Shuttup and Do It

I’m pretty sure anyone that’s ever actually given birth will kill me for this, but I kind of think of NaNoWriMo like labor.

Last year, I successfully completed NaNoWriMo for the first time. If you’re not up on the lingo, basically a bunch of insane people (including me) attempt to write a novel of at least 50,000 words, the catch being they need to both start and finish it in the month of November. Thus November is NAtional NOvel WRIting MOnth.

I talked a little last year about my reasons for doing NaNoWriMo. I checked in almost halfway through the month with an update on my story. I never really talked about the experience afterward.

Why do I think it’s the same as giving birth?

When I finished last November 30^th, I was immensely proud of what I had done, and I promised myself immediately I would never do it again.

A few weeks later, I looked back and was even more proud of my accomplishment, and started thinking maybe in a few more years I’d be ready to do it again.

By this October, I convinced myself it wasn’t that bad and I could totally do it again. In fact, it’d probably be easier since I would go in more prepared than the first time. Oh, the sweet little lies we tell ourselves.

This NaNoWriMo I actually did a little more prep than last year, but I’m not sure how much it’s helping me. My entire timeline changed with pretty much the first chapter. Weird things I wasn’t expecting keep happening, like my main character pissing accidentally herself and having some sort of hair dye fetish. I’ve already killed off three people, and I certainly wasn’t planning on that.

While I’m actually on target with my word count (which is a minor miracle, since I was 10,000 words behind Saturday morning), I also want to finish ahead of time this year since I’ll be spending time with my brother the last few days of the month. At this point it’s equally likely that I say screw it and stop writing, or somehow pull 10,000 more words out of my @ss to finish.

But since this has been more or less taking over the last month of my life, and thus preventing me from update, I decided to share with you, my dear friends, the first chapter of the story!!

Keep in mind there will be typos. There’s really no looking back with NaNoWriMo, just moving forward. Someday if I finish and decide not to forget this whole mess ever happened I made go back and fix things, but that day is not today.

So here it is, the first chapter of my insane zombie story!

Above Reproach

Chapter 1

I’ve never really understood why we’re so rigid about the rope rules. Who exactly do they think is going to climb the ladder if we leave for a few minutes? The grounders? The day zombies get smart enough to climb we’re going to have a fuckton more problems than worrying about the ropes.

            No one ever listens to me though. They listen to me talk. They love to hear my stories. The minute I turn somewhat serious they close their ears and hum, which is why I’m standing under the lookout whistling the magic tune to get somebody to drop down the rope ladder and let me up. Never mind the fact that they can clearly see me. Allegedly the whistling proves that I haven’t been infected in the ten minutes I’ve been on the ground, and I’m safe to climb up and take over duties.

            It might be me, but these days I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes every time the Three make a new rule.

            The ladder drops and I start to climb. It’s not exactly a ladder in that the rungs are randomly spaced out, and you still have sections of pure rope that require a little bit more concentration to make it up. I can never decide if wearing my gloves makes it harder to navigate those sections or if I’m lucky to have them protect my hands.

You can tell who frequently has lookout duty based on the calluses on their hands. It beats the rope burn at least. There are other ways to tell of course, like who has freaking amazing upper torsos. If we still had a government and leaders and all that, they’d be ecstatic that we’ve beat the obesity epidemic. I can’t decide if people are more motivated to stay in shape because they have a better chance of outrunning a mob of grounders, or if it’s because of the shitty food. Maybe you like a second helping of burned squirrel stew and gummy rice, but I’m good, thanks.

            I’m not entirely surprised when someone reaches down and pulls me up the last bit of rope. I’m going to say that it was a subconscious decision to pick this lookout, but that’s a lie. Pierce always takes this tree. I know this. I’d like to pretend I was unaware that he was out on duty and probably here, but I can admit to myself at least that I wanted to see him.

            “Hey Mink,” he says with a smile. I haven’t figured out yet how he manages to look like a wet dream and somebody I want to punch at the same time. It might be the hair. Given the lack of barbers it tends to erratically hang in his eyes. In another lifetime, like five years ago, I probably would have called him emo and laughed in his face, assuming he had the same hair. More likely he had some super cool douchebag cut that emphasized his strong jawline and let the world see those baby blues. Not that I’ve memorized his face or anything. This thought is purely prompted by the fact that he’s staring at me at the moment. Right.

            Of course that might be because I have yet to respond. I manage a cool nod. We’ve been talking too much recently when we’re both at the lodge. I wouldn’t want him to think we’re becoming friends. I don’t need friends and all the shit that comes with them anymore.

            I give the lookout a quick lookover, but nothing’s changed since I was here last week. Of course Pierce the perfect would have everything in order.

            “How’s the ground movement?” I ask as I set my bag down in the corner. Since we don’t keep any of the food supplies in the lookouts it’s a good excuse to lug my bag around with me. One of these days someone’s going to open it up and find my stash of goods. I’m not the only lookout hoarding junk from the towns, but I don’t kid myself. I’m more likely to be searched at some point. The current Three only trust me so far.

            “Nothing on this end,” Pierce says, and his voice sounds too close. I look up to see he’s followed me to the corner. “They’re losing their juice though, we’re going to need a replace mission soon.”

            I toss my hair, which forces him to back up a step. “We’re going to need a supply mission soon too. The lodge is running low on meds and some of the kids have a fever.” I can’t help it, I feel myself start to grin at him. “I’ll radio in that you should go for supplies if you tell them to send me on replacement duty.”

            Pierce laughs. “Trickster girl. You’re too slow, I already heard from Lookout 2 that we’re heading in for supplies. You’ll be earning no favors from me today.”

            There are so many comebacks dancing on my tongue, but I literally bite it to hold back. That’s the problem with being around Pierce. Even worse, I think he can tell what thoughts are running through my head. His face softens and he steps closer again.

            “Maybe I spoke too soon,” he says. His voice is dangerously low.

            I don’t believe in prayer anymore, but hearing the walkie crackle to life makes me think for a second that the universe might have been sympathetic to my inner turmoil. That would figure, that it cares about the little moments and ignores the problems that ruin your world. I step away from Pierce to answer the call.

            “Lookout 1 reporting, over.” My voice sounds steady. Points to me. Especially since Pierce clearly followed me over. I can feel warmth right behind me, but I’m smart enough not to turn my head. This was my fault. I should never have climbed up that ladder.

            “The Lodge wants all lookouts coming off duty to head to the carport. Send them immediately. Over and out.”

            I feel myself tense even as Pierce moves away to gather his gear. I don’t know who’s voice that was, but I burn with hatred for them.

            “There’s no reason for you all to take a car. All they said we needed was meds. You can carry that back easily.” I glare at Pierce as if it’s his fault that they’re making a simple trip more dangerous.

            “Down get your fur up, Mink, I’m sure the Three have their reasons.” This time Pierce is the one avoiding looking at me.

            I scowl. “All we need to do is call back in. They listen to you. Tell them it’s a bad idea. The grounders are going to be closer than usual.”

            “Maybe that’s why we’re taking a car, so we can outrun them if necessary.”

            “Please,” the word is so hesitant, I feel it shimmering in the air as if the next breath will blow away the memory that it was ever spoken. “Call back in and ask them to let you guys walk.”

            Pierce has already pulled on the straps of his bag and is standing at the rope, but he crosses back to my side of the lookout. I have a few seconds of hope before he gently touches my cheek.

           

            “Trust me, it will be fine. Be a good soldier, Mink.” Before I can decide how to react, what to do, he steps away and yells back, “Besides it’s my turn to drive.”

            He gives me a wink as he goes to start down the ladder. I force myself to say the right thing.

            “In that case it’s definitely not safe.” I unlock my wooden jaw to smile a little as I say it. If we joke around it’s okay. Nothing will happen.

            I wish I believed that still. I wish I could have said what I was really thinking. That we aren’t soldiers. That it might not be fine. And that the Three aren’t always right.

            I go to the window to watch Pierce head off to the carport. He never looks back, so being ready to wave seems pointless. I can’t make myself move away though. From this lookout I’m too far away to see the carport itself, but I can catch glimpses of whoever’s coming down from Lookout 2.

            It’s enough to free me. I don’t really want to know who’s coming down that ladder. I don’t want to spend the next ten hours worrying about anyone else on this supply trip. It would be fine if they were walking, or if we had replaced recently. The grounders get closer though when the scarecrows aren’t fresh, and they’re always attracted to the sound of engines. They might not be smart, but it’s like zombies have an instinct for being in the worse place possible for us. They’ve cut off the return from town before. It’s why lookout and scavenger duties are strictly volunteer work.

            There’s not really enough to do on lookout duty to distract yourself. Pierce kept the place tidy. Half the time I spend the first part of my shift cleaning up after whoever was before me. I make sure the guns are loaded. The walkie clearly is working, so I don’t need to check it. We’ll still do the midshift check-in, but that’s hours away. All I need to do at this point is watch out the windows and listen for the bells.

            My mother was the first to question if the lookouts were even remotely useful or not. As long as we keep the scarecrows fresh the grounders never wander this far in the woods. It’s been weeks since another survivor followed the lights here. I’ve suggested that it would be better to have lookouts stationed on the path to town, but that was shot down in a second. I can’t be the only one to notice that the lookouts, as they are right now, are crowded around the Three. They don’t even really block the Lodge from the town side of the forest. This side is naturally protected by the river, so why are most of the lookouts clustered here?

            These are the questions that plaque my shifts. I settle in at the window as I hear the broken sounds of a car driving too fast for our dirt path. As my eyes adjust to staring at an endless view of trees, I start my mantra. They will not stay grounded. They will return above.