Beyond the Barriers (Novella): Ghouls by Timothy W. Long

your own advice,” I said through clenched teeth.
    I tried her idea and looked away, but it was all I could do to sit still while she pushed the needle through again and again. After a minute, she cinched it tight, tied off a knot, and then cut the string. She took the alcohol again and, despite thinking it couldn’t hurt any more, I was very wrong. The fresh dab went on cold before pain raced up my arm once again like a lightning bolt.
    “Keep it clean. I’m going to put gauze on and tape the wound. Come back tomorrow and I’ll clean it just to make sure you don’t get an infection,” Maddy said.
    “Sure, doc. It will be my first stop.”
    “Don’t whine, Tragger. It’s for your own good.”
    The bandage was cut from an opened package of gauze, which made sense. Conserving supplies was more important than ever.
    I left the RV and made my way back into camp, hoping to get more information about Katherine’s whereabouts. Weariness dogged my steps as I stumbled across a small group of tents. One of the men who looked familiar from the Wal-Mart days gestured for me. He’d grown out his beard but he had sharp blue eyes surrounded by a layer of crows’ feet. He, like most of us now, looked like a mountain man.
    “Got an extra sleeping bag. I heard about what you did, Erik. We all did. You saved a lot of people from those things. Least I can do is give you this.” He handed me a bundle.
    “Thanks. What’s your name, man?”
    “I’m Neil. We met once, but briefly. I didn’t have all of this,” he said and touched his facial fur.
    “Thanks, Neil. I’ll return it later.”
    “Take your time, brother. Now go find a quiet place and take a short nap. An hour isn’t going to kill you,” he said.
    I thanked him again and wandered off. A section of camp was surrounded by long pine branches. I rolled out the sleeping bag and tried to ignore the smell of old sweat. I crawled inside it, intent on taking his advice and closing my eyes for an hour at most.
    I didn’t wake up until the next day.

    * * *
    “ Y ou gonna live , Boss?” Scott nudged my leg with his foot.
    “The fuck?” I sat up and my head swam.
    “Guess the answer’s yes,” Scott said. He squatted next to my sleeping bag and looked me over.
    “How long?”
    “How long you been out or how long have you been snoring? Same number of hours. About sixteen,” he said.
    “Ah hell.” I rolled out of my cocoon. The morning chill hit me immediately so I stretched my arms and legs. The wound Maddy had stitched up throbbed in pain. I peeled the gauze aside and found I’d bled through the stitches so I shifted the dressing to a clean place and pressed it back down. I’d see Maddy after I had a bite to eat.
    Scott took me to an RV that had food. Something like MREs, but for civilians. The packaging was similar to food I’d eaten in the field. My meal today was chili mac. I ripped into mine without even using the heating bag. It came with something claiming to be corn bread. The package I opened had yellow crumble in it. I dumped them into the main pouch and ate like a king. Then wished I had another. Scott surprised me with a can of pork and beans.
    “You remembered,” I said with a wink.
    “Just like old times, eh?” He laughed. “Figured a white boy like you would kill for some pork and beans.”
    The day we had dragged the ghoul back to Lisa’s enclave we’d raided my old house and turned up the food I’d stashed months ago. I’d offered Scott some refried beans and he’d made a joke about being Mexican.
    We found a quiet spot and Scott produced a can opener. We took turns digging spoonfuls out of the little container while savoring the flavor. Even cold they were the best damn beans I’d ever eaten, and that included the ones my father used to slow cook on the barbecue.
    “I feel like I got beat up,” I said.
    “You did. Then you got beat up again. You’re a lucky son of a bitch, that’s for sure,” Scott said.
    “I don’t feel