Free All Our Tomorrows by Peter Cawdron

looks at me before he replies, thinking about his response.
    “If there really are tens of thousands of zombies over that hill, we’ll run long. Draw them away from the camp. She’s the bait.”
    “She knows that?” he asks, looking at me for some kind of confirmation.
    “She does,” Ferguson replies as I nod, and I’m impressed by the caliber of men Ferguson has under him. Although I’m also left realizing he just lied, at least in part. Finding his dead son escaped mention. As for me, I have no intention of being dragged along behind Ferguson on a bait run. He must know that. First chance I get, I’m going to venture out to find Steve.
    I’m nervous, but I want to press on. I’m pretty sure Marge has no idea about this. Ferguson’s going rogue, and that’s fine with me. There’s no way my dad would let me do this, but I have to go. I have to find out what happened to Steve, David and Jane. I can’t live the rest of my life trapped behind a chain link fence.
    Ferguson kicks gently at his horse and continues on as the guard walks back to the gate. As we trot away from the camp, I find myself settling into a gentle rhythm in the saddle. I take some of my weight on my feet, pushing against the stirrups and rocking with the motion of the horse. What had seemed impossible is now natural.
    My horse pulls alongside Ferguson and he talks freely.
    “We cannot risk being overrun again. Ours is the largest settlement in the south. If we fall, there’s nowhere left to go. Marge wants to sit tight. She wants to double our fortifications and wait for their next move, but even if we saw them coming, there’s no way we could stop a horde numbering in the thousands.”
    Dawn breaks in the distance. If I was doing chores back at the farm, I’d be up by now. I’d stop to admire the beauty of the pink and scarlet clouds streaking across the sky, but today those clouds look blood red. This could be the last dawn I ever see.
    “Smell, sound, sight,” Ferguson says. “In that order. Remember that.”
    “Yes, sir,” I reply, although I’m unsure where the sir came from as I don’t think I’ve ever used that word before.
    “Dealing with zombies is somewhat counterintuitive. Move in a large force and you’re loud and you stink. You’ll bring them right to you. The more zombies there are, the smaller the units you deploy. Small and nimble, that’s our best chance. Stay on the move.”
    I point at the zombie strapped behind Ferguson, saying, “And these guys cover our scent.”
    “Exactly.”
    We ride on in silence for a while.
    As we round the bend where Steve, Jane, David and I dropped down from the cart onto a small wooden bridge, Ferguson asks, “Tell me about him.”
    Him. He wants to know how David fared during our escapade.
    “Well, he was just like you,” I begin, and I catch a grin on Ferguson’s face. “He taught us what to look for, constantly using things around us to prepare us for what lay ahead. I don’t think he was ever nervous. If he was, it never showed.
    “A zombie jumped us on one of the forest tracks. David was ruthless. He dispatched him with a machete before Steve and I realized what was happening. Afterwards, we asked him about it. We asked him how many zombies he’d killed. David just laughed, saying, one.”
    “Haw haw,” Ferguson laughs. “Damn. I wish I could have seen that. He he he! You know, he had actually killed one before then, but we held it with ropes and poles, making it easy. I guess he figured that didn’t count.”
    Ferguson sounds distant, lost in fond memories. Although that particular thought isn’t something I’d consider fondly.
    “He was always so calm, so confident,” I say as we plod along on our horses. “Without him, we would have never made it.”
    Ferguson nods quietly as he sways in the saddle, moving with the rhythm of his horse. I’m not sure, but I could swear there are tears in his eyes.
    Shadows move in the woods, but as the early morning