What We Left Behind Read Online Free PDF

new information, it’s going to take time to assess what you see tonight. I urge you not to jump to conclusions. We need to verify these findings. We need to be certain before we take any action.”
    Dad pulls the blanket off the handcart. There are a number of dismembered Zee body parts mounted on frames and racks, heads in jars, arms pinned to wooden panels. Maybe it’s just me, but the temperature seems to drop a few degrees. Jane squeezes in beside me along with Steve. David’s sitting with the other marauders on the front bleachers.
    “Abraham,” Marge says, handing my dad the megaphone. He signals he doesn’t need it and calls out.
    “Zombies. The undead. They’re simple, right? Kill ’em by taking out the brain stem. They’re mindless. They’re a curse.”
    There’s a murmur of agreement from the hundreds of people watching from the bleachers. It’s a beautiful, moonless night and the stars are radiant overhead.
    “And our strategy is simple,” Dad says. “Outlast them. Wait for them to rot. And so we isolate ourselves. We raise crops, tend to animals, chop wood, make clothes. We try to ignore the plague as we go about our daily lives, but there’s always that thought in the back of our minds—What will happen when I die? Will I, too, join the ranks of the undead?”
    Dad picks up a large, heavy jar containing a zombie head. Wisps of hair float in whatever fluid he’s preserved the slowly decaying skull. Green slime covers the skin. The jaw moves slowly. Most of the flesh on the cheeks has fallen off, leaving the face gaunt. Dead eyes stare out into the night. I feel a shudder run through me.
    Dad places the jar on the card table in the center of the oval.
    “Only there’s a problem with our theory. They’re not rotting. They’re not growing weaker. Almost a decade has passed and they show no signs of weakening. And that’s not the only problem.”
    He retrieves a section of zombie skin from the cart. The sickly green skin has been stretched out across a frame. There’s a belly button, giving me an anatomical point of reference I’d rather not have known. Dad places the frame on the ground, leaning it against the table as he talks.
    “We’re not making any progress. For all our efforts at being self-sufficient, we still rely on raids into the cities, but this strategy isn’t sustainable.”
    Ferguson looks pissed. Marge is standing beside him. She’s got a warm smile on her face. She always smiles. It’s her way of dealing with pressure. She puts on an act. I know it’s a lie, as I can see her hand hanging by her side. She’s tacitly holding onto Ferguson’s forearm, gesturing for him to let my dad speak.
    I don’t like what’s happening here. Once Ferguson takes the stage, he’ll turn everyone against my dad. Marge seems to know that as well, and she’s doing all she can to let my dad have an opportunity to present his thoughts.
    “Supplies are hard to find. More and more, they’ve perished. They’ve deteriorated to the point we can’t use them. We cannot depend on this strategy any more. We need a new direction.”
    Ferguson can’t contain himself.
    “Quit stalling. Tell them what you really think!”
    Marge pats his forearm.
    “They’re not dead,” dad says.
    The silence around me is overwhelming. Even the crickets have fallen quiet.
    “Zombies,” dad continues. “We call them the undead, but they’re not dead. They’re alive.”
    Someone yells from the back, “This is crazy.”
    “I agree,” Ferguson yells in reply.
    “Listen to me,” dad yells above the growing unrest. “I have proof.”
    Those three words give my dad some breathing space.
    “All life requires energy. All cellular life must metabolize something to survive. Death causes cellular life to break down in a chaotic manner. Cells unravel into their component parts. Death is like stripping a car. You might have all the pieces, but you’re never going to drive again.”
    An older woman seated in