The pair moved around the classroom fluidly, dragging chairs and tables to the door to build a blockade.
Marle just stood and watched. He didn't want to get in the way, for the past few minutes, they'd been the ones saving his life. He felt more like a liability than anything else. Still, he knew he had to do something, one way or another.
"This should do." The guy studied the rough blockade they'd built. It looked sturdy enough.
"That's if they even make it upstairs," the girl chipped in.
"Yeah, that's right." He glanced at her and nodded, the first time the two of them had agreed on anything since they'd met.
He crossed to the far end of the room, opposite where Marle stood frozen, and peered through the window. His expression stiffened.
"Them shitheads are closing in fast."
The girl walked over to look, and Marle joined her a moment later. His eyes caught the sun, already more than halfway through its descent. A heavy weight settled in his chest, making it hard to breathe. His eyes stung, itched something felt wrong. The last time he'd felt like this was back in elementary school. Like every other quiet kid, he'd taken his share of bullying. But why now? Why would his body choose this moment to react that way?
"They're creepy as fuck," the girl said, just before a tear slipped down Marle's cheek. "That's why we call them Creepers. Wasn't my name some little kid back at camp came up with it."
He stayed quiet. The number of Creepers advancing on the school from that direction looked to be more than twenty.
"Over there." The girl pointed to a building half a mile off, just past the incoming Creepers. "It's a clinic. We were supposed to grab supplies for our wounded. We could've shot our way through, but we're low on ammo and—" She bit her lip and didn't finish. "What about you? How'd you end up here?" She sat down and leaned her back against the wall.
"I don't know," Marle answered.
"You don't know?" She raised an eyebrow and glanced at her partner across the room. He scoffed and looked away. Marle noticed, but at this point he couldn't bring himself to care what the guy thought.
"I just woke up."
"You woke up? Like, wake-up woke up, or… how long were you out?"
Marle sat beside her, his legs nearly brushing hers. He crossed his arms over his chest and kept going.
"My school, we were on a seminar trip to Paris when all this started. The plane crashed and I—"
"Wait, wait. Let me get this straight. Your school was on a field trip—"
"Seminar."
"Field trip, seminar, same shit." Marle nodded. "You guys were flying to Paris — that plane." She pointed out the window. "That's the one from your school?"
"Yeah, that's the one I woke up—"
"You survived a plane crash? That's badass." She pulled in closer, too close. "Shit, I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Rebecca, Rebbs for short. That grumpy one over there is Jack."
"Marle."
"Marle. Guess that means you're coming back to camp with us. We've got a lot of mouths to feed, so you'll need to pull your weight. Okay?"
Marle nodded and watched her clear a patch of the dusty floor beside him. She rested her head on her arm and shut her eyes, apparently asleep. He wondered how she could manage that, given the circumstances.
He was exhausted, joints aching, head pounding, lips cracked, stomach hollow. His vision blurred, and through it he caught Jack staring at him with that same sour look. He let his head drop onto his arms as sleep dragged him under.
***
"Marle! Marle! Wake up!"
The voice sounded far off, but feminine. It reminded him of a girl from the orphanage, Christabel, ten years old. Like everyone else there, he'd never much cared for her. But whenever his alarm failed him and Mother Maryann was too busy to come knocking, Christabel was the only kid who'd bother banging on his door to get him moving. He missed those days, even if they hadn't been good ones.
"He's not waking up."
The voice again.
"Is he dead?"
"No, he's not!"
"Fine, I'm leaving him. Not dying for no stranger."
"God, you're the worst."
Rebecca stood, drew her leg back, and drove her foot into Marle's gut hard enough to knock the air out of him.
"You're awake! Sorry about that, but we need to go right now."
Marle was disoriented, a sharp ringing in his ears, his vision swimming before slowly adjusting to the dark.
"We need to leave now!"
Rebecca hauled him to his feet and steered him toward the window. Jack held the door, bracing the blockade, buying them time to jump.
"What happened?" Marle asked weakly.
"I'll explain on the way. For now, get it together and jump." She shoved him out the window. He landed on his feet and rolled onto his back. Rebecca and Jack followed, both landing clean and springing up, ready to run but Marle was still on the ground, doubled over from the kick.
"Hey, sorry about that, but you really need to run."
The Creepers were already closing in from both sides of the building.
Marle pushed himself up, his vision clear now, and saw them bearing down fast. He grabbed Rebecca's hand and they took off toward the clinic.
His legs felt like lead. A sharp pain shot down his throat and into his lungs, like tiny needles lodged there. His vision blurred again, his breath left him, and his legs buckled. Marle hit the ground hard, Rebecca's voice fading into the distance as his consciousness slipped away.
***
One side of his body burning warm, soothing, chasing off a cold he felt like he'd been carrying for as long as he could remember. He let himself sink into it, savoring the warmth spreading across his left side. Hovering somewhere between sleep and waking, memory came back to him in pieces, gentle rather than jarring, until the last thing he recalled surfaced: running for his life, jumping through a window, being surrounded.
Marle jolted upright out of his sleep, confusion crashing over him as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. It was night, hard to make out faces clearly by the light of the bonfire in front of him — the same fire that had been warming him.
His vision sharpened. A man sat on a log just across from him, somewhere in his late sixties or early seventies, a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder and held ready, his eyes fixed warily on Marle. At the other end of the fire sat a priest in black overalls with a white clerical collar, and beside him another man not old, not young either fit-looking under his canvas trousers and plain white shirt. All three stared at Marle like they'd seen a ghost.
A few seconds passed before Marle asked the only thing anyone in his position would. "Where am I?"
"You're not dead?" the old man asked, his stare heavy with suspicion.
"No, I'm not—" It was only then Marle noticed the plastic sheet wrapped around his lower body. Looking back at the men, he caught how tense they all were and only then noticed the man in the plain white shirt had a gun, and was raising it as he stepped closer.
"You told me he was dead," the man said to the priest.
"His pulse was gone. There was nothing," the priest said.
"Then explain how he's sitting up talking to us."
"I don't know what to tell you. There was nothing when Jack and the girl brought him in."
"And now, miraculously, he's awake."
"Miracles happen."
"Fuck, here we go again."
The two men fell into a low argument between themselves. The old man never looked away from Marle, alertness locked in place. Marle was already terrified of him.
"Are you a demon?" the old man blurted out.
"No — no, no. I'm alive, I'm human. Human and alive." Those were the only words Marle's brain could manage under the old man's stare, sharp enough to cut.
"Okay, that's enough, Ben." The man in the plain shirt reached a hand toward Marle. Marle pulled the tarp off his lower body and took it —the grip firm, hard as ston.
"I'm Matthew. That's Ben, and Reverend Mark." He nodded toward the other two.
"I'm Marle."
"Marle." Matthew patted his shoulder. "Thank God you're alive." He forced a smile and stepped away from the fire.
The fire sat at the edge of a campsite bordering the forest, a handful of tents pitched a short distance off. Matthew ducked into one of them, and moments later a woman and a young boy stepped out of the same tent.
"You were dead," Priest Mark said abruptly, the firelight carving deep, striking shadows across his face. Between him and Ben, Marle wondered exactly what kind of company he'd stumbled into.
The mother and child came closer, the woman carrying a plate in one hand and holding the boy with the other. A warm smile crossed her face as she sat beside Marle and handed him the plate — heated canned beans. Whatever restraint Marle had left evaporated, he devoured it. The meal barely touched the hollow ache in his stomach, but between the look on the woman's face and the state of the camp around them, he knew better than to ask for seconds.
The boy held out a can of water.
"Thank you," Marle said.
"No problem."
Small as it was, the meal felt like something being put back together inside him.
"I'm Anna. And my little survivor here is William." She pulled the boy in closer, like she couldn't stand the thought of him out of her arms.
"I'm Marle."
"I know. It's a miracle you made it, you should thank Jack and Rebecca for that."
At the mention of their names, another piece slid into place.
"Rebbs," Marle murmured, almost without meaning to.
"That's her. Sounds like you two are already well acquainted."
"I guess."
"They're all asleep now. Rough day —we've all had a rough day." Anna's cheerful tone faded as she glanced toward the two men across the dying fire. She turned back to Marle. "Tomorrow you'll meet the rest of the group." She smiled and stood to leave, her son still held close. "You're the first new person we've come across in over a month. It's nice you know, in a way knowing there's still people out there living through all this."
Marle leaned forward, almost reaching for her. Confusion and curiosity tangled together until the only thing left was to ask. "All this? What is all this?"
First it was the flight attendants losing their minds. Then the whole world seemed to just stop. Then the dead people Rebecca called Creepers. And now people living in tents in the woods. None of it added up, and answers were the only thing Marle needed.
Anna turned her face from the firelight and walked back to her tent without another word. It was the priest, from the far side of the fire, who answered, his voice low and rasping.
"This. Is the end times. This is rapture."