The Ruins Part 2 (Sequel to The Ruins)

Chapter 49

The world seemed to be made of flame and white faces and death. Mal and Negan ran into the night, pursued by inferno heat. They had no clear direction, but there were too many Infecteds to allow them a straight line of flight.

"How many are there?" Mal gasped. However, it was the last thing she said aloud for a long time, because those four words nearly got her killed. The fire down on the field drew the attention of most of the herd, but her voice came out unnaturally loud. All the pale death-mask faces around them turned suddenly toward them.

Mal and Negan stopped, shifting to stand back-to-back, bat and machete ready.

Negan took a slow sideways step, and Mal shifted with him. The Infecteds came closer, but their dark eyes shifted back and forth between them and the blaze. Without more sound to attract them, they were losing interest.

But not quickly enough. Soon some of them would be within grabbing distance. Mal could already sneak their dead, dusty, decayed stench...

And that fast she had it. She shifted her machete to a one-handed grip and slid her hand slowly into her pocket. Not for the matches, though. Instead she pulled out one of her remaining bottles of cadaverine. It was a risk. If they survived this terrible moment, then they would need the chemical to get them out.

Negan took another step, going slowly so that Mal could keep pace. She didn't dare take the time to look to see if he was merely moving or if he saw a way out. Mal put the cap between her teeth to hold it steady while she unscrewed the bottle. Instantly the sickly sweet stink of rotting meat filled the air. It wasn't until that moment that she realized how much the smoke had blocked the cadaverine smell.

A distant part of her wondered if the Infected would attack one another in the smoke. If they couldn't smell the odor of death, would they attack anything? There was no way to know, and she wasn't about to go back.

"Mal," murmured Negan in a voice so soft that it was a shadow of a sound that Negan never says in that tone.

She didn't answer. Instead she sprinkled some of the cadaverine on her chest and hair. The first of the Infecteds were within arm's length now, hands lifting, reaching. And pausing.

Mal jerked the open bottle over her shoulder, splashing Negan's shirt and hair.

"Wait," she whispered. "Give it a sec."

"Mal. Fuck, look." He insisted.

She turned the wrong way first, and then faced him and followed the line he indicated with his outstretched bat.

They were on a slope that led up to a shadowy mass of trees that she could barely see by starlight. There were far fewer Infecteds up there, the lines of them visibly thinning. However, that was not what Negan was pointing to: a figure stood at the top of the path. Mal had to blink the stinging smoke out of her eyes to make it out. At first it looked like a tall shrubbery, but then it moved to stand more fully in the starlight, and Mal froze in place, tightening her grip.

From the height, she judged the figure to be a man, but otherwise it was impossible to tell. It seemed like he was wearing a small tree, but Mal realized that the man wore a long coat onto which leaves and pinecones had been sewn. His face was entirely covered by a round mask made up of oak leaves. Negan knew who it was, even in the dark. He knew him, and now Mal remembered from Negan's description and the Famous Infected Cards.

It was the Greenman. Infected's walked past him, staggering out of the forest; a few even bumped into him as they stumbled down the grassy path. The Greenman did not move except to raise a slender finger to the "lips" of his mask.

Mal and Negan stop as still as statues. Below them the wind was blowing the fire toward the fall of rocks. It was not spreading into the hills, and Mal was grateful for small mercies. She didn't want to cause even more problems for anyone from the Saviors, the RK's or Tom, and she certainly didn't want to start a forest fire.

It took a long time for the Infecteds to pass. Negan stood beside her, reaching his fingers and wrap his large hand into her small hand. Then it was over. The last of the Infecteds- a sad-faced man wearing the stained tags of a house painter's coveralls- tottered past. He had a butcher knife buried in his chest, but the blade was pitted with rust. The creature turned an empty face toward Mal for a long moment, and despite all the terror that still crouched in her chest, Mal felt sorry for him. Then the Infected vanished into the smoke and gloom down on the field.

Mal didn't let go of Negan's hands, and she looked up to see that the Greenman was beckoning them with slow movements of his hand. Then he turned and walked toward the woods without waiting to see if Mal and Negan were following.

"Is that the Greenman?" She asked, not knowing if she can't trust him.

Negan shook his head. "It's him, alrighty."

"Why's he dressed like that?"

"To blend into the forest so no fuckers can see him." He put the bat against on his shoulder. "Come on."

"I hope Tom made it out."

"He's pretty smart," he said carefully. "For the guy who has a golden butthole, he can take care of himself."

They hurried up the hill after the Greenman. However when they got to the top of the hill and entered the forest path, the strange figure was gone.