Clips 3 & 4 – Feeling Somewhat Testy
As we approach the tree, Seven points toward what looks like a white laundry bag draped over the lowest branches. Laundry bag, I remind myself, trying to affix that in my mind so that I'll remember it that way instead of body bag. It sounds like Mullins has been providing supplies through copter drops on some sort of regular basis.
Then he wants me to run faster so that I can grab the bag and avoid getting noshed on by the zombies. Never mind that we had already picked up the pace quite a bit. Seven, of course, doesn't seem winded in the least, and I briefly wonder why he's not the one getting the drop. Of course, it's somewhat rhetorical: I know even before he says a word about it that this is going to be yet another test. It's not just to see how well I can run, either. He's watching to see if I grumble or complain or roll my eyes or even so much as hesitate before I dash toward it.
And while I have no intention of being a yappy little lapdog, begging for table scraps, I'm not about to show my hand any earlier than I have to. So I clench my teeth against the smartass response that comes to mind and focus on getting to the tree well before that first zombie does. We're out of range of Abel's snipers now, so I'm on my own.
Going into the woods slows me down a bit – have to scan the ground for roots and branches and other bits of debris I'd rather not think about. The last thing I need is to trip and lose my lead.
I get to the tree well ahead of the zoms shuffling down the road toward me and reach up for the green tab Seven pointed at. It's not quite within my grasp, so I have to kind of hop to grab it. Fortunately as soon as it's in my hand, the bag falls easily out of the branches. It's lumpy, but not heavy, so I tuck it under my arm and head back toward Seven.
Of course as soon as I change direction, the zombies do as well. It's not some dumb white bag they want; it's me.
Seven helps me stuff the bag into the satchel I've got hanging from my shoulder. The contents would probably fit more easily if we actually opened the bag and emptied it, but with zombies on our tail, it's not worth the time. I think he's trying to be encouraging, but he's worse at it than Sam, and that's saying something. I'm not a retriever; don't patronize me.
He's practical, though, and I suppose that gets him a few points in my book. Sure, he gave me the party line about 'we care about our people,' but he's not bothering to pretend like we're pals or anything. Sort of refreshing, to be honest. When I get taken out, whether it's by zoms or because I've been infected – I guess technically it's 'if,' but it seems like a silly distinction to make – Seven will speak well of me but won't shed a single tear. I guess it's nice to know that up front.
We head along the main road for a bit and I'm struck by how incredibly quiet it is. The land near the highway had been cleared of trees for some distance, so there isn't even the noise of the wind through the branches or small animals snuffling about in the undergrowth. There's the sound of our trainers hitting the pavement, but beyond that, nothing at all.