The Girl He Forgot (Book 2)

Chapter 12 - For Glenn

I awoke sometime in the early hours to a familiar and terrible sound. The choked gargles of the dead, an entire hoard by the sounds of it, surrounded the car. I kept quiet and listened closely. It sounded like they were just passing through. There was no scraping of rotting fingernails on the boot nor banging on the car. I doubted they'd picked up my scent, my sheet of bones usually masked the smell of life well enough.

I lay there, patiently waiting for the zombies to pass. I waited several minutes more after hearing the last walker leave the road.

I quickly and quietly stuffed my sheet back into my pack, downed a can of beans and some water and then jacked the boot open. I cringed at the sound it made and hopped out as fast as I could, my athame bared and ready for whatever the noise might have attracted.

But I was alone; no dead nor living came and I was able to slowly lower the blade and shove it back into the make-shift scabbard on my belt.

I looked around; when I'd wandered through here last night, it had been near enough dark and I'd scanned the area and boot in the light of my old rusted zippo. Now, in the glow of a new day, everything looked different and more inviting. The sun had barely risen above the treetops that lined the road. The car I'd slept in sat on the side of the tar mac, one of its deflated front tires on the narrow dirt track that seemed to be spilling onto the yellow lines.

I'd made sure there was no threats lurking in the back seats, but I hadn't bothered searching the car for supplies. The further into the apocalypse we went, the less places that remained unlooted... I sometimes wondered what would happen when we ran out of canned food, when the last car battery died, or all the medical supplies grew rancid... perhaps the whole world would turn medieval again. Perhaps we'd resort to herbal remedies, horses for travel and farm all our own food... if any of us survived that long of course... it always felt like we were just holding on... waiting for the end.

I shook my head and turned my attention to more useful thoughts such as the map. I unfolded its worn paper and examined it over the hood of the car.

I should have gone a different way, I thought, omitting a heavy sigh of frustration. Now that I looked properly at all the different coloured lines leading to the scribble that Farther Gabriel had drawn in the top right-hand corner, I realised I'd over-looked the fastest rout.

Oh well - turning back would take even longer, I'd have to carry on the way I started. I folded the map back up and set off.

About a mile in, a strong and obnoxious scent carried on the air and I found myself breathing in the smell of smoke.

I froze.

Smoke usually meant fire.

Fire's don't usually start on their own.

Fire's usually need people.

People usually mean danger.

I swallowed and quickly took to the forests for cover.

I hadn't wanted to; zombies were much harder to see, avoid and run from amidst the trees but then... so was I to others.

I carried on towards the Hilltop, undeterred though I grew increasingly anxious for the safety of everyone in the RV. Where was that smell coming from? Was it a campfire? And if so, who had lit it? A singular someone alone in the woods? A small group fighting for survival, perhaps. Or was it just a naturally occurring forest fire? I turned briefly to the sky but saw no black smoke pyre to indicate burning foliage. Whatever it was, I could only hope the others had managed to avoid it. As for me? My fingers didn't stray far from the hilt of my athame for the next few miles.