by Megan Berry
“Why would a zombie be in the closet?” I verbally slap myself before pulling the door open. Thankfully, the closet is zombie free. I grab a nine iron out of my dad's golf bag.
It doesn't make me feel much better, but at least it's something. I take up my post, staring down the stairs, this time with a golf club gripped in my hands like a baseball bat.
I take the first step and the stairs creak under my feet, and I feel my heart take the deep plunge down into my stomach. My throat burns bitter with acid, but I force myself to keep going. The Washington's are going to be here soon, and I have to be ready. I don't want to be left behind.
The lights are off, but sunshine streams in through the blinds, illuminating the room. I can hear a faint scream, but can tell it's coming from outside somewhere and not in my house. My eyes scan the kitchen. Everything looks so normal. I notice the dirty frying pan still sitting in the sink, I used to make myself a late supper of toast and eggs when I got home last night. I go to the pantry and hastily shove a few cans into the top half of my backpack. I don't want to weigh it down too much, so I settle on a couple cans of tuna and those small, plastic fruit cups. My eyes land on crackers and chocolate chip cookies. I grab those too, but the boxes are too big for my bag. I toss the cardboard and shove the crackers in. I have to squish them a bit, but it's better than nothing. I top it off with a couple bottles of water from the fridge and zip my backpack up. Despite my best efforts, it feels heavy and awkward. I set the bag by the front door, ready to go, my eyes scanning the kitchen for anything else I might need.
The knife block sitting on the counter catches my attention, and a shiver races down my spine. Could I really stab one of those things outside? I walk over, grab the biggest, sharpest knife and set it on top of my backpack. Maybe I could.
I return to the front door and stare out the peephole. My stomach gives a sickening jump as I count twelve zombies staggering around the cul-de-sac. Some are closer than others, and some are people that I know. I see two of the kids from next-door walking around with large bite marks missing out of their faces, their slow, staggering pace a sure sign that they have been turned into monsters.
Movement by the neighbor’s garage catches my eye, and I see old Mrs. Myers creeping along the edge of her house with her small dog, Pickles, clutched to her chest. Her fingers trail the vinyl on the side of her house as she walks agonizingly slow—though I can tell it isn’t the same gait as the zombies; she’s still human, just old. A bark reaches my ears, and my heart sinks. That damn dog barks again and several of the creatures head’s snap around, drawn by the noise. The dog keeps barking, and I can see Mrs. Myers desperately trying to shush him. The zombies are coming around the side of the garage now and she doesn't even know it. I fight the urge to run out there and yell out a warning. I don't know what I can do to help her, I’m just a kid. By the time she sees the monsters they are already on top of her. I can hear her screams echoing through the house, and my eyes are glued to the peephole, morbidly unable to look away. I see a spurt of blood arc above the crowd of zombies as an artery in her neck is torn wide open by several pairs of jagged teeth.
I pull my eye away from the peephole when she falls to the ground, still clutching a struggling Pickles with four zombies on top of them, clumsily following her down to the ground. The acid in my stomach shifts, and I vomit on the floor. My throat is stinging and my eyes have tears in them when I’ve finished. I think about grabbing a towel and cleaning up the mess, but stop myself. It's the zombie apocalypse, what is the point really? I didn't want to miss my ride with Abby and her parents. I step around the mess and pick my backpack up off the floor, slinging it onto my back. I throw on a pair of hiking boots and stand shivering by the door. The reek of vomit makes me feel sick again, but this time I manage to keep it down. Not that there's really anything to keep down, I didn't eat yet today, and with all those dead bodies walking around out there, I don't know if I will ever be able to eat again.
Two of the zombies that just ate my neighbour and her dog have wandered into my yard. My heart stutters in fear. How am I going to get out of here? They stagger around, not looking particularly fast. Still, they’re terrifying enough.
I press my eye up to the peephole in time to see the Washington’s Suburban come squealing around the corner. The vehicle is swerving wildly. Without even slowing down, it smashes into one of the zombies standing vigil on the sidewalk in front of my house. I watch as the body bounces off the hood and gets swept underneath the tires. The zombie’s head explodes like an overripe melon beneath the weight of the SUV, and I nearly puke again. The Suburban drives erratically up the curb and over the sidewalk, and screeches to a halt in the middle of my front lawn.
I can hear the faint sound of the vehicle’s idle as it parks outside my door, this is the time for action. I'm terrified, but I'm even more terrified that they're going to leave me behind if I don't get my ass in gear.
I take one last look out the peephole before throwing the door wide open and running for my life. I have the golf club gripped in my hand, but halfway to the car I realize that I forgot the knife. I press on, there is no way I'm going back for it now, every zombie in the cul-de-sac is looking my way. Surprise hits me as I approach the vehicle and see Abby in the passenger seat. Her neighbour Megan is driving. I grab the back door handle and pull, but it doesn't open. Adrenaline surges through my veins, and a scream is torn from my lips as I watch Abby scramble to hit the unlock button. It feels like forever. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that we are gathering a large crowd of hungry spectators.
"Abby!" I cry out, not even recognizing my own voice. I'm already calculating my chances of running back into the house before the zombies tear me to shreds. The sound of the locks flipping is the sweetest noise I've ever heard.
"Where are you parents?" I blurt out before I register the redness in her eyes and the tears. Her clothing is covered with fresh blood, and the hand that's resting on the seat is shaking like crazy.
Abby shakes her head, unable to answer. Megan jams the gas pedal down before my butt is even completely in the seat. She leaves a huge rut in the lawn, and for a minute I worry about what my mother will say, but then I remember. I fight down the urge to throw up again, to cry, or scream until my face turns red and the pain cutting across my chest goes away. Maybe I'm like Abby now and don't have any parents. I immediately push the morbid thought out of my head. I’m in shock.
The first body slams off the hood and all three of us scream in unison. My hands are shaking as I rush to buckle my seatbelt. My friend has a crazed expression on her face, and I don't know what to say. What do you say to someone whose parents just died? A knot forms in my throat, I had just spoken to her mother on the phone not even an hour ago.
The Suburban screeches out of the cul-de-sac, and I get my first look at the destruction. The city is in ruin, smoke is filling the air, and the dead are everywhere. The shock of seeing what we are truly dealing with makes me go numb and temporarily pushes the thought of Abby’s parents from my mind.
"We need to avoid the highways," Megan mutters to herself like a mad woman. We can see the congestion on the freeway for miles.
"Turn left up here." I tell her as we are approaching the turn onto the highway, I want to make sure we don’t accidentally find ourselves in the carnage below. "Where are we going?" I ask, though I'm terrified to hear the answer.
"Out of this hell-hole town," Megan answers me as she cranks the wheel hard to avoid a zombie in the middle of the road.
I wonder why Megan’s here. What happened to Abby's parents, for that matter, what happened to my parents? I can hear Abby's sobs that she can't hold back, and I reach forward and clasp my hand on her shoulder. She reaches up and takes my hand. Her hand is sticky with blood and I almost pull away, but then I catch myself and squeeze back.
The dead are everywhere. As we speed past them it is like seeing frozen tableau's of horror rush by. Blood coats the streets, and the dead stumble aro
und in droves.
"There's a traffic jam up ahead." I let go of Abby's hand and accidentally yell right in Megan's ear. I'm sure she saw it too, but my anxiety is through the roof. I'm having a hard time keeping it together. Abby isn't keeping it together at all and doesn't even bother to look up when I yell. Megan slows for a minute, staring at the gnarled wreck of metal and blood in front of us, it spans both sides of the road involving a jack knifed semi and several vehicles. A zombie comes oozing up to the Suburban and claws at my side window, leaving a trail of blood and little bits of bone fragment in its wake. Megan and I both scream. Abby doesn't even seem to be aware of what's happening at this point.
Megan cranks the wheel hard, and the Suburban bumps as the wheels climb the center meridian. A metal sign scrapes the edge of the vehicle—effectively scraping the zombie off the side mirror where it was clinging. I look back at the bloody heap on the side walk but look away when it starts to writhe and move again. Megan cuts across the oncoming lane, which would normally be a suicide mission, but today there isn't any other traffic. Another shot of adrenaline spikes through my body when she aims the nose of the vehicle towards the ditch and drives down into the grass as she bypasses the accident. It hits me hard in the gut when I take a moment and realize THERE ISNT ANY OTHER TRAFFIC. Where are all the other people? Surely we can't be all that's left?
The wheels begin to spin as we lose traction. It rained last night and the grass is still wet.
"Oh God!" I shriek as the wheels spin and tear up the grass. We have caught the attention of a large group of zombies that begin to climb their way out of the wreckage beside us, where I can only imagine they have been feasting on the bones of their victims.
"What do we do?" Megan screams as she presses the gas pedal and we begin to slide sideways.
Abby seems to wake from her trance for a second. She reaches over and flips the dial on the dash to 4x4. The tires spin one last time before they catch some traction, and then we are moving forward again. I'm so amped from the adrenaline running through my body that I begin to sob uncontrollably. I bite my knuckle, trying to stifle the noise, but it doesn't help much.
We bypass the accident and get back on the main road. Megan flips the car out of four wheel drive and pins it. The Suburban shoots down the road at high speeds.
The dead start to thin out as we leave town. We drive for another forty minutes until there is nothing around us but wide open fields. We haven't seen a zombie in the last fifteen minutes.
Megan pulls the Suburban over and puts it in park, and we sit in complete silence for a long time.
"How could something like this happen?" Abby asks at last, her voice raw from emotion.
"What did happen?" I hesitate, not sure if I should have asked, not sure if I even want to know.
"We loaded all the supplies into the Suburban in the garage where it was safe, we made it out. Then Dad saw the neighbour’s kid from across the street; the zombies were after him." A tear leaks down her cheeks.
"He got out and tried to help, but it was too late. He was attacked and bitten... They tore him to pieces,” Abby shudders at the terrible memory. “Dad got bit, and Mom went crazy, jumping out of the truck and tried to save him..."
A lump forms in my throat, and I have to look away as tears prick my own eyes. Abby's parents had been like a second set of parents to me.
"Mom was attacked and I tried to help her... I even grabbed her hand." My empty stomach flip-flops at the imagery of her words. "The zombie was biting into her shoulder and she was screaming at me to run."
"What did you do?" My voice is a whisper. Abby shakes her head, unable to answer.
"I saw it from my window across the street and ran out to try and help." Megan swallows visibly. "There was nothing I could do, so I grabbed Abby's arm and pulled her into the truck.
"…I ran." Abby interrupts. Her words are spoken in a rush of tears and guilt, and then she breaks down.
I had begun to sweat during her story. I peel off my hoodie and roll the window down.
The cool air is a welcome addition to the stale smell of sweat and the metallic scent of blood.
"Shut the window!" Abby screams at me, her voice is filled with panic and I realize what an idiot I am. How could I forget already? Abby is still covered in her Mother’s blood, I feel shame and embarrassment sweep over my body.
"Sorry." I roll the window up as fast as my finger can press the button, before I even allow myself to breathe again. It hasn’t even been the zombie apocalypse for a whole day yet and here I am falling into old routines that could get us all killed.
Abby seems a bit recovered from her cry, the fear of what I did seemed to jolt her out of it.
"It's okay, you didn't realize." Her words say one thing, but the look on her face says another.
"So where are we going?" I ask to fill the silence as much as my own curiosity.
"My parents had a plan." Abby's breath catches a bit but she presses on. "We used to vacation at Lake Manaruke all the time, do you remember?" I nod, they had taken me with them the last seven summers.
"Your cabin?" I ask. Abby nods.
"Maybe it will be safer there in the middle of nowhere?"
I dip my head in agreement, though I’m not sure. How are a couple of sixteen-year-old girls supposed to survive the zombie apocalypse? We have no parents and no real skills. I don’t think my previous role as head cheerleader is going to help me anytime soon.
"Sure." I put on a brave face as Abby dig’s a map out of the glove box.
"My parents planned to avoid all the major cities and towns." She is scanning the map, trailing a blood red finger along the paper. I have to suppress a shiver.
It’s going to be hard. We are three states away from the beloved beach house, separated by a sea of reanimated death.
All three of our heads bend in close as we study the map; we need to avoid Burley, the next big town in our path. Together we carefully map out an alternate route with a pen that we find in the glove box.
"Will you trade places with me for a while, I want to lie down?" Abby asks me after she folds the map and puts it back in the glove box.
"Sure." I nod and unbuckle my seat belt.
"Let's just climb over, don't go outside," Abby cautions, like she thinks I am a complete idiot.
I bite my tongue and nod. Then, then the two of us are bumping into each other in the ultra-small space as we try to change spots.
My knee hits the dash, and I bite back a curse. Sitting in the passenger seat, I notice a small smear of blood on the leather right beside where my fingers rest and quickly move my hand.
"Ready?" Megan asks with a false sense of bravado. Abby curls up in the back seat and nods before closing her eyes. I'm a little worried that, with her parents gone, she might give up.
I can see Megan looking at Abby in the rear view mirror and wonder if she’s thinking the same thing. Megan catches me watching her and turns the key, putting the Suburban in to drive. I turn my attention to the side mirror. I can see plumes of black smoke billowing in the distance and my heart aches in my chest as I say a silent goodbye. I don't know if I'll ever come back or if I'll even live until tomorrow, and I’m terrified.
I turn around and look at Abby one more time, but her eyes are closed. I look back at Megan. "This is crazy." The words are out of my mouth before I can take them back.
Megan nods. "Tell me about it." She pauses awkwardly before continuing, "Did your parents...not make it either?" I can tell she feels weird asking me.
I shake my head. "I don't know." I don't really like the reminder that my parents could be dead, or worse, the walking dead.
Megan's eyebrows raise.
"They were in New York this weekend, Dad had a business meeting and Mom went with him to see the sights," my voice catches. I wipe at a single tear that streaks down my cheek.
"There's still hope then." Her words are encouraging and I want desperately to cling to that hope, but New York is a huge p
lace with millions of people. It would be almost impossible to escape through that many zombies. If we hadn't lived on the outskirts of our relatively small town of Blairsville Pennsylvania—we might not have made it either. The thought is like a lead weight bringing me back down.
“Yeah, maybe,” I agree in a small voice. I want to give up like Abby and curl up and cry my eyes out, but something won’t let me. A will to live has kicked in, and it’s strong, so strong that I am actually able to push down something that should have me rocking back and forth in the corner.
Megan gives the Suburban a bit too much gas and we are shaken as it takes off like a shot.
“Oops,” she mutters under her breath, and I reach over and hastily fasten my seat belt.
“What about your parents?” I am hesitant to ask, since they obviously aren’t here, but she did ask me first.
Megan shrugs. “I didn’t really have any before this. I was living with the Clarksons, they were my foster family.” My eyebrows go up at the news, I hadn’t known that.
“When things started to happen they loaded up their station wagon and left.”
That got my attention.
“Wait…they left without you?” I ask incredulously. Megan nods.
“That’s terrible.” I blurt out, my heart aching for Megan that someone would do such a thing.
“They weren’t the nicest people,” Megan agrees. There is a frown set around her mouth that tells me she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.
“Well, I’m glad that you’re with us. I don’t know if we would have made it out of town without you.” The frown around Megan’s mouth loosens up a bit.