A Boy Named Alice

Chapter Seven

A chill clung to the air, the fire a smoldering ash. I glanced at my watch, shivering beneath my stiff jacket.

"We weren't gone that long." I shoved my hands into my pockets, shoulders a shelf for my ears.

Toady closed the door, a small hook acting as a lock. The basket went under the counter, hidden behind his vegetable boxes. He gathered up a few logs and set about building the fire up again, tiny flames climbing the dry bark.

"Time moves in its own way here," Toady said.

"How long have I been here?" I asked, taking a seat at the table.

Toady frowned. "Ya' said it was morning when ya' started off in your woods?"

"It was barely 8:30 in the morning. I'd only been walking for less than an hour before it got dark."

"That's how the whole of the Dead Woods works." He started gathering up food, chopping vegetables into bite sized pieces. "Ol'Toady had been following the whispers for a few hours by the time I found ya'."

He placed the food on the table, followed by a pitcher of water and a glass.

"You were looking for me?" I sat up, a prickling cold raising the hair on my neck despite the warmth spreading across the room.

"Guardians haven't crossed the boarders in a long time," Toady said. His bony shoulders sagged, and he fiddled with a bowl of beets. Fuzzy pebbles of green and black dotted the surface, fragile crystalline spores climbing the side of the bowl.

"Did you know a lot of them?"

"I knew some," he said. He picked off a piece of beet, fingertips smeared with mold, and ate it. "They weren't friends, but they were friendly. I miss the company."

"I'm glad you found me," I said and Toady grinned. "I don't have a lot of friends either." I grabbed a piece of broccoli and nibbled. It wasn't a favorite, but I was hungry.

"Now that, I don't believe." Toady ate more of his beet, this piece speckled with tiny yellow dots. "Little Friend is one of the nicest Live Ones Ol'Toady has ever met."

I ducked my head, cheeks heating, and finished another piece of broccoli. "My best friend is Danny. You'd like him. He loves zombies."

"Zombies?" Toady asked, leaning forward, arms folded. His empty bowl sat near one elbow.

"They're fictional monsters," I said. "People write stories about them. They're basically dead bodies that stumble around and eat the living."

Toady frowned. "That sounds like some of the residence of the Dead Woods. Maybe these stories were written by Guardians and Keepers."

"I have some comics in my bag," I said, scrambling out of the seat. It hung from the end of the bed, dirt drying in clumps on the canvas. I unzipped it, praying the journey hadn't ruined the pages.

"Where are you?" I muttered, digging through clothes and snacks. Towards the bottom, beneath some extra socks, my fingers brushed over smooth paper. "Yes!"

I pulled it out, the pages covered in small wrinkles. I zipped up the bag and sat back down, sliding the comic across the table.

"This is my favorite series." The Rising issue 12 dripped inky blood over a decayed hand reaching up from the ground. A crumbling house sat in the distance, windows boarded up. "It's about a group of people trying to make their way to a safe haven while the zombies overrun the world. Though, these zombies are just mindless creatures. There's no thought behind the hunger."