Sadie Walker Is Stranded (13 page)

Carl’s knife stuck out of the sand, blade-side down. I picked it up. I hated holding it—every part of it reminded me of Carl and his ugly, mean face. Moritz walked by with a rotted log over his shoulder. He had stripped down to his shirtsleeves. With his free hand he squeezed my arm. I smiled, a little confused by the gesture.

I wandered up the beach toward the forest, mindful of our trip wire. What good was a knife? One weapon between five and a half people? And how could I hunt with this thing? I didn’t exactly move with the speed and grace of a hawk. No, more like the speed and grace of a donkey. Fear I could deal with, the unknown could be met head on, but uselessness was a heavy burden. The image of those poor stragglers waiting on the pier as we sailed away flashed in front of my eyes. What if one of them had been a park ranger or passionate hunter? What if I screwed these people, and more importantly Shane, out of survival by elbowing my way onto the ship?

I sank down into the dirt, ignoring the itchy grass that stabbed through my leggings. Down on the beach, Moritz had wedged the log down into the ground and strung a line of twine from the shelter to the top of the log. He was securing something to the line, a row of papers. My drawings. They fluttered and bounced, faded and maybe ruined, but drying on the line all the same. Looking at Moritz and his little ingenious setup, inspiration hit and I smiled. What would Allison do?

There were no gun-toting rednecks or crazed religious cults here to contend with, but avoiding simple starvation presented a daunting challenge all its own. What had given me strength before—the knowledge that someone average, someone like me, was doing everything she could to overcome the undead and the new ways of the world—would give me inspiration again. How many times had I sat curled up in my barricaded apartment, peering at my computer in the darkness, reading about Allison and her friends, about just eking by without losing all hope? She had looked to her friends and colleagues for help, never losing sight of what mattered to her most—protecting the people she loved and searching for what remained of her family.

We might not be able to stay on this island forever, but it had to at least become a temporary home. Being transient didn’t mean we had to suffer. Shane and I could be happy nomads if we chose to be and if I showed him how.

The pine branches scraped at my face as I pushed into the forest. I wouldn’t go far, and even if I did, I had the knife. Keeping the campfire in sight, I searched the forest floor, picking up various pieces of wood and discarding them if they didn’t meet my criteria. It took about thirty minutes to find the perfect specimens, but I felt triumphant—if a bit battered and scraped—when I marched back down to the beach.

As they finished the shelter, Moritz and Noah glanced my way every couple of minutes, curious. I hacked at the larger piece of wood. It was gently curved. I brought it to the water’s edge and soaked it for a while, then went back to the campfire and carefully warmed it over the edge of the coals. Even Andrea was getting curious, peering over her shoulder at me as she fished off of a boulder to the east. This wasn’t something I had ever attempted myself, but I knew the theory of it. I watched my father strip the wood and carefully mold it, wishing I had the skill and patience to mimic his efficient movements. He liked to show off and I always got the feeling that it made him feel like the best dad in the world to make a semi-functional bow right in front of his daughter’s eyes.

This felt right. This felt like progress. I hacked at the smaller piece of wood, peeling back the bark. Occasionally I’d run down to the water to soak the larger piece again and warm it—soak, warm, soak, warm—until it was bending visibly in front of my eyes. Shane began paying less attention to the fire, peeking at my project beneath a brow furrowed with curiosity. It took the greater part of the morning, but by midafternoon I had something that actually bore resemblance to a bow. When I was satisfied with the curve, I notched the top and stretched a piece of twine between the top and bottom arcs for a string. I tested the string, tightened the knots, and made adjustments until I could pull back the twine. The arrow was trickier and more time consuming, demanding a lot of careful peeling and whittling, and so for comfort’s sake I moved the whittling under the shelter to get out of the sun.

“Holy cow, Sadie,” Noah said, admiring my work. He and Moritz had taken a break from helping Cassandra with the food pit. “That thing actually gonna work?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But it’s worth a shot.”

Oh, come on.

“Worth a shot? A
shot
? Get it?”

Noah laughed, sweet boy that he was, but Moritz only squeezed out a grin.

“Yeah, that was bad,” I admitted. “Seriously, it could work. Somehow I have to get these arrow points sharp enough.” I had started working on arrow number two, but I still didn’t know what to use for feathers and said as much to the group. It might take days to gather up a significant amount from the woods.

“How about a bit of bark?” Moritz suggested.

“That could work,” I said, nodding.

He disappeared, blue scarf fluttering, and came back with a wide peel of dry bark. I cut triangles from it with the knife, praying that the whole contraption would work and not leave me looking like a complete boob. If the bow failed I would’ve wasted an entire morning on well-meaning incompetency.

I thought of leaving camp right then and there to try it out, but the afternoon was almost over and I wasn’t about to head out into the forest just before nightfall. So far we had experienced nothing more sinister than a horde of thieving raccoons, but there was worse out there. I could feel it. We could all feel it. I wasn’t about to go off into the darkness or take any unnecessary risks. This was already a chancy endeavor and I wanted it to succeed. I wanted Shane to look at me the way I had beamed at my dad. I wanted more than anything for him to believe that Aunt Sadie was a reliable guardian, even if she did make very pathetic puns.

To help the uneasy silence descending on the camp, I let Shane play with the bow, keeping the arrows safely out of his reach. He looked privately pleased as he handled the too-big handle, pulling back the string a little and grinning when it twanged.

It was stupid, but I felt proud, really fucking proud.

Instead of venturing off into the forest, I lounged in the shelter and read Noah’s books, glancing up from time to time to make sure Shane hadn’t wandered too far. The books were quick to read, engrossing, fun and hard to put down. And it was pure joy to imagine that world of nothing but liquor and fast times, indiscriminate sex and flagrant misogyny. Okay, maybe not the last part, but it was glamorous. Not even seven months of terror and death and limited hygiene could erase that memory. I had seen awful carnage, neighbors pulled to pieces right in front of my eyes, things that should’ve crushed my spirit, anyone’s spirit, but didn’t. If I tried, I could still remember what it felt like to wear lipstick, the decadent way it made you want to pout and the waxy taste when it accidentally touched your tongue.

I must have had a fool’s expression on my face because Moritz was watching me. He did that a lot. He did it on the boat and the habit had carried right on over to this new camping thing.

“I believe the story’s on the page,” he said with a chuckle. “Not out there.” He waved lazily at the forest outside the shelter.

“Do you think we have enough water for tonight?”

“Don’t change the subject.” This was a new tone of voice for him, a flirtatious one.

“I
want
to change the subject.” I stared down at the book but the mood was gone. Sadly, I couldn’t slide back into
The Big Sleep
the way Vivian Rutledge slid in and out of a cream silk robe. He scooted closer. Right, as if that would help. “Seriously, Moritz, just don’t. No flirting, not now.
Verboten
, okay?”

With a sigh he got up, visibly hurt, and disappeared out of the shelter. Andrea turned up in time to read the frustration on my face. I didn’t have time to try and cover up my shitty mood.

“Sadie? What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said, dropping my head down into the open book. I groaned. “Did that drug cache of yours survive the storm?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I think I might need a tranquilizer. A big one—if it can knock out a Clydesdale then we’re headed in the right direction.”

Andrea laughed, her dark ponytail swinging from side to side. She pushed the bangs off my forehead, ostensibly checking my eyes to see if I was already on something. The touch of her fingers against my skin made me jolt. Human touch was a foreign thing now.

“Did you and Moritz fight?” she asked, sitting down beside me. Her hand rubbed up and down my back. So we were friends again. Maybe she really would give me that tranquilizer.

“It’s Carl,” I said, cutting right to the chase. “I can’t get him out of my head. Every time I think he’s gone for good he pops up again, staring at me, laughing. I don’t know what he wants, but I just want him gone. That
bastard
 … he tried to take Shane from me. That’s all I can think about. Someone trying to take him away again.”

It was like some endless nightmare version of
Duck Hunt
but with Carl’s twerp face popping up instead of a bird.

“Feeling guilty over losing him?”

“
Lose
? I didn’t lose him. I didn’t wager him in a game of keno, Andrea. I pushed him down the stairs and broke his neck. I killed him.” Getting it out, hearing the actual words, made the pain come again. There was Carl in my mind and right behind him, Shane, the little boy sitting a stone’s throw away who knew that I was a killer. But I had to do it … It was awful, but I would’ve done much worse to protect Shane.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said. “It was a disaster, a really bad one. But you’re miles away now. Remember?” It felt good to be helped, to be treated like a sister, a human being. I nodded. She went on. “And there’s nothing you can do. Listen, Sadie, without mistakes things would get really fucking boring. I know you know that. There’d be less poetry, no heartbreak…”

“No Vegas.”

She laughed quietly and then said, “Carl’s not here. Carl’s dead. We took his knife. He can’t get you. And you learned a lesson. I don’t think you’ll fall for another Carl anytime soon.”

“You’re right,” I said. “You’re right. But I’d still like those drugs, please.”

“I’m afraid not,” Andrea said, patting my back. “You’re on your own for this one. Trust me, Sadie, it’s better this way.”

“You’re the worst drug dealer ever. But you’re right. I’ll get over it … not much of a choice, really. And I have to stay awake. You’ll turn Shane against me if I let you spend any more time with him.”

Her glittering laughter trailed behind her as she stood and left the shelter. I propped myself up on my elbows and looked down at
The Big Sleep
. Sleep, especially the big kind, sounded good, but it was too early for that. There was the watch to think about and the high winds that were tugging at the shelter tarp and I couldn’t let Shane wear out the string on the bow. I made a promise that I’d test the bow tomorrow and that no matter what, no matter how hard it was, I’d kill something for my fellow castaways. We were a tribe now, beholden to each other. Andrea had caught us fish, Cassandra had made a safe place for our food and Moritz and Noah had completed a fairly impressive shelter.

I ran my fingertips along the smooth curve of the bow. It was time for me to step up. Time to answer the question: What would Allison do?

EIGHT

There was no chance for me to test out my bow the next day. Winds gusted morning and afternoon, tearing at the shelter and sending cascading howls through the trees. The waves out around the shore became jagged, tall and peaked like whipped cream. There was a brief shower at midmorning and we were grateful for that. Our trips out of the shelter were quick, only to collect rainwater in the tin cups we had taken from the ship. We lined them up just outside the shelter and the rain pinged against the rims, making quiet xylophone songs, pixie music.

Our food situation did not improve. With the high winds blowing all day it was impossible to fish or really do much of anything. Every twenty minutes or so Noah dove for the twine ties holding down the shelter. The wind tore them free. When it was my turn to collect the rainwater cups I was sure the gales would rip the flesh right off my skeleton.

Without the fire, my reading daylight was used up by five o’clock; out of light, out of luck, like a shattered mirror in a closet.

I’m sure we should’ve been making intricate survival schematics or digging some kind of bear-proof trench, but instead Noah and I held a contest to see who could come up with the most convincing finger puppets for Shane. Riveting stuff.

It was a miserable day, and worse than the winds was the brief glimpse of a figure looming in the trees up the hill. No one else saw it, just me. I would recognize that kind of slumped, lumbering silhouette anywhere. The undead. A chill descended into my bones, settling there like a damp mold. We were not alone on the island. I watched the creature hesitate on the seam dividing the forest and the hill running down to the beach. He seemed to be testing something, maybe the steepness of the hill or the rockiness of the terrain. We had found out in Seattle they were not completely without ingenuity—hundreds had died when one single creature found its way through a mile-long stretch of ventilation pipe and into a warehouse. And now we knew they could handle themselves in the water. The thing vanished into the trees, its limp right leg trailing like a macabre little tail.

I said nothing.

What would it help, to spread panic like that? I couldn’t even be sure of what I’d seen. And if it really was one of the undead, I wasn’t equipped to take it out, not with an untried bow or Carl’s knife. Not to mention, why didn’t it just charge down the hill toward us? Sure, the terrain was rough, but just as a single zombie could find its way through an air vent, they could also be dumb as rocks. Animals were smarter. An animal might realize it couldn’t make a safe path down the steep hill. Whatever it was, I would stay up that night. If the eerie shadow made another appearance, or worse, actually ventured into camp, I’d share my suspicions with the others.