DEADLAND - Beacon

A new day seems to bring new hope.

When I walk into the kitchen, a small tupperware box is waiting for me on the dining table. Father has his hands clasped together in front of it. There are dark bags under his eyes.

"What's this, dad?"

"Your lunch."

I stare at him, and have to bite my lip to stop it from quivering. Before I reach down to pick it up, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and squeeze him tightly. One of his hands comes up to pat me on the back.

"Thank you."

He says nothing until I reach down for the lunchbox. He holds my hand tightly.

"Be careful where you eat it."

"I will."

"Don't let them see you eat it."

"I won't."

He squeezes. It's probably meant to be affectionate, but the bones in my hand begin to grind.

"Let's get going."

I put the lunchbox in my backpack. I just looks to be what I didn't finish yesterday, which is more than fine for me. I flinch at the sudden, loud snap of Father loading the magazine into his hunting rifle and cycling the bolt. He screws the suppressor onto the end of the barrel. It’s a .22 calibre, so the pop of it firing is pretty quiet.

I pray that he doesn't need to use it.

As Father and I leave the apartment, the decaying commuters are already shuffling along the tarmac towards the dead metropolis downtown. Father pats me on the back as I walk down the stairs to the main road, and he climbs up the top floor to watch me go, and protect me if he needs to.

Or shoot me if the worst happens.

I fall into step with the dead and match their pace. This morning, they don't smell quite as bad. They pay me little heed or scrutiny as I slip into their ranks. There are a small group of what look like they could be youngish teenagers nearby, and I sidle up to them.

They grunt at me, and I grunt back, matching their steps. A mixture of girls and boys, I recognise three from school, but not the rest. Jenna, my old crush, has blood crusting around her mouth, and her glasses are broken. She's just eaten.

The march is long and slow. As I stride with them I look up and check the roofs. No-one is out today. The roof where the umbrella woman was before, watching over the street and the horde. She too is absent today. Maybe she has an eye on a different road, getting an idea of the dead numbers.

Whatever remains of the child within me decides she's some kind of commando or spy, working with the military, maybe some kind of scout. She's here to call in the positions of the dead so a precision airstrike can take them all out in one go. After what happened to the military at the beginning, that TV cameras captured to lovingly spread terror all across the world, I hope they're looking for a little payback.

The horde pass by a truck, a new one on the road that wasn't there yesterday. It has folded around the front of another car, the doors have popped open. Red covers the front two seats and the steering wheel. Packs are sitting on the back seats.

A little further down the road is a shoe.

A little further, what scraps remain of the driver and passenger.

Some of the dead pause to snack on what they can, including a couple of the teenagers. I carry on walking, trying not to look.

We're passing the umbrella woman's building now. I wish she was out today. Maybe she could have done something to help the driver and passenger.

As I check the other roofs, I still don't see her ... but I see something. It's new, like the truck, but it ignites an entirely different emotion.

On the roof of another building, an apartment block, a sheet has been draped. It is attached somehow to the edge, and the bottom corners are tied to two windows on the top floor. Painted on it is a sign, in black letters.

IS ANYONE STILL ALIVE?

I gasp, and as the dead around me begin to look in my direction, I turn the sound into a grunt. A couple of them grunt in response. One of them growls angrily, and I growl back.

They stop, and I stop.

As Jenna twitches in my direction, I fight the urge to run. I've seen too many people run for the panic to take hold of my feet.

She lets out a raspy moan, and I grunt back at her. Her eyes are unfocused, but pointed at me. After about a minute, most of the others turn away, but Jenna keeps looking at me. It is almost as if she is trying to remember a place where she's seen me before.

Eventually, she turns too, and the march resumes. My heart is hammering so loudly I hold myself back from trying to stifle it with my hand.

Another mile passes, and I'm careful to keep my eyes either level or on the ground just like the rest of them. However, I manage to steal a glance or two up at the apartment building. I can't see any movement in the windows or on the roof ... but that doesn't mean no-one's there.

The school gates loom at the end of a turnoff to the left. I follow the rest of the young dead as they shamble in that direction.

I just have to hold out for a little while. Get to the lunch break. Get to the end of the day. Get home.

Then I can tell Father.

The sign is new. There are people in that block.

People like us.