Chapter Two

Humidity and heat dampened the air, even though summer had not arrived. Without the convenience of an air conditioner, sweat ran down Jenna’s back as she slept. The night was like the thousand others that had preceded it. A moon in bloom cast an ominous glow.

“Jenna!”

Although the moonlight cast shadows, darkness oozed from the corners of the room. Sprawled on her makeshift bed comprised of a ratty, patched sleeping bag, mismatched blankets, and a torn pillow in a flowered case, Jenna moved restlessly as the voice filled her head.

“Please save me!”

Shooting up, shifting into consciousness, Jenna smelled rotting flesh. At the same moment, she saw the creature move out of the corner of her eye. She knew it was too late. The last words she heard, “Evil is coming for you.”

Jenna bolted from knotted blankets. A dream. The same dream she had been having for months. Her eyes focused on a crack of moonlight slithering through the barricaded window. She wiped at sweat that stung her eyes and dripped down her neck and pulled back the black hair in disarray across her face.

A gunshot fired through her sleep-muddled brain erasing the nightmare that had been there seconds before. Awareness washed over her. Her breath slowed, and she wiped the perspiration that continued to bathe her forehead. What was wrong with her? On a scale of one to ten, one being the bone weary tiredness from setting up camp to a perfect ten being the memories of her parents’ death, this dream was a mere five. The gun shot, on the other hand, was real.

A moment of silence and then another shot. The sound echoed off the concrete walls of the old school that the group presently called home. Her group. The band of scavenging survivors had rescued Jenna that night, long ago, in the graveyard. They were now her family, and she would do anything to protect them.

Jenna’s feet touched the wood floor, which once had been buffed to a deep shine, but now its scuffed surface held piles of debris. Even though the survivors worked to make the large room habitable, the distinctly loud scurry of rats collided against the quiet steps of people roaming gingerly through the dark.

“Morning, Jenna. How’s your face?” Emma’s voice reached Jenna in the darkness. Jenna grunted in reply. The dim shine of Emma’s flashlight was the only illumination in the dark gymnasium where the survivors presently camped.

In her late thirties, Emma, dressed in clothes the group scavenged along the way, somehow managed to look fashionable. Her long, golden curls piled into a bun at the nape of her neck, hanging as if she were a heroine in a romance novel. Her jeans, tattered and sitting too snuggly on her hips, only amplified her figure. The oversized work shirt tied in a knot at her waist showed off a hint of flat stomach. Work boots, muddy and scuffed, looked less like a necessity and more like a fashion statement.

Jenna wasn’t jealous. There was no need to care these days.

“There’s a little hot water by the portable stove if you need it,” Emma added. “Hurry. You know how quickly it goes.” She smiled as she passed down the row of random sleeping bags, cots, and blankets.

“Thanks,” Jenna muttered, shaking the final remnants of sleep from her dream-wracked body.

On autopilot, Jenna’s hands latched on to her own flashlight. She used the dim beam to locate the rough leather of her boots at the edge of her sleeping bag and slipped them on along with her beat up camouflage jacket. Torn and stained it was still her best protection and biggest comfort, even in the heat. Finally fully awake, she moved to the makeshift stove, pouring some lukewarm water to wash her face with and some to drink.

She paused to make a mental note of the day ahead. Join the watch and the scavenging party, find wood, help Emma catalogue the remaining food, laundry, and make a meal of whatever remained. Of course, there was always the chance she’d have to kill something. Jenna might once have felt bad for those destined to receive the bullets, if they had not already been dead.

Jenna returned to her bed, but only to grab a knife and shotgun, both never far from her side. She tucked the knife in her oversized pocket and started for the roof. As she mounted the stairs, her neck tingled, goose bumps chilled her flesh even though it had been a quiet few days since the last attack. She looked behind her. Nothing.

As she opened the door to the early morning air, Jenna shut off the flashlight, wanting to conserve the batteries, which were getting harder and harder to find. The full moon was noticeable but receding. Shadows lingered deep into a patch of woods on her left. She guessed she had a little time before sunrise. If she still had a working Timex watch, she’d bet it was not yet five in the morning.

Jenna surveyed the scene, instantly noticing who was already standing sentry at the corners of the building, staring over the ledges, intent on locating anything lurking below.

“Hey, Gus,” Jenna said as she reached a stocky African American man with a beard and all-important shotgun. While Jenna could never guess Gus’ age, his grey whiskers, bald spot, and wrinkles suggested he was in his fifties, but maybe, like most these days, he was just rapidly aging. What she did know was that Gus was ex-military and that his training had saved the group many times over the last year.

“How are you, Jenna?” Gus asked, sincere and fatherly, his manner opposite his military dress. Jenna shrugged. As he turned his careful attention from the road, he focused on Jenna. “Doing okay, today?”

Gus always had a kind word for her even when she was in her dark moods, and lately that seemed more often than not.

“I’m here,” Jenna stated matter-of-factly and spread her arms to embrace the roof of the abandoned and dilapidated school she stood on. Noting Gus’ concerned reaction, Jenna suddenly felt embarrassed for drawing attention to herself.

“Jenna?”

“Who should I relieve?” She tried to change the subject.

Gus pointed towards Caleb. She gently squeezed Gus’s arm before quickly moving on, not wanting to get deeper into conversation.

Jenna made her way over to Caleb. She looked at the impressive sky, where she noted the moon draining away. Morning would erupt soon. How could something so beautiful occur in the middle of so much death and chaos?

Jenna’s attention was soon drawn away by laughing and joking to her right on the roof. Two, very human, teens squabbled loudly. No wonder she heard noise below. Annoyed, Jenna marched over to Billy and Eric.

“Hey. Idiots. You woke me up. Were you the ones shooting at things before?”

Billy and Eric heads bobbed in unison. Some of the youngest in the group, the twins were just learning how to shave, but for the most part, ignored the daily grooming ritual. Unkempt stubble and whiskers randomly protruded on their faces. While still young, they were becoming skilled shooters and killers, both necessities these days. Still, for having endured the same tragedy as all the people in the camp, the twins came out the most unscathed, able to laugh and joke, to recognize some joy remained in the world. “Sorry, Jenna,” they replied, in unison.

“Stop making so much noise. You don’t know what’s around.”

“We thought we saw something in the woods and took a shot at it, but it must have been an animal,” Billy said.

“Nothing’s around anymore.” Eric pouted, looking less than contrite. “Look over there.” He pointed towards a dead, dangling branch shaped like a witches claw.

“What about it?” Jenna could not see anything at all remotely interesting about the branch.

Eric pitched a pebble at the branch that he grabbed off the roof top. “We noticed the branch and wanted to see who could take it down first. We were trying to hit it with rocks, but we’re not allowed to have any fun.” As if to emphasize his final point, Eric slammed his foot down on the concrete. “Don’t worry. Gus already told us to stop fooling around.” The shorter of the two boys, Billy had a cowlick that Jenna always had the urge to smooth down.

“We’ll stop trying to kill the branch now. I promise,” Billy joked, a lopsided smile detracting from what, Jenna guessed, was an attempt of rebellion. Billy leaned forward, confiding in a conspiratorial whisper. “Gus tries to act like our father, ya know.”

“Really?” Jenna attempted to sound serious.

Both the twin’s heads bounced in unison.

The boys looked like they ought to be anywhere but in the middle of the apocalypse. Instead, the twins should have been driving a tractor on a farm in the mid-west with their freckled, homegrown, innocent faces. The overalls that Eric enjoyed wearing almost every day only added to the cliché.

“You wouldn’t want to announce our location to anything non-living.” Jenna tried hard to be stern, but she could not help but show a rare gap-tooth smile. She reached out and touched Billy on the shoulder, ignoring his cowlick for once. “Don’t lie. You love how Gus looks out for you and Eric. Someone’s got to keep the two of you in line and I’m too young to mother you.”

Billy blushed in response and shrugged her off. Jenna recognized that Billy had developed a crush on her over the last couple of months. There were few women in camp under thirty, and while some people in her group had developed relationships, Jenna never dreamed of love anymore, not in this world, and most definitely not with a boy five years younger. Jenna thought about acting motherly, but knew she probably could not pull it off. Billy looked like he had more to say, but Jenna cut him off. It was too early to discuss anything serious such as the attack by the stalkers.

“I gotta go and relieve Caleb, but maybe I can whip you guys butt at poker tonight,” she said instead.

“I doubt it, but you can try.” Eric looked at her sheepishly.

“Just you wait.” Both boys smiled at her with a look so similar Jenna did a double take before waving goodbye. As she left, Jenna felt a pang of envy for the ease in which they lived in this new world.

Jenna turned her attention to Caleb, wearing a black hoodie and dark jeans, stationed by a crumbling chimney. Caleb stood immobile, with his hoodie obscuring everything but a hint of profile. His black hair fell over his eyes and the rest of him was inked in the shadow. Caleb, like Jenna, tended to be a loner. After avoiding him since the attack, she marched over with bravado, not sure whether to bring up the previous stalker and stairs incident, or not.

“Morning Jenna,” Caleb said as she arrived. She nodded and the two stood side by side silently, watching the sky. Jenna didn’t know what to say, or even if she should start. Her unease grew as the minutes ticked away.

“Hey, friends.” Emma snuck up on them , making Jenna jump. “Wow. Someone’s on edge.”

Caleb laughed, and Jenna shot Emma a look of annoyance Emma casually ignored Jenna’s prolonged scowl. As a peace offering, she handed Jenna a bowl of something lumpy and lukewarm.

“Doesn’t look so wonderful out today. I was hoping for sunny and a high of seventy-five.” Emma looked over the edge, but a thick haze obscured the view of the road.

“Not much like Alaska, huh?” Jenna asked.

“Not much like anywhere.” Emma sighed. Emma had been vacationing in New Jersey with relatives, a long way from her home in Alaska, when the disease hit. She had never made it back to find out about her family and friends. Jenna knew how devastating losing family was, but not knowing must be much worse.

“Aw, Alaska was cold, day after day. Little sun. I guess I shouldn’t complain about the weather, but it’s too hot here in the summers for me,” Emma said. “Like the weather is really what’s important these days.”

“I miss the sun,” said Caleb and everyone grew silent and thoughtful.

“Looks like I’ve got other customers. See you guys later.”

Noticing the hungry stares from people on the roof, Emma continued her rounds, leaving Jenna standing, with her unidentifiable breakfast, next to Caleb. Jenna just shook her head at the mess in the bowl, but knew she would make herself eat it.

“Caleb, do you think we’ll make it to Virginia soon?” Jenna asked, as she picked at the lumps of what pretended to be oatmeal gruel.

“Yeah. We’re already in Pennsylvania. Maryland’s pretty small. We should be there in a couple days if all goes well and we find fuel for the trucks.”

“Do you think things will be normal?”

“Nothing will ever be normal again,” Caleb replied. “Listen, I gotta go inside. Come talk to me later.”

Jenna nodded, but knew she wouldn’t. She found being alone with Caleb or any of the others disconcerting. They were all so intense. For now, the others and humans were allies, all fighting the common threat from the undead, but Jenna knew peace wouldn’t last. Why would the others need humans once the stalkers were gone?

Jenna shook these thoughts from her head. She’d be lucky if she lived until tomorrow or next week, and didn’t need to think about a future. Instead, she focused on her time as part of the morning watch, scanning the ground below. Still, her mind wandered as tedium set in.

Jenna and the rest of the group had been moving south to the High Point Inn in rural Virginia, after close to a year of wandering. With supplies dwindling as time went by, and the group size growing with new survivors, they hoped to move away from over populated states like New York and New Jersey where the stalkers ran rampant, overtaking the cities and suburbs. Even this small town of Bethel, Pennsylvania, which the group called their temporary home, had its share of undead. The day the stalkers attacked, Jenna realized, was only the beginning of worse things, and by things, she meant hordes of undead to come.

Emma, the perpetual mom figure for their little band of survivors, had been the person who recommended the move to the inn. She had been there on vacation a couple times and said it had everything the group needed to survive. Plus, it was well away from any major city.

With no stalkers in sight, Jenna thought over what Emma had told the group. There was a reservoir for fresh water and accommodation for everyone. Jenna was hopeful the survivors would make it there soon, without any losses, and be able to plan and prepare for the winter.

The last year on the road had drained the group. The year before that had almost killed Jenna. Jenna’s hand traced the scar on her stomach and then slid to her hip bone, now prominent against the waistline of her jeans.

In her early teens, a “friend” had warned her that she had better start losing weight or would end up fat. Now, all she hoped for, was one good meal a day and not to lose any more weight. She needed her strength to fight, to survive. Living in abandoned buildings, sleeping when possible, and existing on whatever could be hunted or scavenged, was getting wearisome for everyone.

Jenna couldn’t wait to be settled. These days, her life was a series of deadly encounters punctuated by periods of drudgery and boredom. She faced days of standing and staring into an empty horizon for hours, cooking for the group, hauling water for laundry, and washing and drying load after load of soiled clothes, forever stained with the remains of the undead. During these times, the survivors were always on the go, attempting to avoid the stalkers, who seemed to follow their every move.

No one could figure out what attracted the undead to the living, but they never ceased to emerge from the shadows or around the corner of a building. Being ready to jump ship at a moment’s notice meant constantly packing and unpacking, sorting and resorting items such as the canned foods the group mostly survived on, the bedding, and the makeshift stove for cooking. It also meant being scared and forever looking over your shoulder.

Today would be no different.