- > > > > > > >I was just a little girl when the outbreak started. Six, I think. I didn’t really know what was happening other than a lot of people were getting sick and my parents were watching the news more than they normally did. I was pulled out of school, which was interesting to me because even at such a young age my parents had stressed the importance of schooling; I knew all of my times tables before my peers even knew what times tables were.
> > > > > > >By the time I was eleven the world was a dystopia. Cities seemed to perpetually burn on the horizon line. Houses were rendered useless means of shelter. We were lucky enough to maintain our car. We lived in our car. The idea was to get to the west coast; I didn’t know why, but everyone seemed to want to get to the coast. I don’t really remember many specific traits about my parents, but the one thing I remember about my dad is that he was very resourceful. Even though the gas stations had been out of commission for a while and there was a constant fight for fuel, we were still able to make it across three state lines. Or maybe it was four, I don’t remember. But when our car ran out of gas in the middle of an unrecognizable city, that’s when I really knew that Hell had spilled over onto Earth.
> > > > > > >We had to leave the car; I think we were looking for a place to stay the night, somewhere we could light a fire. But this city was still occupied. And not by the most friendly citizens, either. It was like a cult; the entire city blindly following one mortal man who promised them safety and longevity. We were just pathogens, potential carriers of the virus who threatened to soil their “clean” city and challenge their leader’s mortality. We were forced to leave. Or, that’s what started to happen. Before the “evictor” even had the shadow of a chance to bring us to the city limits mass panic struck. Firstit was just screaming, crowds of pandemonium, but soon it was clear why such chaos had erupted. A steady stream of the Infected were leaking into the city, enough to overpower the guards and cause hysteria.
> > > > > > >As it turned out, it wasn’t our presence that mortalized their leader, but the mere state of the world. The once calm, orderly streets were now rampant with terrified people trying to survive. We were engulfed by waves of these people. I was separated from my parents. I can still feel my mother’s fingers slipping away from mine. The desperation. And then I was alone. I had this little stuffed lemur that I’d had since I was a baby, Bixy. I carried him with me everywhere, and when I was threatened to be swallowed up by the frantic crowds, I clutched him to my chest and cried into his fur.
> > > > > > >“Little girl, get out of here!” When I heard the voice the first time it could have been miles away. That’s why I was so surprised the second time I heard his voice to find a man in front of me, his hand outstretched. “Come with me. We have to go.”
> > > > > > >“No. I-I can’t… I have to find my parents—“
> > > > > > >“Your parents don’t love you! They left you to die!”
> > > > > > >My heart dropped into my stomach. I took his hand. And we ran. He had a car, too. I got to sit in the front seat. You might wonder why I went with a complete stranger, how I knew it was safe. I didn’t. But up until that point I had been taught to respect and listen to adults, because they always had a child’s best interest in mind. Later I’d be taught the exact opposite, to trust no one, no matter how old.
> > > > > > >It was quiet for a long time in the car. We left the chaos of that city, now just another fire on the horizon. We passed abandoned cars and human roadkill without even hesitation.
> > > > > > >“What’s your name?”
> > > > > > >“Thirteen.”
> > > > > > >“What’s your last name?” I’d been taught to call unfamiliar adults by their last name with the appropriate prefix.
> > > > > > >“I don’t have one; just call me Thirteen. What’s your name?”
> > > > > > >“Persephone.”
> > > > > > >When it got dark we pulled off the road. Thirteen made a fire behind the car, away from the road. He opened up two cans of green beans with a pocketknife and gave one to me. There was only one fork. He gave it to me.
> > > > > > >“I didn’t mean what I said about your parents. They probably cared for you very much.”
> > > > > > >“Do you think I’ll see them again?”
> > > > > > >“No.” I later learned that he had his own Mommy and Daddy issues, although I probably could have figured that out on my own based solely on the kind of parents who would name their child Thirteen; his problems ran far deeper than just being abandoned.
> > > > > > >I didn’t know what they were for a long time. As it turns out knowing what’s trying to eat you doesn’t matter as much as running from it. But when I got older I read as many University medical journals I could find. The virus started as an outbreak of the Black Death. At first it was only transmitted from fleas to humans when the fleas would vomit the bacilla into the bloodstream. Then it was passed from human to human through the air, it lived in the lungs. It was a new plague, not seen since medieval Europe. And it was strong. People were dying within days of getting sick. We created a cure: substituted cathinones, bath salts. And then the virus mutated to survive the medicine. Things got worse. People kept dying. And then they started coming back. It was an anomaly; they were able to function on a primitive level without the return of a heartbeat. The mutated virus caused the body to attack itself just before the heart stopped beating; once living flesh would quickly rot and fall, large sores opened, and lacerations resulted from simple bumps. And all of this on a living human. After that the heart would go. But within 24 hours they’d be back, not nearly as human as they once were.
> > > > > > >I’d learned that doctors and the high class referred to them as the Infected; that’s also what my parents called them. But Thirteen and most of the people I’ve encountered just call them zombies. Apparently the “more educated” seem to think that zombies are nothing more than mythical creatures, glorified in old horror movies. I wouldn’t know. I’d never heard that word until I’d met Thirteen.
> > > > > > >Luckily, the air never became extremely toxic. Before absolute, worldwide anarchy broke, the newest mutated virus moved to the bloodstream and lived only in the bloodstream. Because of this, with so many open sores on these Infected, if skin was broken – whether it come from a scratch or bite – there was a high chance you would become Infected. I learned that from Thirteen long before finding any medical journals.
> > > > > > >He taught me how to fight. When I asked him if that’s what he was going he said, “No, I’m teaching you how to survive.” He gave me a backpack. There was a metal baseball bat and metal claws that might have been half the length of my arm. He wouldn’t give me a gun. He said little girls shouldn’t have guns, although I’m not sure claws and a bat were much better. He never wanted me to have to fight – I knew that much – but he knew I didn’t stand a chance otherwise. And that’s all he taught me; he never taught me how to kill. I didn’t even know you could only kill a zombie by getting rid of the brain until I was much older.
> > > > > > >It was probably a good thing he taught me to fight when he did, because not long after that our vehicle was stolen. We’d gone to scope out the houses for food, and when we came back it was gone, along with everything inside, including Thirteen’s shotgun; luckily, he still had his pocketknife and revolver, but it was still a detrimental blow. Now we had to hoof it. That was far more dangerous than I realized. Thirteen always stayed up to protect us at night; I don’t know when he slept, but if I ever woke up in the middle of the night, he was always awake.
> > > > > > >We got to another city. It was odd, and far more terrifying than the other cities I’d seen. There was red and orange paint covering the sides of the buildings that sat precariously on the outside of town. Some of it was just symbols, but others said things like ‘We’re All Humans’ or ’Stop Murdering The Sick’, or something like that, I don’t exactly remember. We must have been towards the middle of the city when we saw it, a dirty, tattered cloth banner hanging down from an overpass. I’ve never forgotten what it said:
> > > > > > >’Stop Killing Them
> > > > > > >They’re Innocent’
> > > > > > >“Oh, God, what the hell is this?’ Thirteen sounded more annoyed than anything, which I didn’t understand at all, because it just seemed like another ghost town. Albeit more creepy than the others I’d seen, but nothing more than a ghost town, nothing to be annoyed about. Only I was wrong. It wasn’t abandoned. It might as well have been, though. There was only a small coven of people there, and actually quite a bit of zombies, as we discovered. There was a crawler, one that was missing a leg and could only mindlessly drag its own body on the ground; Thirteen was about to take it out when we were both tugged from behind and pulled into the space between two buildings. Thirteen’s gun clicked but didn’t go off. I was picked up off my feet and carried through a door; my eyes were covered, but I could hear Thirteen’s heavy footsteps following my squeal. I was plopped on a couch and Thirteen’s arms immediately covered me.
> > > > > > >“What the hell are you thinking? I could have handled a damn crawler!”
> > > > > > >“You mean murder a disabled person?”
> > > > > > >I could barely move with how tightly he was holding me, but I craned my neck back to see that Thirteen was squinting at these people as if they were speaking an entirely different language. He didn’t say anything, so I guess the other people took it as a cue to continue.
> > > > > > >“People like you are going around killing people who are sick, people who don’t stand a chance against firepower.”
> > > > > > >Thirteen still didn’t say thing, although he did look like he might shoot them. Out of the normal beat of a conversation he finally answered: “I don’t kill people, I kill zombies – mindless, heartless, and most importantly soulless creatures that are trying to tear my flesh off my bones and have no regard for this child’s innocence.”
> > > > > > >“You’re a misguided product of the media. What you call “zombies” are merely human beings infected with a horrible sickness. Their actions are a result of infection, not their own will. You’re killing misunderstood living humans; they may not be harmless, but they are innocent.”
> > > > > > >“Okay,” Thirteen sighed and picked me up. “You all are delusional, we’ll be on our way.” There was lots of yelling next but my ears were covered so all I heard was muffled incoherence. Thirteen put me down outside and we walked to get out of the faux ghost city. The further and further into the city we got the more the painted propaganda started to thin out until it almost completely disappeared. It turned into a normal ghost city after that. But not quite. It couldn’t let us go on so easily. In the middle of the road we came across more paint. It was darker red, nearly black; it covered the width of the road and had to be four times as tall as Thirteen.
> > > > > > >’HELP US’
> > > > > > >We stopped walking on the main road after that. We went through a bunch of residential streets. And then something looked familiar. A house. I couldn’t figure out where I would have seen it before since I was states away from home. I must have been quiet, because Thirteen kept looking at me; I pretended not to notice.
> > > > > > >“Hey… You know what they were saying back there, they didn’t know what they were talking about, right?”
> > > > > > >I just looked at him.
> > > > > > >“I don’t kill people. These things that are trying to eat us, they’re not human; they’re walking corpses, embodiments of demons. I’d never kill a person.”
> > > > > > >I nodded. I believed him. I’d seen plenty of people kill each other, shoot a fellow man in competition rather than try to coexist cooperatively. But I completely believed Thirteen that he would never be one of those people.
> > > > > > >We started weaving through houses and neighbourhoods. That was probably more terrifying than the paint on the walls of the city. Many of the backyards were littered with children’s toys, as if they had merely vanished right off their tricycles and trampolines. It gave me chills, thinking about the families that used to live in these houses. I could practically see children, my age and younger, running from yard to yard. I could practically hear their laughter and joyful screams, and it was haunting. I got Bixy out of my backpack and clutched him to my chest. I’d been trying not to cry so much, even though Thirteen didn’t seem to mind, but it was hard to hold back tears when my imagination conjured up ill fates for the ghost children that were residents of this ghost city.
> > > > > > >We finally popped out of a string of houses and ended up in a park. The metal equipment was a little rusty, but the swings still seemed to be in working order. There was also quite a large jungle gym, and although the colourful plastic was faded, it still seemed like it was fairly sturdy.
> > > > > > >“Thirteen!” I squealed, almost dropping Bixy. “I’ve been here before! I’ve been to this park! I… I must have… This must be where my aunt and uncle lived!” Suddenly my thoughts about the ghost children disappeared and all I wanted to do was swing. “Push me on the swings, okay?” I laughed as I ran toward them and jumped onto one of the seats. Thirteen was never a fan of dallying, but he smiled and let me play anyway.
> > > > > > >I was sitting on top of the plastic corkscrew slide when the sun started to go down. It might have been the most peaceful and safe I’d ever felt in that moment. The world was cast in a golden orange light from the sunset, and the sharp angles of the familiar swing set became silhouetted in black. Thirteen sat at the bottom of the slide, looking as introspective as ever. He had my backpack, but I had Bixy; I was starting to get sleepy, lullabied by the soft sunlight, so I decided to start talking to stay awake.
> > > > > > >“Thirteen, why do you keep me along? Aren’t I too much trouble to look after?”
> > > > > > >“You’re parents kept you along.” Kind of.
> > > > > > >“But you’re not even related to me. I’m just taking your food and slowing you down. You probably could have been to the coast by now if you didn’t have to keep stopping because I need breaks.”
> > > > > > >“You’re my good luck charm.”
> > > > > > >The darkness itself always seemed to breed zombies. It was as if they’d crawl out of the growing shadows, graceless jaguars hunting. Despite that night’s merriness it was no exception. Just as the orange sun touched the horizon I saw what could only be described as a hoard of zombies dragging their bodies over the hill. At that moment a mean wind picked up, carrying the smell of death and rotted flesh, invisible hands pushing the featureless swings until the chains moaned and squealed from their own rust. That’s what made Thirteen turn.
> > > > > > >“Dammit, this must be a hunting ground.” That’s what Thirteen called the places where zombies would prey on animals. He explained to me that groups of zombies would often return to places where they found animals. I’d only ever seen one other hunting ground. It was a ransacked grocery store where rats had started to nest.
> > > > > > >“Thirteen…” I was starting to get nervous. Thirteen wasn’t moving. “Thirteen, shouldn’t we run..?”
> > > > > > >“No. They already know we’re here, and there are too many to outrun.” He handed me my backpack and I took out the bat. “Climb up there,” he instructed and then helped me get on the very top of the play structure, a cone-shaped hunk of plastic. The mindless moans of the zombies were becoming louder, a dull roar. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
> > > > > > >“What? No!” It was no use; tears already had started coming up behind my eyes. “Thirteen, don’t leave me here!”
> > > > > > >“Don’t worry, I know you can handle it; you’ll be fine. And I’ll be back. I can’t risk losing my good luck charm.” How that man was able to smile in those kinds of situations still eludes me.
> > > > > > >He left. I held Bixy under my arm and grasped the bat with both of my hands. It seemed like time was moving in disjointed skips. Suddenly the hoard was directly under me, grisly hands trying to grab at my feet and ankles. When they got too close, I would swing the bat as hard as I could, just like Thirteen had taught me. This would usually break their hands, but it didn’t stop them from trying. One of them grabbed Bixy’s tail and yanked him away from me, nearly throwing me off balance and off of the structure as well. I yelped and bashed its head with the bat.
> > > > > > >I must have blacked out or something, because I have no recollection of what happened after Thirteen returned; I don’t even remember seeing him come over the hill. The next thing I remember was running through a heavily forested area, a couple of zombies trailing behind us. It was fairly easy to outrun zombies, so long as you were sure that they were behind you; the hard part was when they seemed to pop out in front of you at random. We were lucky enough to outrun these.
> > > > > > >My tears had dried; it’s difficult to run and cry at the same time, so I opted for the one that would save my life. Somehow we’d made it back onto the main road and out of that damn city. It was dark; we really needed a fire. But Thirteen wanted to get away from the trees first. So we continued down the road until the trees thinned out and we were only surrounded by hills. We sat on the shoulder of the road and Thirteen made a fire with what little supplies we had. My eyes were still stinging and I couldn’t stop rubbing them.
> > > > > > >“I tried to save Bixy.”
> > > > > > >“What?”
> > > > > > >“I saw that you’d dropped him, and I tried to grab him but I just couldn’t. I had to get us out of there.”
> > > > > > >“That’s okay.” It was okay, but I was still sad. “I guess I was getting too old for toys, anyway.” Someone we had met once had told me that.
> > > > > > >Not long after that Thirteen started calling me Seven. He said that if he had to be stuck with such an unfortunate name then I deserved a name that was fortunate enough for the both of us. Besides, I was his good luck charm, according to him. I still called myself Persephone, but I didn’t stop him from calling me Seven; it was like his nickname for me.
> > > > > > >He never promised me that he’d never leave me again, probably because he knew that was unrealistic. Thirteen was always very caring and protected me from a lot of things. But he never wanted me to have delusions about the world. So when it came down to things that were difficult for most people to say, Thirteen was usually rough and blunt. And he did leave me again. On several occasions. Luckily enough for me, none of those other occasions were quite as terrifying as that very first time.
> > > > > > >We didn’t keep records of the days that passed, but one day Thirteen decided that it was my birthday. He gave me a present and Zebra Cakes for a birthday cake. He even found me a candle. The present was a white lion with brightly coloured paisley patterns on its body. He’d tied an orange satin ribbon around its neck since he didn’t have a bag or a box to put it in. I named the lion Biscuit. I wasn’t too old for toys.
> > > > > > >I spent seven years with Thirteen. We split up when I thought I fell in love. The boy said he was from a compound on the coast. Thirteen didn’t trust him. But I was in love. So we parted ways, fortunately with no ill will. Thirteen claimed to be looking for someone, that’s why he opted out of going to the compound. There was no compound; I should’ve known Thirteen would be right. It was just another cult. I got out of there as quickly as I could and continued to the coast. When I got there, I did find a compound, this compound. It felt so safe. Before, my only home was in Thirteen’s arms, but I immediately knew that I could call this home. I don’t think Thirteen could have handled living in a compound. He was a restless man; he said that he was looking for someone, but I don’t think he was actually looking for a physical person.
> > > > > > >It’s funny and kind of crazy to think that anyone would want to bring a child into the world when it’s in a state like this, but the playground in this compound is almost constantly overrun with children. I used to go there when the sun started setting and the children were going home; I’d sit on the swing set and close my eyes and pretend that Thirteen was pushing me, that I was a little girl again. I could hear him telling me not to jump off from too high up. Only this time I had Biscuit, not Bixy. I was far too old for toys, but I didn’t worry about silly things like that anymore. It was one of those nights on that swing set that I met you. That’s when I knew. You had gotten yourself tangled up in the chains of one of the broken swings. I’m writing this here so that I won’t forget. I know you won’t.
> > > > > > >Rumour has it that Thirteen was infected. I’m told that he shot himself while he was still self-aware so that he knew for certain that he wouldn’t come back. You drove me to the neighbouring compound just a little ways down the coast, where we were told the incident had happened. I saw the body. It was Thirteen. He looked old. I thought he was old when I was a kid, but he was actually only 30 when we met. He looked old, but he looked good. And you were finally able to meet him, after all that I had told you about him.
> > > > > > >We burn deceased bodies as soon as possible, just in case they carry the virus. They gave me his ashes and we drove back to our home. You think I’m crazy for doing what I want to do. Everyone else does as well, but you’re different because you would never call me crazy; you wouldn’t ever let me know that you think what I want to do is utterly insane, but trust me, I know you do. It’s dangerous to leave the compound and strongly advised against doing so. You still drove me here. I don’t even know how I remembered to get back. It must be some primal instinct to be able to find your way back to places you have a strong connection to.
> > > > > > >The city is so much different than it was back then. It’s definitely a real ghost city now; almost all of the buildings look burned and we don’t encounter anyone. No one at all. Not even a single zombie. There’s no paint anywhere, either, although that might just be because we came in from the other side. We’re able to drive to the playground, saving me the agony of having to see those abandoned toys and hear the ghost children again. The plastic jungle gym is completely destroyed, only a few supporting posts still stick in the ground, pieces of faded chunky plastic litter the immediate area. The metal slide is also completely gone, probably rusted out of existence. I was half-expecting to find Bixy here, but he’s gone just like most of the park. The one structure that remains is the swings. This place still scares me. It makes me happy and terrifies me all at the same time.
> > > > > > >You notice that I’m on edge. I’m expecting the zombie hoard to return, even though my mind knows that they probably exhausted this hunting ground a long time ago. I can still hear the dull roar of their moans. I know it’ll be all right, though, because you’re here with me. You’re my good luck charm, after all.
> > > > > > >I spread Thirteen’s ashes all around the park: under the swing set, across the destroyed jungle gym, next to the tight, rusty coils where a seesaw once sat, and then towards the back of the park where the trees start. With your help I dig out a hole at the foot of the swing set. It’s narrow, only about the width of an arm; we drop in the baseball bat and bury no less than half of it. Next is my old denim backpack with the pleather flap. I wrap the straps around the bat twice. I set his revolver on top of the empty backpack. Biscuit became almost instantly dirty after I got him for my “birthday”. I cleaned him – and continue to clean him – the best I could in the compound, but his fur is permanently stained shades of grey and his paisley is very faded, no longer vibrantly coloured. That orange ribbon is ratty and tied in an impossible knot; you have to cut it off with your pocketknife. That gets tied around the middle of the bat.
> > > > > > >By the time I finish the memorial hot tears are rolling from my eyes. I did eventually grow out of all my crying, but I can’t help it in this moment. I clutch Biscuit against my chest. You take my hand. The sun is setting now. It robs the world of its features and turns everything into a silhouette. The swings are mere black paper cutouts against an intense orange backdrop. We sit quietly on the middle set of swings and sway gently. Back and forth. Back and forth.
> > > > > > >Thirteen claimed to be looking for someone when we parted ways when I was 18. In this moment of my reminiscing, a wind whips up, kicking sand across the scene and causing the sunset to grow hazy; it’s cold but gentle. The empty swings start to swing, pushed by invisible hands, and they sing under their own rust.
> > > > > > >I hope he found whatever he was looking for.
> > > > > > >> > > > > > >> > > > > > >> > > > > > >> > > > > > >> > > > > > >-Sincerely,
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