The Camp
By: Leticia Beltran
Tags: Short Story, Fiction Writing, Fiction

The camp had tall fences surrounding it. The barrier felt ominous, but they were a necessary evil for protection. The fences were tall with barbed wire at the top. The wire wasn’t curled, but instead pulled straight. The fence circles around the entire encampment and only ended at the gate. The gate, similar to the fence, also had barbed wire at the top.

There was a river running through the camp and had a bridge that connected the two parts of the camp, on either side of the river. The bridge was small and had fences on either side of it.

Fences and barbed wire. The one thing that you could find throughout the camp.

It was protected and safe, but not very friendly looking.

When Quinn went for runs in the morning, he had the feeling of being a trapped hamster in a cage. No way to leave, just running in circles. He knew that they were a sign of protection, but it felt more confining than anything.

Quinn was one of the few survivors of The Incident. Quinn always felt like laughing when people said ‘The Incident’. You could practically feel the capitalization in the word. It was cliché, but people weren’t sure what really happened. So ‘The Incident’ is vague enough to label something you yourself do not understand.

Either way, Quinn does now what he has always done: go for runs. He was in cross country in school when he was younger. It made him valuable now. He was a runner. He ran for supplies and he ran quickly. He was happy with it. His parents used to tell him that he always ran from his problems, but he supposed that they could no longer complain about it anymore. Not like they were alive to complain about it anyway, but the thought was there.

Quinn ran and he ran free. He went for runs in the morning to keep him in tip-top shape. Of course, the morning runs were looked upon by the rest of the community with mixed opinions. On on hand, if he got injured while training then he becomes dead weight. On the other hand, the more he trained, the better he could run which would make him more useful.

Quinn had a secret though, nothing nefarious. But Quinn ran because it was a way to de-stress, not for any practical reasons. It was the only way that he could handle the stress of being stuck in a camp that is no wider than a mile. It made many of his runs very repetitive. He ran in the same 1.5 mile loop. In circles, he ran, round and round. After being stuck here for two years, Quinn knew every single bump, pothole, and uneven surface.

The river is one of the most interesting things about the camp. It changes frequently. Some days, it carries debris from upstream. Other days, it is clear. Some days, it is small with hardly a trickle. Other days, it rushing from all of the rain. Some days, it is calm with barely any movement other than the fish. Other days, it is a violent rush of water. The river was important. It gave the community water, fish, and entertainment.

The river continued to bring entertainment.

Quinn was jogging on a rainy day. He was supposed to be contributing to the camp by harvesting some crops, but he put it off by running. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the dirt on a rainy day.

The river was rushing today. It carried debris like tree branches, random pieces of garbage, and the occasional corpse. Disgusting, but not unusual. It had been raining for six days, today would be the seventh. The water’s level had risen by twenty feet. The bridge was still above the water level by another fifteen feet. An unspoken concern of the camp was how long the bridge would remain above water. He ran over the bridge for the fifth time that day, when he saw her. It was a young girl…no, it was a young woman. She was holding onto a piece of wood. She was followed by a corpse, it was another twenty feet behind her. Though the odd part was that the corpse was not a fully dead corpse, but an undead one.

Quinn briefly wondered how long she was in the water for.

He grabbed the nearest person’s arm, Amelia, “look! There! Do you see that?”

Amelia was annoyed then looked to where he was pointing far away to the girl. She was approaching them quickly, they knew that they didn’t have much time to do anything. Amelia tossed her basket to the side, it was full of carrots, and grabbed the pole. The camp usually used it to fish things out of the water that they wanted to keep. She pushed it through the fence.

Shouting, “Grab the pole! Grab the pole, quick!”

The girl turned away from the corpse, saw them, and Quinn could see the joy on her face. She pushed away from the wood, maybe it was a log, and tried to aim herself into the path of the pole.

Amelia turned to Quinn, “grab the pole, I’m not sure if I can hold onto the pole with her weight on it.”

“You! Go tell the others we need help now!” Amelia took command of the situation.

The girl was getting closer, when Quinn noticed a problem, “Shit! The undead is going to be close behind her. If she grabs onto the pole then it will pass right by her!”

He left the rest of it unspoken.

Amelia looked over the edge, “Shit! You’re right. We will have to let her grab the pole and then angle it toward the river bank. We’re just going to have top hope that she holds on, or else she’ll continue being pushed down the river.”

No one in their camp remembered the path of the river, too used to using their cell phones for maps. However, they all knew that if they were going to help her, then this was their only chance.

The girl grabbed onto the pole and Amelia and Quinn immediately shifted the pole toward the bank of the river. The water rushing by the girl was fighting their movement. Even with both of them pushing the pole toward the edge, the pole moved slowly.

The pole was slippery and the cold metal surface, hurt their hands. The undead corpse was moving nearer and nearer.

30 feet…20 feet… 10 feet…5 feet…

“Yes! We did it!” Quinn let out a cry of relief! The camp frequently had victories, but it seemed like today they would have another.

The woman was soaked to the bone and dragged herself further up the bank. Out of the water, she lay on the grass and seemed to be catching her breathe.

“Go and get her and make sure that you have something to fight the undead off!” Mark, the town leader, was walking to the bridge. He had a serious face that never smiled, but they could tell he was pleased by today’s events. They could use every helping hand.

Quinn nodded at Mark’s orders and went to grab a basic supply backpack. It contained the necessities and they always grabbed one when they left the fence line. He ran to the front gate and then walked around the camp to the river. The river bank was soggy and unstable with mud.

Quinn walked to the woman. She was laying on her back, chest heaving. Now that he was closer, Quinn could see that around her arm was a backpack strap, clearly forgotten.

He had his knife in his hand and was constantly doing a sweep for danger.

“For a second there, I wasn’t sure if we were going to succeed in pulling you out, but I sure am glad that we were,” the woman’s eyes opened at his words.

She seemed startled by his presence, “Yeah, well I wasn’t sure if you guys were going to succeed either.”

Her voice was light and you could see the relief.

“Well, welcome, and thank you for making this day interesting.”