by David Bourne
Ray grinned. Even though he had just met Chris yesterday, he liked the guy. “Well, get going. I’ll be waiting here.”
Josh (19)
The drive went smoothly, and occasionally Josh saw abandoned vehicles parked by the side of the road. There was no trace of the passengers, neither living nor dead—or undead. His truck was just passing a sign—Fort Weeks 5 Miles—when a loud noise split the silence of the night. He could clearly feel the shock wave.
He gradually slowed down his vehicle. Damn it, that wasn’t far away. The source of the noise seemed to be a bit further inside the forest. An orange-colored light flickering over the tree tops did not bode well. After a short drive, he saw what had caused the shock wave. There ought to be an old wooden bridge crossing the river here—ought to be.
Josh stopped his truck further away in order to be able to see more. The headlights cast a bright cone of light across the ravine to the other side. Only smoldering beams and a lot of debris remained of the bridge. On both ends, the road ended in large craters. It looked as if someone had wanted to make sure that no one could cross the river here. His way of traveling by truck had come to an end.
Josh didn’t like the idea that he would have to get out and continue on foot. He knew of another road that also led to the military base, but he would have to drive around the entire forest. This would mean a detour of several hours, and he couldn’t be sure that there wouldn’t be even bigger problems in this direction. He also might run out of gas—and would have to walk even further.
He got out hesitantly and put his backpack on his shoulders. Only five miles to go on foot. Then I don’t have to run away anymore and will finally be safe. This encouraging idea, though, was undercut by the darkness of the night. I can’t see shit.
He had to try and cross the river here. The orange flames at least provided some light and brightened the pitch-dark depths.
As Josh looked more closely at the debris in the river bed, he saw that further down a wooden girder was still relatively intact and seemed to reach a spot only a few yards away from the opposite bank. At this time of the year the river carried a lot of water, and even if he just had to cross a few yards of water, he had to be very careful. If the water swept him away, he would be in great danger.
All the other scenarios included the risk of being eaten alive, and Josh felt that he had seen enough of undead assholes for one day. He concluded he had no choice but to risk it.
Amazingly, he nimbly stepped onto the girder and balanced himself on it to its end. A jump of about ten feet separated Josh from the other bank. He readjusted his backpack once more, then jumped and landed in the water about three feet from the river bank. Josh was shocked at first, but he only sank to his knees.
He had made it! Things went easier than he had initially feared. Josh climbed up towards the road, and looked to the right. The lights of his truck blinded him, but he was sure he had noticed some movement next to the area of bright light.
The silhouette of a zombie staggered into the glare of the headlights, and was immediately followed by another one. Apparently there had been several zombies right next to the road that Josh had not noticed when he got out of his truck. He told himself to be more careful next time. However, he didn’t seem to be alone on this side of the bridge, either. The wind carried the sound of a gurgling moan from the forest, and the hair on the back of Josh’s neck stood up. The moaning didn’t seem to come from a single throat—it appeared to be from a whole pack of these beasts! He walked along the road towards the military base so he would be as far away as possible once these monsters reached the bridge.
After a few hundred yards, he looked back. He could now clearly see several zombies in the glare of the headlights, estimating there were at least twenty. Most of them appeared to stumble around in an awkward and confused fashion, but one of them stood out from the crowd, standing a bit taller and more upright. Then it raised his head up and made jerky movements in several directions. Did you lose something, asshole?
At this moment, the big zombie turned in Josh’s direction, uttered a bloodcurdling shriek and ran towards him. Josh’s eyes widened. The damned thing had been searching for him!
The other undead seemed to understand the shriek and also turned in his direction.
Josh started to run like hell.
Ray (20)
While he was alone in the office, Ray continued to surf the internet and watched the inbox of his email account. He only found information about the crash of his plane when he specifically began searching for it. There was so much happening at the same time that a plane crash didn’t make the news anymore.
The homepage of Augusta Airline only stated the plane was missing and that families would be informed as soon as more facts were known. This message was two days old by now. Ray wrote an email to Derek Stanzer, the CEO of the airline, describing the events of the last few days and listing the names of the survivors. Who knows if there is still anyone working at Augusta Airline, Ray thought. Who knows if Derek is still alive. Who knows how my kids are doing.
With this particular thought, his hand started to tremble again, and he pulled the pint out of his pocket. Like many longtime alcoholics, Ray told himself again and again that he could stop immediately, if he only wanted to—no problem, just not today. Not at this moment. Right now, he wanted nothing more in the world than a shot of whiskey.
Once the familiar burning sensation traveled down his throat and filled his stomach with comforting warmth, he immediately felt better. Two more gulps and the entire pint was gone. Ray felt great, even though he was just warming up. He went back to the liquor store and got more supplies in the form of two liter bottles of Jack Daniels. Good old Jack had kept him company in many a desperate hour, so why not now?
While he was getting plastered, he kept checking his email. No answer. He drank even more out of frustration. After a while he realized the alcohol had made him sleepy. In his drunken stupor, Ray wasn’t aware of the two figures that were clumsily approaching the entrance of the supermarket.
Ray (21)
The sound of breaking glass only gradually entered Ray’s consciousness as he slowly opened his eyes. He must have fallen asleep and now his head pounded like a jackhammer. There was more noise coming from the supermarket. When his vision cleared, he realized he was no longer alone. Ray got up to look around and see what was going on but he collapsed, falling face-forward. He felt warm blood flow from his temples and over his face, but didn’t feel much pain, as the whiskey still had its effects.
“Chris?” Ray moaned. Then he heard it: The sounds coming from the supermarket resembled those of the officers in the police car. So there were others in Muntly, after all—or at least something. He had to get up. He tried to, but only collapsed again. Ray felt as though his brain was bashing against the inside of his skull like a ping-pong ball, and he realized everything was turning black.
Stay awake, you idiot! He slowly crawled towards the sofa and from this perspective he could look directly into the supermarket. In one aisle, he could see that several cans and bottles were rolling around.
“Chris?” It wasn’t Chris who staggered into his field of view, instead it was two of the undead standing in the door frame. When they saw Ray, they uttered a greedy moan and moved straight towards him. Ray tried in vain to crawl back, but he felt the last reserves of his strength leaving him. “Fuck you,” he groaned before he lost consciousness. He didn’t hear the voice coming out of the PC loudspeaker: “You’ve got mail!”
Scott (22)
A bird alighted on the tree that Scott walked under. Since it was November, the tree had few leaves left. He felt his strength was fading and now and then, he rubbed his calves to ease the pain. He also had to deal with his nagging hunger, but, he didn’t know where he could find food. Scott Gerber knew as much about outdoor survival as a pig does about flying. During this brief period, Scott had almost ritualized thoughts about his family. Every time he thought about just
lying down and waiting until one of these monsters found him, he recalled the image of his loved ones. He didn’t want to give up.
Scott wondered how he should proceed. He certainly didn’t want to return to Augusta, as he had barely managed to escape the town alive. Muntly was nearby, a sleepy burg with more animals than people and within walking distance of here. Muntly it is.
He grabbed his ax and headed due north. The woods were getting denser, plus it was awfully cold. When Scott had been running and full of adrenaline, he didn’t particularly notice the cold. Now that he was hungry and exhausted, it slowly crept into his bones. After a mile, Scott heard a familiar sound he wasn’t too happy about: It was the gurgling, smacking moans of these damned beasts—and they were close to him. He could see a small clearing, but then he heard a bloodcurdling roar.
As he approached, he witnessed an amazing spectacle: A huge black bear had reared up in the clearing and was smashing the head of one of the groaning monsters to a pulp. Scott saw several bodies lying on the ground. I guess you monsters chose the wrong prey here. Usually, most black bears fled when they encountered humans, but this time it had been a bad idea to try and eat one. Scott didn’t want to wait and see how the bear would react to his presence, so he gave the clearing a wide berth. Luckily, there were some zombies left to keep the bear busy. Afterwards, Scott made good headway.
It shouldn’t be too long before he would reach Muntly. He wanted to look for food and clothing, plus maybe a vehicle and gasoline.
In some areas, small groups of the monsters roamed the forest, but he managed to avoid them. I hope it stays that way. He could finally see the edge of the woods and eventually he emerged from the forest. Scott looked at his cell phone. Battery almost dead, 4:12 p.m. It won’t be long before the sun sets. Ahead of him was Muntly, just as sleepy as he remembered. He stood on a ridge and would have to walk downhill to enter the village. After a while, he reached its first houses. Scott assumed he would find supplies in the local supermarket and afterwards, he could check out some of the houses. He saw the supermarket at the end of the street and walked towards it. There were several dead bodies lying in the street but none of them appeared to move. Scott started running and passed a display window. This hick village actually has TV reception.
He listened to a broadcasted speech made by the Vice President on the State of the Union and could barely believe his ears. There seemed to be a virus that had killed the President, among many others. The President is dead? This explained a few things to him. Scott thought of his doomed neighbor Betty Wilkes and concluded that the boy who had bitten her must have been infected. That was why all the corpses rose up again. The virus apparently kept them alive in a way that Scott didn’t understand. Until now, he had only noticed that direct blows to the head or the face were the most effective means in stopping these creatures. After he’d heard enough information, he wanted to get off the street. He held his ax in front of his body and entered the local supermarket.
Scott (23)
As Scott entered the supermarket, he immediately knew something was wrong. The doors were wide open, there was no one at the registers, and some shit seemed to be going down in the back of the store. Bottles had been broken and shelves were turned over, and cans rolled through the store. Maybe looters, he thought. He considered moving on but decided against it. He needed food. If one could believe the TV report, the entire country was affected by this plague, and sooner or later, fights over food could no longer be avoided. He raised his ax and crept quietly in the direction of the noise. Suddenly, he realized he’d been wrong: It wasn’t survivors on a looting spree, but undead creatures. Due to their clumsy movements, they kept knocking packaged food off the shelves. Scott was just behind him, when he heard a moaning voice from the back room: “Chris?”
Chris? The voice definitely didn’t come from a TV. Was it actually possible he had run across another human here? If he didn’t act fast, though, he would never find out.
The two monsters uttered shrill screams and lurched excitedly towards the back room where he had heard the voice. Scott was almost behind the two creatures and tried to sneak up on then. He was only two yards away. Once he got close enough, he didn’t hesitate and severed the head of the rearmost creature with a strong blow of his ax. The torso slumped sideward. From the gaping hole where its head had been, a wave of congealed blood splashed onto the linoleum floor. The second zombie had already entered the back room. Scott ran after it and saw that the beast was about to attack a man lying on the floor. Scott hit it twice with his ax, but the first blow only grazed the monster and slid off its shoulder without causing damage. Scott swung his ax again and hit the undead creature in its side with a much stronger blow. The impact threw it against a desk, but the monster didn’t seem to be affected much by the gaping wound in its hip. The undead beast growled, swiftly turned around and attacked Scott.
He tried to gain some space by giving the zombie a powerful kick in its chest. This tactic didn’t work so well, as he only managed to partially hit it in the chest. He wanted to finish the fight as soon as possible, so he could help the prostrate man. Just one well-aimed blow and it would be all over. Scott swung this ax back, and then struck a blow in the direction of the creature’s skull. The strong blow should have split the zombie’s skull, but it lurched to the side at the right moment. Scott’s ax missed the head and instead cut deep into its left shoulder. Scott wanted to strike again, but his ax was stuck in the monster’s torso and could hardly be moved anymore. Scott frantically pulled his ax back with all his strength, but this didn’t dislodge it. Rather, his actions rapidly pushed the zombie towards him and this hadn’t been his plan.
Scott staggered backwards and crashed into the wall. The undead creature was soon right on top of him. The hard impact had pressed the air from his lungs. Scott felt dizzy and hardly noticed how he slid to the ground with the zombie on top of him. He reached out his hands and held the undead creature’s neck in a vise-like grip.
“MISTER, WAKE UP! FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE, WAKE UP!” he yelled, but the man on the floor just uttered a brief moan.
Scott desperately pressed and pulled the throat of his attacker, and he could clearly hear and feel something snap. Scott saw that the previously taut body of the zombie had now gone limp. With his iron grip, he pushed in the monster’s larynx and broke its neck. He rolled its motionless body sideways and got up. To be completely sure it was no longer active, he chopped off the zombie’s head with his ax. So far, this seemed to be the most effective method to destroy them.
Scott’s heart was hammering in his chest, and he tried to catch his breath. He looked down at himself and couldn’t see any injuries. Thank God. He grabbed his ax and carefully approached the man lying on the floor. The man wheezed again, and Scott turned him on his back in order to see if he was wounded. However, he couldn’t find anything on the man except for a laceration on his head, which didn’t resemble a bite wound. It looks like you’re going to survive after all, my friend. The man was now lying on his back, and he breathed several times in Scott’s direction.
What the fuck? Scott thought he was about to faint himself at the strong smell of alcohol coming from the man’s breath. Earlier, Scott didn’t have the time to take a good look around the room, but now he discovered two liter bottles of Jack Daniels on the floor. One was completely empty, while the other still contained a small sip of whiskey.
Wow, this man must have been as thirsty as three sailors on shore leave. Scott kneeled next to the man.
“Hey, Mister, wake up!” No reaction. He shook the man, but this effort had little effect. Scott could only think of one old household remedy to revive the unconscious man. With his left hand, he grabbed the man’s upper body, pulled him upright and slapped him as hard as he could in the face with his right.
Two seconds later, Ray Thompson opened his eyes. At first, it felt as if his skull was going to explode. He tried to control his eyes while he now suffered a splitting headache, bu
t his eyes felt as though they were rotating in his skull. In addition, everything around him looked blurry.
The only thing he could see was an enormous silhouette, and he felt that two huge paws were holding his arms. He tried to remember what was happening here, and then it came to him—The two zombies he just saw. In his current state, he could hardly resist or even move properly. He half-heartedly tried to push the looming silhouette away from himself, and he expected to feel the pain of this monster’s attack at any moment.
Yet, no attack came. After a few seconds, his vision cleared, and he recognized the silhouette was a real human being. It seems to be my lucky day. This giant could even speak his language.
“Hey, Mister, welcome back.”
“Damn it, my head,” Ray slurred half-awake.
At least he can answer now, Scott thought.
“Is everything alright with you? Your head is bleeding, and you smell like you tried to knock yourself out with a lot of booze.” Scott made this remark as a statement of fact, not as an accusation, but nevertheless, Ray felt uncomfortable when he heard it. It seemed the stranger had not only saved him, but also found him lying on the floor totally plastered. He didn’t know what to say exactly to this unexpected savior. Judging from the impression Scott Gerber made on him, he decided to use a half-truth, although he had a difficult time uttering the words, as his tongue felt numb.
“You know... in the last 48 hours... a lot has happened. Plane crash, cannot reach my family, undead assholes in police cars, and hardly anything to drink.”