Writing on the Wall by Tracey Ward Page A

buck saunters into the clearing, munching on grass and occasionally surveying his surroundings. I’m surprised he doesn’t smell the Lost Boys sitting so close by or hear one breathing. The fact that none of them have coughed, yawned or even swallowed too loudly is amazing to me. I guess because I don’t see them hiding from others the way I do, all I see them do is walk through the world like they own the place, I assume they aren’t any good at sneaking. But today I stand, or sit with dead legs, corrected.
    Suddenly the blond guy is up and on top of the buck. It happens so fast and is so unexpected I actually gasp. The buck is just as startled as I am. Probably more so. He goes to run but the guy has a hold on him and they both stumble slightly. Ryan and the older guy jump up and grab onto the buck as well. The thing puts up a hell of a fight, ducking his head down and using his sharp horns to keep the men at bay. Ryan takes a point to the arm and I watch as red blood blossoms on his shirt. He doesn’t slow down though and I’m not even sure he can feel it through the adrenaline. They struggle with the buck, almost losing it at one point before the older guy grabs on to the thing’s hind legs above the knee. He’s taking hooved feet to the shins which I know will bruise for days but he holds on. There are shouts and cries, grunts and panic, but then it all goes silent. The buck collapses to the ground and I look around in surprise, wondering what did it.
    Until I see the blood. It’s fanning out over the green grass making it look shiny and wet like it just rained. Only it’s red. Vibrant and angry red. And there’s the sharp eyed guy standing in front of it, dripping red knife in hand, blood splatter across his shirt, neck and face, and he’s grinning. He’s grinning down at the expired animal at his feet and the light in his eyes and the knife in his hand make my blood run cold.
     
    ***
     
    I don’t tell Ryan that I saw him. I don’t tell Crenshaw either. Ryan would be excited, Crenshaw would be mad and at this point I don’t even know how I feel about it so I keep it to myself. I’m good at that.
    What I do tell both of them is that I’ve seen a lot of Colonists lately. The zombies are still in full force but I’m getting used to that again. They’ve always been there, it seems. An omnipresent threat that I can put in the back of my mind and deal with on auto pilot. They’re dumb and predictable and I don’t even have to kill them if they see me. If I’m tired or loaded down with supplies, I have no problem evading a Risen and letting them keep on shuffling. All it takes most of the time is crossing the street and crisis averted. Zombies were a big problem in the beginning when everyone and their mother was becoming one, but now with the humanity herd thinned down to those of us who can survive it and the number of people in the area outnumbering the zombies, I don’t worry about it nearly as much. Probably not as much as I should.
    But right now my biggest worry is the Colonists and their recruitment tactics. It’s been a month since the rise in the zombie population thanks to the loss of one of their Colonies. After the fight and fire I saw in the street they stopped with the helping hand routine and went back to rounding people up like strays. I’ve warned Crenshaw, though he met the news with his usual disinterest and sage, wizardly advice:
    “Luck favors the prepared.” he intoned, swaying his staff back and forth like the swinging pendulum of a clock. I’m pretty sure he meant to hypnotize me. “Keep thy blade and wits sharp.”
    Spoken like a fortune cookie from Frodo’s kitchen.
    I left a message for Ryan the other day warning him as well.
     
    Colonists are the new plague.
    Watch your back.
     
    Don’t I know it.
    Do you nee
     
    His message is cut off and my heart slams to a halt. That’s all he wrote. He must have been interrupted, but by what? A Risen? A Colonist? Another