What I’m saying is, my idea of delicious is so much broader than it used to be. It’s more big picture and the big picture right now is an 8 point buck with a body full of finger lickin’ good.
I wait anxiously as the buck saunters into the clearing, munching on grass and occasionally surveying his surroundings. I’m surprised he doesn’t smell the Lost Boys sitting so close by or hear one breathing. The fact that none of them have coughed, yawned or even swallowed too loudly is amazing to me. I guess because I don’t see them hiding from others the way I do, all I see them do is walk through the world like they own the place, I assume they aren’t any good at sneaking. But today I stand, or sit with dead legs, corrected.
Suddenly the blond guy is up and on top of the buck. It happens so fast and is so unexpected I actually gasp. The buck is just as startled as I am. Probably more so. He goes to run but the guy has a hold on him and they both stumble slightly. Ryan and the older guy jump up and grab onto the buck as well. The thing puts up a hell of a fight, ducking his head down and using his sharp horns to keep the men at bay. Ryan takes a point to the arm and I watch as red blood blossoms on his shirt. He doesn’t slow down though and I’m not even sure he can feel it through the adrenaline. They struggle with the buck, almost losing it at one point before the older guy grabs on to the thing’s hind legs above the knee. He’s taking hooved feet to the shins which I know will bruise for days but he holds on. There are shouts and cries, grunts and panic, but then it all goes silent. The buck collapses to the ground and I look around in surprise, wondering what did it.
Until I see the blood. It’s fanning out over the green grass making it look shiny and wet like it just rained. Only it’s red. Vibrant and angry red. And there’s the sharp eyed guy standing in front of it, dripping red knife in hand, blood splatter across his shirt, neck and face, and he’s grinning. He’s grinning down at the expired animal at his feet and the light in his eyes and the knife in his hand make my blood run cold.
I don’t tell Ryan that I saw him. I don’t tell Crenshaw either. Ryan would be excited, Crenshaw would be mad and at this point I don’t even know how I feel about it so I keep it to myself. I’m good at that.
What I do tell both of them is that I’ve seen a lot of Colonists lately. The zombies are still in full force but I’m getting used to that again. They’ve always been there, it seems. An omnipresent threat that I can put in the back of my mind and deal with on auto pilot. They’re dumb and predictable and I don’t even have to kill them if they see me. If I’m tired or loaded down with supplies, I have no problem evading a Risen and letting them keep on shuffling. All it takes most of the time is crossing the street and crisis averted. Zombies were a big problem in the beginning when everyone and their mother was becoming one, but now with the humanity herd thinned down to those of us who can survive it and the number of people in the area outnumbering the zombies, I don’t worry about it nearly as much. Probably not as much as I should.
But right now my biggest worry is the Colonists and their recruitment tactics. It’s been a month since the rise in the zombie population thanks to the loss of one of their Colonies. After the fight and fire I saw in the street they stopped with the helping hand routine and went back to rounding people up like strays. I’ve warned Crenshaw, though he met the news with his usual disinterest and sage, wizardly advice:
“Luck favors the prepared.” he intoned, swaying his staff back and forth like the swinging pendulum of a clock. I’m pretty sure he meant to hypnotize me. “Keep thy blade and wits sharp.”
Spoken like a fortune cookie from Frodo’s kitchen.
I left a message for Ryan the other day warning him as well.
His message is cut off and my heart slams to a halt. That’s all he wrote. He must have been interrupted, but by what? A Risen? A Colonist? Another Lost Boy? There are so many possibilities of what could have gone wrong that I feel helpless trying to figure out what happened to him. And I am not the helpless type. It actually occurs to me to go to his gang. It’s ridiculous and so stupid, but I seriously consider it. I can watch from afar for a little while, see if I can see him coming and going. And if I can’t? I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ll do then. This is the second time I’ve been worried for his life in a very short amount of time and I wonder what exactly it is I’m doing here. And for what? A little conversation on a wall and the memory of broad shoulders and brown eyes? Yeah, I feel less lonely and I feel a lot more of a lot of other things I’d forgotten existed, but to what end? How many of my old rules am I gonna break over this? And where does it stop? When I’m dead? It makes me sick just thinking about it but I can’t let this go. I can’t let him go.
I’m hurrying past the wall, heading toward his part of town, when warm hands reach out from the shadows of a darkened doorway and yank me back. I don’t scream. I don’t panic. I’m conditioned well beyond all of that. As I’m falling backward, my back slamming into someone else’s front, I reach for my knife. I’m spinning it deftly in my hand just as an arm encircles my waist and a hand covers my mouth. That’s fine. That’s good, waste that constraint to smother a cry for help I never intended to loose. All the more room for me to swing out my arm, bring it back hard and drive my blade deep inside my captors gut. He’ll bleed out for hours from a wound like that. That is, if the zombies don’t scent him first.
“Joss.” he breathes in my ear.
I halt my arm just in time, just as the tip of my knife is pressing into his flesh.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Ryan says quickly, feeling the prick of my knife. “Jesus, Joss, don’t stab me.”
“Dunf creen ab vee.” I growl against his hand. I’m breathing hard through my nose, my adrenaline spiked and coursing like lightning through my veins. I can feel his chest rising and falling against my back. It’s slow and even.
“I know, I’m sorry I grabbed you.” he apologizes in a whisper, somehow understanding my angry muffle speak. “If I let you go, will you scream?”
“I erfer seen.”
“No,” he chuckles softly. “I guess you wouldn’t. I’m letting go. Please don’t stab me.”
He releases me in one quick motion like he’s releasing a wild animal. His hands go up in defense and he takes a step back when I round on him, knife still ready in my hand.
“If I was going to stab you, you’d already be dead. Or dying.” I say, my voice tense but quiet.
He smiles. “I believe it.”
“What are you doing here? Why did you grab me?”
“I heard a Colonist truck coming by a little while ago.”
My eyes shoot to the street, scanning what I can see of it. As far as I can tell it’s clear.
“It’s gone.” Ryan assures me. “I was writing you a message when I heard it so I hid in here. Even after it left, though, I was worried it could come back. I was worried you’d be writing back to me when it did.”
“So you waited for me?”
“Yeah.”
“That was stupid.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re staying out in the open for too long. What if a Risen wandered by? You have that cut on your arm and—“