[ IP ] A warm day in the town of undead

Summer sun beat down on our shoulders, and birds chirped merrily from the trees behind us. It was the type of day that I used to spend chasing my little brother up and down the local creek until the miller came out to yell at us for making too much noise. We ’ d come home wet and tired as the sun began to dip behind the mountains. Mother would be out hanging clothes on the line, and Father would be arriving home from work. It was the type of day that I never wanted to end. Or it used to be, anyway. 
 
 “ What do you think? ” I asked Ismay. “ Infected? ” 
 
 We stood atop a hill overlooking a quaint, picturesque rural town. Waving fields of grain led up to stout stone walls, and beyond that was a bouquet of thatched roofs crowned by the grey stone bell tower of the local church. From a distance, all seemed well. The stout wooden gates were closed, but at least intact. I shuddered at the memories of what I ’ d seen in Saint Elyse, where flaming oil poured on the army of the dead had only served to burn down their last line of defense. And though we were still a good distance away, this would have normally been close enough to hear the moans of the undead. But luckily all was quiet. 
 
 “ Doesn ’ t look like it, ” Ismay answered, shifting his pack from one shoulder to the other. He didn ’ t complain; that just wasn ’ t his personality. But his weariness was clear as day. The way his feet dragged for a second too long with every step. The way he ’ d sway back and forth just trying to stand upright. How long had it been since we ’ d had a good night ’ s sleep somewhere nice and safe? So many months that I couldn ’ t even remember. Not that dates had any meaning anymore. 
 
 We watched for a bit longer; it never hurt to be careful. Though it looked like the village was clear of zombies, it also seemed to clear of *living* inhabitants. No farmers out tending to the crops, no wagons coming out the city gates… even the bells of the church remained silent when they should have rung out the hours. But that wasn ’ t necessarily a bad thing; we ’ d heard that some areas were evacuating into the mountains. Maybe the inhabitants of this little hamlet had gotten lucky. 
 
 “ All right, ” I announced to Ismay. “ That ’ s good enough for me. Let ’ s go see if we can scrounge up some food, eh? ” Depending on how long ago the town had evacuated, any leftovers would be tinged with rot. But I was willing to settle for some dried beef and aging cheese over fresh fruits and vegetables. Hell, with these untouched fields out here maybe Ismay and I could stay a while. Maybe ride out this plague. 
 
 We walked down the hill as fast as our worn, tired feet could carry us. The barred gates were easily circumvented by finding a large tree with branches growing up to the parapets of the wall. Ismay had always been a climber; on a sunny summer ’ s day like this, one would often find him grinning down at you from a dangerously high branch. I felt a twinge of sadness on seeing him scurry up the trunk. Instead of a happy boyhood climbing trees for fun, here he was running for his life and scavenging scraps. 
 
 He disappeared over the battlements and reappeared only moments later with a rope for me. I joined him up on top of the wall and immediately did a scan of the town from a closer vantage point. Still quiet. No one in the streets, dead *or* alive. Shops were all closed up, market stalls abandoned, and houses quiet. But the most important sign that it *wasn ’ t* infected was the smell. Corpses rotting under the summer sun produced an abhorrently unique smell that could spread for *miles* in a good wind. If there were Zombies anywhere in these streets, we would have known it in one sniff. But all I was getting was fresh air. “ I think this is it, Ismay, ” I told him, putting an arm over his shoulders. “ I think we could stay here a while. ” 
 
 We made our way off the wall and down to the market square. A few broken windows later yielded a jar of pickled beets to snack on, and a few other jars to save for later. Ismay smiled at me with purple stained-teeth, and for just a moment the light-hearted boy that I ’ d once known shone through again. *This town will be good for him*, I decided. “ You check for supplies over there, ” I told him, gesturing across the plaza. “ Bring out anything useful and just put it here in the square. As soon as we ’ ve found enough to sustain as for a while, we ’ ll start looking for a place to sleep. ” 
 
 I headed into the nearest shop, a clothing boutique. I was hoping to find some new boots for Ismay; his were wearing pretty thin. And maybe a good jacket, too: it was sweltering today, but winter came on suddenly in the shadow of the mountains and we needed to be prepared. 
 
 But it wasn ’ t that type of clothing store. Inside, I found fine silks and fancy dresses that needed a team of servants to put on. Finery that was utterly and completely nonsensical in this day and age. How would you run from a horde of undead with a giant, frilly hoop skirt and a bustier so tight that you couldn ’ t even breathe in it? I wandered the store a bit, lost in thought and wondering if we ’ d ever get back to a life where men and women wore things like this. A life where we didn ’ t have to live in fear of having to run. 
 
 Ismay ’ s scream brought me back to reality. I dashed out of the store and was confronted with a whole different town. The doors of the church had been thrown open, and the stench of the undead bottled up in there for who knows how long hit me with a force so strong that I was nearly knocked down. Shambling corpses came pouring out, spreading in every direction through the plaza. One man, who had presumably been part of the town watch based on his armor, shambled straight toward me with his jawbone barely still connected to the rest of his face. 
 
 “ I didn ’ t mean to! ” Ismay sobbed as he came running toward me. “ I didn ’ t mean to! I didn ’ t know they were in there! ” 
 
 “ Why would you go in the *church*? ” I shouted back. I ’ d given him very specific orders to search the *stores* for something usable! What would he find in there? But the moment I said it, I regretted it. The betrayal in his eyes was like a punch in the gut; I couldn ’ t blame the poor kid for exploring a bit. And besides, better that we find them *now* rather than getting taken unawares after settling in. “ Come on, ” I said, grabbing him by the hand and practically dragging him back to the part of the wall we ’ d come over. 
 
 The plaza was full within minutes, and the dead began shuffling down the side streets, permeating the town with their stench. Their dead eyes stared vacantly up at us, aware that we were here but not smart enough to know how to climb the ladder up to us. *Such a shame*, I thought as I remembered how nice and peaceful the town had seemed only an hour ago. 
 
 “ Come on, Ismay, ” I said. “ Let ’ s head back to the forest and make camp. ” His cheeks were still streaked with tears, and his teeth were still purple from the beets. *At least we got a meal out of this trip, * I told myself. *Wasn ’ t all bad. * 
 
 I took one last look at the town from atop that same hill. The village was still picturesque, but now marred with the scent of rotting flesh on the wind and the sound of gasping moans from long-dead throats. The church bell tower seemed to mock us, having hidden its deadly trap so well. 
 
 “ Next time, I won ’ t go anywhere without asking, OK? ” Ismay said. 
 
 I tousled his hair. He was always so optimistic; always looking forward to next time. Even after all we ’ d been through, he was the same old Ismay. “ Right. ” I said. “ Next time. ” 
 

