Hairs tingled on the back of Eights' neck as he looked back for what seemed like the hundredth time. The forest seemed different somehow… Wild mint grew in abundance where mushrooms and wild carrots only showed signs of being dug up by animals, almost as if humans were no longer foraging in the area.

Quickening his pace, pushing through the thick brush before stopping a distance from the old house. Its window panes were dusty and looked broken, and the small garden in front was overgrown.

 Taking Nine by the hand, Eights led Nine around the perimeter of his old house, taking their time to check every inch of the forest for any sign that the numbered might have tracked them there, and though they didn’t find anything, he couldn’t help the panic crushing his chest. His house was a wreck, but he couldn’t move closer, not until he knew it was safe— a large boulder at the side of the house caught his eye, and he dropped the Nine’s hand.

“What’s that?” Nine asked.

“It wasn’t there before.” A sinking feeling dropped to his stomach as he pushed past branches, barreling to the spot.

“Wait,” the desperate whisper whirred across the clearing. “It could be a trap.”

But Eights continued on. His mind replaying something his grandfather once told him. I set the trap, but I couldn’t just leave all those bodies there… I had to do something. As if building a grave, I rolled a large boulder over and carved, ‘Though the dead lying here are murderers, thieves, kidnappers, and cannibals, I felt as though the world needed to know that they lived, and died.’

Eights fell to his knees in front of the boulder. Foggy-headed and blurry-eyed, he rose a shaking hand to the grime and muck covering the boulder. Moss squished between his hands as the words began to appear,

‘Here lies

Jonathan Clark

a loving father

2126-2224.’

“Oh, Eights! Was that…” Nine’s voice trembled behind the boy as he wiped the muck against his worn cargo pants. In some ways, the motion—back and forth, back and forth—was calming.

He knew; something in him always knew. After all, when Eights was taken, his grandfather had fought back. Grandpa’s promise lingered in the air: ‘Don’t worry, Eights, grandpa will always be here to protect you.’

“Liar!” Tears dripped onto the tanned fabric as he continued wiping his hands, back and forth, and back, and forth, and back…

“Eights?”

“You can’t protect me if you’re dead!”

A ripple of emotion erupted up to his throat, and before he knew it, he was yelling at the sky. The clear blue tormented him, as if it had the audacity to not match his emotions at that moment. Once more he screamed, and screamed, and screamed until his voice began to crack and his body trembled.

Grabbing his hand, Nine intertwined her fingers with his, and he felt a calm rush over him. She was so small and delicate, but she seemed so strong as she sat beside him, staring at the grave. Eights returned her reassuring grip before looking back at the sky. The clear blue, now striped with wispy white clouds that moved quickly across the heavens.[DB1] 

_0O0_

Eights’ head pounded as he sank into the couch, and as daylight faded, he found himself mindlessly watching as Nine pointlessly swept the cracked, overgrown living room floors.

“Nine,” The rasp in his voice alerted the girl. “Just… Just leave it and rest. There’s no way we’ll be able to clean all this.”

“But… It’s your home.”

“No…” Eights’ gaze shifted to the floor, moss spread across the old wood like icing on a cake. “My home was my grandfather, and he is no longer here on earth.”

“Eights… I’m sure… I’m sure he’s—”

“It’s okay. I’m sad, but… I know I’ll see him again someday.” Leaning back onto the couch, a puff of dust tickled his nose. “Just come sit. You must be exhausted. You tossed and turned all night last night.”

Approaching the couch, the girl held the broom in her hands, continuously shifting closer, almost unsure if she was allowed to rest.

“Really, get over here. If you don’t settle and relax, I won’t be able to either.”

“Okay…” Her eyes glistened with tears as worry and exhaustion filled her face. “But if I fall asleep, you have to wake me up. I want to… I…” She turned away, a pink blush playing across her cheeks. “I want to be here for you.”

“You didn’t fade away?” Eights half-teased, “Like you usually do.”

Nine puffed her cheeks like a little chipmunk and said, “I’ve been getting better at controlling it.”

“You can control it now?”

Eights stiffened as the girl leaned onto his shoulder. “A little…” Her eyelids fell and rose slowly. “It has something to do… with my… emotions… I think…”

Soft, snore-like breathing filled the room, and Eights gently lowered Nine onto the couch and draped a dusty comforter over her sleeping form. He watched as her small figure disappeared beneath the covers and snorted to himself as he thought of how, if someone were to enter the house, they would never even notice she was there… she was so small.

A branch tap, tap, tapped on the worn window, and past the grime and dust, he could just make out the large boulder by where his grandfather’s body rested, and his heart froze, his breath hitching in his throat. Slowly he inched across the worn, creaking floor and out the kitchen door.

Outside stood a small shed along with his grandfather’s leatherworking frames. Slivers of wood jutted out at him as he slid between them to a large wooden door. The hinges squealed louder and louder, and he counted the seconds as the small worktable came into view. Eights breathed in the old musky smell of rotting wood with hints of wet dog. Little pelts from squirrels hung from the ceiling, and on a wooden table, grandfather’s leather gloves lay against the corner underneath a large, old book.

The old leather felt soft to the touch, and as he pulled them over his hands, heat coated them like a hug. Pulling his hands up to his face, he inhaled deeply, and remembering his grandfather’s gentle touch atop his head, tears spilled from his eyes, as muffled sobs soaked the old leather.

Crickets protested as his loud sobs filled the night far past midnight and into morning.

_0O0_

Back in the house, Eights dragged his legs across the floor. His arms hung down like weights pulling his entire body to the ground. His eyes burned, and his hands began to swelter under the leather, sticking to his skin. With his back hunched and his head down, he trudged up the stairs, no longer caring if he made any noise up to the attic.

Dusty boxes and a worn-out cot sat at the end of the room, right beside a window as big as a door.

Plopping onto the old bed, the room filled with a fog of dirt. As he coughed, he slid a box across the ground and knocked the lid off, revealing a sum of organized folders all lined up in a row. His fingers skimmed across the files until he came to the one with his name and pulled it out of the box. As he weighed it in his hands, he tilted his head suspiciously; he remembered it being a lot heavier when he was a kid.

Opening the folder, he glanced down at his birth certificate. It was an old, worn paper written entirely in someone’s handwriting. His grandfather used to tell him that, before the zombies, there were machines that would print certificates like these, making them look very fancy. Tracing his finger over his name, Eights squinted down at a little blotch in the corner of the page. He never really paid much attention to it before, but it looked a little like the number twelve[DB2] .

Setting aside his certificate, he pulled his mother’s file from the box, then his father’s… empty? Both files were empty. The boy couldn’t help but wonder… sifting through the box once more, he looked at the remaining papers when an old map fell to the ground. Snatching it, he squinted past the hundreds of red X marks as his eyes slowly shifted upwards where there was a large circle encompassing an old city. Surely it couldn’t still be standing, right?

Creak~

Crinkling the map between his hands, Eights jolted as, in the corner of his eye, he noticed a tall man enter the room.

“Eight… Why’d you come here of all places?”

Eights face tightened, and as he turned to face the man, he barked out, “You know I can’t stand being called by that name.”

Holding his hands up, Six took a step back. “Sorry, Eights, force of habit.”

Looking back to the map, Eights asked, “Why’d they send you of all people?”

“I don’t think they expected you to come here. You’re a smart kid after all, but I guess you really are just a kid.”

“So I’m a kid, so what? Of course I’d come here. If he was ali— if grandfather was okay, he would have waited for me here.”

The floorboards creaked as Six shifted. “So you saw the grave?”

“No duh!”

“Sorry, kid!”

Wind blew past the window, and the shuddering roof tiles echoed in the silence. Eights, still looking down at the map, crinkled it between his fingertips and the two sat like that for a long while before the boy finally asked, “So what now? Are you going to bring me back there?”

The man sighed, his back hunched, “You know I like you, kid.”

“It’s never stopped you from bringing me back before.”

“This time’s different.”

Perking up, Eights looked at the man. Large bags sat under his eyes, and his face was sheet white; if he didn’t know any better, he would think Six turned zombie.

“What’s so different about this time?” Eights asked cautiously.

“Like you don’t know?”

“No, really? What is it?”

“You don’t know!” Six shifted once more, with a creak. “Three died.”

“Three…” Eights gulped, “Died?”

“Gauging by your reaction, I take it you had nothing to do with it?”

The boy rattled his brain as he shook his head violently, “Three was one of the few numbered I actually liked.”

“It must have been the girl’s doing then…” Six examined Eights’ face. “Where is she? Even if I don’t take you back, I need to at least bring her back.”

The boy’s shoulders tensed as his eyes shifted to the door, and Six followed his gaze.

“Is she downstairs? I didn’t—”

“Wait! Please! Can’t you just say you didn’t find us at all? If you tell them you found her and didn’t bring me back too, won’t you get in trouble?”

Six heaved a sigh, “I can’t just leave—”

“Please, Six! She didn’t even want to leave! I made her. I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt Three either. There’s no way she did.”

“Eights—”

“Six, please!”

Exhaling, the man swept his bangs back with both hands. “Fine!”

Eights began to leap from the bed when Six extended his hand in a ‘stop’ motion.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not just letting the two of you go. You have to promise me to stay far, far away from the Twelve from now on. Go north, so far north that no one will ever find you again; avoid big cities— no, avoid all cities and people. Don’t get caught, or it’ll be all our heads flying.”

“I promise! I won’t be found. I never wanted to see The Twelve ever again anyway.”

“I’m trusting you, Eights. Don’t die on me, okay?”

“I won’t! I promise!”