SurvivorZ: Grave Harbor

49

CHARLIE

Charlie and Robin walked back to their separate tents, enjoying the moonlight spilling down on them. The camp's food rations didn't extend to pets, so Charlie always had to wait for sunset before procuring any leftover scraps from the kitchen staff for Rusty's meal. The dog didn't appear to mind the wait. The late dinner was still a feast compared to the sparse diet he endured during his two-week captivity.

"So you wussed out," Robin huffed.

"I didn't wuss out," Charlie cried. "I was going to tell Danielle how I feel. It just wasn't the right time, that's all. It didn't help that she sprang Richard on me before I had the chance."

"She called him a friend. That means you still have a chance."

"How do you figure? I'm her friend too."

"You've been avoiding her for days," Robin argued. "Some friend you are."

Charlie sighed. Rusty glanced up at him to see what the matter was. "I'm not avoiding her. It's complicated."

"Would it make it more or less complicated for you if I put the moves on her?" Robin asked. "I mean, if neither of you guys plan to grow a pair..."

"I'll tell her, okay," he whined. "The next time we're alone, I swear."

Rusty suddenly jerked at his leash and broke into a frenzy of barking and baying. The dog caught Charlie by surprise, almost pulling him off his feet.

"What, Rusty? What's gotten into you?"

Robin looked around. "He must've caught a whiff of something he doesn't like."

"Here?" Charlie searched the forest of tents and refugees. "There can't be anything here that he'd—"

Charlie spotted the cause for his pet's distress. A familiar overweight figure emerged from one of the tents up ahead. The last time they had crossed paths with him, the fat man's disgusting body odor drove Rusty to fits. Since then, his stink had apparently grown more offensive to the dog's sensitive nose.

Robin's expression soured at his appearance. "Ugh. Not this guy again."

"Maybe we should turn around," Charlie suggested, pulling Rusty away from the stranger's presence. He didn't need either of his companions going ballistic and stirring up trouble again.

Nearby, a group of men huddled over a burning metal trashcan caught a whiff of something foul. One of them grimaced and peered around. "What's that smell?"

He and his buddies dropped their eyes, looking for the skunk that had somehow snuck into the camp. Had they not done so, they might have noticed the real source of the stench before it was too late.

Looking across from them at the man standing outside his tent, Charlie's heart thudded in his chest. It beat so loudly in his eardrums that it practically drowned out Rusty's wild barking. The obese figure plodded towards the men on his fat, hairy legs. Clad in a dirty blanket poncho and pants that had split up the sides, the dark threads worming across his too-pale skin stood out like cracks in alabaster.

He's dead, Charlie realized.

He took a breath to shout out a warning to the group. At that same moment, the bloated zombie also inhaled deeply.

"Look!" One of the men pointed at the undead monster swaying on its swollen legs.

As ponderous as the revenant was, chasing down its prey was never a consideration. It had something worse in mind than satisfying its hunger.