The Human Race (Book 1)

by Tahnee Fritz

  “What time is it?” he asks, wiping some of the sweat from his face.

  I look at my watch, “Close enough to dinnertime that we can have it now.”

  He smiles, “Okay, let’s go to a picnic table and eat. Then we’ll scope the place out for anything useful.”

  I shrug and follow him to a green picnic table next to an old playground, “I doubt we find anything here. It’s probably been cleaned out already.”

  He sits on one side and I sit on the other, “We need to check anyway. I want to be prepared for anything.”

  “Okay.” I say, half confused.

  I take my bag off and set it on the ground next to the table. Dad does the same, then digs inside for whatever food he was able to get in Nash Tenn. A couple small loafs of homemade bread, a few oranges and apples, but no meat or anything sweet. Those were luxuries we couldn’t afford to trade for. People normally wanted good things, like diamonds or jewelry for that, not whatever scraps we could find. Sometimes dad would hunt, but that rarely happens. You never know if the meat you’ll be eating in the wild is tainted or not. It’s best to just stick to the fruits and veggies.

  He breaks a loaf of bread in half and hands one to me along with an orange. Then he sets the bottle of water on the table and we each begin taking small bites of our meal. He’s taking much smaller bites than I am and I’m not sure why. He’s not normally the one to savor food. He’s normally the one who will finish your dinner for you if you get full.

  “Are you okay, dad?” I ask.

  He nods, “I’m fine,” it seems like he’s hiding something from me.

  I take another bite, “You don’t seem fine. You’re sweating like crazy and you won’t take your coat off. You’re eating really small bites and I haven’t seen you take a single drink of water all day. What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  He shakes his head, “No, I’m fine. I promise you that everything is going to be alright. I’m more worried about you than myself right now.”

  I raise an eyebrow and ask, “Why are you worried about me?”

  He runs his fingers through his hair and says, “I’m worried that you hate me for making you leave that girl back there. It made me happy to see that you made a friend in her and it killed me to force you to leave. I just hope you understand that we need to keep going. We can’t afford to get caught up in other peoples’ lives and have to worry about keeping them alive along with ourselves. It’s hard enough to survive out here with just the two of us. You do understand that, right Bridge?”

  I slowly nod my head, “I do. I wish it was different though.”

  “So do I. This is just a horrible place and the less people we have to worry about, the better it is for us.”

  “Yeah, but it was a good feeling having to protect them when we ran into those two zombies yesterday. Sherry made me feel like a badass after that.” I say with a smile.

  “You are really good at it. One thing I’ll never have to worry about, you’ll be able to keep yourself safe in tough situations, even without me.” He says.

  I stop myself before taking another bite of bread, “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing,” he shakes his head and shoves a big bite of an orange in his mouth, “just finish eating.” He replies.

  I wait a second before taking a bite. It still feels like he’s keeping something from me. Something big. Something I want to get to the bottom of. He won’t give it up easily, but I know he’ll have to tell me eventually. It will drive me crazy until I figure out what is so important he can’t tell me and I’ll do my best not to pester him about it. It’s just really hard being a teenager and not being told something. If it didn’t already feel like the end of the world right now, it sure would with dad keeping a secret from me.

  My eyes stay glued to him as he finishes with his bread and orange. His hands are slightly shaking and he looks paler than normal. My best guess is because he won’t take his jacket off and he’s overheating himself. With it being so close to summer, it’s easy to do out here in the middle of nowhere, especially in the southern half of the country. But, he feels like he needs to wear it, so who am I to tell him otherwise.

  When I’m finished with the dry bread, I wash it down with a gulp of water, then dad and I stand from the benches. Both of us grab our bags and head for the main building of the rest area. The metal door has been busted off its hinges and is lying on the floor in the doorway. Trash and leaves flutter in and out of the building with the slight breeze in the air. An old newspaper brushes against my foot and I glance at it.

  I reach down and pick it up. It’s dated August 28th, 2015, two weeks after I turned fourteen. The picture on the front page shows a crowd of people running in the streets, being chased by a mob of zombies. The caption under the picture states that it was taken in Chicago. It was worse in the bigger cities than in the smaller ones like my hometown. The headline above the picture simply states “The Human Race Has Begun”. I guess whoever came up with that had a bit of a sense of humor. The people in the picture do look like they’re racing, despite the fact that they are scared out of their minds and they are literally racing for their lives. Still, glad to know someone was able to hold onto their humility while trying to live in this world when it all began.

  I don’t bother reading anymore of the old article. I’m sure it will say the same thing our newspaper said the last day it was delivered to our house. How we need to prepare ourselves for the end and make sure to lock the doors and board the windows in order to keep safe. Not that it did any good for a majority of the people in the world. Zombies will do what they can to get in the house and vamps are strong enough to break the doors down. It’s a losing situation regardless. People still do those things anyway thinking it will keep them safe. I hope they’re right. We can’t afford to lose any more of our kind.

  Out of an undying habit, I toss the old paper in the trash can right outside the door as I follow dad inside. No point to doing that anymore, but no sense in adding to the waste covering the land outside. There’s a musty smell to the air when we get inside the building and the sound of dripping water comes from one of the bathrooms. The men’s room is to the left and the women’s is on the right. Directly in front of us, is an old information station. Empty racks where maps used to be surround the walls next to a counter where someone would stand behind for assistance. A poster sized picture frame is on the wall next to the counter and is completely smashed. I assume there was at one point a map in that frame and someone needed it more than the wall did.

  “You go right, I’ll go left. Look for anything that might be of use for trading or a weapon.” Dad says, then lets out a sigh. “Be careful, Bridge, I love you.”

  I smile and say, “Love you too, dad.”

  I turn to my right and walk away from him. I don’t hear his footsteps at first, but after a few seconds, I can hear them. He must have been watching me or something. Maybe it has something to do with the secret I think he’s hiding. There’s nothing I can do besides shrug it off and walk into the ladies’ room.

  The sound of dripping water gets louder when I walk into this room. A small amount of sunlight shines through the windows at the top of the room and is enough for me to see without a flashlight. Not like I have one of those anyway. The leak is coming from an old pipe under one of the faucets. It’s dripping into the expanding puddle on the tiled floor. Other than that noise, the place is quiet. Too quiet for me to be comfortable.

  I take a few slow steps into the room and glance into the first stall. The door is hanging off one of the hinges and blocks part of the view. There’s nothing to see in that stall anyway, so I go to the next one. The next two stalls are empty, other than graffiti covering the walls. Old phone numbers people put up in case someone wanted to have a good time. Seeing that makes me smile.

  I keep moving and look inside the fourth stall, instantly wishing I hadn’t. Somebody really missed the toilet and didn’t bother to flush. It’s like they painted the wall
s with their crap, literally. The brown nastiness is crusted all over the walls and on the rim of the toilet. That’s almost as disgusting as looking a zombie in the face. I grimace and move on to the last stall before the showers. It’s empty just like the others. I enter the shower room and stop right at the doorway. It’s more devastating than what I saw in stall number four.

  A family, complete with two young children lie dead in the corner on the shower floor. A single gun is at the fingertips of the father’s outstretched hand, a bullet wound in his head. The same wound in the heads’ of his family members. They must have been here a while, the blood has turned brown and their bodies are starting to decompose. Not enough to mask the faces of the little boy and girl in the arms of their mother. I guess they couldn’t take this world any longer and chose the only way out instead of risking their lives on the road.

  I feel a bit relieved to know my dad didn’t choose that way to find safety.

  I look away from the wretched scene and notice one of their backpacks in the opposite corner of the room. I hate that I have to do this, but we need whatever supplies are in that bag more than that family. I walk over to it, keeping my distance away from them. There’s not much weight to the bag when I pick it up. It still feels like there’s something inside so I’ll take it with me anyway.

  I turn back toward the doorway and take a few steps away from the family. My mind goes to the gun lying on the floor next to them and I spin around and stare at it. I don’t really want to take the thing they used to end whatever suffering they were going through. It’s a horrid reminder of what they forced themselves to do in order to escape this world. Dad would tell me I’m being too sympathetic for those people. That I need to stop caring so much about people who were badly affected by this world. He’s be right, sympathy can get in the way of things. This family doesn’t need that gun anymore and it might come in handy for those of us still with a beating heart.

  I tiptoe close to the father, his head is turned my way adding to the already eerie feeling I’m getting just by being in the room with them. I know it looks like they are one hundred percent gone and onto whatever their next life shall be, but looks can be deceiving. Dead can come back to life, hearts can stop beating yet you can still stare into the eyes of the people you care about. A horrible thing to be thinking about when I’m alone in a not so big room with four dead people rotting in the corner. It’s best if I just get with the program and get out of here.

  With my left foot, I reach out and step on top of the gun and slide it away from the dead man, his fingers make a cracking sound as they release the gun. My eyes stay focused to his unmoving face. It better stay that way. I slowly kneel down and feel for the gun with my right hand. I lift it from the floor then stand up straight. My feet slide across the floor taking me back to the entryway. Before I leave the shower room, I scan over the family one last time.

  “Sorry, you had to do this to yourselves.” I say, feeling like something needs to be said for them. “I hope wherever you are now, is a lot better than this place. Thank you for the gun and whatever I find useful in your pack.”

  I’m not the greatest when it comes to saying meaningful things to the actually deceased humans. At least I said something and that’s all that counts. I turn away from them and walk back through the bathroom and out into the visitors’ area.

  Dad is waiting for me by the information desk, hands empty, but he smiles when he sees that I have found something, “There’s no one here, might be a good place to stay for the night.”

  “There is a family in the girls’ bathroom. They’re dead and I found this bag and a gun with them.” I reply.

  He nods, “We’ll hole up here for the night, go through that bag and hopefully find something of use. In the morning, after you eat, we’ll set out again.”

  “Okay.” I agree, handing him the bag and gun I found.

  We make camp behind the information counter inside the rest area. Dad barricades the main entrance with two of the old vending machines. He goes through the bag I found with the family in the bathroom, starting with their small, black handgun. There’s only one bullet left inside, so he stows it in his own bag. There’s no food, not that that’s a surprise. That poor family probably finished whatever morsels they had left as a last meal. Dad finds a flashlight, but the batteries are missing, an old shirt with some football team’s logo on it, and a bible. Nothing of much use. He keeps the flashlight, thinking we could use it to trade for something and tosses the bag to the corner of the room.

  When the sun goes down and we both notice it’s getting pretty late outside, dad makes up the sleeping bag for me against the wall and decides he’s going to let me sleep all night while he stays up to keep watch. I don’t argue, I am much too tired for that, but I still find it odd. With him staying up the entire night, we’ll have to make more stops to rest on our journey when we leave in the morning. He’ll be too tired to go on without taking a break. I know, I’ve tried a few times before. But, like I said, I don’t argue and I curl up in the sleeping bag and close my eyes for the night.

  I wake up early in the morning and instantly hear the pitter-patter of raindrops on the tin roof of the structure. I check the time on my watch, only seven in the morning. Five years ago, I’d be getting ready for school right now, not getting ready to walk across the country in hopes of finding sanctuary in Canada. Growing up sure is different nowadays.

  I get up from my makeshift bed and roll up the sleeping bag right away. Dad takes it with a shaking hand and straps it to his backpack. I go about fixing my hair and put my hoodie on to keep dry in the rain. Before we leave the rest area, dad hands me a piece of the bread to eat for breakfast. He takes none for himself, not even a drink of water or anything. It’s then when I notice how pale and sickly he looks. Even in the dim light, I can tell he doesn’t look like himself anymore. There are purple bags under his glazed over eyes and even with his jacket on, I can see him shiver a bit. There is still sweat beading on his cheeks and forehead and I know something isn’t right.

  “Dad, are you okay?” I ask, finishing my breakfast.

  He nods, “I’m fine, just a little lightheaded. Let’s get going.”

  He doesn’t grant me any time to contest with him and instantly starts heading for the door. I lift up my bag and put in on my shoulders. I follow him through the building and he slides the vending machines out of the doorway. Luckily there are no zombies lurking about when we get outside. Always a plus when we stay indoors somewhere. I put my hood over my head and follow dad out into the rain. It’s not pouring, just a heavy sprinkle. Nothing that will stop us from walking anywhere.

  We get back to the highway and head north again. Dozens of cars are scattered about just like on every other road we venture on. Some have crashed into the ditches or slid into the grassy median and are being overrun with weeds and grass. In a few, I can see the remains of whoever was driving the car when they crashed and no one bothered to help them out before they died. We ignore them all and press onward. Much like the family back at the rest stop, there’s no point in taking the time to feel sad for them. We barely took the time to mourn our own family members when they met their horrible end. Just a few minutes to say our goodbyes and then we hit the road again. Except for mom, that took a little longer to say goodbye to her.

  I don’t want to think about that right now.

  We walk for about an hour and I notice dad is gradually slowing down. The rain has turned into a light mist and I turn my eyes to my father. A pained look has crossed his face and every step seems to be a struggle. His feet are sliding across the concrete, making a shuffling sound, and he’s not even looking at the road ahead of us. His breathing sounds labored and his hands are shaking ferociously.

  “Dad?” I say, trying to get him to look at me.

  His eyes stay focused at his feet. They are hazy and dull and the purple bags underneath them have gotten darker. He doesn’t look my way at all. Every few seconds, he claws at th
e straps of his backpack like they are digging into his shoulders. He stumbles, tripping over his own feet, but catches himself quickly. I stare at him and a lump forms in my throat. He stumbles again and this time I’m there to catch him.

  “I need...to sit.” He says, out of breath.

  I nod and immediately begin looking for someplace to sit down for a moment. There are trees to our left and they look awfully dark and I refuse to go there. To our right, is an old metal shack with a partially missing roof. I motion toward the shack and the two of us stagger across the highway to get there.

  He takes the bag off his back and lets it fall to the ground. I help him sit down on the south side of the small building and he leans against it. I kneel on the ground next to him and take his hand in mine. It’s icy cold and shaking. There’s a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach and I just know something bad is about to happen.

  “Dad, please tell me what’s wrong?” I beg.

  He takes a deep, croaky breath and looks at me, “I’m so...so sorry, Bridget.”

  “Please. What’s wrong?”

  He lets go of my hand and slowly peels his jacket off. Every movement he makes sends shockwaves of pain through his body and I can see it on his face. He lets the coat fall to the ground behind him, then turns his left arm to show me what has happen. My jaw drops as I stare at the black marks on his forearm. The blood has dried and around the black bite marks is a pasty white color. The other night in that town with the vamps comes to my mind.

  “What happened?” I whisper as tears build in my eyes.

  “I tried to get away, Bridge, that...that boy got me first then he went for you.” Dad says quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t...tell you before. I was afraid.” He’s starting to sound just like one of them as he speaks.