Zelink Short Stories - Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Anyway, your knuckles are ready to crack again.
I only wake up when I jam my elbow into the wall, fighting off the invisible hands I can still feel gripped around my arms. Gloved and large, his fingers digging in deeper the more I fought. My kicks did nothing against the gear he was wearing and my screams didn’t change his mind.
I rub my clammy hand over my chest as I sit up slowly, breathing deep to calm the uneven thumping under my palm. The dreams have gotten worse—more real to the point I feel the aching even after I wake up. The bruises from that living nightmare have long faded but I still feel the pain as I was being dragged away.
I take another raspy breath and reach down with trembling hands to untangle the blankets knotted around my legs. The bed creaks under me at the movement, complaining of being worn. It's not the only one.
I feel each strand of hair sticking to my neck as I swing my legs off the bed. The sweat gives me a chill even in the muggy, dilapidated apartment I call home. Everything was looted after the outbreak. Any supplies to be found were taken by anyone willing to risk it. It's a miracle anything was left over though I suppose the military has their ways of procuring more.
My apartment bears scars of being torn through more than just once. Ripped cushions on the stained couch, loose hinges on the cabinets from being flung open in desperation to find anything. Dust and grime coat the walls—so much so I doubt the real owner ever cleaned. It's a small place after all and could have housed a bachelor living on minimum wage and he didn't have the time nor the motivation to do anything other than spill beer on the couch. A life I would have hated in a place I couldn’t have imagined and here I am.
I can appreciate the door still locks to keep out anyone with intentions worse than simply being hungry. The window isn't broken and there's no leaks from the ceiling. The plumbing works though barely and I'm far from the wall separating this world from the creatures lurking outside.
I pull away the hair sticking to my neck and force my legs to walk me out of this small room and into the main space lit only by a distant floodlight outside. Others may brave those lights and the people with guns who control them but not me. I'm home well before curfew each evening and stay in until I'm sure it's okay to leave. Leaving would be foolish as are the people who do whether it's for food or weapons. I'd rather my ribs be too visible and go without a gun than be shot through the head like a rabid dog.
It's a pathetic, sorry existence, one that becomes more apparent as I turn the mildew crusted faucet and listen to the pipes groan before a thin stream of water filters out. I rinse the sweat from my palms and swipe a bit of water across my forehead to cool it. The water is just cold enough to not make it worse. It's never hot; only lukewarm or cool and I'm lucky to have it at all. Some people in the zone don't have water to complain about the temperature and scrounge it from murky puddles in the streets. It's a wonder anyone in the zone is still alive with the manner of how they survive.
The faucet protests when I shut it off. Water trickles out after, then turns to drips that will last for a few minutes. I ignore it and walk through the dark to my room. I close my door out of habit: a silly thing the back of my mind seems to think will keep the monsters out. They're always there, door closed or not. They linger when I open my eyes and haunt my dreams when I sleep. I belong to the monsters as much as they belong to me.
Morning brings both dread and relief. I have it in me to brave the outside when the sun chases away the dark corners and anything hiding in them. But leaving my apartment is still dangerous. Some evils don't bother hiding in the dark and all it takes is one small slip up to become a naked body rotting behind a pile of garbage.
I swallow the thought as I shove my arms through the sleeves of my flannel shirt. This one is free from holes and it's loose enough to cover my body better than another shirt might.
Cover yourself, was what a girl not much older than me had said when I got here five years ago. Walk fast but don't look scared. Don't give them a reason.
She disappeared not long after that.
Dead I assume. Raped, murdered, and left for the rats. She'd been among the first groups taken to the quarantine zone and she was one of the first to die here. I'm not sure if that death would be better than dying to the teeth of the creatures who feast on flesh outside the wall. Once human but now animal. Feral. Rabid.
I tuck my small knife into my pocket. It's my only weapon, given to me by Daruk after he found me running from someone who tried to hurt me. My friend had just disappeared when my paranoia became real and I was cornered.
He's dead too. He didn't last long after Daruk found him and crushed his head against a wall. A stain and a bad memory is all he is now. If I've learned anything, it's that surviving is a nasty, grimy business. And I've done everything to keep my hands clean.
I eat a few sliced peaches from the can I opened yesterday and leave the last pieces of syrupy fruit for a measly dinner. Though I don't have time before my shift at the infirmary, I need to make a trip to the pantry afterwards to cash in the ration cards I've been saving.
I tuck the small stack of paper in my pocket next to the knife and leave the safety of my apartment, locking it behind me with the spare key I managed to find years ago beneath those threadbare cushions. The click of the lock setting into place eases my worry but strokes a fear that a lock wouldn't do much to stop someone who really wanted inside.
I check the hall before hurrying through it, not looking at the people I pass. I reach the door for the stairwell, hearing the creak of the hinges. No monsters hide behind it and I take each step down. My pulse settles in my throat for each flight of stairs.
The way outside is easy and quick—something I memorized in the first weeks. I can do it in the dark if I need to though the thought twists my gut into knots.
I squint stepping onto the sidewalk outside, the sun sitting overhead, uncaring and as warm as it had been years ago. But I don't stay to let the comfort caress my cheeks.
My feet move quickly for the truck waiting just down the street, the engine off to conserve gas. The blood in the back is caked into the frame—some fresh and the rest dried to the color of rust. I don't look at it; I've seen enough blood where it shouldn't be.
“You're squirrely today.” The engine chokes for a moment before offering a steady growl. It pales in comparison to the voice coming from the massive, bearded man behind the wheel. “Did something happen?”
“Bad dreams,” I mutter. A small, somewhat forced smile finds its way onto my face. Safe for now. Not that it'll last for long.
The truck lurches forward, Daruk pulling away from the curb. The movements are so normal. Hand over hand gently, straighten the wheel, press the peddle a bit harder.
But the smell isn't. The tang from the blood wafts in through the windows and fills my nose with each breath. It masks enough of the decay rotting in alleys that Daruk hasn't gotten around to scraping from the cracked pavement yet.
“What was it about?”
“Nothing to bother you with,” I say, telling the same to myself.
His thick white brows set into a frown. “You're not a bother to me. How many times have I told you to come live with me?”
“A few.” His chuckle is deep and rough and as normal as his driving. How one can stay so positive in this mess is a mystery.
“The offer still stands. I could take better care of you and all of that. It might be nice, you know.”
“I think I'm okay for now.”
“You sure?” I nod, giving him a smile to put his worries to rest. “Alright just let me know if you change your mind.”
I promise to think about it as I always do. He scares people away just by being around and I know why he asks so often. His kid is gone and I was orphaned years ago. But I wouldn't fill that hole for him just like he wouldn't fill mine. Not really anyway.
I rest my head on the seat and stare at the broken streets. How everything fell apart so quickly is another mystery entirely. Buildings that had stood for a number of years are now shattered and stained and house people more broken than the bricks.
They wander to their shifts the military gives them, trading their cards for cigarettes and sex and protection and whatever else is smuggled into the zone. They look like bodies propped upright and told to move without any real thoughts at all.
But I know what they think because I'm no different. They want to live but they don't know why or how. Anything to not become a creature stalking the walls outside.
Except so many leave and come back bitten and infected, their time ticking away faster than the rest of us.
Daruk slows for the crowd gathering to watch FEDRA soldiers drag a small group from a slowly rotting building. They force them to their knees, their rifles hovering above their heads as a promise.
“Don't watch,” Daruk says, using his horn to make the crowd move.
“Who are they?” I still strain to look, watching one of the geared men press a tester to the neck of the first. The screen glows red before it's out of my sight.
“Probably smugglers.” He doesn't flinch at the gunshot like I do but frowns at the shrieks that follow. “Poor bastards.”
“But you said they're smugglers. Leaving the zone is illegal.” A short string of pops sound and any screams end as abruptly as they began.
“Smugglers keep everyone else from rioting against those FEDRA pricks by bringing in booze and drugs.” He spares a quick glance my way, the previous joy gone. “Food too.”
“We have our ration cards for food. They give it to us when they can as long as we work.”
“You're a smart girl, Zelda. Do you really believe them when they tell you there hasn't been a food shipment? And what about the people who can't work? Should they starve?”
Of course I don't think they should starve but we're all starving anyway. Food shipments come in at random though I thought whatever was outside kept them from coming regularly. But now I wonder if under all that gear their ribs are showing too or if it's only mine.
He sighs, taking my silence as the best answer I can give him. “All I'm saying is to think past the things they tell you. Just because they have more guns, doesn't make them right.” He pulls to a stop in front of the old school that's now an infirmary, his smile coming back like it never left. “And don't talk about this with anyone else, understand?”
“I won't,” I promise, pushing open the door to be greeted by the pile of bodies set out front. It's smaller than most days, the shoes and jackets already stripped from them. They haven't yet started to smell either.
Daruk leaves the truck to collect them, stopping by me to pick through the pockets. It's likely they've already been searched countless times but anything he finds, he gets to keep. And there's always something someone missed.
I watch him flip the bodies as he searches, some limp and others stiff. They're pale save for the bruise-like splotches that bloomed where the blood puddled. I'd only ever seen one dead body but she was pretty and still looked alive at the funeral wearing a dress I picked out. Makeup added color to her skin, brightening it when she’d been sick for so long. I was almost waiting for her to wake up and smile, to tuck my hair away from my face and call me her little bird.
Daruk pockets a lighter and a few cigarettes—the new Ben Franklins he calls them. Just a couple cigarettes can get you far. Any vice really, just as he said.
“You should head in,” he says. “Got your knife?”
“Of course I do. You ask everyday.”
“Just want to make sure you're safe.” He pulls a small wrapped stick from another pocket and holds it out to me. These may as well be my currency.
I tuck the tampon away and begin walking only I stop midstep, turning back to Daruk with some sense finally catching up to me. “I was going to spend my cards after this shift but maybe tomorrow morning we could move my things to your place?”
His smile grows under his white beard and I begin to wonder why I've always said no. Maybe we would fill that space for each other. Maybe we have already. “I'll get the bedroom ready for you.” I match his smile when he holds out his thick pinky to hook mine. “Be outside by eight.”
“I will.”
If the smell outside is foul, the scent inside the infirmary is putrid. Vomit makes the air seem thick and cuts that have festered beyond infection sting my nose with their sour odor.
Urine and feces seem to be nothing over the constant copper tang of blood and old death. I sidestep a puddle left by a severely dehydrated patient, my arms full of the cleanest blankets I could find. I dodge hands grabbing for me and groans begging me to help.
There's little I can do with the few supplies we have. The same people Daruk claims hoard the food are the same ones who control the medicine. There isn't a single thing in the quarantine zone that FEDRA doesn't touch and seeing that the infirmary always has more patients and never less, maybe I have been too trusting with what I've been told.
I trip over my boots running to one of the many cots lining the old gym, arriving just in time to catch the newborn. His screams usher away my fear he would be born still as his mother is thin and her cheeks hollow. I wipe away the only blood I can truly stomach and gauge his weight as I hand him to the very woman Daruk had talked about—the people who couldn't work and are left for dead. Only her hands are rough and her nails cracked. She has worked and still starved.
But I let her see my smile as I inject penicillin in her thigh and tell her the baby is healthy. He'll live as so many infants haven't but he'll be her new why and how and nightmare. It isn't fair.
My hands bloody, I weave my way back through all the cots, passing by two FEDRA keeping watch at the entrance to the hall. They pay me no mind with their guns in their hands and eyes on all the sick people. There used to be a time when a girl walking by with bloody hands was cause for alarm.
I slip into the bathroom. Some of the stalls still have writing from the kids who used to attend. It's faded and I focus on my hands instead.
The water comes out hot and I let it moisten the drying blood and watch it slide down the sides of the sink into the drain. I pick it from under my nails too, turning the tips white again.
Stumbling footsteps stagger into the bathroom when I reach for the almost empty pump of soap. I dare a glance in the mirror to see a man move to a stall behind me and I drop my eyes, not giving him a reason.
I scrub my hands faster, my mouth dry. The man heaves into a toilet and the stench of vomit burns my nose moments later. He coughs and gags before going silent, the thud of his body slumping the last sound.
The faucet squeals when I turn it off and face him. Halfway out of a stall and vomit spilling over the edge of the toilet to the floor, he lies there unmoving, eyes closed.
I swallow. “Are you alright?” I force myself to ask, braving half a step. My job is to help the ones in beds. Would I be evil to ignore him here and let someone else deal with it?
I take another small step, watching his fingers curl a little, his chest moving in ragged breaths. “I can go get someone.”
My heart leaps into my throat and I freeze as the thought screams like it's coming from someone else. Run.
He shifts in a single, jerky movement, his eyes snapping open. I don't breathe but can't look away as his eyes roll back, head tilting to find me shrinking towards the sink. There's nothing human there when our gazes meet.
My feet move just as the first shriek rips from his throat.
I trip on my boots, my screams for help mangling with the bangs and unnatural cries from behind me. I turn for the FEDRA down the hall, not daring to look back as he barrels out behind me, slamming into the lockers on the wall, the echo ringing in my ears.
The soldiers turn too slow and they raise their guns as if they'll shoot me too because it'll be easier. I sprint for them, my sobs desperate and hands waving. They may not care that I want to live.
His ragged breath grows too loud and his body slams into mine, my face cracking on the dirty tile before I can catch myself. He claws at my back, pounding his hands as I scream.
A shot rings out and it all stops—the clawing, the screaming. He slumps off and I scramble away, hot tears dumping themselves down my cheeks and bile working its way into my mouth.
I'm trembling when they haul me to my feet, keeping my eyes away from the body sprawled on the floor. It doesn't do anything for the blood and brains I feel soaking into the back of my shirt.
The sun is setting when they finally let me leave. For hours I sat locked in a classroom, picking gore from my hair while someone peeked through the window in the door to check if I was still human. Then they pushed a tester to my neck and even though his teeth never sank into my skin, I still expected the screen to glow red.
My back aches as I step outside and my throat feels like it's been cut from the inside. The pile of bodies is gone and only one is left. My guts threaten to rearrange themselves looking at the dark stain spread beneath the tarp they threw over his body. It's meant to hide the shot to the head because that means another infected in the QZ. It's pointless. Everyone knows what the damned tarp means.
A fool. Both of us stupid fools. I should have known when he first stumbled in the bathroom that he was some fool that snuck out and came back bitten. He should have shot himself past the fence and it would've been quick and painless. He let himself turn into a creature first and I paid for it.
I don't want to keep thinking about it as I rush to the pantry but the image of his head tilting to find me so easily when his mind was already gone festers in mine. The last bit of man in him seemed to remember he passed me on his way to the stall and the monster saw the opportunity.
The paranoia follows me in the streets and every eye feels like a watching one. I keep my fingers in my pocket touching the short knife there. It'd have to be a lucky slice to kill but any cut gives an extra few seconds.
I glance down the side streets and alleys, my gaze darting to every face. I don't look longer than a second except for the woman with white hair lingering in a shadowy alley but not hidden enough to hide what I swear is a wink. When I look back, she's gone and only a pair of heavy boots are visible from that dark path.
I let my steps quicken.
When I reach it, the pantry has a group dispersing from it and soldiers are pulling the grate down over the open storefront that's become all our lifelines.
“No no no,” I mutter, jogging the last short distance. I would've gotten here in time if it weren't for the infected. I would have food to bring to Daruks so we might not be hungry on what will finally be a good day.
A FEDRA turns to me, his eyes bored and gun slung lazily in his arms. The small tag on his chest reads Mido. “It's closed, girl, and almost curfew. Go home.” He wags his gun as if to say shoo to some raccoon pawing in the garbage.
“Please. I have enough cards and I only need a little.” I don't care that I'm whining. My stomach will growl louder.
“Should've come sooner.”
“I couldn't, I was working at the infirmary—”
“That's not my problem.” He steps closer, his fingers adjusting as a threat. “Go home before you get yourself into trouble.”
“I don't want trouble. Please. I just want a couple cans—”
I swallow my yelp when he grips my arm and pulls me away from the ears of the other soldiers. The warnings in my head mutter that I should go when we're mostly hidden from view at the side of the building. I swallow hard, my throat feeling like it's bleeding.
He leans close, his eyes scanning my face quickly. Bruises must be forming by now. “I can get you your share tonight if you do something for me.”
I test his grip but he holds firm, keeping me here. “Do what?”
“There's a dumpster that way and to the left,” he says, ticking his head in the direction. “Wait by it and I'll be there in five minutes with your food.”
My breath hitches as the memory of the man cornering me replays in my mind. Daruk was there but even that was lucky. I have no one now.
“No, thank you,” I say weakly. “I'll go home.” His grip doesn't lessen.
“Just a few minutes and you won't be hungry,” he promises. He believes it to be a tempting offer and to some it is but I remember being civilized.
My fingers brush the knife in my pocket again. A stupid attempt that would be against someone with a gun and armor. But it's all I have.
His eyes catch the movement when I say, “I'd rather go home.” My fingers curl around the slim handle, blood rushing in my ears.
“Don't do something you'll regret, girl.”
“Please let me go.”
“Do as she says.” Our heads snap in the direction we came from to the new voice there belonging to another FEDRA soldier. He's much taller than the one digging his gloved fingers into my arm, his shoulders broader. And there's a plastic bag hanging at his side like what grocery stores used to have. The stretch of it is evidence of the food inside.
“Save yourself a talk with the duty officer, Mido,” the stranger says. His gun is slung over his shoulder, the bag of rations more ready than his firearm.
“Fine.” Mido lets go, hands splayed as he takes a step back. My chest lightens too and I pull my fingers away from the knife in my pocket.
He pushes past the other soldier, looking small and inconsequential next to him. He watches him stalk off and shakes his head after him.
Finally he gives me his attention and holds out the bag. “Two cards worth.” I place the two in his other hand, muttering a shaky “thank you” as I take the bag. It feels slightly heavier than just two cards worth.
“He didn't do that, did he?” he asks with his eyes trained on my face and the soreness there.
“N—no. I fell.” Telling the truth of being tackled by an infected where I'm supposed to be safe would just earn me another prick to the neck by the tester clipped to his belt. That or he won't bother and will just shoot me here.
“You should be more careful then.” He flashes a smile but rather than matching it, my eyes flick to his nametag. Groose. And he's wearing a helmet but he seems to be a ginger with his red eyebrows and light sprinkling of freckles.
He clears his throat and points behind him with his thumb. “I'll escort you home. It's almost curfew.”
“I don't live far—”
“I'll just get you to your building. Nothing else.”
Maybe it's stupid to accept the thin string of trust but I nod and walk at his side. The sun is behind the buildings now, setting fast. Soldiers stalk the streets, last warnings being called out to get inside and stay there until the curfew ends in the morning. People run by, scattering to their hovels. I would have had to run too when I'm normally not out this late at all.
Groose keeps his stride, throwing looks at the laggers. They see his gun in his hands and hurry on their way. Some stay for an extra moment to study the girl under protection from the military before they jog off too.
There's heavy thuds followed by a buzz when the floodlights are turned on for the night. They watch streets where most people try to slip through and the rest are pointed outside, watching for anyone or anything lurking there.
Soon all the pavement is clear of every civilian. A couple trucks rumble by, lights mounted and men with guns seated on the backs. They're guards to a prison most of us don't want to escape from.
When we reach my building, I climb the few steps to the door while he remains at the base. “Ask for me if you need anything,” he says and I turn to see another innocent smile. It feels a little like flirting and I try not to frown too much. Romance is a stupid thing to seek.
“I thought that was against the rules.”
“So is exploitation. Knee him in the balls next time.” He means it as a joke but I swallow at the thought of there being a next time. This hadn't even been the first time.
He clicks on the flashlight on his chest and adjusts the gun in his grip. “Stay safe.”
“You too,” I force out. He is safe and he's meant to be the safety. Just when Daruk tells me to not trust them, a soldier comes along trying to make me trust him. In more than one way considering the crooked smile and two-fingered salute he gives before walking off.
I refuse to be quick to trust and I go inside, leaving him to his job of shooting man and monster. The lobby falls dark when the door thuds shut but I move to the stairs before my eyes adjust. They turn old furniture and piled garbage to people crouched and waiting. I imagine that infected again, lying on the floor while his head turned back and eyes found me.
Remembering that he still caught me when I was running as fast as I could has my feet setting a new pace up the stairs.
If it weren't for the soldiers, he would have torn me apart on that floor. Bites are for those who still get away. They're a fake victory. I wouldn't have gotten away once he had me pinned. I would have squeezed my eyes shut and waited for it to be over.
And they must all be like that. They don't have the thoughts of limits like the rest of us. They could run and run and the brain that no longer belonged to them wouldn't tell them they were tired.
I dig for my key, listening to each creak and thump and voice from the other people who live here. For a moment it feels normal like I'm just coming home from a long day with the groceries I picked up on the way. But there's no receipt in the bag, no money used to buy them, and my long day almost killed me.
I'm inside just as the first rumbling of thunder rolls outside. It sounds far but the light patter of rain begins to splat on the windows. Maybe it'll wash away some of the stains in the streets.
I lock the door, pushing the chain into place. It won't stop anyone who really wanted in but I would hear it at least. Hear it like the rain and thunder and the slight creak in the floorboards.
I whip around to the rest of the dark apartment. My heartbeat sounds in my ears, thudding loudly to muffle my breathing. I could have imagined it. I must have. And if it wasn't imagined, the building simply settled on its foundation. It's not well kept after all.
I tell myself it's just paranoia from the day. I was chased by an infected then led away and asked to trade my body for food. I need sleep and tomorrow will be better. Daruk will get me in the morning to move my things and I'll busy myself with the new routes I'll have to learn.
My motivation for leaving my spot being the promise of hiding under covers soon, I take a few slow steps to the kitchen. Most of it is hidden behind a wall.
I step past the narrow doorway at the next low roll of thunder. There's a too familiar creak under my foot but I don't have a chance to piece it together when those heavy boots from the alley make my heart refuse to beat.