The hesitation of the ordeal seemed worse than the actual act, or so I hoped.
I grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled. His body rolled onto its back granting me access to the second pocket and I quickly held my breath and dove in, found what I was looking for and rose to my feet. There standing just outside the doorway was a silent figure. I couldn’t tell whether it was facing me or looking away. I froze as neither hand was holding my rifle. The sling was and if I made any sudden movement and the silent figure was looking at me, it would charge forward.
The distance from the left side of the bed to the door was fifteen feet at most, which meant a well-aimed shot was out of the question. I would simply have to swing the barrel in its general direction and start shooting, hoping for the best. If I missed it would take me to the floor, yet even if I was able to hit it with several rounds. It would no doubt be in a full sprint by this time and its momentum alone would easily allow for it to collide with me, taking both of us to the floor. Dead and harmless or wounded and tearing my stomach open, that was NOT where I wanted to be in either case.
“No… hide,” a voice broke through the dangerous silence.
I was about to make my presence known to the figure, I know believed to be a survivor, yet something about its speech concerned me. There was just something about it that didn’t sit well with me, making me question its validity in full detail.
“No hide,” the voice said again, this time a little better than before. It took a few steps forward and stopped, its head turning from one direction to the other as if listening for me to either move or reply.
I could still see the figure, but not as perfectly as I had just moments ago.
“Hide… die,” it said.
I was positive now, more than I had ever been about anything in my life, that this figure hunting me was trying to lure me out into the open with a false sense of security. To make me feel at ease before I was attacked and killed in the very house where my son had lived. It wasn’t a survivor at all, but merely another one of those things that had grabbed me at the school complex and I was frightened. It wasn’t slow and stupid as the others I had dealt with had been. These things were smart and had the patience to not only wait for you to screw up, but it could also mimic the living with such perfection and draw you into its trap.
Why hadn’t I seen it earlier when I was sweeping the house? Why hadn’t it come out of its hiding spot as I passed by and attacked me? I had no answers to these questions, although the most likely answer was that it had come through the garage and possibly heard me moving around or saw its dead friends and figured I was still there. That explained only part of a much larger picture I was unable to see at the moment. The reason it had even entered the house, this house, in the first place was the real mystery. As there were almost two dozen other houses on the same street, in which other survivors could be hiding, yet it picked this exact house.
Could they track me somehow? Kind of like you would give a bloodhound pieces of someone’s clothing and watch the animal react and follow their scent? Did I leave a scent that it could track all the way from the school? Quickly I began to doubt my ability to hide from it and began to think it knew where I was, it was just toying with me. Leading me further down that road of misconception until I had lost my way and would be unable to find my way back.
I seized the moment with it looking away and hurried to the wall closest to the door, unslinging my rifle as I went. From there I could see it better if it decided to venture further into the house or if it came into the master bedroom I would have more than enough time to shoot, although it would be much closer this time around.
Lightning raced across the sky and I was able to get a brief glance at it before the powerful thunder ripped a hole in the sky and shook the earth violently. The windows shuttered and I could feel the vibrations beneath my feet. The storm was getting stronger, my hiding place had been uncovered, and the longer I dottled in the house the harder it would be for me to see clearly when I left… if I ever got that opportunity.
“Find you,” it stated as it moved into the dining room.
I inched closer to the door hoping to keep this thing in sight; however, it had slipped too far away for me to watch any longer. I peered around the door to see the garage empty of anyone, and even though I could not see the pickup, I knew it was still there. I looked toward the kitchen to see it standing by the large bar facing a narrow window over the sink, at least that’s what I thought it was looking at anyway. I could have been wrong.
Go… run your ass off, but go for God’s sakes! My mind instructed me, yet I hesitated to long and it suddenly turned toward the bedroom again. I ducked back into the darkness wondering where I could hide in such a short notice. The closet was not the place I wanted to be, nor was hiding under the bed. I needed a place, where if I was discovered I could shoot and flee all at the same time. There could only be one of them to deal with or a great many more just waiting outside for me to try and escape. I had to outsmart this thing, which was swiftly becoming a challenge in and of itself. I felt stupid compared to this thing.
Wet footsteps beckoned the approach of the figure, growing closer to my position as I hurriedly looked for a place to hide, which wasn’t obvious or damning. The only possible place available, which was also the last place in the world I wanted to be, was all I had left to work with. I took my place quickly, yet quietly at the same time.
The silent figure moved into the room and came to the foot of the bed. Through partially closed eyes, I could see it looking in my direction. It knelt and began sniffing like a dog looking for its chew toy, and in my haste to blend in I had left the rifle barrel pointed toward my feet. If I moved it up to fire the figure would recognize the movement almost before I could get a so called bead on it. The outcome would be disastrous on my part, so I remained as still as I possibly could. Deathly still, even with the foul smell of decay filtering into my nose, which I was more than positive that at any moment I would throw up and the game would be over.
Moving in closer to the body next to me, the figure shook its head as though the smell offended it as well, and then moved ever so slightly to the left and leaned in for a good whiff of me. It took several breaths into its lungs with more bolts of lightning flashing through the window to give me a clearer picture of the figure before me. To give me that perfect up close and personal view of death, right before it devoured me in one gulp.
It wasn’t like the others in many ways. Its eyes were not dilated, and given the small amount of blood on its mouth, probably from snacking on some poor soul, it looked no more different than I did. So why was it hunting me if it was not dead… or undead? And why had it spoken in a manner befitting a young child just learning to speak and put words together?
I was totally confused at this point, yet still cautious not to move. It may look like me, but that is where the similarities stopped. I didn’t kill for sport, maybe for food, and then maybe; just maybe, it killed because it felt the need too. A basic instinct we all shared when we first crawled out of the ocean all those millennia ago, however, in today’s society the need to kill was justified only in the line of duty as a Police Officer or a Soldier. But something told me this thing didn’t care one quirt of piss about justification. It killed simply because that’s what it does.
It stood and took a quick glance around the room. It opened the closet to find nothing and even knelt at the foot of the bed and peered under, once again to find nothing. When it was satisfied that I was not within the room, it waltzed out with a confident swagger and disappeared in the dark house.
“I have got to get the hell out of here,” I said silently as I rolled away from the body and slowly got to my feet. I kept the rifle pointed in the direction of the door, trying my best to keep from vomiting. It was in the midst of all that, that I realized I could not remember when I had last eaten anything. Through the fear, the stress, and anxiety of being found and killed horribly, which was far more than o
ne person could handle. I was suddenly concerned about eating.
For the moment I was safe, whatever that meant, yet I didn’t bask in the minor glory because it could all change in the blink of an eye… as so many times in the past it had. History was a rather peculiar thing and had a way of repeating itself if one was not able to see the signs appropriately and change accordingly. Safety no longer meant what it’d once been defined as. There was no safety or security left anywhere in the world. You were either alive or dead – there was no in-between, not in the respect to the living, or rather, the ones not infected with this plague, disease, virus, or whatever the hell this thing was that had rocked the earth from one horizon to the other. That of course was an assumption, being I hadn’t sat down and watched TV in the last week, so there was no way for me to know with certainty that the rest of the world was reeling in the same shit I was.
Once I had my bearings, the idea of using the window near the bed looked to be the best route, not to mention the one of least resistance as well. However, on the other hand, climbing out a window into the darkness under heavy sheets of rain didn’t feel right for some reason. Maybe because I wouldn’t be able to see anything until I was already out there and if there were a dozen or more of those things outside, climbing back in would only escalate the situation further. Sure I could gaze out before climbing, but with the rain falling so heavy, the odds of me seeing anything were remote at best. There was also the fact that they might already know I was in here, which meant they would have eyes on every possible escape route. So, just because I could not see anything right before climbing out the window, did not mean that there were not anymore of them out there, hiding and waiting for anyone to leave.
Window? Not a good idea.
All of my decisions had already been made for me. The only way I was getting out of this house alive was in the pickup, which I had the keys after all and it was no more than a hallway width, three steps, and ten or so feet away. All I had to do was get around my new friend, roaming somewhere in the dark confines of the house, and out to the garage. He could easily be dispatched as several of his buddies had been, that is unless I was blindsided in my haste. Or I could sit in this house and let them build in numbers outside. I wasn’t a trained soldier and my shooting skills were just above that of a beginner, so I needed slow targets in small numbers. Not a heard of fast sprinting psycho’s hell bent on ripping me apart and feasting on my entrails right there in the hallway.
My mind became so engrossed with one stupid idea after the other that I had all but forgotten to keep a sharp eye out for my friend. The frustration was mounting, mixing with the stress and fear until I might as well have stood in oncoming traffic with my sight and hearing covered, as I waved and smiled like a raving lunatic.
The sound of a board creaking under foot dragged me kicking and screaming back to reality and I looked to see the silent figure standing in the doorway looking directly at me. A blink of lightning confirmed that thought as I could see its eyes piercing straight through me. The rifle had unknowingly lowered as I was lost in thought, becoming cumbersome as my mind worked at full speed to instrument a way out of danger.
Have I mentioned yet how I seemed to be stuck on stupid?
Thrusting the weapon up would only aggravate things, not any different in measure than running from a wild dog, which would instantly give chase and run me down. Not to say standing my ground would ultimately have a better result, but at least it would give me time to think about what I could do, as opposed to running blindly and making shit up as I went, which I was so famous for. That option never works out. NEVER!
The Figure took a few steps into the room, daring me to run. I stood my ground not because I was a badass or felt any real power with the rifle in my hands, but simply because I had nowhere to retreat to without the risk of tripping over the body somewhere behind me. “Stop right there!” I commanded it with a stern voice. “You come any closer and I’m going to shoot you!” If I could have slapped myself at that very moment I would have. The thing in front of me was not going to listen to my commands. It was going to kill me!
Chapter Two.
It stopped its advance on me suddenly. “No…” blurted from its mouth as if spoken from a drunken person. It tried once more, and spit whatever it was thinking. “No… shoot.”
Against everything I had learned on my own, heard and seen, as well as been taught by others. I was positive that these things were just as dead as could be, only they were able to move around and during all this time running from them like a scared rabbit chased by the fox, I had never heard a single one utter or even attempt to speak, until now.
I shouldered the weapon, tempting fate, and offered more threats. “Then, back off!” I began to worry that my stern voice was carrying through the rest of the house and calling the attention of every other undead I could not yet see.
“Off…” it uttered and backed out of the bedroom.
I followed, willing to play this dangerous game of cat and mouse for as long as I thought I could keep one step ahead of the pesky feline trying to gobble me up. If things went south I could always just unleash a full magazine into the thing and try my hand at running. After all, they were slow and I was fast.
In the hallway, I was now closer to my original game plan than I had been in some time. All I had to do was keep pushing this thing back until it was far enough away for me to bolt for the pickup. The hardwood floor should slow it down, as it had a sock on the left foot and the right foot was bare. Half traction meant it would curve more in the direction of the wall than toward the hallway and ultimately the door leading into the garage, aiding in my escape.
The idea of running from the wild dog still spun around in my head. “Stay!
The figure eyed the weapon in my hands, never looking at my face or into my eyes. It was drawn to the weapon, almost fascinated by it. Apparently this thing understood the potential, as well as the power it held.
“Stay right there!” I added and began feeling with my right foot for the first step down. It took a step toward me and I halted. “Stay there or I’ll shoot you!” I let a single round go and it blasted through the wall just right of the things head. Paint and drywall exploded in a shower of debris and faint powder.
It stopped and once again I felt for the step and found it. The second one came easier and I felt like I was actually getting somewhere for a change. It came at me again and I was tempted to just shoot it instead of try and get it to stay. This damn thing was worse than a new puppy, minus the crap and piss all over the floor.
“Coming,” it said to me and pointed out into the garage.
The old trick of making someone believe that there was something behind them, so when they turned you could slap them in the head or whatever. It wouldn’t work with me and there was no way in hell I was going to take my eyes off the figure just a few feet away. The distance was far to shallow for me to recover from, if and when it lunged forward.
“Coming!” This time its words were more adamant and I felt an uneasiness slide over me.
With the short rifle still pointed at the figure and my finger eagerly on the trigger, I stole a quick glance to see six undead already within the garage, headed straight for me. “Shit,” I spouted and found myself braced waiting for the figure in the hallway to jump me. The odds of me getting out of this one alive were slim to none, and slim left town a week ago.
I’d love to say that the Young Woman had taught me more than enough to exit this current situation unscathed, unfortunately, that was the one major drawback to training. You could only go through so many different scenarios and how to react during each one, but you couldn’t cover everything. Even the best of the best Navy SEAL’s couldn’t train for all the possibilities in the world. They’d just use what they had learned and adapt to their surroundings, which is what I had to do swiftly or die. Problem is I wasn’t a trained soldier with years of training and shooting under my belt. I was a civilian with limited know
ledge of weapons, tactics and how to adapt to any given situation.
I had gone from having partial control to absolutely no control in less than a second. It made me wonder if I ever really had any control to begin with.
I adapted the only way I could and jumped off the side of the steps, crashed into a metal rack used for storing garden tools and equipment and the pain burrowed through me intently, although I kept control of my weapon, did my best to overcome the crashing pain, and began shooting indiscriminately at the six new party guests.
Two dropped instantly, one took a round to the left shoulder and the bullet exited and hit another one square in the face. The two remaining undead tripped over their buddies, allowing me a moment to gather my thoughts and engage the final threat. I spun back toward the figure to find it still in the same spot.
When I had been confused before, I’d let my guard down for only a second. The confusion that filled me was mind blowing. At the school complex I could have been killed by another of those things, yet I wasn’t, and now there had been this prime opportunity for the silent figure to exact its need for human flesh. But it didn’t.
I was still alive. Why?
Whatever this thing was, it was obvious that it wasn’t human anymore, and at the same time it wasn’t like the undead I had encountered over and over again. It was smart. It hunted in packs, like wolves would do, so I had no doubt it could communicate efficiently. Yet I was still alive. For the life of me I could not get over this. Don’t get me wrong, I was in no way upset that I wasn’t dead. I guess I was just relieved and not knowing why worried more than the act itself.
Day One (Book 3): Alone Page 2