A brisk gust of wind glides against M’s sweaty face as she opens the gate to the outside. The grass is brown and crisp. Burnt orange leaves tumble haphazardly across the dimly lit country side while the trees’ skeletal limbs quake in the strong autumn breeze. M inhales the air deeply and stretches her shoulders before heading toward a dilapidated, green shack to the south of her colony. She arrives and digs through the sooty dirt, retrieving a four-foot-long steel pole, several yards of blood-encrusted rope, and a rusting butcher’s knife. Once she assembles her things she walks from tree to tree, watching her surroundings carefully.
Once she’s several miles away from her base and the sun has fully risen, M begins to set up traps for the dead. Unzipping the main pocket of her bag, she distributes the grum onto the base of several trees, smearing the contents on the bark with her fists. After she’s completed her task, she climbs up a tree and waits anxiously, searching with her binoculars to see if anything is coming towards her in the distance.
Several hours pass before M sees any movement. There is a woman without legs steadily clawing her way towards the trees, her raw fingers uselessly grab the blood-soaked gunk with no success. M hops down, pierces the woman’s skull with her steel rod, and returns to her lookout position, waiting for something worth keeping alive.
More decomposing bodies drag their way towards the grum, but M continually ends their mindless existence before they reach their goal. The previously fresh air stinks of rotting corpses when a standing, undeformed zombie arrives to her trap. Its sharp movements look promising and she grasps her knife before ambushing it. She shanks the body between its ribcage, using the rope to restrain its head and neck against the nearest tree. M studies the black ooze emanating from the wound and immediately stabs the zombie in the head, letting it fall to the ground without further inspection. She searches for zombies still capable of bleeding, the ones whose blood still runs red, or at least a grayish brown. It’s been a two and a half weeks since she’s seen one despite going further into the forest.
“Whatcha doing here, lady?” a voice echoes through the trees. “You’re not hunting them, are you?”
M’s body freezes. Usually her hunting grounds are completely abandoned. She’s not accustomed to being distracted by the living. There should be no one around this time of day. The surrounding colonies hunt at night and a few gatherers explore later in the afternoon.
“Go home,” M says, craning her neck and looking passed an oak tree to find a small boy no older than ten years old. “Don’t you still have parents or something?”
“They’re dead,” he says, his voice unwavering. “I suspect yours are too?”
M chuckles and wipes her knife off on the bark of the nearest tree. “What do you want?”
“I want to know what you’re looking for,” he says, inching closer as he speaks. The leaves crunch beneath his tiny feet and M wonders how he managed to sneak up on her in the first place. “I’ve only seen people kill or gather them, never stab them to check their insides. Why did you do that?”
“You’re too young to understand,” M says, climbing back up the tree and staring down at the boy. His small head is completely shaven, his ears are round and too big for his body. His sneakers light up as he sways from side to side. “Where are you from?”
“I’m from the old school building a few miles north,” the boy says, lifting his skinny arm towards the direction of his home. “We’re an independent. My group doesn’t trust the government.”
“Probably not a bad idea,” M says, hugging her legs towards her chest as she presses her back against the tree. “Where do you get supplies if you don’t trust them?”
“We still scavenge,” the boy says, kicking the side of the tree. The lights in his shoes flicker dimly and M wonders why someone hasn’t ripped them apart for their batteries. “That’s what I’m supposed to be doing, but I’m bored. That’s why I followed the smell and came here. I thought you were hunting and no one has told me where they take the bodies.”
“They run experiments on them,” M says simply, staring at the boy emotionlessly. He’s not intimidated by her glare and looks directly at her, his green eyes unwavering. “They’re trying to find a way to cure them. Since they’ve discovered that the virus has mutated, they’re convinced there is a way. I don’t believe it, but my opinion isn’t what they want. I provide them what they need and they pay me. It’s a perk of being in a colony.”
“Shouldn’t you have someone with you if you were really in a colony?” he asks, looking around quickly before kneeling down and tightening the Velcro on his shoes. “In case you, you know,” he mimics a zombie biting his arm and flails dramatically next to the pile of zombies M has already killed. Very little surprises her anymore, but the boy’s organic childishness amuses her.
“I work alone,” M says. “Looks like you do too. We have something in common.”
“Does the government give you good rations?” the boy asks, trying to reach the closest branch of the tree M is sitting in. “Like medicine and stuff? Do you think if we made a trade, I could have some of whatever you guys get?” He’s about to jump for the branch but hesitates. “I never get much of anything. No one takes me seriously.”
“No,” M says, looking down at the boy, his green, wide eyes transfixed on the branch. “Nothing you have is good enough for me. Go back to your group and stay where you belong. I don’t want to be responsible if you die.”
“I won’t die, I can handle myself,” the boy says, brandishing a large knife from behind his back. “But there is something you should know, just in case. You don’t have to give me anything for it.”
“What?” M asks as she briefly stares into her binoculars and sees a promising zombie approaching.
“You don’t have to be bit,” the boy starts. “It’s happened in our colony. I don’t know if there’s something wrong with us. Three of our group have gotten sick, died, and come back. We know they haven’t been outside. They’re the old ones, the type who never leave.” The boy turns and sees the approaching zombie but doesn’t react. “I think the virus is stronger than us.”
M jumps out of the tree and walks toward the zombie behind the boy. She wraps the rope around its neck and pins it to the ground, slicing its abdomen and checking the blood. It’s brown like toffee.
“What do you say, kid?” M asks, wrestling the struggling zombie to the ground, its teeth gnashing in M’s direction. “Is he worth turning in?”
“Nah,” the boy says, stabbing the zombie before M has a chance to change her mind. “It’s not worth it. You can tell by its eyes.”
“Where is your group at again?” M asks, untangling the rope from the zombie’s neck and wrapping it around her hips.
“North,” the boy responds. “I’d show you if you gave me something.”
“Meet me here in three days,” M says. “If someone else has turned, don’t let them die. Make a list of all the shit you want.”
“Deal.” The boy smiles as he checks the zombie’s pockets. There’s nothing left in them. “Don’t die on your way home.”
M doesn’t respond and begins scraping what little grum is left off the trees back into her box. She heads back to the colony’s base and kicks a pile of crisp leaves, relishing in the satisfying crunch when she hears the sound of hoarse, male laughter ahead of her. Without a moment’s hesitation, she begins climbing.