I raise my arms over my head, sword at my feet. To the right of me the other two girls raise their arms a little higher, hands shaking. Their eyes are wide, and they’re clearly terrified.
Bill stares at us for a long time. He’s sweaty and unsettled, like maybe lunch didn’t agree with him. “Sir, what seems to be the problem?” I ask, keeping my voice calm.
“You got bit,” he says, moving the rifle from one of us to the next.
I look at the other girls, one of whom has started crying quietly. Bill didn’t even bother to climb the wall, there’s no way he can know what went on right below it. I turn back to Bill. “No sir, none of us got bit. Sure, took us a bit longer to put down the shamblers than it should’ve on account of the poor quality of weapons we’re given, but we are all safe and sound.”
Bill turns the gun on me, then the girl next to me, then finally the one on the end. “No, you ain’t. Them shamblers bit you. Ain’t no way you’re coming off that wall!”
By this point Bill is yelling and gesturing, spittle flying, and I’m a little shocked at how he’s gone from spiteful bully to raving lunatic. I glance at the girls, to see if either of them was in fact bit, when thunder splits the humid air, warm fluid spattering my face. I turn to Bill, whose eyes are wide and surprised, and then back to the girls. The one closest to me is flat on her back, most of her jaw missing, eyes wide and staring.
A deep sadness rips through me, followed quickly by anger. I didn’t even know her name.
I whip back to Bill, who is now frantically chambering his next bullet. My anger loosens my tongue, and I drop my arms and bend down to grab my sword, gesturing at Bill with it. “What the hell is the matter with you? All you had to do was look at her arm! What kind of bastard just goes around shooting people?”
But Bill can’t or doesn’t hear me. He lets out a frightened squeal as his eyes go wide, staring at the girl on the end. She’s dropped her head and she’s starting to shake, the full body shudder of someone turning. A low growl comes from her throat, and Bill hastily raises his rifle. The shot goes wide, but it gets the girl’s attention, and her head snaps down, yellow eyes locked on Bill.
I bring the sword up and through her throat, hard and fast. The blade does the job, her body falling on the shambler side of the wall, her head tumbling the other way.
Bill is frozen, and so I climb down the wall, grabbing what handholds I can but mostly sliding. It takes a good while, and my temper is hot as I make my way, sword in hand. The dark cloud has settled over my thoughts once again, and I’m only half-aware of what I do.
I march up to Bill where he stands, wide-eyed. His joints finally loose and he tries to point the rifle at me, barrel shaking. I knock it to the side in one motion. He’s all out of shots, anyway.
I point the sword at him, the rusty tip only a few inches away from his nose, the blade dripping the poor girl’s lifeblood in the space between us. I’m sad and angry and a whole host of other feelings, but mostly I’m fighting very hard not to kill Bill.
“You just murdered an innocent girl, you cowardly bastard. All you had to do was check their arms! How hard is that?”
Bill just stares at me.
“Say something, you sad sack of manure! Give me a reason not to take your head off.”
Bill says nothing. He looks away, shaking. I want so much to end him here, to vent my anger and frustration and fear in a single swing of a rusty cavalry sword.
But I don’t.
I take a deep breath and wipe the blood off on Bill’s shoulder before I prop it on my own. If I kill him, I have no doubt that the sheriff will execute me while that no good pastor and most of the town looks on in judgment, and I ain’t fixing to die just yet.
“If you point a gun at me, you’d better use it, because next time I might not remember that a lady doesn’t go around lopping the heads off of random folks, you goddamn yellow-bellied jackass.”
I turn and walk back to the wall, climbing it easily this time. A few feet away Alfonse stands, openmouthed, waiting for me. I give him a long look. “Don’t. Say. A. Word.”
He nods and we pick back up where we left off, walking up and down our portion of the wall. The moans of the shamblers seem farther away now, like they’ve lost interest now that fresh meat isn’t in the immediate vicinity. Inside, my thoughts churn. This can’t be the first time Bill has shot an innocent person out of fear. Do we truly mean so little around here? I laugh mirthlessly at the obviousness of the answer. Maisie, and the other girl, the one I didn’t know . . . it wasn’t an accident that she ended up in a field full of shamblers. Maisie was always top-notch when I knew her; there’s no way she got bit during a routine patrol. So how did she turn?
I ain’t sure I want to know.
As I walk the wall for the remainder of the day, one thing becomes clear. There is no such thing as the good life in Summerland for Negroes. The only thing here for us is death.
Whatever form that might take.
I’m sending along some money for a new dress. The tobacco this year did
