by TW Brown
You could see it happen with an almost comical slowness. The first zombie to notice we were near came to a stop and began to slowly turn its body to reorient on us. One by one, the other zombies did likewise.
“What’d you do to your eye?” a familiar voice said from a few steps behind me.
I turned around and would’ve rubbed my eyes in disbelief if I didn’t think that would hurt enough to bring me to tears. “Edmund!” I managed around the lump forming in my throat. “I thought you had given up.”
“I had, but then one of those damn things stumbled in and I’ve seen and heard enough people go down to those things to know it is an unpleasant experience.” Edmund shrugged his shoulders. “What can I say? I hate pain…it hurts.”
That earned him a snicker from the few people standing close enough to hear. Quick introductions were made between Edmund and Marshawn as we all started for the pack of undead that looked the thinnest. There was no need to say it. We would fight through the smallest cluster and then regroup. I noticed Miranda arriving as this little reunion was taking place. If I didn’t know better, I would swear that dour expression she apparently had plastered permanently on her face softened just a bit.
The variety of injuries that had turned all these poor souls were varied and gruesome. Seeing these incarnations of the undead as they marched towards us without the ability to feel fear gave me a dose of two very distinct emotions. One was envy. I could only speak for myself as we moved closer to the zombies and began to veer towards our own individual targets that we’d each picked for whatever reason, but I was ready to piss my pants. The other was a dose of shame. I’d been so caught up in myself and never once considered that I was quite fortunate for only having experienced a slight scratch.
It might seem a strange thing, and I can’t say I ever heard of such nonsense in any zombie story I’d ever watched, read, or heard. Of course, it wasn’t normal for people to ever have the chance at being immune. But I’d probably been infected in one of the most mundane and painless ways possible.
Those thoughts are the only reason I can think of as to why I started to laugh as I reached my first target, such as it was. As soon as my eyes fixed on her, that moment of laughter evaporated and my mouth went dry.
She had probably been a mom. I guessed her to be in her early thirties. She had dark brown hair, and was just a shade over five feet tall. She was neither fat nor skinny. She was just average. There was nothing remarkable about her in any way based on appearance, but I could not help but wonder what had been special about her in life.
That was something I’d picked up from my fiancée, Stephanie. Anytime I lost my temper over being cut off on the road, or cut ahead of in line, those moments when the food I ordered in a restaurant arrived and turned out to be cooked poorly or just plain wrong she knew just what to say. It was as if she could see my anger start to manifest. In those moments that seemed so important back then, she would lean over to me and tell me that he or she was a person with flaws and faults just like me. They might have a reason, or, in the case of a waiter or waitress, no control over what had me so worked up.
“Every single person has something about them that makes them special,” she would say.
The first time she did, I asked her what that had to do with anything. Her answer was, once again, beautifully simple.
“One of the things special about you is your heart. The compassion that you have for others. You will say something that you will regret later. Long after that person has forgotten the incident, you will be beating yourself up for how you acted.”
I have no idea what made her see me on such a deep level so early in our relationship, but it was that reason and a million others that made me love her. She was just such a good human being that I often wondered what made her pick me.
As I brought up my big knife and prepared to plunge it into this woman’s eye socket and end her existence as one of the walking dead, I wondered what had been special about this woman in life. That spell was erased as she moaned, her mouth opening and her bloodstained teeth snapped at the air in anticipation of biting a chunk out of me.
I stepped into her as I struck. The knife went in easy and I jerked it back just as her body went limp and crumbled to the ground. The next couple were a blur and there were no deep thoughts about what they had been like when they were living.
I ducked under the sweeping arms of a man I guessed to be in his fifties. He’d been ripped open and his insides were hanging from the tear in his belly. Even more disgusting was the fact that he’d been more than slightly overweight. A piece of meat from his abdomen was still dangling and the inches-thick layer of fat had turned a nasty grayish-black.
I stuck him in the temple and felt a surge of relief when I realized that I’d somehow fought my way through the worst of the crowd. There were still more zombies trudging my direction, but they were spread out to the point that I might be able to make it past them without having to engage any.
Then I heard the scream.
I spun to see some woman that I didn’t know as a trio of zombies dragged her to the ground. I also saw what appeared to be the likely culprit of her situation. Standing just back from the scene were two children.
Zombie children.
The pair were still hanging back as if they might simply be observing the scene. The woman vanished under her three attackers, and that seemed to be the signal for the children to pounce and move in. Just like any other zombie, the two children staggered forward and fell on the downed woman.
Amidst the thrashing of the woman’s arms and legs, I could see hands clawing and mouths tearing into her flesh wherever they could. At first, the zombies were struggling to get past the layers of clothing, but once they tore away her coat, one of the adult zombies leaned in and buried its face in her belly. If the sound was muted, it could have been something as innocuous as a bunch of people holding the woman down and tickling her and then one of them being so bold as to blow a raspberry on her stomach.
I shook away the shock and the screams flooded back. There was a squirt of blood as the flesh was torn away. I rushed forward with only one objective.
My advance went unnoticed as one of the children now had its mouth fastened to the poor woman’s neck. The only positive thing in that moment was that it strangled her screams. They were now wet gagging noises as blood likely filled her throat.
I stopped just a few feet away and brought up my pistol. There was a single moment. It was likely no more than a second. In that instant, her eyes locked on mine. At first, there was that flash of fear as she saw a gun pointed at her face. Maybe it was just my imagination, or maybe my own mind was in overdrive as it tried to re-write what was happening in order to give me some sense of peace that I would likely still never experience again in my life. The next thing to make its way through the ocean of pain that was consuming her was a look of longing. It was as if she reached out to me telepathically and pleaded for me to end her suffering.
I pulled the trigger.
It felt like time slowed down. My eyes recorded every moment like it was being processed frame by agonizing frame. I saw the dark hole appear just above her left eye. Her head snapped back with the violent force of the bullet slamming into her skull.
And then she was still. Her scream ended suddenly and completely, but her mouth remained open and part of me felt like maybe her tormented soul would echo that sound for eternity.
The zombies feasting on the woman took a few more swipes and bites, but it was obvious that they were losing interest very quickly as they began to push away. Their slowness was my only advantage and I hurried in, punching my knife into the side or back of the heads of each one. Oddly enough, the children were still acting just like their adult counterparts.
My mind flashed back to the little zombie girl inside the car in that garage with her mother. Each time I left the room and then returned, she acted in that peculiar manner that I was seeing from the children until I would dra
w a weapon. These children were not resetting. Just more information to process if and when I ever got the chance.
Around me, I heard the sounds of people fighting off the undead. Some were working in tandem, but most of us were just trying to get through the main group any way possible. As soon as I finished off the last one that had been gathered around the downed woman, I turned to sprint out of the main kill zone again.
“That was a good thing you just did,” a voice said from my left.
I turned to see Marshawn and two others—a young man and woman who looked to be barely out of their teens—wade out of the melee. If I looked anything like them, there was not a shower in the world that was hot enough to scour the gore from me.
I turned back to where the others were fighting their way through and searched for Miranda. I felt a trickle of panic when I didn’t spot her. I know I’d heard a few screams of people being pulled down, but they all had a very similar quality in their pitch. I doubted that I would’ve recognized hers or anybody else that I actually knew well in this situation. One was pretty much like the other. Also, I still didn’t really know Miranda that well. We’d simply been traveling together for a while.
“Evan!” a voice shouted, causing me to snap my head around to look behind me.
I turned to see Miranda pretty much clear of the mob and almost a block away with a few others. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
With Marshawn, his two companions, and another man who had just fought clear of four of the undead, we took off and did our best to get completely free of the horde. By the time we reached the end of the next block, there were a handful of undead that had turned to pursue us, but the screams from those that were not yet clear and fighting for their life—a few that were obviously in a losing battle—caused those to stop and then turn unsteadily back towards the main body of the herd.
We stood as silent sentinels over a scene of terrible carnage. It was made worse by our inaction, but it was clear that each of us knew there would be no attempt to wade back into the fray. We’d made it. Each of us had survived this far and would only continue to do so by taking care of ourselves first.
“This is the new world,” Marshawn whispered. “Every man and woman has to consider self-preservation first.”
I wasn’t sure if his whisper was so quiet in order to avoid detection, or if he hadn’t intended to be heard. I glanced around and saw a few of my new companions nodding. Miranda was simply staring back at the last of the skirmishes. It was then that I realized that Edmund was missing.
I scanned the scene, my eyes drifting from one cluster of zombies attacking a survivor to the next. At last, I found him. He was shoving an elderly male zombie away with one hand as he brought a machete down with the other to cleave into the head of a young woman still wearing the tattered remains of a bathrobe. In fact, it might’ve been that robe that was saving him at the moment. It was all twisted and torn and the tie had miraculously gotten tangled around her like a blue boa constrictor. The woman’s arms were almost pinned to her sides, but that still left a very dangerous mouth that snapped at him. I was too far away to actually hear it, but I swear I could hear the teeth gnashing together with an audible click each time they came together just inches from his face.
Then he went down and I lost sight of him. There was a part of me that wanted to rush forward and try to help, but I knew that getting out once had been a feat…almost a miracle. To tempt fate twice so soon was asking to die.
But I’m immune, I thought.
Yes, it would absolutely suck to be bitten. Even worse would be the fate of the mob dragging me to the ground and ripping me apart.
I had the desire to survive, but I’d already sent too many people to their deaths by my actions, or worse, my inaction. I was perhaps five or six steps towards the madness when a hand grabbed my arm. I spun to see Miranda standing there with a look that was equal parts concern, anger, and fear.
“You can’t go back there,” she hissed. There was a tremor to her voice that caught me off balance and made me hesitate.
The entire time this was playing out, Edmund was back there—possibly fighting for his life. He’d made the choice to join me. That meant something. I could not ignore it.
Pulling away, I blocked Miranda’s attempt to grab me again. “I have to,” I said.
It was not anything special, but it said everything in tone that was lacking due to the brevity. I turned back and started for where I’d last seen Edmund.
“You don’t want to live,” a voice growled from my left and just behind me. “You have some sort of crazy death wish.”
I looked to Marshawn striding fast to catch me and fall in beside me. He had a pistol in each hand, apparently forgoing the peashooter that I’d seen him with moments before. He swerved slightly and shoved the barrel up against the back of a zombie’s head and fired. The blast was only slightly muffled and all the zombies closest to us that were not already occupied with rending and tearing apart the handful of survivors that hadn’t made it through turned to face us.
I stepped to my right with my Glock in hand and dropped two in a hurry. I saw a flurry of activity in the midst of the writhing pile of arms and legs where I was pretty sure Edmund had fallen. If nothing else, he deserved a permanent death.
There was a shout. It wasn’t a scream. This was like somebody at the gym pressing a heavy weight. There was real force and energy behind it. When the figure stood, he was covered in gore, but I recognized Edmund. He pushed a body aside that was draped over his shoulder and stepped over another corpse. The problem was that for each one he got free of, it looked like two more took their place.
I brought my pistol up and fired at one that was just about to get ahold of one arm. Edmund was slashing with two knives now. He’d apparently lost his machete at some point. He would jab first one, then the next as his face became a mask of rage.
His eyes found mine and they lit up. Maybe it was just relief that he had not been abandoned. Whatever the reason, a smile spread across his features as he renewed his attacks and counters to the undead still trying to feast on him. Marshawn had managed to get ahead of me by a few paces and shoved one of his pistols into the waistband of his jeans as he pulled a long knife from a sheath at his hip.
I rushed up beside him as one zombie on the ground reached up to try and grab his legs. I kicked the thing in the side of the head. While it had no outward effect on it, the body had shifted enough to end up on its side. It now turned its attention to getting back onto its belly and I took that moment to plant my foot in the middle of its back. I followed Marshawn’s lead and drew a blade which I promptly slammed into the base of the zombie’s exposed neck in an upwards thrust aimed at the brain pan.
I was now just a few steps from Edmund. He reached out for me as yet another zombie tried to pull him down from behind. My fingertips brushed his and he staggered back as two more zombies grabbed his shoulders and tried to yank him back. He thrashed and jerked, but they showed no signs of letting go as they moaned in apparent anticipation of their upcoming feast.
Edmund was starting to lose his footing now as the fifth and sixth zombies fought for position like a litter of puppies. If he went down again, I had no doubt that he would die the horrific and painful death that only being eaten alive can offer.
There was no time to think, and no other option, I dove forward. The only thing I did have the presence of mind to do in the process was to turn my body so that I collided with Edmund using the shoulder of my good arm.
We went tumbling and I felt a foot connect with my jaw hard enough to make me see stars. My vision began to tunnel as darkness tried to close in, but I forced it back with everything I had left in me. I landed on my side and found myself staring into the filmed over eyes of a girl in her early teens. The face of some blonde pop star named Shari—I know because it was visible through the bloodstains in big glittery blue letters—stared back at me from the shirt. Her half-lidded eyes trying to ooze sexualit
y but managing nothing above basic sluttiness.
I realized that I still held my knife. Somewhere in the madness, my Glock had spun away. It probably hadn’t helped that I’d been holding it in my bad hand; the ace bandage on that arm becoming unraveled as I had seemingly lost the fasteners in the chaos.
I brought my good hand up and jabbed the blade into the eye of the girl as I rose to my knees. Edmund was untangling himself from a pair of the undead. He was down to one Buck knife, but he was using his arm like a piston as he jabbed at the zombies close enough to be a threat.
Like a guardian angel sent down to sweep up his charge, Marshawn grabbed Edmund and physically slung him away from the melee and in the direction of safety. He turned to me and his expression changed to one of grave concern. He hopped over one downed corpse and kicked away another to reach me. I was stunned when he made the adjustment that allowed him to grab my good arm and yank me past him.
I wasn’t foolish enough to pause and staggered forward with the momentum he’d provided. Once I was confident that I was clear, I slowed to look back…just in time for Marshawn to race past me like the devil himself was in pursuit. Taking the hint, I joined in the run.
We rounded a corner and the group began to slow now that danger was behind us. I took that opportunity to work my way to the lead of the group. As I did, I counted. There were eleven of us—seven men and four women. I had no idea how many people had been lost back there, but I was buoyed by being around this many living beings. It was the most I’d been in company with since the Franklin High School FEMA center.
“Hey…this is back the way we came,” somebody called out after we’d gone a few blocks.
“I have a car back towards the rec center that you all abandoned,” I said as I continued on.
“That’s super for you, but that doesn’t do anything for the rest of us,” the person insisted.