Walker

It burned against my chest, the beautiful, cursed thing. Its weight pulled at the string around my neck from which it hung, taunting, daring me to find her. My steps crunched the dried grass to dust, a dim sun struggled to pierce the everlasting amber haze, and still it goaded me on.

I took a drink from my canteen. One swallow, no more. Conservation was key to surviving the plains; conservation and avoiding the raiders. Seeing no sign of anyone on the empty plain, I pulled it out to look at it again. A simple, small locket, in the shape of a heart, tarnished to a dull brown. Inside it held her picture framed in the still bright silver. With a grunt, I dropped it back between my breasts to its previous resting place.

I turned a slow circle, partly to scan the horizon for signs of movement, but mostly for assurance from the locket that I was headed the right way. There was a jagged peak on the horizon I had been targeting, and still, it was the direction the heart burned hottest.

The sky darkened, turned redder as the sun began to set at my back. With no place for cover or concealment, I dropped my pack and unrolled my blanket. Half a dried fish, gathered a week earlier, served for dinner, and one more swallow of water. I was on the edge of severe dehydration but wasn’t going to risk running out before I found a new source.

Night gathered around me, and the doubts crept back in. She’s probably dead, like six billion others, I thought. I did my best to shut it out and rolled myself into my blanket, my head north. That was a bit of raider superstition, meant to keep you safe. If nothing else, sleeping north might stay their hand if they stumble on me in the middle of the night, at least for a second or two.

The sound of a vehicle woke me before dawn. By the time I dared to open my eyes and look around, it was past, taillights receding to the west. If that was a scout, there could be more on the way in a day or less. I rolled up my blanket, stuffed it in my pack, and pulled out another half of a dried fish to eat on the move.

Before I put on my hat, I ran my hand along the top of my head. My hair was just past being stubble and felt good on the hand. I’d been forced to shave it several days earlier due to lice. Not much chance of those out here. All the life I’d seen since I left the coast was around water, and I was still a full day’s walk from the nearest green in the foothills of the Rockies.

I ate the dried fish in small bites through the morning, which seemed to settle in my gut like gravel. The occasional swallow of water to try ease the cramps didn’t help much. It’s not like I didn’t have a lifetime of dealing with cramps, but these were different. I hadn’t had a menstrual cycle in three months, probably because of malnutrition. The upside being it was one less thing to worry about.

Late afternoon came and I realized that the foothills were farther than I had thought. Maybe I could reach them tomorrow, and probably find water. There was now a visible green swath in a low spot of the hills. I could try to keep moving all night. My wandering thoughts were stopped with my steps when I heard a vehicle approaching fast from the west.

There was nowhere to hide. My body wanted to run, or drop to the ground, but it would do no good. I was going to be spotted if I hadn’t already. The best I could do was keep moving toward my goal, toward her, and know that I gave it my best.

The open-topped Jeep slowed about twenty feet away, the driver in goggles and a tied hood, the passenger standing behind, pointing a rifle at me. “Another walker,” he said.

“We can’t help,” the driver said. It was either a deep woman’s voice or a high man’s voice, I couldn’t be sure.

The passenger lowered the rifle. “Let’s go.” The Jeep lurched forward, and he kicked something out of the back. He looked back at me as they sped off, and I thought I saw him wave.

The fact that I was still alive, and not enslaved took a while to register. They looked like raiders, but they left me alone. Another walker. What did that mean? I thought at the time that they just meant another poor soul walking across the plains like an idiot.

I went to see what he’d ejected. It was a gallon of water. If I’d had the tears to spare, I would’ve cried. The water was warm and flat, but it tasted clean, filtered. I still had some water in my canteen, but I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to tank up.

It was late evening when I stopped for the night and finished the last of the gift. Sweat beaded on my forehead, as it hadn’t for a couple days. That was also the first time I had to pee in days. It was barely a trickle, but it made me feel more human.

I rolled up in my blanket and the doubts came rushing back in. I should’ve kept rationing. Drinking that all today was foolish. There was nothing to be done about that. The driver’s voice replayed in my mind. “We can’t help.” Were they talking to me or the passenger? That, and the question of who they were plagued my sleep.

I woke before dawn, hungrier than ever. With a belly full of water, I hadn’t even thought about food. I took my time with another dried fish, chewing it carefully to avoid the feeling of a stomach full of gravel. Not that it changed anything, but it still felt good to take my time with breakfast.

By sunrise I’d already been walking for a couple hours. The foothills were close enough now that I could make out a treeline. That was the impetus I needed to push ahead non-stop until I reached the water there.

Twice I crossed over vehicle tracks, but I didn’t see another soul for the entire day. The ground began to rise and fall, and it was on one of those dips that I found myself standing in green grass. I wasn’t sure, at first, why I’d stopped, until I found myself wondering at the marshy ground. Whatever water was flowing from the mountains petered out right here.

I followed the green grass to the water, a small, slow creek that grew as I travelled upstream. The hours passed without my realization, my entire being focused on the stream that grew the farther I went.

My shadow grew long as the stream turned into a river, and the trek became more arduous as I gained elevation. The rocky ground resulted in rapids, and I figured it was as good a place as any to get some fresh water. I dipped a hand in and tasted. Sweet, mineral-rich water mixed with the dust of the plains. I took my fill and refilled my canteens and the gallon jug.

I was going to bed down for the night when I saw smoke ahead, in the direction I was traveling. The locket bumped against my chest as I stood, and I felt its heat. There was no way I was going to ignore it, not after I’d come this far.

The sun was down and the moon, doing its best to shine through the haze of the sky provided a hint of light. Finally, before me lay a scene that I could best describe as a camp that had somehow turned permanent settlement. A huge bonfire in the middle of a square, set about with tin shacks and tents, a few plywood structures, and a cargo truck missing its wheels.

Any fear I felt was overrun by the pull of the locket, its incessant goading pushing me to walk straight to the fire. I looked around the square but saw no one. I knew there was someone there, but they were well hidden.

I pulled the locket out. It felt cold now, and its pull evaporated. I sat next to the fire and opened it, for only the second time since I left the coast. A young woman, deep brown skin and eyes and black hair in dreadlocks stared back from the picture within. Her face was beautiful, her jaw set, and her gaze intense and hard.

“Welcome, child. I heard you were on your way.” The voice behind me was exactly what I imagined she would sound like.

I turned to face her. It was her, but years had left their mark. Deep lines crossed her face, her dreadlocks grey, but her eyes shone brightly in the firelight. “You’re her. I mean, you’re…” I held out the locket.

She smiled and the lines around her eyes deepened. “You’re probably wondering why you made this trip,” she said. “You’re not the first, and likely won’t be the last.” She knelt next to me. “I’m sorry, child, but that’s not me.”

I looked back at the locket, and at her. “What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid you may be too far gone to help, even with the treated water.”

“What do you mean?!” My voice grew strident against my own intentions.

She took the locket from me and opened it. She looked at me with pity in her eyes. “Look inside.”

The locket held a picture, but it was different. A blonde baby, the picture badly faded and dirty, it reminded me of someone. “I don’t understand. It led me here.”

“The infection led you here.” She pointed at the river. “We don’t know why, but there are a few places that call the walkers.”

“What are walkers?”

“People like you; infected but still functioning. You haven’t gone feral, but you’re in bad shape.” She stood and helped me to my feet. “Let’s get you into triage.”

We approached one of the tin buildings and she parted the side of it with her hand. I stopped short. That wasn’t right, or normal at all.

“What do you see?”

I closed my eyes and looked again. What I had thought was a tin building was a tent, dirty gray with a faded Red Cross logo. “It’s a tent.”

“Good, you’re still in there.” She took my pack and dumped out the dried fish. She grunted and picked a few up. “Have you been eating these?”

“Yes, why?”

She held them in front of me. “Look at them…really look.”

In her hands she held a small bundle of charred sticks, my teeth-marks evident. “I—I thought…”

“You’ll be okay, it’s not poisonous.” She led me into the tent and began barking orders.

Shadowy figures, vaguely human-shaped but all indistinguishable from the other moved about. I looked back at her and finally realized her face was behind the clear plastic of a hazmat suit. “Fungus,” I said, “there’s something about a fungus.”

“Yes, and we’re going to do everything we can to help.” Strong hands stripped my clothes and washed me down with cool cloths before putting a gown on me and laying me on a bed. “The clothes and the pack go in the fire,” she said to one of the figures. “Sterilize the locket.”

“The locket, I know her, the fungus, she—”

She squeezed my hand, gently, and I became aware of the straps that held me to the bed. “We’ll talk it about tomorrow,” she said, “if you live that long.”

With nothing driving me any longer, I let go, and let darkness overtake me.