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Authors: Tony Monchinski
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should have gathered his stuff and walked off as soon as he’d noticed the outbreak on his body the day before. He should have left the group without a word and hoped it wasn’t too late for them.
Still… Gwen and Bear, Buddy and Julie, they were all he had. The only people left. His people. Mickey felt very alone. He felt like he imagined Josey Wales must have felt after the Redlegs had killed his wife and kid; the way Jeremiah Johnson must have felt… But those were characters in movies, not real people, and Mickey wasn’t like them anyway. He was a man who felt alone but wasn’t alone. He was a man alone in the crowd.
Mickey breathed deeply a few times, hefted the automatic 12 gauge and walked back to the others. Buddy was talking to them.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said to the group. “I can’t explain what happened. I was dreaming, and in my dream they were coming for me . He was coming for me. They had me…”
“ Who Buddy?” asked Julie.
He shook his head and looked down. Julie thought it was the closest she had ever seen the man come to crying.
“Still a few hours before dawn,” Bear spoke up. “Everyone should try and get some sleep.”
“Yeah, yeah. Good idea,” said Buddy, composing himself. “I’ll keep watch. I can’t sleep anymore anyway. Mickey, you have my nine-millimeter?”
Mickey had been on watch before Bear. When they’d switched and Mickey had turned in he’d handed Buddy’s silenced pistol to Bear. Bear hefted the 9mm in his open palm and looked at Buddy.
“I got the pistol,” said Bear. “I got the watch.”
Buddy considered what he could say, and when he decided there really wasn’t anything he could say he simply nodded.
In a few minutes they settled back down, deep in their sleeping bags.
Julie and Gwen slept on one side of the fire, side by side for warmth.
“It’s okay, Julie,” Gwen assured her friend. She slept on one side, her sleeping bag unzipped enough she could bend her right arm and hold the vertical grip mounted on the hand guard of her M16A4 assault rifle.
“I was dreaming,” Julie said. “About Harris.”
“Go back to sleep. You need your rest.”
Without a word Buddy gathered up his sleeping bag and moved away from the fire, away from the others. He took off his boots and climbed into the bag, zipping it up, turning his back to the fire and his companions.
He knew Bear was watching him.
Bear sat on a log and looked out into the night. It was quiet and still. The moon was a giant white orb in space, reflecting off the snow. He got up to retrieve some branches and feed the fire. When he sat back down Mickey said to him, his voice hoarse: “We’ve got to keep an eye on Buddy.”
Bear nodded. If Mickey saw him he didn’t acknowledge it.
They woke at dawn and ate from cans then resumed their march north, following train tracks half buried under snow drifts. They saw many strange and disturbing things on their journey. The Hudson River flowed past on their left, bearing with it debris and decomposed bodies and the hulks of destroyed water craft. Across the watery expanse the palisades of New Jersey towered over the river—a sheer vertical drop of over five hundred feet in places to the icy waters below. Purple Royal Paulownia would bloom at the base in the spring, but now the bottom of the cliffs were a brambles of bare, dead branches. An elevated highway was on their right for most of their trek. At times the natural rise of the land put them at eye level with the road and they could see the thousands of stalled cars and jackknifed trucks. Everywhere on the road the undead, in their ones and twos and threes, wandered aimlessly. Some stood alone amidst the snow and patches of bituminous surfacing.
The five men and women from Eden walked quietly and did their best not to draw attention to themselves. Occasionally a zombie from the road would spy
Still… Gwen and Bear, Buddy and Julie, they were all he had. The only people left. His people. Mickey felt very alone. He felt like he imagined Josey Wales must have felt after the Redlegs had killed his wife and kid; the way Jeremiah Johnson must have felt… But those were characters in movies, not real people, and Mickey wasn’t like them anyway. He was a man who felt alone but wasn’t alone. He was a man alone in the crowd.
Mickey breathed deeply a few times, hefted the automatic 12 gauge and walked back to the others. Buddy was talking to them.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said to the group. “I can’t explain what happened. I was dreaming, and in my dream they were coming for me . He was coming for me. They had me…”
“ Who Buddy?” asked Julie.
He shook his head and looked down. Julie thought it was the closest she had ever seen the man come to crying.
“Still a few hours before dawn,” Bear spoke up. “Everyone should try and get some sleep.”
“Yeah, yeah. Good idea,” said Buddy, composing himself. “I’ll keep watch. I can’t sleep anymore anyway. Mickey, you have my nine-millimeter?”
Mickey had been on watch before Bear. When they’d switched and Mickey had turned in he’d handed Buddy’s silenced pistol to Bear. Bear hefted the 9mm in his open palm and looked at Buddy.
“I got the pistol,” said Bear. “I got the watch.”
Buddy considered what he could say, and when he decided there really wasn’t anything he could say he simply nodded.
In a few minutes they settled back down, deep in their sleeping bags.
Julie and Gwen slept on one side of the fire, side by side for warmth.
“It’s okay, Julie,” Gwen assured her friend. She slept on one side, her sleeping bag unzipped enough she could bend her right arm and hold the vertical grip mounted on the hand guard of her M16A4 assault rifle.
“I was dreaming,” Julie said. “About Harris.”
“Go back to sleep. You need your rest.”
Without a word Buddy gathered up his sleeping bag and moved away from the fire, away from the others. He took off his boots and climbed into the bag, zipping it up, turning his back to the fire and his companions.
He knew Bear was watching him.
Bear sat on a log and looked out into the night. It was quiet and still. The moon was a giant white orb in space, reflecting off the snow. He got up to retrieve some branches and feed the fire. When he sat back down Mickey said to him, his voice hoarse: “We’ve got to keep an eye on Buddy.”
Bear nodded. If Mickey saw him he didn’t acknowledge it.
They woke at dawn and ate from cans then resumed their march north, following train tracks half buried under snow drifts. They saw many strange and disturbing things on their journey. The Hudson River flowed past on their left, bearing with it debris and decomposed bodies and the hulks of destroyed water craft. Across the watery expanse the palisades of New Jersey towered over the river—a sheer vertical drop of over five hundred feet in places to the icy waters below. Purple Royal Paulownia would bloom at the base in the spring, but now the bottom of the cliffs were a brambles of bare, dead branches. An elevated highway was on their right for most of their trek. At times the natural rise of the land put them at eye level with the road and they could see the thousands of stalled cars and jackknifed trucks. Everywhere on the road the undead, in their ones and twos and threes, wandered aimlessly. Some stood alone amidst the snow and patches of bituminous surfacing.
The five men and women from Eden walked quietly and did their best not to draw attention to themselves. Occasionally a zombie from the road would spy
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