Coby Cotton

Woods of Wasting

April 17, 2032

0723 Hours

It's stopped raining, but the earth is still wet, the scent of petrichor fragrant and soothing. Or it would be if there weren't a horde of zombies chasing us.

I'm running blind, spraying rainwater behind me as I crash through the woods. Tyler has abandoned my support, charging with gritted teeth and sweat on his forehead. Cory's eyes are wide with terror as he swings forward, moving just as fast as I am.

"We've gotta lose 'em!" Tyler shouts, kicking up mud as he skids into a turn. The wet dirt flies up and splatters across Cory's front, and I wince. I don't want to have to scrub the dirt out of that hoodie. I also can't believe it used to be white.

My head is pounding as we run, and I'm shivering. I think I have a fever, hopefully brought on by the stress and not an infected wound. If I had an infection, I'd be a sitting duck.

I duck under a low-hanging branch, glancing over my shoulder at the zombies. These ones are faster than any I've ever seen, nearly sprinting to keep up with us. My breath hitches in my chest, burning against my trachea and I struggle to suck in air. How long can we keep going?

Cory is breathing hard, desperately trying to inhale. He's not a distance runner, and neither am I. We're built for sprinting—small lungs, fast metabolisms. This isn't something we can keep up for long.

I grit my teeth and keep breathing, forcing my burning legs to pump faster. Climbing trees would take too long at this point…if only we had some kind of vehicle…

And then I see it. A beat-up gray truck, sitting abandoned on the side of the road, as if it's just waiting for us to drive away.

"Everyone in!" I yell, and I veer off the path, sprinting toward the truck. "Ty, Cory, get in the back!"

"Have you ever driven a car before?" Tyler exclaims, his voice ragged.

"No! But how hard can it be?"

I fling open the driver's side door, casting a glance back at the wave of zombies streaming through the trees, and hoist myself into the driver's seat. The pedals are a little too far away from my feet for my liking, but I don't know how to adjust the seat, and anyway, there isn't time.

Tyler and Cory scramble into the back, shooting into the horde, and I scan for some sort of button to turn the truck on. Some cars have those, but others need—

"Keys!" Tyler bellows. "Get the keys, Cotton!"

"I don't see any!"

I yank open every compartment I can see, fingers scrabbling desperately, but no keys. On the verge of despair, I pull down the overhead visor, and the keys literally fall into my lap. I jam the biggest one into the ignition and twist, my heart leaping as the engine starts.

How did Dad make this kind of thing go? I know there's a gas pedal and a brake. But there's a lever, too, one that Dad pulled back, and ten-year-old me asked what the letters meant…

"We've gotta go!" Cory shouts, and I grab the lever and yank, slamming my foot down on the smaller pedal. The truck positively leaps forward, the still-open door slamming against trees, the wheels bouncing through ruts. Tyler and Cory are both screaming, the sound much higher pitched than I would have thought, but I'm focused on nothing but the road.

I squint through the rain as the speedometer hits fifty, water and mud spraying up under the wheels. I'm lucky the road is reasonably straight—I don't think I'd be good at turns.

"Cobes, stop!" Cory shrieks, and I see the massive yellow blockage too late. The trucks hits the bus head-on, and a balloon of white flies out of nowhere and strikes me, hard, in the face. I squeeze my eyes shut, pain throbbing through my face, as two loud thuds sound from the bed of the truck and both Cory and Tyler yelp in shock.

Slightly dazed, I stumble out of the truck, cupping my bleeding nose and asking, "You guys okay?"

"We're fine, Cotton!" Tyler exclaims. "Get your gun!"

"They're coming out of the bus!" Cory yells, limping forward and nocking an arrow. "We've gotta get outta here!"

"Where are your crutches?" I ask, letting blood drip down my face as I grab my pistol.

"Fell out back there! But I can't use them if I'm gonna shoot!"

I'm not sure I like that, but the zombies don't allow me to reply. I raise my pistol and start shooting, watching the zombies from earlier catching up as more pour out of the bus. Will this ever end?

Cory and Tyler are going ballistic with their arrows, felling zombies left and right. I'm glad my twin has tranquilizer arrows, or he'd be hiding behind us while we shot.

Finally, the zombies stop coming out of the bus, and I duck around it, glancing around to make sure there aren't more undead behind it. Blood is still trickling over my lips and down onto my chin, scarlet drops falling to the grass.

"It's clear!" I shout. "Come on!"

Both Tyler and Cory are limping as they follow me into a wide clearing in the middle of the trees. I scan the skies, hoping for any sign of a helicopter, but as it's been all morning, the clouds are clear.

"Cobes, you okay?" Cory gasps as we stumble through the long grass, walking backwards to watch the zombies that will come tearing around the bus at any moment. "You're bleeding."

"I'm fine," I assure him. "Just a bloody nose. I don't think it's broken."

The clearing is silent, and we cautiously slow, stopping beside an ancient, graffitied shipping container. My pistol is still raised, aimed toward the trees we just left. They can't be gone. They can't. That's just not how things work.

"I don't like this," Tyler mutters. "Let's get into the woods. I don't even know where we're going anymore, but this is way too exposed."

"Cody's gonna need somewhere to land," Cory points out. "How's he gonna find us if we're under a bunch of trees?"

"He's gonna have to—oh, gosh, run!"

And then a roar splits the rainy air, and I see it.

The zombie isn't gray, unlike the hundreds of undead following it. This one is black and at least a head and a half taller than its fellows, with scarlet eyes and fangs protruding from its mouth. And it's fast.

"They're behind us!" Cory wails. "They're on the other side!"

"Get to the middle!" Tyler shouts. "Back-to-back, boys!"

I seize up, my hands trembling violently, and then suddenly Cory is gripping my shoulder, steering me toward the middle of the clearing. My twin presses his back to mine, whispering, "Come on, Cobes!"

I have to shoot. I have to. This is for Cory. For Tyler. We have to make it out.

The world dissolves into a blur of gray, and I fire into the throng, barely seeing as zombie after zombie drops to the ground. They are not getting to my little brother. They are not getting to Tyler. I'll die—I'll undie—before I let that happen.

Too late, I realize that I've lost track of the black zombie.

And suddenly, a massive weight crashes sideways into me and Cory, and I'm knocked aside, so forcefully that I'm thrown to the ground and roll over once before realizing what's happened. I scramble up, staring in horror at the dark zombie, which is on top of Cory, pinning my thrashing and screaming twin to the ground. The gray zombies positively swarm him, closing in, and Tyler is grabbing my arm, trying to pull me away.

"Cory!" I scream, struggling to break away from Tyler. "Cory!"

"Coby!" Cory shouts, his voice muffled and pained. "Cobes—leave without me!"

"Cor, no!" I'm thrashing almost as much as Cory, fighting the iron grip of Tyler's arms around my chest. "Let me go, Ty!"

"We can't do anything!" Tyler insists, his voice cracking. "Come on, Cotton, we have to go!"

"No—Ty, stop—"

"Please!" Cory screams, his voice rising into a wail of pain, and my baby brother's dying wish does it. Suddenly, I'm running, Tyler's running, the zombies are running, and all I can see are tears—

Branches whip against my face, and then we're bursting through a strip of trees and into a wide field, and a blue helicopter is descending blurrily from the heavens, but it doesn't matter because Cory isn't going to be on it.

"Run, Cotton!" Tyler yells. "Go! Don't wait for me!"

But my vision is now so blurry that I can barely see, let alone try and run for the helicopter. Heart pounding in my throat, I sprint across the field, and then my foot catches on a hollow in the ground. I crash into the grass, sending up a splash of water, and all the wind is driven out of my lungs.

I'm trying to get up, trying to do what Cory would have wanted, but my head is spinning with fever and panic and my breath won't come, and something small and hard is digging into my stomach, something in my pocket…

I still can't breathe, but I wrest the object from my pocket and unwrap it, fingers fumbling as a syringe falls to the grass and I scan the paper.

Cobes—

I think you're gonna need this. Garrett made it—it's a cure for exactly one zombie. He gave it to me, but I kinda felt like maybe you needed it more. Whatever happens, get this paper to someone who can distribute the cure. Please.

Use this when you find Sparky, big bro. Take care of yourself. You're gonna be okay.

Don't cry too much for me.

Love,

Cory :)

Adrenaline is coursing through my veins, my vision sharpening. This is a cure. A cure for the wasting disease. It can bring back one of the undead.

Tyler is standing in front of me, firing at the horde of oncoming zombies. I suck air back into my lungs and stand, but I'm still shaky, and Tyler moves in, holding out a hand for the paper. I hand it to him, and his eyes widen.

Then he thrusts the note back into my hands, lets out a scream of challenge, and charges, flinging himself headfirst into the sea of gray.

"Go, Cobes!" Tyler yells, and I watch in horror as my friend is swarmed. "Save yourself!"

The helicopter is brushing the grass, but I turn around, because that's what Tyler wanted.

I run back.

Because I could never save myself and leave half my soul behind.

The clearing is quiet, eerily so, when I stumble in, panting, trembling violently. The zombies will follow me soon. Tyler won't be able to hold them off for long.

The grass is littered with the bodies of fallen zombies, their pearly eyes wide and unseeing. It takes a few moments, but as I thread through the swarm, I finally spot him—a crumpled figure in the swathe of gray, curled into the fetal position, only sleeping…

My knees give out, and I sink down beside Cory. He's barely breathing, his side rising and falling almost imperceptibly. The bite wound is on his shoulder, dark red seeping into the filthy off-white of his hoodie, and his skin has already taken on a grayish tinge.

I run my finger over Cory's cheekbone, which is sharper than I'd like but softened with youth. He's too little to have this happen to him. Undead at seventeen was never the way he wanted to go.

But it's not the way he's going to go, not if I have any say in it.

"I don't have to cry for you, Cor," I whisper, and I uncap the syringe, yank back my twin's hoodie, and stab the needle into Cory's shoulder.

A shuddering gasp, and Cory's back arches as the chopping of helicopter blades echoes through the damp air. With it comes the rattling breath of the undead, and I know I can't wait to see if the cure works. The zombies are coming.

"Coby!" comes Cody's voice, echoing from far away as the helicopter dips down to touch the grass. "Come on! Get over here!"

I scoop Cory up, draping his limp body over my shoulders in a fireman's lift, and take off, sprinting toward the helicopter. Somehow, as the zombies close in, howling at the sight of me taking their latest kill, it feels like I have wings. Like I'm flying over anything that could hurt me.

Cody's shotgun goes off, and I realize he's clearing a path, shooting the zombies so they stumble away from the helicopter. My heart twinges with gratitude for Cody, for his willingness to help a guy he just met, and for Tyler, for his ultimate sacrifice. There's no way I would have made it without them.

My ribs are burning. So is my throat. My head is spinning worse than ever. But I don't stop—I can't. This is Cory's only chance. And when you've got a chance, you take it.

"Go, Codes!" I gasp, and I catapult myself forward, nearly faceplanting onto the floor of the helicopter. "Fly!"

I pull the door shut, my entire body shaking so violently I think I might throw up. I'm gasping for breath, my whole chest on fire, but my gaze is fixed on Cory, his fluttering lashes, his heaving chest.

Please, God. Please.

Cory's eyes open, and they're not white. They're brown, the color of wet bark and sunshine.

"No way," he breathes, and that's all he gets out before I fling my arms around him and all the tears I've locked away for six years break free. Cory returns the embrace, holding onto me so tightly I think he'll break a rib, but I don't care.

"You—little—idiot," I sob, my face buried in my twin's shoulder. "You—you could've—you almost—"

"I'm okay, Cobes," Cory whispers, his breath warm against my neck as his tears trickle down it. "I promise I'm okay."

All I can do is cry, my breath hitching, my chest rising and falling erratically. Cory's heartbeat thumps against my sternum, offbeat at first but then sinking into rhythm so it beats in time with mine. My little brother rubs my back gently, his own tears dripping down onto my shoulder, and Cory is so warm, so comforting, in the cold, wet world, that I vow then and there to never let him go again.

Cory and I are alive. We're together. We have a cure for the wasting disease.

We survived the zombie apocalypse.

"Hey, Cobes," Cory murmurs into my ear. "I thought I told you not to cry for me. I didn't even make it all the way to undead."

"Some people are worth crying for," I whisper, and I send a silent prayer of utmost gratitude to the sky.

Thank You.