Thursday, September 13, 2012

The Infected: Fogo Island (14)

fourteen: campfire confessions

We decided to rest for awhile, question of winning back our strenght. Both Malory and I were exhausted, dehydrated, hungry. Overall, we needed a break. The snow had ceased but the brutal winds continued dusting the white shit around me. Malory's brilliant idea of bringing a tarp with her surely saved us from hypothermia.

She was doing just that, setting the tarp, when I approached her with a semi-frozen can of corn.

"This is all we have left. How far 'til we reach the others?" I ask, half expecting a grunt for a response. Malory hasn't been very chatty since the attack. A part from the odd instructions here or there, not much was heard from the English lass with the fiery red hair.

"Another few hours walk. We'll leave first thing tomorrow. Save the food for then." Her words are stiff, her pronounciation stiffer. The cold is getting to her too.

"We have to eat, Malory. We won't have the strenght to survive the night." I look out at the vast forest ahead. White everywhere. "Not in these conditions."

Malory ties up the final knot and turns hastily to face me, her face twisted with either anger or confusion. "And what would you know about these conditions? You grew up in Del Rio, Texas - bloody gated communities." She says and flips a corner of the tarp over and I see now that she created a makeshift tent.

"It isn't gated. And excuse me, I'm trying my best here. I didn't ask for this, to be brought here and misled. You don't know me, Malory."

"Didn't we already establish the fact that I do know you?" Malory answers with a grin and a chuckle. She sidesteps me and enters the tent she just made. I quickly follow.

"You don't know me." I shoot back, placing my palms on my heart. "The real me."

Malory stops and briefly looks into my eyes. "Is this your way of making me feel sorry for you?" She can be so dry and so...British some times. She kneels down and begins what looks like early preparations for a campfire.

I take a step forward. I feel so vulnerable - I've been acting so different lately. Chopping off my hair, acting without thinking, lashing out at Felix. It could be the pregnancy, which i'm starting to think went terribly wrong. I haven't felt her - it - I haven't felt it moving in weeks. I feel alone.

"I was bullied." I start, hoping to get Malory's attention. I do. "Yeah, I was the school's punching bag. Rich kids didn't want to be my friend because I wasn't into shopping or gossip. Middle class thought I was just some another snob. Poor kids didn't even notice I existed. I had David. I had nothing to live for but him."

Tears start forming in my eyes. I don't even look at Malory. I just continue. "David was everything to me. When shit hit the fan and I left Del Rio with Felix, I had no doubt in my mind that David was dead. Stupid me, if anyone could survive the zombie apocalypse it would have been him. I went on living thinking he was dead. But he wasn't. And the moment I found out was the moment Aleksandra put a bullet in him. I found comfort in Felix. Stability is what keeps us sane, Malory. Habits. Felix was a familiar face, someone I knew and trusted."

I notice i'm rubbing my belly and judging by Malory's teary eyes and knowing glance, she has too.

"I'm pregnant, Malory." I say and then the waterworks really start.

Malory crawls towards me and wraps her arms around my cold body. We cry togheter for the unborn baby. We cry for the world that is no more. We cry for our loved ones.

"I killed Greta. I don't know why. I killed her." Malory lets out between sobs.
I don't want her to feel guilty for me. I know the game she is playing, sensed it from the moment we left the camp. No, I don't want her sympathy. I want revenge. And right now, Malory is eating from the palm of my hand.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I act.

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