He ran forward and into the world beyond like his ass was on fire. There was no other option save for forfeiting and being executed anyway. He ran into the danger zone for good reason as well. If he really ended up in the spot that the door showed him, there was no way to be stealthy. It was a wide open area filled with the walking dead.
Scott hit the ground running. He kept running as he made a bee line for the only thing he could see that might be able to help him, the open road ahead. The people shambling nearby turned toward him the moment he entered the area. Their hunger fueled moans of desperation echoed all around him. Dozens of hands rose up, each of them reaching toward him in eager anticipation of sinking their jagged teeth into his sweet meats. The undead began to stagger forward at a slow, but undeniable, pace.
"Shit. Shit. Shit," exclaimed Scott as he ran as fast as he could. He was forced to weave between a few of the walking corpses. Simply coming within a few feet of them nearly made him gag. The stench that rose up from their rotting forms was enough to gag a maggot, much less a guy used to bathing twice a day.
Sad sounding moans echoed behind him as he kept going. He did not believe what the screen previously told him. He planned to avoid being scratched or bitten altogether if possible.
His feet already bled from a multitude of small cuts as he ran across rocks and pavement. He could not stop, could not allow himself to feel the pain of it.
Smoke from the burning gas station shifted with the wind. It billowed in his direction. Forced to run through it, Scott was blinded for a brief moment. He flailed his arms wildly in an effort to keep going. He choked on the smoke and fumes as he passed through miraculously unscathed.
Grasping fingers reached toward him from the smoke. Yellowed and blackened in their decay, those ruined fingers came within mere inches of touching his naked flesh as he hurled himself forward with desperate abandon.
Panting for clean air, his lungs burned while his mind screamed for an end to the madness. Mentally, he cursed himself for not having taken up track when he was in school. As things stood, he'd already developed a terrible ache in his side from how fast he forced his body to move.
A look of bewildered disbelief crossed his face as he ran past the last zombie in his path. The highway beyond seemed devoid of the shambling dead. A glance to either side proved that they were not far away, however. They came at him from the nearby fields on either side of the roadway.
"There has to be a hundred of them," he said, as he was forced to stop and take a quick breath. He was out of shape, badly so. A quick look back told him that the gas station could not be more than a half mile away, but he was panting for air. It was possible that his adrenalin forced his body beyond his normal capacity, but in the end it did not matter. He was already exhausted.
"God damn cake. Why are you so delicious?" he groused, more as a means to bolster his confidence than as an actual desire to disparage the glory that was cake.
Despite the cramp in his side and the burning in his lungs, he moved on. He slowed to a steady trot instead of a desperate sprint. The zombies staggered behind him, their hands outstretched. Right now it was easy to outpace them, but it was a losing proposition and he knew it. Unless he could find some form of transportation, he would never escape them. At the very least he needed a pair of shoes to make it easier to run.
The horde grew larger as he trotted down the highway. Outside of the occasional scare caused by a zombie popping up from a ditch, nothing disturbed his jog. He outpaced those behind him a short distance, but never enough to stop and take a lengthy rest.
Bloody stains on the highway marked his passing as his lacerated feet continued their march forward. Unarmed and naked, he had no confidence to fight even one of the things chasing after him. There must have been well over one hundred of them staggering down the highway in his direction at the moment.
The miles passed. Sweat poured from his body, and his vision began to blur. The heat of the day was almost too much to bear. He had neither eaten, nor drank, in hours. He could do nothing but continue to run from the horde hankering for a hunk of his sweet ass.
Humanity, was a predatory species known for their endurance with persistence hunting techniques in the past. Now it was those same tactics that the zombies unwittingly employed to hunt the living. Much like the deer hunted till its heart burst in its chest, the prey of the undead was close to the end. Scott, an out-of-shape stock boy, would soon reach the point of collapse without water and rest. The hunters would then be upon him.
It was then, when all hope was lost, that he saw something in the distance. On the horizon of the overly flat landscape he saw what looked to be an old farmhouse.
He did not know where the strength came from, but he picked up the pace. He sprinted as best he could. When he grew tired, he would walk a short distance before he began to jog. Whenever he had the stamina he would repeat the process. The zombies behind him receded into the distance as he forced himself to go beyond his comfort zone. He burned a large of amount of his remaining energy reserves. He needed the time to check the house before the horde caught up.
Nearly exhausted, he managed to reach the drive way that led away from the main road toward the house. The house was a good distance off road, which made him groan slightly. Scott glanced back and estimated how much time was left before he needed to get moving.
"Five, maybe ten minutes?" he asked the air rhetorically.
Either way, it did not matter. He needed to check the place out quickly and get moving. Even at a glance he could tell that the old wooden structure would not hold off over a hundred hungry undead.
He needed shelter, but not this. What he needed was concrete, mortar, and a walled off private island with him on it. A pair of underwear would be nice as well. Anything at this point would be a welcome addition to his non-arsenal.
Scott trotted down the little dirt path then performed a quirk perimeter check of the building. He saw no zombies outside, save for the horde shambling toward him in the distance. He peeked into a few windows from outside, but saw no movement inside. He tried the doors, but they were locked.
A quick check of the little garage on the side produced a moment of elation, followed by annoyance. There was an old truck there, but the back left tire was removed. The truck was up on blocks, as some might say. It would not be going anywhere.
"Dammit," snapped Scott irritably. He checked the position of the horde then ran back into the garage and performed a quick search. There were a few tools that might be useful. There were no socks or boots, nor any useful clothes in the garage, however. He would remain in his current non-attire for a time, yet.
Too much time had passed by now. He needed to go. Scott snatched up the first aid kit from a drawer and an overly large crowbar from the wall then started to head out. There was no time to search the house since he would have to find a window big enough to crawl through and then smash it. The thing he needed most was transportation, which he was not likely to find inside the building unless this supposed realistic landscape had more game-like concepts than what seemed to be at play.
Thoughts of the videogame-like nature of the world reached into his mind. What if there truly was something amazing inside the house? After a brief moment he shook his head. If there was more time, he would check the house, but he did not want to get trapped inside.
Unfortunately, even in the garage he found little hope for escape. Other than the lawn mower in the corner, he saw nothing with an engine that might get him out of his predicament.
Scott, slightly delirious from the lack of liquid refreshment and constant running, glanced over to the lawn mower. "No..."
It was loud, it was stupidly exposed. Everything within two or three miles would hear it running. He spared it a moment's thought then growled. "Shit. Beats walking..."
As luck would have it, the homeowner had been the lazy sort who left the key to his riding mower in the ignition. He tried the engine twice, without much success. On the th
ird try the yard terror awoke with a roaring thunder.
"Hell yeah!" cried Scott.
Scott put it in reverse and set it to the little rabbit instead of the turtle. Why some lawn mower manufacturers needed symbols to show which end was full-throttle and which was slow, was beyond him. He hit the gas and the machine lurched backward before moving out at a high rate of speed. He turned the wheel hard and it continued in reverse until he maneuvered it to face the road.
The fastest members of the horde were not far from the drive way by the time he got his emergency transport into position. Scott glared at them then shoved his foot hard on the gas. The happy little lawn mower lurched forward without preamble and nearly tossed him off the seat in the process. The speedy little fellow pulled him forward with all the horse power it possessed.
Scott whipped out of the driveway and onto the road just ahead of a zombie that wildly waved its arms in his direction. He glanced back, honked the horn, and offered a saucy wink before he tore off down the road at the speed of lawn care. As he felt the wind on his naked body he could not help but lift one hand into the air and shout, "Thank you, generous hosts!"
He was going to die in this god forsaken hellhole. He was certain of it. A glance back at the staggering zombies revealed that he had put a good bit of distance between them and his sweet meats already, but that did not change the fact that he was in deep shit.
A contemplative expression crossed his face for a time. He recalled everything that happened until now and fought back a sudden urge to cry like a little he-bitch, as one of his colorfully colloquial friends might say. However, the urge passed without a single tear. The truth was that he would probably die here, but for the first time since the ordeal began he was able to take a breath and just let it go.
For the moment he was safe. He survived the horde. Despite his lack of survival skills, and the fact that he did not regularly engage in a great deal of body maintenance, he was still alive.
Not long after that moment of clarity, he noticed a small compartment below the steering wheel. He opened it as he motored along. Inside, he discovered a set of dark aviator style sunglasses.
Scott drove down the street one-handed while he put on the only clothing he possessed. A cheeky grin rose upon his lips. He accepted that he would not survive till morning. He had no skill for such a thing as surviving in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Even if he did, he would die when the time came to pay for his next day of life.
It was not long before he engaged in the only proper conduct a young American marked for death might engage in at the end of the world, when he rode down the highway on a stolen lawn mower in order to escape a horde of zombies. He threw back his head and started to sing the song, 'Born to Be Wild' loudly and off-key. He could not possibly make more noise than the lawn mower. There was no danger of attracting more attention by doing it, and singing did provide the one thing that he needed even more than a pair of underwear.
It gave him a moment of sweet relief from the memories of the terror he faced that day. He jogged, walked, and occasionally forced himself into a sprint over the course of several hours while his probable death staggered slowly behind him.
He might look like a complete lunatic to anyone who saw him. It was impossible not to look strange in his condition. Who wouldn't seem odd if they sang loudly while riding down the street naked on a lawn mower during the zombie apocalypse?
Scott did not care about appearances anymore. The situation was too ridiculous for him to become properly earnest about it. Perhaps his mind had snapped, but he was determined to have at least a little fun before he died. It was the zombie apocalypse, and he was riding naked cross-country on a lawn mower. Why not enjoy it while it lasted?
Chapter 2: Dead Man Walking
It was a situation that defied all logic. Sound was known to attract zombies. Movies and novels made a lot of statements about that fact. No matter what, anyone who wished to survive a zombie apocalypse must be silent and swift.
Due to the method of his chosen transport, Scott was about as loud as anyone could be. The lawn mower rumbled loudly as he motored down the highway at a brisk speed. If he put some effort into it, his driving skills could easily allow him to break above the ten mile per hour mark. Even so, he knew that he could not drive forever on whatever fuel was left in the tank. His bid to buy time and distance was a gamble, but so far it paid off.
He continued his thankfully lonely drive until he saw an SUV abandoned on the side of the road. The engine shut off as soon as he stood up from his seat. While a great feature for lawn care maintenance safety, it was one of the many demerits for his current transportation. If he wiggled too much, or lifted his ass at all, the engine would shut down.
The SUV's widows were heavily tinted. He could not see inside to any great degree unless he made an effort to open a door. Unfortunately, after he took a moment to check, he found that they were all locked. He bashed in the window with his crow bar then started to reach inside. A strangled moan alerted him to danger.
Now that he could see inside, there was a hint of movement in the back seat that he could vaguely discern from between the front car seats. He leaned over further then wished that he had not. A little blue bootie wiggled slightly in his field of vision. There was a baby zombie in the back seat. Normally, such a horrible sight would be heart breaking.
Scott was less heartbroken than nauseas. Between the terrible scent, and the disturbing childish moans, he could not stop what happened next. He staggered away from the unsettling scene, and then vomited at the front of the car.
"That... What kind of sick bastards make a place like this?" he asked briefly before another wave of nausea overcame him.
Despite the way the vehicle upset his stomach, he did make an attempt to search it through the window. He saw nothing of use, nor did he see sign of the child's parents. It was like they simply left the poor kid there and wandered off.
The SUV was a bust. Even after breaking the back window glass he found nothing of any particular use. Worse, there was no discernible way to siphon gas if there was any left in the tank. He mounted his mighty steed and rode away.
Another mile down the road, or so he felt, he came to an intersection and two more abandoned cars. The reason for their abandoned nature was obvious this time. They crashed into each other.
After checking through the wreckage he found a few useful items. The one that made him happiest was an unopened bottle of water. Its contents did not survive for long after it was discovered. Technically, he should have savored it, treated it like a precious existence. The truth was, he was exhausted and thirsty. He also doubted that he would see the next sun rise anyway.
He found a few other things he could use, such as a lighter, a knife and two candy bars that were probably not going to be worth eating. Scott cut some of the fabric out of the car seats, and made a few crude items. He forged a pathetic poncho, a crude loin cloth, a bandana, and wrapped his feet in the material that was left over. Neither of those items required more than bits of cloth, and took little time to make ready. He checked himself out in a side mirror then snorted. "I need to find real clothes soon."
There was no handy method of siphoning the fuel from the cars here either. Worse, neither of them seemed to be in any condition to drive. Still, things were looking up. It was possible that he only wasted his time when he cut up the seats, but he had no idea where he was and killing time was an important factor. If another opportunity presented itself, he would take it, but that did not mean that he should pass up the ones presented to him at the moment.
Before he continued his journey, he checked the fuel in his ride. A loud sigh escaped his lips as he realized that he could probably get another mile or two out of it at best. It had fairly decent gas mileage for a lawn mower, but it was not meant to be a vehicle.
On the road again, he headed off to the right. He left the main highway behind altogether in order to check out a stretch of road that might have houses on it.
Wherever he was, it was a place with a great deal of flat land and few people. If he had to guess, it would be a place like Wyoming or one of the fly-over states. He had no idea what country it was, or if it even matched with any Earth country for that matter. Still, it was a similar sort of place.
His mighty steed began to buck after a few minutes. Near the end of its life, it gave all in service to his desires. Now, it wished to rest. Forced to leave it behind not long after, Scott began his journey on foot once more. Silence returned to the rotting Earth.
On foot once more, Scott continued to travel in search of some place to hold out for the night. Even if he survived he was going to be executed, but at least he could make it that long if he found a place to rest.
Life was never simple, however. The day wore on as he traveled. Soon, the night would be upon him. As bad as it was on the road during the day, the night would be infinitely worse. While he was not forced to deal with roaming zombies after escaping the horde, he still saw them staggering around well off the road.
He walked for what seemed like hours, and the day dragged on. It was late afternoon by the time he saw something interesting once more. It was another intersection. This time there were a few small buildings to explore.
Scott trotted over to the closest building then performed a quick check of the surroundings. He looked down each of the roads that led away from the intersection and noted that only a single house in the far distance upset the landscape. He was literally in the only speck of civilization for several miles all around.
"Looks like this is the end of the road for me," said Scott softly after a moment. He guessed that he had maybe an hour, or possibly two hours, worth of daylight left.
There were no zombies outside, so he opted to start checking the buildings. There was a house, a restaurant, and a convenience store. Each of them offered him the potential to find something useful.
Galactic Fist of Legend Page 2