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Authors: Havelock McCreely
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around the area we were being led to. We couldn’t see it, though, so it felt like we were walking straight into the zombies’ home turf.
“Nobody step on a twig,” whispered Dallas.
Just as he said this, Calvin stepped on a huge stick. The crack echoed around the forest like a fart in a church.
He flushed red. “Sorry.”
We walked for about forty minutes. The sky was beginning to lighten when Dallas and his crew finally led us into a clearing about twenty yards wide.
“This is where we’re going to camp,” he said. He nodded to his crew, and they all disappeared into the trees.
“They’ll keep the perimeter clear,” said Dallas. “But there is a chance they’ll all get taken down,so we’re going to set up a secondary perimeter here at the camp.”
For the rest of the morning the forest clearing rang with the tweets and chirps of messages coming and going on everyone’s phones. We were supposed to be surviving in the wild, but I guess no one told the cell phone companies that. Everyone in our group was in touch with their homes, sending worried parents pictures of our camp, of each other, of Calvin falling face-first into the snow. The usual.
Dallas eventually got so fed up with us staring at our phones that he confiscated all of them, sealing them in a plastic case.
“You’ll get them back after you’ve been one with nature,” he said.
The rest of the day was mind-numbingly boring. Chopping wood, lighting fires, cooking bacon and eggs, putting the tents up, that kind of thing. I mean, if this is what it was like in the old days, I have no idea how my parents survived. They’re always telling me they didn’t have the Internet back then. Or cable, or computer games. I mean, what did they actually do with themselves? I enjoy reading as much as my dad, but even I would get boredwith that if it was the only entertainment I had.
Most of us were pretty annoyed with Dallas for taking our phones, so we kind of gave him a hard time. Every time we did something we thought might attract zombies (if this was real, which it wasn’t) we would ask Dallas if it was safe. When he said it was, we’d ask him why, and his explanations were becoming more and more exasperated.
“Because they don’t like the smell of bacon!” he shouted.
“
Everyone
likes the smell of bacon,” I pointed out. “Even vegans like the smell of bacon.”
“No, they don’t. And even if they did, so what? Zombies don’t. Zombies like fresh meat.” That was all we had for amusement, and even that got boring. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure why we were here. Dallas says it’s to teach us about life beyond the wall, but none of us ever goes beyond the wall, so what was the point? And the whole deadbeat attack thing? Another waste of time. It’s not as if we’re going to be given dangerous weapons or anything like that. The whole thing was fake.
We all turned in as soon as night fell, thinking that the quicker we went to sleep, the quicker it would all be over.
SUNDAY, JANUARY 19
9:00 a.m . So. First night slept in the wild.
How was it?
I hear you ask. Well, it was pretty uncomfortable, thank you. The ground was lumpy no matter what position I tried to lie in. It was freezing cold despite our portable heaters, and Calvin, we all discovered, talked in his sleep. Really talked. Full-on conversations with someone called Binky.
We asked him the next morning who Binky was, and he looked confused and said the only Binky he knew of was Binky the clown, the mass-murdering children’s entertainer in a horror novel he swiped from his dad’s room.
I thought back to some of those conversations we overheard.
“I can’t do it,” Calvin had said. “Binky, don’t make me. They’re my friends.”
And “What hammer, Binky? You put one in my bag? Why would you do that?”
And, of course, how could I forget, “Who’s annoying you, Binky? Matt?” A pause, while Calvin must have been listening to his dear friend Binky, the
“Nobody step on a twig,” whispered Dallas.
Just as he said this, Calvin stepped on a huge stick. The crack echoed around the forest like a fart in a church.
He flushed red. “Sorry.”
We walked for about forty minutes. The sky was beginning to lighten when Dallas and his crew finally led us into a clearing about twenty yards wide.
“This is where we’re going to camp,” he said. He nodded to his crew, and they all disappeared into the trees.
“They’ll keep the perimeter clear,” said Dallas. “But there is a chance they’ll all get taken down,so we’re going to set up a secondary perimeter here at the camp.”
For the rest of the morning the forest clearing rang with the tweets and chirps of messages coming and going on everyone’s phones. We were supposed to be surviving in the wild, but I guess no one told the cell phone companies that. Everyone in our group was in touch with their homes, sending worried parents pictures of our camp, of each other, of Calvin falling face-first into the snow. The usual.
Dallas eventually got so fed up with us staring at our phones that he confiscated all of them, sealing them in a plastic case.
“You’ll get them back after you’ve been one with nature,” he said.
The rest of the day was mind-numbingly boring. Chopping wood, lighting fires, cooking bacon and eggs, putting the tents up, that kind of thing. I mean, if this is what it was like in the old days, I have no idea how my parents survived. They’re always telling me they didn’t have the Internet back then. Or cable, or computer games. I mean, what did they actually do with themselves? I enjoy reading as much as my dad, but even I would get boredwith that if it was the only entertainment I had.
Most of us were pretty annoyed with Dallas for taking our phones, so we kind of gave him a hard time. Every time we did something we thought might attract zombies (if this was real, which it wasn’t) we would ask Dallas if it was safe. When he said it was, we’d ask him why, and his explanations were becoming more and more exasperated.
“Because they don’t like the smell of bacon!” he shouted.
“
Everyone
likes the smell of bacon,” I pointed out. “Even vegans like the smell of bacon.”
“No, they don’t. And even if they did, so what? Zombies don’t. Zombies like fresh meat.” That was all we had for amusement, and even that got boring. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure why we were here. Dallas says it’s to teach us about life beyond the wall, but none of us ever goes beyond the wall, so what was the point? And the whole deadbeat attack thing? Another waste of time. It’s not as if we’re going to be given dangerous weapons or anything like that. The whole thing was fake.
We all turned in as soon as night fell, thinking that the quicker we went to sleep, the quicker it would all be over.
SUNDAY, JANUARY 19
9:00 a.m . So. First night slept in the wild.
How was it?
I hear you ask. Well, it was pretty uncomfortable, thank you. The ground was lumpy no matter what position I tried to lie in. It was freezing cold despite our portable heaters, and Calvin, we all discovered, talked in his sleep. Really talked. Full-on conversations with someone called Binky.
We asked him the next morning who Binky was, and he looked confused and said the only Binky he knew of was Binky the clown, the mass-murdering children’s entertainer in a horror novel he swiped from his dad’s room.
I thought back to some of those conversations we overheard.
“I can’t do it,” Calvin had said. “Binky, don’t make me. They’re my friends.”
And “What hammer, Binky? You put one in my bag? Why would you do that?”
And, of course, how could I forget, “Who’s annoying you, Binky? Matt?” A pause, while Calvin must have been listening to his dear friend Binky, the
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