Walking towards the green shack, M kicks the door open and hauls the struggling zombie towards a pair of blood-stained restraints in the back of the room. After setting her steel rod next to the wall, she secures its arms and legs with thick, metal cuffs and places a leather band over the zombie’s abdomen. Once the zombie is unable to make any significant movement, she begins cutting the zombie’s ragged, yellow shirt, the slashes forming the letter “M”. She’s almost finished with her mark when she hears a noise by the door and flinches, ripping more fabric than she had intended. Her knife grazes the zombie’s rubbery skin.
“Thought I’d find you here,” an older man wearing an army overcoat says. “I see you were finally successful.”
M grunts as she gathers her belongings hastily. “Make sure I get the credit.”
“You know better than I do that no one else hunts them anymore,” he says, his voice bleak as he carefully scratches his creased forehead. “They’re too afraid of getting in your way. Besides, you keep snagging all the good ones.”
M responds with a proud smile and continues for the exit, her steel rod firmly grasped in her hand.
“The Chief wants to see you” the man says, staring anxiously at the groaning zombie attached to the wall. “Just so you know.” He rummages through a closet near the entrance and gathers a thin, metal rod with a closed, wire loop at the end. “Something about a raid or a treaty with a nearby colony. He wants you to be a part of it.”
“I don’t do raids, or treaties,” M says, strolling away without looking back, leaving the man to wrangle the zombie on his own. By the time she returns to her base, the group from the forest has distributed their loot alongside a fence and are passing canteens of water with one another. An orderly gentleman with a thick beard and round, wireless glasses assesses their haul and marks a piece of paper on his clipboard.
“I heard you interrupted their trip,” the Chief says, looking passed the crowd to stare at M. His squinty, brown eyes are magnified by the lenses, making them appear twice their natural size. “If you don’t want me put an end to your special privileges, you’ll have to do grunt work like the rest of us.”
M rolls her eyes and softly kicks the items lined against the fence. From the corner of her eye she sees Trevor starting to make a move, his face red with fury.
“Fine,” M says. “I’ve heard there’s a raid. I’ll go, but I get to keep half of what I find.” M pauses, picking the blood encrusted dirt from her fingernails. “And what I keep won’t be taxed.”
“Bullshit!” Trevor yells, his momentum colliding harshly against M. She recoils at his touch, pushes him away, and returns to examining her hands. “We’re only allowed to keep two things from our loot no matter how much we manage to find. The rest of what we want is taxed. It isn’t fair or normal to treat her this way.”
“Deal,” the Chief says, raising his hand to shake M’s. She mutters an affirmative response but does not look up from her hands. “As long as you know you can’t hunt them while you’re working with me. You have to look for supplies that are useful to the living, not the rotting mess you sell to the pharmaceutical companies or the government or whoever you’re working for these days.”
“They are useful,” M says, looking up from her hands. Her cold, dull eyes stare deeply at the Chief. “You’re not a believer in finding a cure?”
The Chief laughs bitterly, an ugly scowl forms on his thin, ruddy lips. “Don’t give me that shit. I don’t care if you try killing yourself in your spare time, but some of these boys have brought up a fair point. If you’re so great at everything you do, you might as well share your talents with the rest of us. It’s about time you actually benefit the colony.”
“No,” M says, her eyes unblinking. “I owe nothing, and neither do they. They’re afraid to accept that there is no longer a traditional branch of power.” She shrugs her backpack securely around her shoulders, looking at the variety of alcohol bottles lining the fence. “Next time hide your liquor so the Chief can’t drink it all himself.”
“Watch your tone, M,” the Chief argues, sweat forming along his hairline. “You may not respect me but I still outrank your position. ”
M laughs and continues walking towards the heart of the colony.
***
The knocking persists until Jack drags himself to the door. Opening it slowly, the sunlight barely streams through the crack and the stale, autumn wind feels sticky and warm.
“What do you want? I’m off duty until Thursday,” Jack says, rubbing his eyes groggily. “I’m not interested in any side shifts either. They’re not worth risking my life for anymore.”
“You can go back to sleep. I need M,” the boy says, fidgeting on his tip toes to get a closer look at the room’s interior. Jack’s figure doesn’t budge, unwilling to let an unfamiliar face see his personal belongings. “She does live here, right?”
“She won’t come,” Jack says, shaking his head resolutely. “Whatever demands the Chief tried to put on her the other day went in one ear and out the other. She doesn’t raid and she sure as hell doesn’t make treaties. She hunts. Nothing more, nothing less. Everything else is a waste of her time.”
“Tell her I’ll be her alibi,” the boy insists, his eyebrows furrowing with desperation. “If we find any of the dead she’s looking for, I’ll distract the rest of the party in a reasonable manner so she make off with it.”
Jack frowns at the idea and shakes his head, raising his upturned hands with hesitation.
“I even rented walkie talkies in case we get split up,” the boy says, holding up a walkie talkie as he continues to shift from side to side. He tries to peek through the gap between Jack and the door but he’s unsuccessful.
“You know these things aren’t cheap.” Jack stays silent despite the growing desperation in the boy’s voice.
“And I’m not trying to be a smart ass,” the boy says, his thin face flushing. “Just give me a yes or no and I’ll leave regardless.”
M walks up behind Jack, her usual hunting gear already in place. Jack studies her expression and moves aside, allowing her room to step forward if she chooses.
“Why?” M asks, her hand grasping onto the door’s edge firmly. The boy swallows while watching the door sway, his almond-shaped eyes shifting back and forth between them.
“I don’t know where the bodies go, and I’m pretty sure I want to keep it that way, but no matter what you or anyone else believes I think what you’re doing is helping the world more than looting abandoned liquor stores.” He gently pushes the door open and M allows it. “I won’t make a habit of tagging along or forcing you to come with me. Just this once, so I can understand.”
“I’ll be back,” M whispers and pushes passed her brother. Jack incoherently huffs in protest but M doesn’t acknowledge his discontent. “Will he be there?” she asks, staring at the boy as he fiddles with the walkie talkie in his hand.
“Who? Trevor?” the boy asks. Jack continues groaning audibly as his hand abruptly slaps his forehead. “He was never assigned to this. If he’s there it means he switched shifts with someone else. I wouldn’t ask you to come if I knew he would be there.”
“Okay,” M says, grabbing the walkie talkie from the boy’s hands without further protest.