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Tracey Ward

WRITING ON THE WALL

Chapter One

It happened at Christmas. Quite a time for the world to end, but if we could pick and choose when Hell unhinged its jaw and tried to swallow us whole, we’d probably pick never.

As it is, I suppose it could have been worse. Being nine years old and watching your neighbor break through the sliding glass door like it was made of paper isn’t the most traumatizing thing ever. His blood spurting from shredded wounds and dead vacant eyes that somehow still see you, really see you? You can come back from that. After a few weeks I’d even get over the black blood that dripped onto my brand new Cabbage Patch Doll with the blond hair and pretty, smiling eyes. It’s fine. That’s all fine.

What you don’t come back from is watching him eat your parents. Literally, honestly, violently eat your parents. I saw it. All of it. Huddled behind the Christmas tree, peaking out through the fragrant green needles and soft glow of the multicolored lights, I watched it happen. And I remember. The sounds, the sight, the smell. I’ll never forget. Nearly ten years later I can relive it with perfect clarity, but I seriously try not to. Life is horrifying enough. I don’t need to borrow on past troubles.

Today my trouble is a wolf. Have wolves ever really been an issue in downtown Seattle before? I don’t know, I was just a kid when crazy came to town, but I’m willing to bet not. They’re everywhere now. A lot of animals are. The city has become a wilderness in a whole new way.

Used to be you had to worry about walking alone at night because you might get jumped by a member of a gang or a desperate soul pushed to the limit. Now you have to worry about getting jumped by an animal in a pack or a starving zombie desperate for your brain, not your wallet. There really aren’t that many of them left anymore, though. I mean, they’re around, don’t be fooled and don’t be stupid. I’m just saying it’s not like it was. Not like in the beginning. But right now I’m pretty sure the wolves outnumber the dead.

This one is a dark gray color, long and lithe. He’d be pretty if he weren’t so deadly. And if he weren’t in my way. I need to get out and get fresh water from one of the rain traps I’ve set up on other buildings farther out. I make sure to never do it on my own building aside from one small hidden bucket for emergencies. It’s about half full but I’m thirsty and it’s getting late.

I’m standing in the dark entryway of my building watching the animal wander the street, sniffing the knee high grass growing through cracks in the asphalt. The roads are a mess these days. Really makes me wonder where our tax dollars are going. I’m just about to step out and make a break for it while his back is turned when I catch movement in another doorway farther down the street. I freeze, waiting and watching, barely breathing. It moves again, too tall to be an animal and too precise to be a zombie. It’s another person. This bothers me more than anything else. I shrink back farther into the shadows, making sure I’m completely hidden, and I watch to see what the guy’s plan is.