My Journal

-Survivors-

STORY 8 - PART TWO

The rest of the night was quiet, except for the faint sounds of our childhood small-town being wrecked in the distance. Not a human noise to accompany our fear, as far as we know, there is only him and I to face this alone. Tate begged for me to get some rest, but how could I? I wouldn't sleep, and I certainly wouldn't leave him to be awake alone, for that is a whole different type of fear.

When morning approached, I felt the lack of sleep, and my body ached all-over from our unmoved position atop this tree. And as much as I would like to stay in the safety of our shelter, I know today is the day. We must find a way, it's truly our only chance to begin understanding how we are going to survive another day. Has it only been forty-eight hours?

With a nervous sigh, I nudge Tate who is cautiously allowing his eyelids to flutter, "We have to go."

"Do we have to?"

"Unless you wanna starve to death. Or we could wait for the zombies to find us?"

He nods, trying to shake away his fear. We have to be strong. "Okay, I'll go down first."

With a grunt, he steps down to the branch below us, steadying himself against the tree. He holds out his hand for me, and I take it slowly and quietly. I ignore the sharp pains in my lower back and neck, and follow his lead. When we reach the last branch, my senses become even more alert. This is the closest I've been to death since we fled town. I am now walking on the same ground, level with the monsters who could be waiting behind every bush or shaded tree. My breathing quickens, and I fear they can hear the thumping of my heart. Tate must feel it too, for he grabs my hand in a weak attempt to steady us both.

Noisy leaves and twigs clutter the vicinity of the tree, so we must maneuver stealthily through this maze one step at a time. With his hand still in mine, Tate's feet land softly on a small dirt patch on the ground. He looks back at me for reassurance, and I nod, urging him to keep going. Step by step, we tip-toe through what could be our own death trap. Now feet away from the tree, we can finally relax when the leaves and twigs thin out to nothing. We stand on the familiar soft dirt of the woods. We're frozen, afraid to move another inch. But we've already made it this far. We can't turn back now.

"Which way did we come from?" I whisper, never letting my eyes focus on just one place.

"Uh. . .that way?" He gestures to the right of us, where I can make out a clearing in the brush of trees.

I cautiously press forward, paying extra attention to the ground beneath me. A single sound could silence us forever. One wrong move could run us right into the hands of death.

"Jordyn, whatever happens-"

"Don't," I snap, we cannot afford to think that way. I can feel the sadness from where he stands beside me, and I soften the blow by stopping in my tracks. When he stops, I pull him into a hug, and I can feel the emotions threatening to take us over. I speak softly into his ear, "I can not lose you too." A single warm teardrop slides down my cheek.

As I slightly pull away, he swipes a strand of hair from my face, "And you won't, I won't let it."

He can see the silent thank you in my eyes, and we pull away. We keep walking vigilantly for what seems like forever, though I know it's only been a couple minutes. "How far did we run from town?"

"I don't know," He replies, "I wasn't really paying attention the first time." He smirks, and I silently wonder if it's okay to laugh at the disbelief of this whole situation. Instead I smile faintly back.

Then all at once, our clear path turns into a distinct marked trail. I've seen this old wooden sign a hundred times growing up. Town —> 0.3 miles, was written in scratched out faded paint. This sign used to be our stopping point on evening family strolls, mainly because Liz's little legs couldn't handle any further. My heart aches at the memory of her foolish dramatic tantrum she would have if we tried to go an inch past the sign.

Tate rests a hand on my shoulder, as if he can read my thoughts. "Let's go."

"Mhm," I suppress the tears for later. If there is a later, I silently add. "We aren't far."

"It comes out to the park entrance, right?" He asks, nervous for our near future inching closer and closer ever suicidal step.

"Yeah, if the coast is clear," I shudder at the last word, knowing very well they could be waiting to greet us hungrily at the gate of the playground. Dimly, I think of a zombie on the merry-go-round, meeting my eyes every time it spun around, like a ballerina's focus point while doing a pirouette. "then we should be fine to go from there straight to my house."

"Should be." I heard him mutter under his breath, but I chose to not hear it.

Our steps drag on, my mind pleading me to turn back. My fragile heart aching from the emotional roller coaster. My eyes strained from going too long without blinking. My lungs, urging me to take slower breaths. But I cannot let my guard down even for a second this close to town.

Tate and I freeze simultaneously in our tracks. The gate is now in sight, and I can make out the familiar red slide just on the other side. I feel sick. My eyes go wide, and my vision goes blurry for half a second before Tate steadies me, holding my shoulders to keep me from falling.

"I-" I barely whisper.

"I know." I've never felt more frightened than I am right now, but I have to stand tall. I wouldn't be much use if I fainted. I would be an easy target, like living bait. The thought of being eaten alive in an unconscious state scares me more than walking into town. When he is sure I won't fall over, he releases his firm grip. I feel weaker without his arms embracing me, but I ignore it.

Ten feet from the gate, and we have a perfect window into the park. The equipment is empty, still, except for the horrifying sight of a single swing swaying back and forth.