by K. Webster
I bite back a terrified yelp when I hear smashing, most likely my lamps and decorations on my dressers. From the sounds of it, there are several people in my home rifling through my things. They can take all of it for all I care—just get the fuck out of my house!
An unearthly groan from the other room effectively stops my heart. When I hear a rippling croaking from inside my closet responding to it, my eyes bug out of my head. They are coming in here with us. Shit!
Even though I’m about to suffocate from the heat and my overwhelming fear, I force myself to breathe as quietly as possible. My heart has thrummed back to life and is rapidly beating out of control. Princess buries her face into my chest, sensing the impending danger. I hear several coat hangers snap from the rods and I tense up. If they start destroying things in here, the mirror will most likely be first on their list.
The creepy-ass croaking begins again, this time closer. It feels as if the entire closet is pulsating with some demonic undertone. I’m fucking scared as hell. Who the hell are these people? Why aren’t they talking? I don’t even see flashlights so they’re making their way through the dark very efficiently for blinded people.
I slowly exhale the breath I was holding and try to stop it from rushing out loudly.
One of them grunts and they all become eerily quiet. The croaking begins again, this time on the other side of my suitcase; I’m overwhelmed by the stench of body odor and rotten meat. A scream holds poised in my throat, ready to release as the suitcase rattles. I’m trying desperately to remain as still as possible.
Please don’t find us.
Aster
I watch them from my belly in the grass with my binoculars sighted on them. Them. That’s what I refer to them as. I don’t know what the fuck they are, but they’re wicked. Eight years I served this country, walked the ends of the earth, fought in pointless wars, but not once did I ever encounter anything so fucking wrong.
Looking back, three months ago, I remember when the outbreak began. I’d just stepped off the plane from Afghanistan after two tours with only three things on my mind: food, fucking, and sleep. I’d been denied all three for way too long and was ready to indulge. Unfortunately, I never partook in any of them because shit immediately hit the fan.
A flu epidemic, much worse than the swine flu, was sweeping across our nation. It was sudden and presented symptoms quickly. Newscasters were pleading for everyone to stay indoors, avoid contact with others, and quarantine the sick. One thing was made clear as day: there was no vaccination, there was no cure. The infected did one of two things. They either died a quick death as their heart stopped beating in their chest.
Or.
Or they became something else. They became them.
At first, people screamed from the mountaintops that we were faced with a zombie apocalypse. Unfortunately, this was far worse. What we were facing was something unprecedented. We weren’t capable of understanding what they were so we could put a stop to the spread of the disease. Instead, we watched helplessly as it spread like wildfire throughout the world.
It was airborne.
I spent weeks holed up in my apartment only venturing out to raid empty apartments for food. But when the electricity went out for good, I knew I had to seek better shelter. A few days before the power went out, the news spoke of safe zones. They claimed that some people were simply immune to the disease. There were people that were gathering at these safe zones in an attempt to feel safety in numbers and get a handle on how to move forward. The closest one to me is in Vancouver. It’s a fuck long journey, but I have no other choice. If I were to stay, I would inevitably be hunted by them.
I think I’m immune. Or, I’ve just been lucky and haven’t been exposed. I’ve been careful and wear my respirator masks whenever I leave whatever shelter I may be in at the time. It is imperative that I keep moving, collecting supplies as I go. Staying in one place for too long is dangerous. They seek and destroy. They find those that hide. My goal is to stay two steps ahead of them. To always be watching them so that they aren’t watching me.
My goal is to survive.
A gurgling, high pitched moan, most likely from a woman or child, pierces the night air. There’s a horde of them and they’re ransacking one of the homes on the hill. When I’d stumbled upon these homes, I knew it was possible I could replenish my supplies. So far, I’d stocked my bag with a few bottles of water, some painkillers, and a bottle of Crown. The Crown was a selfish impulse grab, but fuck, sometimes a man needs a stiff drink to take the edge off.
I’d also found some unused toothbrushes, an almost full tube of toothpaste, and a roll of toilet paper. Might not sound like much but in this chaotic world, they are joyous luxuries.
A groan to my left snaps me from my happy thoughts of using toilet paper next time I take a shit. It’s one of them.
He’s limping, most likely injured in one of his insane acts. I can smell its stink from here and force down a gag. When the wind gusts slightly and rustles the trees, I hold still. Those motherfuckers have the senses of fucking hound dogs.
And just like I knew he would, his head snaps in my direction and he sniffs the air. Another groan escapes him, but this one, I know from experience is a call. Fuck. I haven’t had much hand to hand combat with them, but the ones I’ve had to come in contact with are strong as hell. I’ve barely made the decision that I’ll have to kill his ass, and have rolled onto my back, when he comes barreling across the grass in my direction and body slams me with the force of a linebacker, knocking the breath out of me.
His overgrown nails dig into my throat as he begins choking me. I’m mildly stunned but quickly react. You don’t spend eight years as a Marine and not know how to handle yourself while being attacked. As much as I want to scream, I keep my lips tight. For as good as they can smell, they can hear even better. The slightest peep will send that horde after me within seconds.
In the moonlight, I get a good look at his face. The black dilated pupils glare hatefully down at me. His skin is pale and oily, deep scratches line his cheeks from self-infliction. They’re all the same. I’m still not quite sure what it is they want. What they crave. It’s different with all of them. Most just annihilate whatever’s in their path. Some eat from the flesh of humans and animals. Others eat rubber and trash, or grass and pinecones.
My eyes black out momentarily, but when he bares his teeth at me, I realize he’s one that consumes upon the living. With one hand pushing against his incredibly strong body, I grab at my leg with the other until I come in contact with my hunting knife. Quickly, I unclip it and yank it from its sheath. His teeth snap together just inches from my nose, and I know my time is running out. I’m already weakening against his strength and he’ll overpower me soon.
When he coughs and disgusting saliva runs from his mouth, I thank God I’m wearing my mask. It pours all over my face and I nearly vomit from the revolting smell. In the beginning, I was just sure the key to killing these fuckers was stabbing them in the brain. Maybe I watched too many zombie movies in the past but it seemed like a good start. However, it didn’t take long to discover that wasn’t the way to end them.
You go for the heart.
I roll hard to the right and pin him beneath me. I don’t waste a second as I raise my knife and plunge it forcefully in the center part of his upper chest. A gurgled gasp escapes him. I twist the knife, hoping to accelerate his death. In his final breath, he sprays bloody chunky shit right in my face. In my fucking eyes!
His body immediately loses its power and becomes a lifeless heap. I yank the knife from his chest and shove it back into the sheath on my leg before I set to removing the blood from my face. Scrambling off of him, I half crawl over to my bag and remove one of my precious bottles of water. After twisting the cap off, I lean my head back and pour the water into my eyes, hoping to rinse the infected blood from me. I waste every fucking drop cleaning my face. When it’s gone, I rip the mask off my face and gulp in the fresh air.
My chest heaves from exertion and fear. I’m infected now. There’s no way I’m not.
I lie in the grass and look up at the sky, waiting for the symptoms to begin. From experience, watching those in my building, I know the symptoms are almost immediate. First, it’s the coughing. It becomes uncontrollable. Then, the vomiting. And finally, the rage.
The minutes pass and after what must be about ten minutes I thank my lucky stars that I might truly be one of the lucky ones.
I am immune.
I’m about to grab my bag and hide out in one of the homes until daybreak when I hear it. The scream. A woman’s scream. And it’s coming from the house that the horde is ransacking.
Fuck.
There’s too few uninfected people for me not to try and help. And even though I want to run for the hills, far from the army of them, I know I can’t. I won’t. I serve and protect. It’s engrained in me.
Rolling to my stomach, I quickly make my way to my knees and dig through my bag until I find the hammer I keep around for emergencies. Tonight constitutes as an emergency. I sling my backpack onto my back, preparing myself to run. My fingers shake as I grip the rubber handle and I sprint toward the BMW parked in the street. When I make it to the car, I slam the hammer into the window, smashing glass everywhere.
Here comes the Calvary.
Obnoxious wailing from the car alarm tears through the silent night. I dash off to the right and make my way toward the edge of the property.
I need to get over the fucking fence. Spying a tree near the house, I run toward it and grab onto a low hanging branch. I hoist myself up and climb high enough to where I can reach the roof. My strength may be lower than normal due to lack of food and nourishment, but I’m still a fucking Marine. I clamber up over the edge and stand up once my feet make purchase.
From my vantage point, I watch about twenty of them burst from the house. Some land in the pool, but easily swim to the other side and climb out. They mount the wall and heave themselves over as if climbing a ten foot fence is nothing. Each and every one of them is after the sound. With each passing second my time is running short. Those car batteries are weak from lack of use and only last a short while. I run along the rooftop until I come across a ledge that drops down onto a balcony on the second floor. I waste no time as I scoot off the edge and jump the several feet to the balcony floor.
My boots crunch some leaves underfoot and I curse inwardly, knowing the slight sound could have alerted any of the ones close by. I sigh in relief when I stand and try the handle on the French door and discover it’s unlocked. Stealthily, I slip inside the door and listen for signs of life. Yanking my flashlight from my pocket, I switch it on and survey what appears to be a master bedroom.
A hissing noise from the closet sends me hurtling in that direction. The door is open and one of them stands in the doorway with her back to me. Long tangled black hair hangs down her back. Her slender arm is extended and she’s clutching a blond woman, a seemingly uninfected woman, by the throat. With her other hand she’s stroking the blonde’s hair as if she’s a doll. The poor blond woman’s eyes are about to bug out of her head in fear.
I’m going to surprise attack the thing, but as I’m jerking my knife from my jeans, she snaps her head toward me. She drops the girl quick as lightening and lunges for me. Even though she is, was, whatever the fuck, a woman, the infection only strengthened her. In a past life, I could have swatted a woman of her size away with the back of my hand.
But not them.
They are all stronger than hell and a struggle to fight off. When she tackles me, my flashlight hits the carpet and rolls away, temporarily blinding me. Her snarls are vicious as she attempts to choke me. Gripping the handle of my knife tightly, I plunge it into the side of her head. She weakens her grip on me, but continues to attack. I drive the knife farther into her skull and push my entire weight with it, so that I flip her over. She scratches and hisses at me as I yank the knife out of her skull. Raising it above my head, I forcefully slam it into her chest. As the life leaves her body and she’s left with nothing but final twitches, I climb off of her and grab my flashlight.
Stalking over to the closet I look back inside, but the girl is gone.
“Fuck,” I grumble under my breath.
I’m about to leave the closet to look for her when the mirror on the far wall shakes. My heart thuds in my chest at the prospect of one of those damn things hiding behind it—especially a child. The children are the worst to encounter. It isn’t until they’re trying to gouge your eyeballs out with their fingers, or rip the hair from your head, that you remember they aren’t children anymore.
They are one of them.
Keeping a good grip on my now dripping with blood knife, I tiptoe over to the mirror and shine my light behind it. Wide terror-filled blue eyes stare back at me. A small dog whimpers when it sees me.
“Come on, let’s go. They’ll be back any minute,” I instruct in a low tone, holding my hand out to her.
“We can hide,” she hisses. “Just lock the door to the closet.”
Reaching behind the mirror, I grab hold of her wrist and haul her out. I can tell she’s about to yell at me to let her go or some shit, so I slap my hand over her mouth and twist her around so that her back is pressed against my chest. The light of my flashlight dances all over the closet and reflects upon the mirror as I struggle to keep her quiet. When I look down over her shoulder, I see she’s holding on to the fucking quivering-ass dog for dear life.
“You have to be quiet. They can hear really well. These things are hunters. Now that they know you’re here, they won’t stop until they have you. Cooperate and let’s get the fuck out of here,” I order.
She nods, and I feel tears wet my fingers that have run from her eyes down along her cheeks. I release her and motion for her to follow me. It’s time to get the fuck out of here before they come back and swarm us.
And they always come back.
Day 2
The infection spreads.
I’m handwriting my notes because we’ve worked tirelessly, with little to no computer access, since Nurse Callahan, aka Subject B, was infected and breached our testing facility. Unfortunately, she killed anyone and everyone on her way out. All staff is required to wear protective gear as we study the deceased body of Subject A.
Findings-
*Subject A’s pupils were dilated completely at time of death.
*The skin of the deceased began decomposing almost immediately.
*After autopsy, our medical examiners determined that Subject A’s heart was twice the size of a normal human heart. We’re reviewing Subject A’s medical history to decide whether or not this was a preexisting condition.
The death of Subject A didn’t reveal many answers. We need to study a live subject. My supervisors insist on not telling the public just yet at the potential harm of this infection leaving the captivity of our facility. They want more answers before we bring fear into the minds of the world.
---May it be noted that I strongly advised against their orders but was threatened with the loss of my job for insubordination. I will continue to find answers so we can warn the public before it’s too late.---
Dr. Carter White
Chapter 2
Giovanna
I’m being rescued—I think. The man that’s now shining his flashlight into my bedroom with his knife in the other hand appears to be protecting me from those things.
Those things. What in the fuck were those things?
Normally, I wouldn’t be so eager to run off with a stranger, but he’s the first voice besides my own that I’ve heard in three months. Plus, I’m not too keen on the idea of being here when they come back. That woman, no bigger than me, had the strength of my bodyguard Richie. Her tiny arms held power as she gripped my neck and petted me—fucking petted me.
I shudder at the thought of being that monster’s plaything and fumble around until I find the handle to my suitcase. I extend it and ro
ll it along the carpet until I’m standing behind the man—my savior.
Instead of speaking, he holds a finger to his lips indicating he wants me to be quiet and then motions for me to follow him. Squeezing Princess tighter to me, I tiptoe after him, towing my luggage behind me.
Swiftly, he lights a path for us to make our way out of my room and into the hallway. Step by step, we softly make our way down toward the stairwell on the carpeted floors. We hear shattering of glass outside and he pauses to listen for noises. Once he trusts we’re safe, he leads me to the top of the stairs.
As we descend the stairs, I lift my suitcase as not to make any noises on the way down. My flip flops make a quiet slapping noise and the man snaps his head to glare at me, pointing the flashlight at my feet. I nod, acknowledging I’ll be quieter and we continue our way down. At the bottom of the stairs, I point in the direction of the front door when he looks at me in question.
We hear a splash out back in my pool and panic overwhelms me. I see my rescuer jump too and we make our way as quickly as possible to the front door before the things come back. He turns the deadbolt on my door and winces when it squeaks. I hear the crunch of feet on glass in the other room and we slip out the front door as fast as we can. After I make it out, he softly pulls it closed behind us.
The moonlight now illuminates his face. Streaks of blood run down his stubbly cheeks. I want to look at him for longer than two seconds, but time is of the essence.
His dark, brown eyes flick over to the door before landing back on my blue ones. “Run,” he mouths urgently and takes off in a sprint in the grassy yard toward the neighbor’s home.
Squatting, I let Princess down and she tears off after him—most likely realizing the man is our only hope of getting out of here alive. I kick off my flip flops and pick them up to hold them so that they don’t make any noise as I run. Since I haven’t exercised in months, this running thing should be interesting. I ignore the pain in my belly from hunger and race after them, dragging my suitcase through the grass.