The Climb

Welcome to Fiction Friday. Every Friday I share with y’all a glimpse into the mind of Zach the Zombie and some of his friends. Last week, Zach found the perfect spot to climb the City wall.

You know the drill–this is not really edited much. I appreciate your grace and forgiveness…

Trees look different from above.

Everything looks different when you’re hanging thirty feet up a stone wall by your rotting fingertips.

I glance up and wonder if this is going to work. My heart pumps just a little faster.

Then I look down.

Mistake.

My head snaps back; I focus on the stone in front of me. Close to me. Hang on with every muscle I have left.

Must get down.

That’s the only thought in my head. I think it ninety different ways, every synonym imaginable. It’s not natural to be hanging here on a wall. Not right.

It’s like I’m not even in control of arms and legs as I start to lower myself down the wall.

Once my eyes are below the treetops, my heart slows down a little and I think more clearly. I remember why I’m climbing the wall to begin with. I stop.

I think of the Old Ones, confined to carts. I think of Arthur, sitting back at camp, his Rot spreading toward his tongue. I remember that I have to do this.

I hang, frozen, on the side of the stone wall. I can’t let myself go down. They need me to do this. But I can’t go up.

My arm moves down to another stone. A better grip. Except I don’t want to get a better grip.  I didn’t tell it to get a better grip.

I didn’t move it. But it moved.

Ok, so now I’m getting a little freaked out here.

I am not climbing down, but my body is still climbing down. I can’t stop it from moving. Another step down. Another “better grip.” I hear these thoughts in my head, but they are not mine. I say “climb UP.” My arms and legs don’t listen. They move at the direction of this other voice that’s not mine, that I can’t hear. They continue down.

My left foot touches the rough gravel; it slips just a little as my weight shifts and my right foot follows. I’m still holding onto the stone above my head, and I will my hand to stay where it is, even as it lets go and drops to my side and I step further away from the wall.

I sit down under a nearby tree, and scramble to reconnect my body and my will. I lift my left hand and examine it. The climb only pulled a little extra flesh from my fingers, but I lost the last bone from my index finder.  That’s inconvenient–climbing will be a little harder now.  But my hand is responding now as I rotate it to the right and then to the left. I try standing up, and then walking around under the tree. Seem to be completely under control again, but as I take a few steps toward the wall, I find myself walking in the opposite direction.

I stop and turn to look at the high wall ahead of me. The wall that now holds little bits of my flesh between its cracks. The wall I’m not sure I can get up and over now.

Not so sure this plan is going to work…

Why did Zach climb back down? Leave a comment…