Part IV
"Please don't kill me!" the boy begged, gripping the roots around him tightly. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he swallowed once and was quiet.
"Don't worry. I'm not a zombie," Stanley replied, sinking down with a sigh of relief. "Do you have any food?
The boy stared at him, confused. "I have some crackers," he whispered, pulling out a small orange bag from between his legs. As he fumbled through it, Stanley realized the boy's hands were shaking. He also noticed that the boy looked very malnourished.
"Here." Two crackers were thrust towards him. Stanley thought suddenly of all the Cokes he had drunk and all the dozens of cookies he had eaten at his office building's snack bar. "Actually, you eat it. You need it more than me," he said quickly.
"Aww. Making friends, are we? Too bad that boy won't last two seconds if you're ever found. Of course, you'd only last three seconds, so what does that matter?"
"Be quiet," Stanley snapped.
"I didn't say anything," the boy replied, startled. A cracker was halfway to his mouth.
"You can't hear him?"
"Hear who?"
Stanley scratched his head. "Um…never mind."
"Are you teaming with me?" the boy asked after a while. He wiped at his face with his sleeve.
"Um…I guess," Stanley replied. He tried to remember what Jeff had said about zombie apocalypses. Usually the survivors did team up in groups to help each other stay alive. "Yeah, sounds like a good idea."
The boy laughed softly. "I can't believe…I just can't believe you'd team with me."
"Are there others to choose from?"
"Sort of…"
There was another silence, in which was heard only the sound the boy gulping down water from a canteen. Finally Stanley spoke up again.
"What's your name?"
"Jalin. I'm from District 10. What's yours?"
"I'm Stanley. I'm from Cleveland."
"Um...what district is that?"
"I don't know."
Jalin was quiet for a moment. "It's probably the stress. My dad said that a lot of tributes have a hard time remembering things from their old life once they're in the arena. He says it's due to stress and the dramatic change in their surroundings."
"I know how that feels," Stanley murmured. "I miss my office. I miss pushing buttons. There aren't any buttons here."
"I used to work with my dad on machinery. But then I got in an accident at the factory that crippled me, and he wouldn't let me go back. So Mom had to work extra hard to keep me and my siblings all fed. I tried to help by buying food through name slips. But I still didn't think there was much of a chance that I'd get picked. Guess I was wrong."
Stanley thought around how the Narrator had picked him, or at least had seemed to pick him to be the one whose story would be narrated. Somehow, everyone else had disappeared, and Stanley had been the one left behind. Was it because he was special - or because he was stupid?
"We should be quiet now," Jalin whispered. "Otherwise they might find us."
"You're right," Stanley thought, shuddering as zombies flashed through his mind. He huddled up next to Jalin and soon fell asleep.