Page 3 of The Dead Don't Talk
When the world was different and the infection didn’t exist. When the water didn’t need special treatment to be consumed and the animals were safe to eat while rare.
And the skies didn’t dump blood from time to time.
So, he’s got some interesting perspectives but mostly it just seems like story telling because he wasn’t even alive early enough to know what to do with shit like a four-oh-one queue—or was it kay?Who cares.Little fibs are what he tells, I just knowit. Half-truths that keep some kids interested and others, namely me, involved just enough to pass the lesson and move on to the rest of life. Adulthood, or whatever you consider twenty-three. Which I did. Three fucking years ago.
I even have my own place now that I’ve taken this position with the Guards, and don’t have to bake for the community anymore. That shit got old quick, having to hand out loaves every morning to every residence after manning the ovens all night long, only to get sneers in return from most people.
They don’t like my pink hair. It’s like a weird reminder of the rain or some shit. All I did was use the beets we grow to make it not light anymore the second I was old enough to make my own decisions.
And! There’s only one roommate at my new place. She’s chill and all but when I’d expected to havegirl timeand talk boys, she let me on a little secret.
My roommate is as gay as I am.
Which means the elders pairing us up to live together does the exact opposite of their expectations of things like making babies and being in a relationship.
So, while I talk boys, she talks about eating cookies and then steals my clothes. It’s a great time.
“Hey there, honeypot.”
Speak of the devil!
I hiss at Cassia as we cross paths, both heading to the back of the truck that brought us all out here for practice rounds. It barely runs, the solar panels rarely holding the power from the sun, but it gets us out here far enough to do our jobs.
Cassia just laughs and jabs my ass with the butt of her rifle, her short hair blowing in the slight breeze.
“Hey now! Be careful where you put that thing.”
She leans in close, close enough for only me to hear when she says, “Why? Think you might like it?”
“Bro, are you flirting with me?” Cassia grins big and cheesy and tosses her shit into the back of the truck with the rest of the crew.
There’s a small bunch of us this go round, just four wistful souls training to put our lives on the line to keep the rest of the community safe. To patrol the space between the barricades and our homes. Keeping out anyone and anything that might be dangerous.
At least, that’s my intention. Not necessarily to risk my life, but todo somethingwith myself besides make pancakes and drink with my friend. I never even thought I’d make it into the Guard with my thin physique and tendency tobe too muchortoo loud. Not to mention my inability to be still for more than a few moments.
I just needed… more.
Something to just make me feel something.
Swear, it makes sense.
In the three weeks since Cassia came back with the approvals for us both to join the Guard, my aim has improved a ton, and we’ve both moved up to the next phase. Which means releasing us to the wild for individual rounds is in thenearfuture so long as Moros, the grumpy fuck, gives us the go-ahead.
All we have to do is finish these last few supervised rounds.
While we’re having a blast, the other two recruits look like they’re half asleep and ready to accept anything other than this.
How are they not as jittery as me right now?
We all load up, me in the passenger seat because Moros is driving, the other heathens in the open bed of the truck, and head to the next post along the outstretch of our land. The truck sputters along the entire way, showing its distain with each foot we grow closer to the next post.
The community’s reach goes miles out in each direction, leaving the livable part protected in the middle with plenty ofspace to hunt, grow, and live. The Outskirts between the two spaces are outside of the barricades, but still consideredours, and monitored, though not as heavily.
Which is part of what our new jobs will be. Keeping this space quiet. Free from decomposed and anyone else intended to do us harm. Some will end up on the barricades as part of the rotation, while the rest of us will take turns coming out here. To the Outskirts. Where all the fun shit is.
This is just training, a dry run for doing actual rounds before we’re released on our own shifts in the coming days, but it’s no less daunting to bump along the barely-there paths and outsmart the already dead that wander too close.
And Moros is kind of a hard ass when it comes to this.
