the maw

07’ bonnie and clyde

episode one - part three

august 21st, 2007

the kern river reserve

4:00am

my hands bathe in warm light, and deflect flickers of heat, doused in embers, licking at my skin. the fire is starting to die out. at least everyone's still asleep, they won't be thinking about the cold that way.

i haven't had the chance to break it to the kids yet. i haven't told them how the world's gone crazy, covered in blood-soaked dead people.

but they don't need to know just yet.

"...leah." a gruff, tired voice slips out, behind the weak crackle of the fire. fabric shuffles, a sleeping bag is moved, and i don't move an inch. i'm warming up. "hey."

"hi." i greet him, even though all he's done is wake up, and move to sit next to me. at least he's warm.

"what are you doing up?" he says this like i'm not supposed to be awake, and it's annoying me, somewhat.

"waiting for the sun to rise." when it does, i'll sneak off and see if there are any other stores nearby, in that deserted little town we drove through last night. we need more food, even if we've already got a good amount.

"mmh." he just grunts in response, so i think this conversation is over.

i'm just going to watch the sky instead. i've always been good with people, but when it comes to nate i just can't do it. he's just a different kind of person - very disagreeable. anything i feel, it's almost guaranteed that he'll feel the opposite.

most people, when they grow up alongside each other, bond. they become friends, or at least learn to tolerate each other.

with him, i just don't know what we've become. i thought we were enemies, but with what he told me the other day, i don't know. i guess we're just strangers with a history of mild distaste.

"if you're raiding stores, you're not going alone." out of the blue, he drops that complete blanket statement. i don't exactly know what that means. maybe he's warning me about those things, or maybe he knows something i don't.

"...why not? is there something i don't know?" i turn to look at him, for some reason i'm not exactly clear on.

"what? no. i'm coming with you." his face scrunches for a moment, like i'm the stupidest person alive. it fades into a look that more or less screams 'you i***t, i know so much more than you'.

"why? there's no point, i'll be in and out. i just need a shopping cart, that's all." i'll be completely fine, it doesn't take two people to go grocery shopping. only one.

"no way. you don't know what's out here, there's a town just a couple miles west. they could've migrated by now. it's not safe." he leans back on his left arm, which is suspiciously close to me. i don't like it one bit.

"i can defend myself, nate, i don't want you to come with me." i've been looking out for myself my entire life, i can go to a*****e without him following me like a dog.

"i don't care, i'm coming with you." he's adamant about this, but i don't see the point in any of it. it just sounds like he thinks i'm weak. "i don't want you to get hurt."

something in me stirs. it's like an invisible, warm wave of electricity washing through my chest, and it's definitely disturbing. maybe it's just the fact that he showed some kind of worry, or care for me, and it feels strange.

i should stop looking at him, or move my mind on to something else but all i can think of for now is how nice it felt.

even though he only said it because of the kids, it was sweet.

"...okay. let's go now, before the kids wake up." i don't want them to see me go, because it might be the last time they'll see me. i can't have their last memory of me be a passive goodbye.

"alright." he stands up, as quietly as he can, and that's when i see the slow, steady glow of the sun beginning to rise over the hills. "quickly."

i follow him, as he starts to walk along the beaten tracks, printed into the ground by cars, people, and horses. this is the part of california people go to so they can get a nice, fresh break from the city, and feel the breeze that the pioneers felt so many years ago.

it's almost deserted out here. it's almost morbid, how blank these clearings are. i guess that's why they're called clearings.

there are hills all around us, speckled with shrubs, sloping into flat fields with stagnant pools of water dotted around the place. luckily we found a clearing just off the road, so we can take off if we need to.

as we approach the nearest hill, i accidentally brush past nate. there's something solid in his pocket.

"is there something in your pocket, or do you just really like walking?" i keep my voice low, so we don't alert anyone nearby. or anything.

"hunting knife. for protection." he takes it out, in its sleek, black, fully sheathed form. when he slides off the sheath, it glints in the new-born sunlight. that drop of light trails along the blade as he gently twists it, showing off the sharp, slender shape of it.

"that's nice, where'd you get it?" i'm supposed to hate him. i mean, i told him i did, but we really should be on good terms if we're going to survive out here.

"i keep weapons in my house. well, kept. i brought them all with me." that sounds horrible. if the kids don't even know about these flesh-eaters, what are they going to think about nate's guns and knives?

"what the hell, nate? how are you gonna explain that to the kids?" they won't know what to do with themselves if they think they're in danger. they'll freeze, and i can't have that.

"i won't. they're not going to see them, not until you tell them about the world ending." that's in line with my rules, strangely enough.

"oh." our walk starts to slope uphill, which i'm not looking forward to. "thank you."

"no problem. you want a knife?" he reaches into the other pocket of his worn out, ill-fitting grey jeans, and there's another hunting knife. that could come in handy.

"yeah." i take it from him. there's nowhere for me to put it with the yoga pants i'm wearing, so i'll just hold on to it.

i lunge with every step, and make sure to maintain a comfortable distance from him. just because we're getting along doesn't mean i like it. he's still the boy who shot water guns at me when i was fully clothed, and tripped me over every time i walked past him for years.

him and bennett used to steal my things for days on end. when bennett hit puberty they kind of had to stop, because it was starting to get perverted.

"i don't want to be pushy, but when are you planning on telling them?" he turns his head to look at me, and i accidentally catch his gaze.

"i don't know. i will, i just don't want them to be scared." i tell him, as we reach the top of the hill. i can see a group of buildings scattered around a side road - it must break off and curl around our little clearing.

"they won't believe we're just camping for long." his cut-and-dry nature always confuses me. how he's already decided on everything, how he always knows exactly what he wants.

"yeah, i know. wait." i tap his shoulder, as i lower myself to a crouch, to take a closer look at the buildings.

along the sand-smothered road, there's a worn-down dollar store, a trailer and an wild-west style candy store. even though it's deserted out here, there's still room for this disjointed little village to thrive.

there aren't many people there. i can see an employee milling about the dollar store, but other than that i can't see anyone.

"there's someone in there. you think they're alive?" i hope they are. this can't have spread that fast.

"if they are, they're about to get robbed." that's a very morbid thing to say, but i guess he's right. we don't have any money, besides that box sofia left us.

"don't call it that. let's just say we're borrowing, and that guy just happens to be there." if i think about it that way, i might feel a little better about robbing this store. we're not technically robbing it if we need the stuff we take.

"...if you say so." he shrugs, and starts to walk down the slope. my heart pounds as i follow him.

i've never stolen anything before. the cops probably won't be out here when there's so much going on in the city, but it's still scary to think i'm doing something that could put me in jail.

the sky blends into that beautiful myriad of colors above us, splaying golden light over everything in the sun's path. i always used to wake up early to watch the sun rise, and i'm glad i still get to do that.

our footsteps on the dry ground force out plumes of dust, the grains of them swiping my ankles, brushing against my skin.

the knife in my hand feels stiff, cold and sour. this could kill someone if i used it properly. that's not my aim, it never could be.

"keep quiet. we'll go in through the back door." nate mutters once we reach the deserted road, covered in tire tracks so old that the soil they shaped has hardened. he giggles to himself, like a child, as i keep a watchful eye on that employee in the store.

he looks tired. there are heavy bags under his eyes, as he checks the prices of food that must have gone bad by now. i almost feel bad for him.

somehow, he hasn't spotted us walking directly towards the store. once we slip past this concrete wall, he never will, and we'll take him entirely by surprise. now i think i do feel bad for him.

maybe if we can sneak in and out, seamlessly, he won't realize anything's been stolen.

as we approach the back of the store, i don't think that's possible. nate's already got the idea of the heist in his head, and i won't be able to do a thing once he gets in there.

he swings open the big double doors at the back, knocking a garbage bin over. it clutters for a brief moment, and then catches the breeze, rolling into the grille of a lone car in the employee parking lot.

we stalk into the storage. everything fades into a dull darkness, leaving us only with the senses of touch and hearing to guide ourselves.

somewhere in the near distance, something's dripping. it's incessant, but i'm not sure what it is. there's a faint whir of an air conditioning unit, however, it still feels humid in this cagey back room.

i don't know where nate is, but i can still hear him, rifling around boxes like some kind of hobo.

this is starting to get creepy. all i can feel is cold, clammy cardboard, and all i can hear is that dripping, whirring and ruffling.

something rustles, and every manmade noise halts for a moment.

the sound of boxes folding under the weight of an unknown prescence fills the air, followed by a hand hitting the metal shelf they were placed on, which makes a loud clang that shakes me to the very core of my chest.

"no..."

that wasn't nate. and it wasn't me.

a heavy footstep hits the ground, and then another, and then another, until i can smell something rotten floating through the air.

"no, no..." it's closer now.

it's desperate. weak, whimpering, terrified. there's no hope in that voice, and there's no humanity, either.

i slow my breathing, as i begin to inch towards what i hope is a door of some kind. i don't remember where i came in, and i don't know how to get out, but i'm going to try.

my palm trails behind me, gently pressed against the cool wall of the storage room, dragging along so that i have some sort of indication on where i am.

"no."

again, it's closer to me. it's adamant, in pure denial of whatever fate that person came to. if there's one thing i know for sure, it's that they're not a person anymore.

i hear the quiet 'shing' of something sharp coming into contact with something that sounds like plastic. maybe it's coming out of contact - that might be nate with his knife.

knowing this, i can continue looking for the door, because if he has my back i can do whatever i need to do without fear.

maybe not without fear. i can hear its jaws grinding, like gears in a clock left without oil for quite some time.

the groove of walls meeting tells me i've reached the end of this wall. i press both of my hands to the wall in front of me, and slowly guide them to the right, which is where i hope the door will be.

those footsteps sound closer now. i close my fingertips around my knife, retreating to my one-handed door search.

my blood runs cold when the stench follows me, and i make sure to stay as quiet as i possibly can.

a doorframe meets the edge of my hand. i search for the handle, in a silent panic, as the smell clouds my brain.

i can't put it into words how awful it is. it's like all the world's dumpsters were lit on fire, left out in the sun for a couple days, and drenched with sour, old blood.

my fingers meet something cold, and metal, so i press down on it.

the door flies open.

the moment it does, i take off running, and turn as many corners as i can possibly find, just to prolong the confrontation between me and that thing.

panels of frozen food rush by me, along with aisles of food, drinks, snacks, whatever you can think of. caged soccer balls, melons the size of carson's head, everything.

i drop to the floor behind a crate of cans, unsheathing my knife and gripping it tight.

the dirty aroma is gone, as is that dank, dark room. all i can smell now is floor polish and air freshener.

the sound of the air conditioner whirring makes me feel like i'm still in there.

"leah?" nate calls out to me, somewhere within the store's maze of supplies. i poke my head out from behind the crate, only to see an empty walkway of linoleum and fluorescent lights.

behind me, i hear footsteps. that must be him.

i turn my head, and in all its morbid, emaciated glory, is the thing that we were trapped with in the stock room.

my fingers tighten around the hilt of my knife, as i back away, still on the floor. i don't think i can stand, just the image of it is too much to bear.

as its dull, dead eyes widen with unimaginable hunger, its jaw opens, like it's broken off of its hinges, exposing its teeth. it stumbles towards me, fingers grasping like the claws of a hawk, eyeing its prey.

it's tired.

but not tired enough to lunge forward, getting so close to me that i panic, and shoot my foot out to (hopefully) knock its knee inside out.

it hits the floor with a pained growl, digs its nails into the tile, and starts to crawl.

i kick again, this time meeting its chest. i think he might be a he, judging by his cargo shorts and polo shirt. i don't know any sane woman that would wear that, even to work.

his hand reaches out and closes around my ankle, with a grip like a vice.

he tugs, and i slide, feeling the cold linoleum underneath my arms pass over me. no matter how much i struggle, all it does is weaken me, and strengthen him.

his jaw is opening, snapping shut and opening again, like he's pretending to eat me already.

this isn't how i'm dying. i have a family.

so, no matter how terrified i am, i take out the hunting knife and prepare myself to kill something already dead. i'm not sure how i'll do it, because death itself didn't seem to have much of an effect on him.

"no... no, no, no, no," he carries on with his cries for help, as his head thrases around, trying to get a good angle to bite down on me. i refuse to stay still.

with every fibre of my body trembling, i s***h open the side of his head, in a poorly-executed attempt to stab him.

he just looks angry now.

the foul stench of him washes over me, when he clambers over my legs with a thirst for blood. my blood.

i swing the knife around, jabbing him with every spare opportunity i have - when i'm not pushing against him with my feet - but nothing seems to end him.

his hand catches my wrist, and my entire chest is sunken in panic.

in a blind fit of terror, i reel back the fist attached to him, and sock him in the nose. he's knocked back, but only briefly.

i have a window. i grab onto the side of his hair with one hand, pounce on top of him and plunge the knife between his brows. it makes a noise like nothing else. like stabbing a rotted watermelon.

his eyes linger on mine, as he twitches once, twice, and finally lays still.

i swipe my fingers over his eyelids. his stare is so unnerving, i don't think i could have looked into it for more than a minute without panicking.

i rise to my feet, and scan over the undead corpse.

it's fascinating to me. how something once still, peaceful and sorrowful could turn into something so hungry and restless. how biology has failed us, as mankind, and how god has failed us once more.

surely no loving god could create something so lifeless. no creator of man could engineer corpses to terrorise, cannibalise and wander the streets like strays.

his nametag reads 'robert'. his last thought, or word, was 'no,' repeated so much you'd have to conclude the man died in fear. he wasn't dead before this started - there's a black, putrid bite on his abdomen.

whatever killed him bit through his shirt, and now he's left with spiralling, dark veins, filling his chest like parasites.

"leah? leah!" nate rounds the corner behind me. i know it's him, because he knows my name.

i look up to him, with eyes filled with tears. my knife is still in his forehead, and i'm afraid to take it out.

"f**k. are you okay? did he get you? what happened?" his hand meets my arm. i'm not sure why, i guess he feels he needs to comfort me. it's working, in a way.

"...i'm alright. he's not. and i didn't get bit." i feel a deep swell in my chest when i think about how ruthlessly i killed him. it's sick. i don't think murder is right, i never have, but i'd rather cut all my fingers off than have succumbed to that thing.

he pulls me close, and wraps his free arm around my back. i'm bathed in heat the moment my chest meets his.

i rest my head on his collarbone, and press my hands to his chest. i don't think i've ever hugged him before, but i don't mind it this time - it won't happen again, though. this is just a one-off, because i almost died.

"i should've been there." he says. i can feel his heart racing through the fabric of his shirt, which is weird. he must be scared.

"it's fine. i handled it." i push myself away from him, and his hands fall to his sides. "let's go shopping."

my livelihood renewed, i take back my knife, slip it back into its sheath and make my way over to wherever the shopping carts are.