Free What We Left Behind by Peter Cawdron

when David whispers.
    “No noise. It’ll bring them in from miles around.”
    The zombie on the track is close enough that his wounds are obvious. He’s lost an arm at the elbow. His clothing is torn. A few wisps of hair cling to his head, but he couldn’t have been more than twenty when he turned. His skin is a sickly green. His lips have rotted away, revealing yellow teeth.
    Zee stumbles on back into the forest, walking in roughly the same direction as the first zombie.
    “We’re good,” David whispers. “No need to panic.”
    Really? Tell that to my bladder.
    David sniffs the air, saying, “Can you smell that?”
    Smell? Smell is the last thing on my mind, but he’s right, I can smell the rotten flesh hanging from the zombie.
    “Moving from downwind to upwind,” David whispers. “We can smell him. He can’t smell us. He probably caught a hint of our scent, but he’s moving on the wrong angle. From here, our scent will grow weaker.”
    Already, the zombie has staggered off the path.
    We stay crouched in the grass beside the track for the best part of five minutes. I don’t like crouching as it’s uncomfortable and it’s hard to see through the grass. There could be other zombies out there and we wouldn’t know it until they were right on top of us.
    “Why are we waiting?” I ask. I’m shaking. I can’t crouch like this for too long. I slip the pack off my back and sit on it, resting my thighs.
    David replies, “I don’t know if they caught a whiff of our scent or if it was just dumb blind bad luck that brought them across our path. By sitting tight, we give them the chance to show their hand. If they circle back, we take them out, but we’ve got to use baseball bats and machetes, no guns. No noise and there’s no horde.”
    Take them out. I feel stupid. I am so grossly unprepared for life outside the commune fence.
    Steve hands me some beef jerky, saying, “You want some breakfast?”
    Breakfast? I want to scream at him. We were just on the breakfast menu for a couple of zombies and he’s hungry? Get a grip, Haze, I scold myself.
    Steve seems a little confused. He can’t read my inner turmoil. I guess I’m not giving too much off in terms of body language, so he keeps holding the strip of dried meat out to me. I smile politely, say, “Thanks,” and take the jerky from him while reminding myself not to be a jerk.
    Jane’s facing backwards, watching the approach from the rear.
    David takes a swig of water and offers his canteen around. We all have a few sips, and finally we’re on the move again. It can’t be much more than seven or eight in the morning and already I’m exhausted.
    It’s going to be a long day.

Chapter 05: Dancing
    I never thought I’d enjoy the sound of birds singing in the trees so much, but it turns out they’re the best form of early warning we have. Although zombies pose no threat to birds, they somehow sense things aren’t right when they’re around and will fall silent.
    Occasionally, they’ll make a racket when a zombie strays close to a nest. Either way, they help us avoid another five or six zombies as we make our way down to the suburbs on the outskirts of the city.
    Each time David stops, we crouch, peering through the foliage looking for Zee. Most of the time, I don’t see anything other than tree trunks and the leaves of low-lying shrubs. Steve seems better at picking them out than I am. We haven’t seen any runners. Fresh zombies are rare, but I’m aware that they’re the worst. From the stories I’ve heard, you have little or no time to react.
    The few zombies I see through the trees blend into the forest. They’re grubby, muddy, and their skin has a sickly green tinge. It’s not the spring green I associate with growth, though, it’s more like grass wilting under a hot summer sun.
    “If we get into a fight,” David says, and then he stops himself and starts again. “When we get into a fight. Drop your pack. Your backpack is a lifeline to