were in tangent to show it had been walking at a relaxed pace and almost lead in a straight line to suggest it was following a familiar path. For being relatively new, I tried to out-pace the deer to catch up, keeping my eyes scanning back and forth between the approaching brush and following the tracks. I was halted however when this deer's direction had suddenly become startled-like, deviating off it's original path into a few sharp turns amongst the trees until they came closer to a naked sweep of forest the tracks lead into, it's prints spreading further apart indicating it had sped up to run through. A race through an open clearing like this must have been a move of desperation, considering the sunlight streaked through the shadowing nearby treetops like arrows to illuminate whatever braved the walk through. Confused that the deer would uncharacteristically would take such a risk, I kept to the shelter of the treeline to stay hidden amongst the tree's fringe of shadows. Instead of bum-rushing out into the open, I was a bit more reluctant to run through the open exposure myself, so I circled along the clearing's treeline, looking out for any footprints leading out from bare patch of foliage leading back into the forest.
Rolling my weight carefully from heel to toe, I walked as lightly as I could manage to prevent spooking the deer if it was close enough to hear me before I have the chance to spot it first. Like I'd guessed, I finally found tracks leading out of the clearing and continuing on in what looked to be a still much faster pace. Picking up my speed to try and mimik this animal's gallop, the chase exilerated me in this moment of adrenaline like no other hunt since before Woodbury; but this time I was alone in my stalk, the lone lioness without the pride. I felt connected with every molecule and element of the raw wilderness I ran through, unbrindled by any previous wariness. Warmth seeped throughout my feet to stretch itself up into my quads, contrasting against the cool air that blew past my cheeks and the tiny ripplets of sweat collected on my brow, but the epinephrine pumping through my blood stream allowed me to continue running alongside the trail with an untamed splendor. The forest floor was blurring under my feet but all I could zero-in on were the tracks still sprinting through the woods by the looks of the hoove-tracks. My heart beat in my ears, sychronized with my shaky breaths, surprisingly less raspy these days in Todd's absense, with the jostling of my rifle around my shoulder and the bag against my back in a lulling lilt. I felt alive and awake.
Stuck in the confined equation of survival for so long, I felt myself gradually grow numb to the world around me. Sure I ran, quite often in fact, and sure I lived and breathed this forest every day for almost four months, yet I wandered amongst the wildlife's allure in a comatose-like state, lethargic to anything else in my surroundings. I wasn't sure how the prospect of this deer sparked such an impulsive appetite, but it was something more than just the outcome of a meal that aflamed my pursuit.
Eventually, I took notice the deer's tracks looked to be slowing up, even veering off east of it's original direction in what seemed to be a more relaxed trot. Settling myself to slow up, I urged myself to manuever much slower and thoughtfully through the dry foliage cracking under my boots, not wanting my footfalls to startle the fawn now that it seemed I might be gaining ground over it. Before I could think anything of it, my right arm reached back to find an arrow out of my backpack to draw back on my bow I then realized was another lost companion of mine and should remember was no longer with me. Chastising myself briefly, I resigned for the rifle and held it at the ready, my aim ready to rise and my finger awaiting to squeeze the trigger at first sight. I was a descent shot with the assualt rifle, but it have never compared much with my ability with the bow, but I'd just have to adapt to one more adjustment I supposed. Inching my way through the foliage, I noticed it was leading me into a thicket of tall bushes, a common place deer tended to hide. Fortunately, I was upwind, so was able to slink through the terrain without being smelled first, ducking and crouching delicately through the bramble trying to tug at my clothing and even managed to pull at a few strands of hair. It was when I rounded a few more bramble bushes did the behind of a deer peek out, still all my movement to observe the sight just up ahead of me. Holding my breath, I pivoted the rifle against my shoulder anxiously to stare down the sight of my gun, entirely in fear of any noise exposing my presense. I had been right to assume it was indeed a much smaller and slender doe who had now stopped completely from her journey to brush her snout across the forest floor, making me wince at seeing she was trying to sniff something out no doubt. She was in a perfect position that I could target easily enough, locking my aim just below the back of her head, right above the first four cervical vertebrae of her spine; if I aimed correctly, she'd be spared ever knowing what hit her. My finger was itching to apply the amount of pressure that could end this chase, but just as I was about to squeeze the trigger, the breath I'd been preparing to release with my bullet whooshed out from me at the sudden sound of a small, almost cat-like cry coming from the bushes ahead. A fawn revealed itself soon after the doe who must be it's mother called back, trotting out from it's hiding to greet the her like a puppy with it's white little tail fluttering behind. I faltered at the sight of this speckled little fawn touching noses with it's mother, gently nudged it with her snout with what I couldn't help but feel was motherly affection. I didn't doubt this young offspring was still completely dependant off it's mother by how tiny it still seemed. Thinking back to the doe's odd trail it led me through, it now made sense that she had tried to negate whatever had scared her from the direction of her awaiting baby that had been so nearby, even if it had put her in danger, especially the open route she ran. Smart girl, I couldn't help but think as the corner of my mouth twitched.
The fawn scuttled it's way over to suckle from it's mother hungrily, giving her the opportunity to raise her broad neck and scan the nearby surroundings. Ducking back behind the bushes, I was lucky to escape her scutiny as it seemed she hadn't spotted anything out of sort yet and allowed her offspring to nurse. Scorning myself, I rounded back around the bushes and realigned my shot. I didn't come all this way just to pussy out. Yet when I willed my finger to pull back, I just couldn't bear down on the trigger to disrupt these two. This fawn was still so young, if I killed it's mother, I'd might as well kill it myself- no doubt shooting it after would be a mercy rather than to starve or be eaten by another. The consequences of this shot eroded at my heart, surprised by the sting behind my eyes at the sight before me. This doe had to have endured carrying her offspring in her womb during the winter, to birth it into the wild and care for it with her own life- and this choked me up somehow. I could cease these lives all at the dispense of my decision. Reminded by my own close call by the river, I cringed at how roles were reversed, and I was the deliberator of mercy. Those men, all three of them could have easily shot me down and I'm sure it wouldn't leave scratch across their concious and wouldn't lose a bit of sleep over my existance. But they had allowed me to escape, leaving my fate to the rapids instead.
Growling at myself, I lowered the gun down at my side, hanging my head back while gnawing over my lower lip in exasperation at what I knew I was planning to do. This would have definately been quite a meal, even if I wouldn't be able to savor every piece of her considering I wouldn't be able to carry her and her fawn back with me. All this way for nothing, I thought a bit regretfully, but I couldn't will myself to take out this delicate balance of life. Todd had once stopped Merle from shooting a doe much to the man's disgruntlement, claiming some needed to be spared for the next generation. This was back when I was still learning how to shoot and I had always suspected Todd had done this just to censor me. Merle seemed to share my suspicions and hadn't resist the next confrontation to throwing back at us, calling Todd soft, but I remember always admiring my man's consideration, even if it hadn't been for the deer. And now, I would find myself using this excuse to justify my reluctance to shooting down this mother and fawn. To ensure this decision, I deliberately crunched my foot over a twig, snapping it in half loud enough to freeze the doe where she stood, her ears all but stood at attention to twitch backwards in my direction for the briefest moment before pulling away from her youngling suckling. She all but stomped to urge the fawn along with her before bounding off into the brush together, out of shooting range.
"G'damnit," I muttered. But I couldn't deny I felt unapologetic for sparing a mother and her child as I retreated to check on my snares like I had orginally planned and atone for this lost catch.

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It was a foggy morning, the sun leaked lazily through the mist as the day's overcast hovered like a wraith low enough even below the sheltering branches, dampening my bangs to my face and chilling the air usually beginning to warm up this time of day. Yesterday I came across a few back-water houses residing relatively close to each other amongst the wilderness, one two-story in particular had stairs close to crumbling due to the numerous bullet afflictions peppering the shamble of a house. Whoever had hit this place up was packing big with enough ammunition to spare by the looks of their jackhammering on the house's brick walls and hardwood stairs. Amidst the ruins, I'd found a yellowbook below the kitchen sick cabinet that's plumbing had also been damaged in the cross-fire. Blowing off the debri and dust coating the book that most likely hadn't been touched in ages- even before everything went down- and I admired that someone still had one of these in the age of smartphones and google. Flipping through the local add pages, I found myself finding the daycare section. Since coming across the doe and her offspring she'd been protecting, it was like being served a spoonfull of wake-the-fuck-up. I needed to get the over this felling-sorry-for-myself charade and man up, take care of what needed being done; which at the moment, was the desperate need of supplies. I had to start preparing before I rolled into my later trimestor in several more months and seriously doubted I would be in any condition to go out on anymore runs. Trying to draw from my experiance of raising Jemma, I concluded I would of course need to be on the look out for clothes- I'd be due mid-August if I calculated correctly and the chill of fall would soon begin it's slow creep over Georgia once September rolled by. Medicine would also be ideal. In a modern age, I knew the sicknesses an infant can easily catch, especially those an unvaccinated newborn could undergo which I knew would be another impending battle even if I made it through the pregnancy. And formula, shit. Of course breast feeding was convienant, but I tried to keep in mind I couldn't bet my whole hand on it. With the little food I was able to obtain as it was, who knew if it would be nourishing enough to continue living as I could while supplementing a nursing baby. It wasn't unknown that a mother could only produce enough milk for her newborn under proper health conditions, so I planned to prepare ahead for any hinderances, having no idea how I'd even go about hunting or scavenging with a newborn to look after and keep silent... I couldn't afford any consequences.
Able to recognize the address was in Spalding county, a town only about a hour or so walk from my current location if I decided to try the closest one. Taking the thick book with me, I ripped off the back page that had a general map of Georgia that could come in hand, even if it wasn't very detailed. The next day, I prepared an empty bag and headed west to navigated myself close enough to the highway where I was relieved to see the road was too conjested of pile-ups for any hopes of cars making it through.
Eventually I made it to Griffin, a town I could recall Todd once telling me about on one their raids this far out in the red zone... "Just another town- small cities I thought were back in Cali don't got shit on some of these hick towns here". It was spaced out well off the highway in a dirt road that led for quite some time before you found this town's main and only street. This little town was more like a block of small-time buisnesses besides a minature grocery store and a bank. Scouting the outer perimeter wasn't exactly dueable with how open the terrain was here, the woods having receeded a long ways back down the road leading out. From a distance, it didn't look swarmed and I had only come across a handfull of Biters on my way in, so I hurried duck behind a car left parked at the city's edge. It was tricky manuevering amongst this tiny retail strip of the city trying to find cover, and anything I did find was far from anything else in between, having to sprint quite a distance out in the open just to proceed. On pins and needles, I clenched Todd's sickle fixedly and cursed at hearing a distinctive dragging of footsteps and a muffle groan that wared me I'd been spotted trying to run behind a Chrysler van positioned near a store entrance with it's windows already busted in. Only hearing the one so far, I waited from my hiding to see if it would overlook me. Even though I expected it, this Biter made me jump when it rounded the car and shrieked for me, already lunging forward with it's teeth bared behind lips were missing that had been chewed off. Lashing out before it's greedy hands could grab a better hold of my pant leg that was tucked in my boot, I tugged it loose before the curved blade hacked over it's windpipe cleaved the vertebrae, thwacking it's head clean off it's shoulders. Still chattering it's teeth trying to take a snap at my feet where the still animated head had rolled, I kicked out to send it skitting away from me down the sidewalk like some soccer ball, leaving a bloody skid mark across the pavement.
Sliding back from behind the hood of the van I was crouched behind, I grimaced to see two more that were coming to investigate what had attracted their fellow infected. Resisting the urge to miss my silent long range shooting, I waited again patiently for them to come to me. Hammering the end of the blade down in the first Biter's face, the sickle buriying into a skull I hadn't expected was so rotted, severing brain matter as easily as slicing into a decaying peach, the tip of curved steel sliding through the other side of this woman's skull up to the hilt. Anticipating the next one that had been right behind, I didn't have enough time to jerk my sickle back out, instead reaching for the pocket knife tucked in my boot, rearing up to jam it under the jaw, closing it's mouth for it. Stepping out of the way of the corpse's falling body, I rolled it back over to extract my knife, slipping it back inside my shoe to rest against my ankle and proceeded to hold down the head of the other under my heel to jerk the curved blade back out, splattering brain tissue out of it's gashed in face. Fingering the green rag out from under my belt, it was practically stained brown by now but it was in good enough condition to clean the blood and pieces of brain still clinging to the sharp edge of my sickle. With the street clear for now, I crept to look over the stores but none resembling any kind of school or daycare. Getting a good enough glance at the street sign when I came to the end of the row, I recognized the addresses didn't match up like I had hoped so it must have been an add for somewhere outside the main part of town. Sighing, there was no way I was about to comb all of Spalding, despite how small it was, or at least plan it out a more thoroughly search for another day considering I wasn't nearly as prepared to take on a run so prestigious on my own.
There were two other dirt roads leading from this little shopping strip back into the bordering trees besides the road I'd used leading from the highway. Glancing up to measure the daylight, I determined I had started early enough today that I could make time checking at least a couple nearby places before heading back to inspect the condition of my snares. Having no clue about either road, I ennie-meanie-minie-moed which direction I'd take, sticking to traveling the the outer-lining of trees rather than the open dirt road. Passing a few houses, I peeped in through the windows but nothing looked out of sort but the regular empty, dusty interiors most likely left untouched all fall through winter.
It wasn't until maybe half a mile down the road was my attention drawn to a tan one-story house. It looked just like any other home ever few yards back despite, it's front yard gated all the way around to the back- but it was the tall dome-looking monkey bars that caught my attention, the top half peeking over the chain link fence that was getting over grown by it's hedging. Making my way closer to get a better look, I could also see a swing set and a race car spring seat that looked so unused the seats were caked with dust and the skeletal-like remains of fallen leaves. Using the sickle, I hacked back the brush growing over the fence and eventually found the latch to open the gate- ironically using it for it's intended purpose for once- and slipped quietly through the gate. Walking a bit apprehensively through the front lawn, this place had every sign of abandonment contrary to the equipment meant to be played with. Ancient branches that had fallen a season ago looked to have been blown around the yard and caught into the mesh-like sphere of monkey bars with no one around to clear them away. The blinds were all rolled up from the inside which perturbed me, remembering back to the news and radio broadcasts before they all went off the air, boarding up your windows and doors had been one of the first thing they'd been instructing people to do. All windows were also still intact in the front allowing me to peer inside to see I could possibly have hit the jack pot. Anxious to turn the place upside down, I scurried to the back, keeping my blade close while rounding the corner from the side of the house to the backyard where there was another rusted up swing set and an untouched sand box. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness at all the various toys I had to step around; I imagined there had once laughter to be heard here but was now completely vacated of any children from here for quite some time ago. Other than the little girl sitting on the swing nearby, I was greeted by nothing but silence and the occasional croak of the woods, so I tried to just blink away her hair blowing with the soft wind at the corner of my sight and focused to see if there was any real wallking dead. Finding the back door to lean against, I tested the handle of the backdoor, not surprised to find it locked. Even with my intentions to skewer Merle six ways till Sunday, he'd taught me a few old tricks of his he'd picked up in his juvie days that I could still put to use, recalling the old bastards resourcefulness I fished out the knife tucked into my boot. Flipping open the smaller blade, I slid it inbetween the door frame, shimmying the blade back and forth to pry it under the lock. After a few irksome tries, I was able to concentrate more patiently until I felt the click of the knife and hurried to brace the door against the frame while I tried to push the lock tongue out of the frame's socket. Pulling the door back tight against the frame, I slowly lifting the knife to pull the door open by the knob, smirking in triumph when it turned all the way. Before pushing the door completely open, I glanced back to see Penny was no longer watching from the swing set; I wasn't sure if I felt more lonely or relieved about this before I closed the door behind me.
Like peeling back a piece of duct tape from a scabbed over wound, I held my breath and tried to brace myself for whatever painful sight I could see inside. Nothing you haven't already seen at some point. But when I slinked inside, all was quiet- even cleanish. Minature colored tables were set up around the room, coloring books still open and turned to unfinished pages with various crayons or markers selected out of their boxes to use, a few had rolled off and across the hard wood floor. A few toy shelves were still semi-organized, not all of the barbies or stuffed animals put back in their places but left across the rainbow colored play mats. Before getting letting my excitement carry away any vigilance, I bypassed the room to look more directly down hallway leading from the front of the house, conscience of my footsteps, I tip-toed quietly across the hardwood floors. With three rooms to each wall, I crept quiet but quickly to scout out the rooms to see if any dead had been enclosed inside. Just as I was beginning to feel enlightened there could be a house without death, a familiar scent of something rotten tinged the air the closer I got to one of the rooms at the end. Todd's sickle was ready in my grasp, poised to strike out at anything that could bumrush me and waited pressed up against the wall just outside the room I suspected held the culprit of the smell, listening for any indication of dead- or maybe even living. After a long few moments of silence, I spun around the door frame to face inside the open door way.
It was then the tape was ripped clean off rather than peeled, and the scab I tried every time to heal over my memories was torn off yet again. The body of a child laid across the floor in a dried up puddle of her own blood, every ounce seemed to have leaked out to stain the wood flooring, a trail of dark brown smeared behind where it looked she had once tried to crawl. Laying face down, I wouldn't have been able to tell if it was a little girl if it weren't for the purple dress she wore and matching bow clipped in her dark matted hair. My heart clenched painfully and I had to bite back a pathetic sob when I began to realize her head was slowly rising to look up from the floor and through her tangled hair at who had found her. Little fingers began to twitch as this weak Biter tried to push herself up, a slow, raspy cry coming from the girl who's face I could barely make out behind the hair in her face, but it sounded so tiny I almost would've thought it was still a little girl whimpering. But in the next moment, she fisted her hands against the floor and tried to pull herself forward, dragging her legs that tried to twitch awake behind her. The girl's hair slipped back out of her face and I felt my breath hitch in my constricting wind pipe at her milky white eyes narrowing at me, her decaying teeth leering at me behind another weak ghost-like gasp. And the gaping wound continued to bleed all over what had been trying to heal.
Flashes of Penny plagued me while I tried to will myself to put this girl to rest; her bright liquid eyes dimming like the day they had in my arms and a cloud of disease rolled over her pupils the way I pictured in my nightmares while trickled of blood leaked from the corner of lips. Trying to close my eyes to block out these hovering hallucinations, but all I could see were dead little girls, remembering my little sister when she was so fragile at this age, now only a shadow of her former self as it contorted and the flesh was ripped from her rosy cheeks, blood splattering over paling eyes. Momentarily overwhelmed, never had these horrors came at me so maddeningly and I rushed forward, paniked to make them stop. Before the red behind my eyes could consume me, I did the only thing that came instinctual to me anymore.
Panting and shaking, I swung the sickle down over this panarama of dead faces, hacking the blade down over and over until I began to realize the crimson devouring at my sanity was more real than I thought. What stopped my arms from swinging was the bile that rose in the back of my throat, causing my weapon to slip out from my fingers when my stomach overcame me. Quivering and holding my head against the creeping headache threatening to arise in my temples, I spit out what was left to heave and wiped the feverish sweat from my brow. When I could finally sniff back the snot and tears I hadn't even realized I'd been shedding, I looked back up to see the mush of what was once skull and brain dripped across the floor and I hurried to step back before it could run under my shoes. Upset about the terrible fit I'd just had and disturbed at how fucking crazy I just acted, I hurried out of the room and closed the door behind me, not bothering to search through it.
Trying to keep my mind off dead children, I plowed on, sliding the mask of numbness back over my heart while I made my way to the front room of the house where I was greatful to see all was clear. The front seemed to be a little more upheveled, shelves looked completely bare like toys shoved off everywhere, a drawing white-board easel tipped over on its side and any previous dry-marker drawings were practically erased off. A tv was still elevated from the corner of the room hanging off a stand, turned off and useless like most screens were after the Outbreak's black out, same as the vhs tapes stacked up on a shelf forgotten in their cases. What was also most noticeable, to me at least, were the arts and craft pictures all up along the periwinkle-blue painted walls. Colorful handprints from small little petite hands decorated the walls, the names of who they had once belonged to scribbled over the paint they'd chosen- no doubt all dead by now. The cribs I had seen previously seen through the window were lined up against the wall and under the artwork as well, but only held empty sheets laying behind the bars. Kneeling by cupboards, I began to quickly rummage through each one individually while keeping an ear out for any disturbances throughout the house. The cabinets above a sink had a bottle of baby tylenol, some Spongebob character bandaids and some packets of alcohol wipes which I was thankful to stuff into my bag considering I almost used the rest of my peroxide. Pulling open another cupboard, I was greeted by a stack of diapers, a few disposable nursing bottles and wash clothes nobody bothered to grab, taking this to add to my collection. Remembering how many packs of goddamn diapers Jemma used to go through before she was finally pottey-trained, I took note I would definately need to invest in gathering as many of these as I could before the baby came.
As I transitioned amongst the rooms I collected everything I could recognize or thought might be useful for an infant, packing baby powder, a dried up already opened back of wipes. Locating which room looked to have been a kitchen-type area, I was also able to find a cupboard of powdered baby formula with a tuberware container of binkies and a shelf of plastic plates. Unable to suppress a ghost of a smile, I added the cans and miscellaneous baby supplies into my bag.
After scouring the whole daycare-converted house and stowing away whatever I could dig up that was useful but worth taking up the room in my bag, I had to contend this would be all I'd be able to take from this house and I'd just have to continue keeping on the look out for more to add in the future. I could have continued up the road and taken a peek at what some other houses might have since this place seemed so untouched by looters yet, but I still had my snares to check and if they were unsuccessful I would have to use the rest of the day to fish. So I left the house, not turning around to give it a last glance in case I saw another little girl.
It didn't take me as long to make my way back, remembering the direction I'd already come from without anymore incident but a few Biters I wasn't nearly as emotional about taking out as I had been back at the house. Once I finally made it back to the part of the woods I liked to think was my turf, I began to keep my eyes open for my familar markings along the trees. The squirell traps I usually recieved the most luck with were bare however, each tree I climbed was empty and the wires left untouched along it's branches.
However, it was when I went to check a thick patch of brush I had set up my rabbit snares was I stilled in my tracks before I brushed back the bramble. There was a terribly loud popping and squelching coming from behind the bushes, I couldn't make out what could be making such a noise but all I could think of how disturbing it sounded and I grew wary to approach any further. This time, taking the rifle hanging from around my shoulder, I aligned it up with my sight and tried to keep it relaxed but prepared against my shoulder to target in on any unknown I was about to step and investigate. A biter was hunched on it's knees, bent over on all fours feeding over a bleeding carcass. My stomach did a somersault and plummeted, recognizing it was feeding off a doe that even laying dead it's foot was still tethered and bleeding in the snare it had been caught it. Right beside the large meal the Biter was distracted by, another much smaller carcass was splayed out and had bled all over the grass underneath, only a ripped apart skeleton who's bones had practically been picked clean of flesh, but the small head of the fawn was still intact enough for me to recognize the doe's offspring had already been devoured.
Nothing deflated my moral more than seeing the mother deer being feasted upon, it's flank already having taken huge chunks ripped from it while it's stomach had been torn open while the Biter devoured it's innerards- the sound I had heard from earlier had been it's obsessive chewing. Lowering my gun slowly in revulsion, I pulled out my sickle instead. Feeling terribly sorry for this doe, I wondered if it was the same mother and child I had seen before. Having spared the mother to raise her fawn, I now felt horrified this had been their end. By the looks of it, the doe had most likely beeing caught in my snare, the fawn lingering to remain with it's trapped mother. Seeing that the fawn must have been devoured before it's mother, I realized she must have had to watch her offspring eaten alive, unable to aid or escape before falling to the dead's clutches herself. I stood stunned in my horror of these creatures cut down so brutally, this Biter had no care for the purity of motherhood, only caring about the flesh of those engorging it so generously.
Sick or not, this motherfucker needed to die, I thought, discarding all reservations I used to hold for the infected and beheaded the sick fuck while it was taking another mouthfull of a kidney it was pulling out from the doe's gaping underbelly. Stomping my boot hatefully down onto the face of the still animated head, I ceased anymore feasting to be had here. What a waste. A deer I could have just killed myself, spared it such a miserable death and could have used it to feed myself instead of this dead asshole. And not only that, but this tiny creature, the infant deer's life was silenced before it's mother could raise it to outgrow her. Flesh was flesh to this world, and I'm sure innocent tasted all appetizing.
I was too busy mourning what could very easily be my fate, I hadn't noticed the presense that had been watching this whole time. And it wasn't until I was tackled and flattened-out across the ground did I realize my fate could easily be ended just as easily as the dead deer I was thrown beside.