Detection
Read by Suzanne Akerman, woman's voice
We rely on the animals for a lot of things here in our community, so it shouldn't have surprised us that Arrayah the pit-bull is a powerful tool against the zombies. We don't sic her on them (usually), rather we discovered she had a special talent.
While Tom and Cory were scouting on zoo grounds, Adam, Ian and I took Arrayah, loaded our weapons and piled into the zoo's giant van with its pictures of wolves, snakes and polar bears plastered on the sides. Most of our stocks are plentiful for now, but we ration carefully and are always thinking of ways to bolster our supplies. Our forays into the city are planned and purposeful affairs, leaving little room for leisurely exploration. I often volunteer to go, fueled by the fire of irrational hope—maybe this will be the time that we find Jared.
This particular day we were at Bullseye Goods, where the glass doors were shattered, shelves were gutted and the generator-powered overhead lighting flickered eerily. Your average post-apocalyptic shopping trip. “I'm going to find a whisk,” Ian said.
While Adam dug through the pet aisle for sturdy dog toys, I mused, “I never could find pants that fit me here.” But I had already pulled on a new track jacket and had a pair of socks in each pocket. I also found a pink sequined baseball hat, which I wore ironically, it's garishness flying in the face of our new existence.
“VOICES?”
I dropped the hat and the battery units I'd scavenged from kids' toys when I heard the question, posed frantically from the greeting card aisle. I radioed Ian to be on alert and Adam had already drawn his gun. The disembodied speaker was right to be confused, as were we. Zombies' enlarged glands and tongue made it impossible for them to form words, let alone carry on conversations about Bullseye’s need for a petites' section. “Am I hearing voices?” the speaker was a woman, distressed, and by the sound of it, now clattering through a display of photo albums to reach us. “Take me with you!”
She appeared three aisles away, and stopped, her hands tearing at her hair. She wore the red polo and khaki pants of a Bullseye employee.“Take me with you!” she pleaded again, stepping closer. We lowered our weapons warily and began questioning the woman about her activities, how she'd survived. Specifically, we needed to know when, where and how she had encountered any infected individuals. “None,” she assured us, answering shortly, as she'd done all our questions, “I haven't had any contact.”
We decided to take her with us. Adam and I waited at the van where Arrayah had been standing guard and the woman collected her belongings. I started to consider how it might be nice to have another female in our community. The woman reappeared clasping a canvass shopping bag. “Where's Ian?” Adam asked.
