Chapter Twenty

As soon as the four of us continued on, there was no time to say anything more than "Over here!" or "Reloading!" I thought I had gone through a rough time on my way to the park, but the (very) short run from the playground, along the railroad tracks to the back entrance of a newly remodeled retail superstore made my previous ordeal look like a Sunday stroll. It was only a little more than a mile, or so said Jim, but it was a brutal mile. These three acted like a magnet for infected. Infected came from damn near anywhere they could. From the emptied trailers of semis, out of dumpsters, off the roofs of houses… Jim swore he saw one pop out of an open manhole. I'm not even going to ponder how he managed that. Obviously, staying alive was no longer a matter of staying hidden; it was a matter of shooting every single infected you saw… minus me.

The path today was, at least, easy to spot incoming infected from. The railroad track led between two subdivisions; wooden and chain link fences made two borders on either sides several yards from the tracks. Any infected that wanted to come at us that weren't already in this 10-meter gauntlet had to first climb over the fence, making for easy targets.

Ann, Jim and Greg had several advantages over me. First of all, they had been doing this kind of thing for much longer than I had. Second of all, reloading my weapon was a tricky, lengthy ordeal for me. I ruined one ammo pack by accidentally slicing a huge notch through the thing with two fingers. I'm lucky the thing didn't explode on me. Thirdly, and lastly, they had much better weapons than I. Ann's shotgun was tearing infected to shreds, and fired quickly (a "repeating shotgun", I think it's called?), while Greg and Jim both had automatic rifles that must've held at least 50 bullets to each round. Meanwhile, my Mini-14, while getting the job done, seemed extremely puny. I suppose its accuracy was nice, but as mentioned, I'm barely knowledgeable in firearms at all.

On the opposite hand, I didn't think about it as we were running through the swarms of infected eager to rip us apart, as I simply had to devote the mental energy elsewhere, but I think I may have been hindering my companions as well. When we ran into the back of the giant retail building, flew into a storage room, and barricaded the doors with anything we could find, I found I was suddenly able to think again. It was then that I came to realize what a pain I probably was. The first thing I said was "How the hell do you people do this every day?", though.

No one replied. They were all too tired. As was I.

As I still am now, though it's been at least a half hour since we reached this safe room. I had thought in that time "I'm probably a terrible distraction to these three. Or at least another obstacle." Not only do they have to kill every infected, but there's one among the crowd you can't shoot! That has to be troublesome. I didn't even realize at the time that my life could have been ended not by a raging infected, but by a misdirected bullet from one of my allies.

I should say something about it to them. But before I can summon up the courage to do so, Ann speaks up. "We shouldn't stay here long. Best to use the nighttime to travel while we can."

I completely forget what I was going to ask her. Travel by night? Is she nuts? "By night? Wouldn't it be better to do it by day, when you can see?"

"There was writing on the wall of that Qdoba at Westport Village. Someone telling others about the witches, your little friends."

"Please." I said, in disgust.

Ann ignored me. "It said you girls walk around, wander, travel places, but only during the day. At night you stay put. We already fought one of you, if there's any way for us to bypass that happening again we're taking it." She paused, and lifted up her shotgun. "Besides, our guns have halogen flashlights on them. We can see just fine." To illustrate her point, she turned hers on. The previously dim-lit room was now a lit with a blaze of fiery white light. Instantly I shut my eyes tight and turned my head to bury it against a wall. I heard her curse and immediately the red glow of light shining through my eyelids faded away. My head was still a pounding mess of pain; my eyes were still closed until the throbbing went away.

I think at this point the realization that they were travelling with a malformed infected girl fully came back to them, as it did to me, and I suddenly remembered what it was I was going to ask them.

Again however, someone else spoke before I could get my head back together in order to say anything. "This is why we left her, and we should've left her again." It was Greg. His voice did not sound anything like the kid's I remember from a few days ago. Come to think of it, since we rejoined at the playground, I haven't heard him say a single word until just now. There is something… new in his voice. I can't tell if it's anger, or sadness, or fear, or something completely different, perhaps something I can't even imagine, but there is one thing that is painfully certain: this is not the same boy who cheerfully offered to wipe tomato off my nose. Was the death of his grandmother that much of an impact on him? I don't mean to downplay the tragedy of the event at all, but wasn't he in the same boat as I was in regards to his parents? Hadn't he practically… well… lost them, too?

Ann replies. "She's an extra gun, Greg, you know we need that. Three just isn't enough, that's what…" she stammers "that's what Lorraine told us. Four is the best number."

"Fat load of good that did." I hear Greg growl under his breath.

Ann winced. "Greg… look, I know this is tough shit we got ourselves into. Nobody should have to go through what you did. Nobody should ever have to…" she swallowed a lump in her throat "…to have to kill their own family, but-"

Greg denied her attempt at comforting. "Kill her? Kill her? Ann, we didn't kill her! Yeah, you're right – someone you love turning into a fucking zombie and then you being forced to kill her before she kills you – you're right. That's 'tough shit'. That's exactly what Lorraine taught us before we set out. That this shit may happen, and we won't have a choice. I was ready for that, Ann, I was fucking ready for that! But then you go along and bring the culprit along with us? THAT'S what I cannot accept!"

"The culprit…?" Ann gasped. Even Jim, alone in a corner with his cigarette, ignoring most of everything being said until now, looks up and becomes attentive.

I stand up in defiance. "What? What are you saying?"

Greg looks me straight in the eyes. I step back. For the first time since the infection struck, this person is looking straight at me without a single ounce of fear in his eyes. Replacing it is a terrible anger, completely different from the mindless rage of the infected; this is real, controlled. "I mean what I said. How have you all not noticed it until now?" He pauses for a moment. "She's the one who infected my grandmother!"

I am in shock. That had never occurred to me – the thought of me still being a carrier for this terrible disease. It makes perfect sense, though. I'm infected, therefore I can still pass it on to others. But then, that would mean… that he's right… and I… I actually…

"Hold on, hold on!" Ann retorts, then thinks for just a brief moment. "That's some serious shit to say, Greg. How can you prove that?"

"Did you see her get cut? Attacked? Ever? I didn't! Zombies got close, but I never saw her suffer a wound; I know we never bandaged one, that's for sure!"

Jim stands up, rubbing his cigarette out against the concrete floor. Even in the middle of this heated argument, he looks calm and collected. They said he was royally freaking out when he told them about the news report; I can't imagine him looking like that. "Alright, look you two," He glances me, up against a wall, fearful. "…er, three… I'm gonna have to play the mediator here and say we need to drop this for now." Greg opens his mouth to say something, but Jim cuts him off. "Now, I'm not saying we should drop it altogether. Far from it, Ann's right Greg, that is some serious shit" the curse word sounded strange coming from his lips, as though he really didn't want to speak the word "you're accusing her, um… ah… sorry, what's your name again?"

"M-Maggie." I stutter. It took me a moment to think, being not my real name.

"Maggie, right. We don't know what happened, and right now we have bigger things to worry about, namely surviving another day. So, Ann, if you'd please, you were saying something about not staying here too long."

Ann blanks out for a moment or two before recollecting her thoughts and going back in her train of thought to a couple minutes ago. "R-Right. I uh… well now that I think about it I suppose it wouldn't really be a good idea to move by night. Because, well you know…" Her glance turned towards me, and our eyes met for a moment before she turned away. Whether it was out of fright, embarrassment, or what, I have no idea.

There was a long, empty silence. In it, each of us retreated to a different corner of the storage room. When the light of day had fully crept away, I said four words.

"Leave at dawn, then?"

Ann and Jim nodded their heads. Greg was already asleep.