When We Were Human Read online

  The guy stands, scooping my knife off the ground in the process. He puckers his lips for a second before offering me the weapon. The movement is slow and hesitant. He trusts me about as much as I trust him.

  I rip the blade from his hand and scurry back, but I don’t run. Why not? I can’t trust anyone. The past year of my life is proof of that.

  Still, there’s something about these two that makes me wish things were different. The way the girl’s quiet eyes follow my every move. The way the guy keeps his distance, as if he’s been burned too. They are like me. The realization is both terrifying and thrilling. Plus, I can’t hold the truth inside forever. I don’t want to be alone. Not anymore.

  The guy motions for his companion to stand. She steps over me and takes a place at his side. I don’t move from my crouched position, but I slowly and deliberately put away my knife. A peace offering they seem to understand. They both relax.

  “You’re going to need to get cleaned up.” The guy scratches his beard and jerks his head toward the trees at their back. “There’s a stream not too far into the forest.”

  The stiff material of my jeans clings to my legs when I stand. The creeper’s blood has started to dry, mixing with sweat and dirt to make a paste that cracks when I move. My skin itches like I’m covered in bugs. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to get clean as much as I do right now.

  The girl heads into the trees, and the guy motions for me to follow. When he takes up a slow pace behind me, the itching increases. He’s right on my heels like a driver with road rage trying to piss off the car in front of him. I crane my neck in an attempt to see what he’s doing, but he’s too close. No matter how I twist I can’t keep him and the girl in my line of vision at the same time.

  “I can’t see you.” The words shake, giving away my anxiety.

  “You don’t need to.” The musical note is back in his voice, making me freeze in my tracks.

  I turn to face him, not caring that the girl disappears completely from view. “You think this is funny?”

  He grins, revealing bottom teeth that are just slightly crooked and a dimple peeking out of his scraggly beard. “We’ve been coming across skinned invaders for weeks now. You weren’t exactly what I pictured when I imagined the person who did that.”

  When his eyes sweep over me, it makes my scalp tingle.

  It’s been a while since I’ve seen myself, but I doubt I look very impressive to this guy. I was never big to begin with, and years without the proper nutrition have taken their toll. I’m bony now. Wiry. A strong wind would probably knock me over.

  “Sorry to disappoint.” And I am. If I were more impressive-looking, maybe things would have turned out better for me the last year.

  The grin that stretches across his face reminds me of the first ray of sunshine after a storm. It’s been too long since I’ve seen a genuine smile. “Actually, I’m even more impressed now that I see you.”

  Leaves crunch behind me and I jump, whipping out my knife as I spin around.

  The girl studies me from six feet away. She doesn’t flinch. “The stream is just up here.”

  The guy chuckles as he sweeps by me, elbowing me lightly on his way past. “She’s jumpy, Tara, you better watch it.”

  They start walking, and I’m hit with the sudden fear of being left behind.

  I shove my knife into its sheath as I jog to catch up. “Tara?”

  The girl nods once, then jerks her head toward her friend. “And Walker.”

  “Eva,” I say to their backs.

  They both stop and turn to face me so suddenly that I almost plow into them. Tara’s expression is blank, but Walker studies me for about half a second before he throws his head back and belts out a loud laugh.

  “Eva?” he says, still chuckling.

  I don’t have a clue why he finds that funny. “Short for Evangeline.”

  He shakes his head and scratches at his beard. Particles of dust and dirt fall from the hairy mass, and I’m pretty sure a few bugs. “That sounds even less like a girl who goes around skinning invaders.”

  “You can’t judge people by how they look, Walker,” Tara says, not taking her eyes off me. Walker seems ready to accept me, but she’s hesitant. As if she doesn’t trust me.

  The feeling is somewhat mutual. Trust is a hard thing to hand out, especially after all this time alone.

  My skin tingles in a way that isn’t the least bit comfortable. “Where’s that stream?”

  I move before they have a chance to answer, but Tara is right there with me. She watches me out of the corner of her eye all the way to the water, and when I kneel, she does the same.

  The stream is small and shallow, but the water moves fast. My feet sink into the muddy bank, and a few inches away, a frog hops into the water. When I dip my hands in, I let out an involuntary sigh. It’s cold and invigorating. The perfect temperature to help me cool off on a hot summer day in Georgia.

  I scoop up handfuls and use it to rinse the black film from my face, neck, and chest. The water drips down over my filthy shirt and I have the urge to rip it off so I can rinse that too, but I’m not wearing a bra. It’s been years since I had one, and it never really seemed important in the grand scheme of things.

  When I start smoothing handfuls of water over the notches on my arm, Tara leans closer. “Who did that to you?”

  She brushes her fingertips over my self-inflicted cuts. The ones at the top are nothing more than raised scars, but the newer ones are red and angry-looking in places. Her fingers stop on the most recent one. Still fresh, the blood barely dry from my earlier cutting session.

  “Did the invaders do this?” She lifts her head and her eyes meet mine.

  There’s no way she believes this happened in a prison camp. But does she realize I did this to myself? I’m not sure what she’ll think of me if I tell her.

  “The creepers didn’t do this,” I answer flatly.

  “Creepers?” Walker stands behind us. He steps closer and leans down, trying to get a better look. “Play a little too much Minecraft?”

  I shrug and go back to the water, working at getting all the black goo off my arms. There’s no way to really get clean unless I strip, but with Walker here I’m hesitant. Men can’t be trusted.

  “It’s what the kids at the refugee camp called them,” I say, focusing on the water. “It stuck with me for some reason.”

  I sit back on my butt so I can untie my shoes, and Tara shoots Walker a look. “Why don’t you do a quick sweep of the area?”

  Walker exhales, giving off the impression that it’s the most tedious thing he’s ever had to do. “She doesn’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

  Tara’s eyes narrow and Walker rolls his, but he grins and nudges her with the toe of his boot. “Yell if you need me.”

  He jogs away, and as soon as he’s out of sight I strip off my jeans and toss them into the water. “Thanks.”

  “Walker wouldn’t hurt you. He’s a good guy.”

  I shake my head. “No such thing anymore.”

  “Good guys?”

  “Good.”

  I slosh my jeans around, watching the liquid turn gray as the blood is rinsed from the material. It’s carried away by the current, over rocks and plants, until it becomes so diluted by the stream it disappears completely. If only I could be washed that clean.

  “You can’t believe that,” Tara says. “Not really.”

  “Why’s that?” I pull my shirt over my head, and Tara glances away. My underwear is barely more than tattered rags, meaning I’m practically naked.

  “If you really believe there was nothing good left, what’s the point of going on?”

  My shoulders move up and down quickly, as if the shrug is too much effort. “I ask myself that every day. Other than the idea of revenge and the knowledge that I promised my sister I wouldn’t give up, I don’t have an answer for you.”

  Tara doesn’t respond, and I don’t look up from washing my clothes. I can’t
even guess at what she’s thinking.

  After a few seconds, her fingers run over my scars again. “You did this.”

  It isn’t a question, but I nod anyway.

  “Why?”

  “One cut for every day I live without my sister.” My throat tightens, but I swallow the tears. They’re acid in my stomach, burning my insides. “Two hundred and thirty-two total.”

  “What happens when you run out of room on your arms?”

  Her eyes hold mine. They’re big and round, but not scared. Concerned, maybe? It’s an emotion I almost forgot existed.

  “I have legs,” I say.

  “We’ve all lost people, Eva, but at least we’re still here. We won the war.”

  I snort and pull my clothes out of the stream, standing up to wring them out. When I twist the fabric, the water flows like a downpour, splashing into the stream below and probably getting Tara wet in the process. She doesn’t seem to mind.

  “No one won the war. Most of the creepers left, but not before they destroyed us. They took everything from us. Our humanity, our hope. We can’t come back from this, and you’re kidding yourself if you think we can.” I mean every word of it. We won the war, but there are no humans left. Only monsters who will do anything to survive. Some look human and some don’t, but they are all the same.

  Tara stands, and for a second I think she’s going to hug me. Then her eyes cloud over and her mouth turns down. She just shakes her head. “I choose to have hope, Eva.”

  I whip out my jeans, and the wet fabric slaps against the air. “Hope will get you killed.”

  Tara crosses her arms while I pull the wet tank back over my head. It’s cool against my skin, but in this humidity it won’t stay that way long. There isn’t much you can do to combat this kind of mugginess.

  “Aren’t you hot in those?” Tara asks when I pick up my jeans.

  “It’s not like I can run over to the mall to pick up something else.” The words are bitter, but my tone is just as monotone as usual. It’s almost like I’ve forgotten how to be sarcastic. Imagine that. A teenager who doesn’t know how to use sarcasm to her advantage.

  Tara grabs her pack off the ground and starts rifling through it. “We can cut them off.” She pulls out a pair of scissors and gives me a hesitant smile.

  I shake my head, imagining how wonderful it will feel to have the air on my legs. “I feel like a moron for not doing that weeks ago.”

  4

  By the time Walker comes back, I’m sporting a pair of cut-off jean shorts. In earlier days they probably would have been featured on some kind of fashion police reality show. One side is just slightly longer than the other, and they’re too short. My legs haven’t seen the light of day in over a year, and with how pale my skin is, I’m liable to blind someone. Then there’s the hair. I should be embarrassed by the fact that my legs could be mistaken for a Wookie’s—and my armpits aren’t much better—but it would be stupid to care about any of those things now.

  Walker is munching on a dirty wild carrot and his free hand is bursting with more. When Tara’s eyes light up, he flashes her a grin and tosses a few her way.

  “Where were you headed before you and that invader crossed paths?” Walker asks through a mouthful of carrot.

  Saliva fills my mouth at the sight of the orange veggies. I swallow. “I was about to check out the nearest refugee camp, see if there are any provisions left over.”

  Unlike Walker, Tara rinses her carrots in the stream. I do my best not to watch her every move, but the rumble from my stomach gives away how hungry I am.

  Walker raises his eyebrows. “Hungry?”

  Tara stands up from cleaning the carrots and holds one out to me. “Have you eaten lately?”

  “I’m not stealing your food.” I take a step back.

  Walker rolls his eyes. “Are you holding a gun on us?”

  “I don’t have a gun.”

  “Not what I meant and you know it.” He takes the carrot out of Tara’s hand and practically forces it into mine. “She’s offering, be grateful.”

  The carrot is cool from the water and still wet. Holding it in my hand feels like I’ve just won the lottery, and I can’t help licking my lips. But nothing in this life is free, and I don’t want to owe anyone a thing.

  “I can’t take your food.” The words are meek and there isn’t the slightest bit of conviction behind them.

  “We’ll be fine,” Tara says.

  She crunches into the carrot, and my stomach rumbles again. I clench my lower lip between my teeth and stare at the carrot as if it’s the difference between life and death. Maybe it is, I’ve barely eaten lately.

  Tara’s brown eyes follow my movements when I finally raise the carrot to my mouth. I crunch into it and have to resist the urge to close my eyes. It’s crisp and sweet and probably the closest I’ve ever come to a bite of heaven.

  “Refugee camp is useless,” Walker says between crunches. “We just came from there, wasn’t much left. The prison camps are more useful.”

  My throat goes dry and the carrot turns to dirt in my mouth. Swallowing it is like ingesting a handful of pebbles, and my empty stomach immediately convulses. I’ve managed to avoid going back to the prison camps for almost a year. If I went my whole life without seeing one, I’d be okay.

  But if it’s the only place to find food…

  Tara glances toward Walker, and he shrugs.

  There they go again, doing that silent communication thing.

  She starts gathering her things, and she doesn’t even glance my way when she says, “You’re welcome to join us.”

  I take an involuntary step back. “No. I mean, I can’t.”

  My throat is thick and I have no clue if the pounding in my chest is from apprehension or excitement. There’s something about going with these people that I find appealing. I’ve been alone for too long. At the same time though, the idea of trusting another person makes my body tremble.

  “Thanks for the carrot and all, but I just don’t know. Being with other people—”

  “Have you been alone since the end?” Walker asks.

  I shake my head as I slowly chew the rest of my carrot. I need time to think before I respond. It can be complicated and dangerous being with other people, but being by myself is lonely and I’m just not sure how much longer I can do it. Sometimes the silence is so oppressive I want to scream just to convince myself I’m still alive.

  Maybe that’s really why I make the notches in my arm. The pain reassures me that this isn’t all just some hellish nightmare I can’t wake up from.

  “I was with some people for a while,” I say quietly. “It didn’t go well.”

  Walker nods and Tara looks my way. Her mouth is turned down, and there’s something in her eyes that tells me she more than understands what I’m talking about.

  She crosses her arms over her chest and gives herself a hug. “We aren’t like that.”

  Walker scratches at his beard, then pulls his hat down until it’s over his eyes. It makes me wonder if he’s trying to hide something, but the gesture doesn’t scare me. I really believe they’re telling the truth, but for some reason that’s even more frightening than if they were holding me at gunpoint. I just don’t know if I can allow myself to get close to anyone again. To feel hope and believe things can get better. If I do that and lose it all, there’s no way I’ll recover a second time.

  With a half-eaten carrot hanging from his mouth, Walker slings his pack over his shoulder and shrugs. He takes a big bite, and the crunch it makes rings through the quiet forest like a gunshot.

  “Just go with us as far as the camp. If it doesn’t work out we can part ways there. You might find you enjoy the company.” His blue eyes sparkle when he grins and he starts to walk, heading back the way we came.

  Tara gives me a shrewd look, as if she can read my mind and knows all my secrets and fears. Then she follows Walker.

  My feet have sprouted roots. I watch them walk away, holdin
g my breath while all the things that can go wrong flash through my head like some kind of macabre slideshow. I’ve almost convinced myself to turn the other way when they reach the edge of the forest and my feet start to move on their own. Not away from them, but toward them. Toward companionship and hope and possibly a future.

  I have to jog to catch up, and when I fall into place beside Tara, she gives me a tentative smile that makes her look even younger. Walker just grins and hands me another carrot. This one is covered with dirt, and for a brief second I consider cleaning it off with my shirt. Walker watches me with one corner of his mouth turned up, and when I take a big bite of the filthy vegetable, he chuckles quietly.

  The sun is hot and unforgiving as we walk. It pounds on my head, scorching my scalp through my tangled hair. The bald spot created by the creeper is especially sensitive, and within minutes a dull ache has begun to work its way through my skull.

  We travel in silence for what seems like hours, but it’s a comfortable silence. I don’t ask where we’re headed or if they know what they’re doing, but a million other questions flip through my head. I’m dying to know who these people are. How long they’ve been together, how they met, who they’ve lost, and how all of this makes them feel. I’m not even sure I know the answer to the last question for myself, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering how the end of civilization has affected them.

  “We’re only about five miles from Atlanta,” Walker says out of nowhere, breaking through the silence surrounding us. “So we should be there around lunchtime.”

  I stop walking.

  “Atlanta?” My lower lip quivers, making the word shake. The shiver continues its way through my body until I’m afraid my legs will give out from the violence of it. Then I’ll collapse into a useless heap in the middle of the scorching road and never be able to move.