by Nikki Landis
Undead didn’t rest. They sort of shuffled from place to place. Body movements were stilted and jerky. They constantly bumped into walls and each other. Their milky white eyes were cloudy and seemed to have poor vision. Body odor and blood drew them in fast. Sense of smell was exceptionally heightened. I’d add the sense of taste, too. Undead constantly smacked their lips and gnashed their teeth, always hungry as their bloated tongues flicked out at the air. Hunting techniques, I was certain.
Despite the trepidation I felt the moment I woke this morning, I prepared for the day, ate a light breakfast, and headed out into the muggy early sunrise. July in Ohio was incredibly warm but not usually humid until August and September so I was surprised to find the day already hot and sticky as the temperature continued to rise. I shrugged off the light jacket I wore and shoved it into my pack before I crossed Main Street and headed to the Hummer.
I snorted when I saw the vehicle. Black blood, pieces of brain matter, and bits of flesh and entrails clung to the front grill and sides. More goo was stuck to the tires and imbedded between the treads. Each of the windows had dried blood splashed onto the glass that resembled motor oil more than actual blood. The windshield was cracked but it wasn’t damaged to the point that I needed to worry about replacing my ride. The Hummer was a desert camo so everything was visible on the paint. Until it rained this thing was going to look like shit.
Maybe I should grab something else.
The sound of shuffling feet and clicking teeth changed my mind as I hopped into the front seat and started the engine. I’m glad I remembered to add more windshield washer fluid. Visibility was a must. Driving past the zombies, I rumbled down the road eager to find supplies. My checklist had grown to the point that even basic necessities were low. Feminine hygiene products were at the top of the list in addition to food, water, medicine, and candy.
Yeah, candy was a necessity.
Along with the pads. Let’s not debate how much it sucked to have a period during the zombie apocalypse. Guys were so lucky. I’d been forced to stay indoors more times than I cared to admit.
Only once, nearly eleven months ago, did I venture out during my monthly cycle. I nearly died. The undead could smell me a mile away it seemed, and I was almost overtaken as I tried to escape. That was when I knew smell was a critical component I couldn’t ignore in the future.
Now, I was always prepared.
Once I stocked up on supplies, I needed to replenish my water storage. The water main was the only place to collect drinkable water now, located in treatment facilities across the United States. You couldn’t pay me to touch a bottle of water since the outbreak. Nothing was worth the risk.
My destination was a typical apartment building. I’d been through most of the businesses on this end of the grid and consulted my map. I needed to search more of the personal living quarters. There was nowhere else to find the specific items on my list. Most of the drug stores and supermarkets were raided when the initial panic reached the populace. A year later it was almost impossible to find anything not yet destroyed or picked through. As humans died off or were eaten, less and less people roamed the streets. Months later, I hadn’t seen a soul who was still alive and normal.
I should have known today was going to suck. I had nightmares all night, my stomach was queasy from the peaches in that old dented tin can, and the sunrise was too red. I had a theory about red sunrises – they were harbingers of a disaster.
Today was doomed from the start.
New day, same old problems.
Mistake #1 of the day – I should have been more cautious or stayed home. Now I was totally and completely screwed.
The bottom hall of the apartment building I entered was at street level so I didn’t have to worry about a basement, especially once I found the door locked and chained shut. I cleared the hallway of several undead, easily taking them out with my knife, and stopped at apartment #A. The door was unlocked as I tapped against the wood and made my way inside. No moans, groans, gnashing teeth, or shuffling footsteps.
Being stealthy, I looked in every room and cleared the apartment as I closed the front door with a soft click. This was imperative so I could search without worry and didn’t need to watch my back as closely. To my knowledge, the undead didn’t open doors on their own. The bathroom was full of extra bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, as well as toilet paper. I stocked up on the supplies and was delighted when I found the pads I was hoping to find. Adding cosmetics and deodorant, I zipped up the extra duffel bag and moved through the remaining rooms.
That’s when I noticed this apartment had a terrace. Worse, the sliding glass doors were wide open, the breeze sweeping through the dining room and kitchen. Long curtains hung down and bunched at the floor which is why I didn’t notice at first glance until the wind made it obvious.
Sighing softly, I turned toward the living room. This proved a fatal error.
Mistake #2 – I didn’t clear the area when I discovered the open door to the terrace.
Bumping into the solid frame in front of me, it took several seconds for the horrible truth to sink in. I backed up as the Infected blinked and lunged forward with a snarl. Darting toward the open terrace door, I pushed the curtains aside and nearly screamed. Several more Runners turned in my direction. Any second now they would all be grabbing at my body. Pinned in the small space and too far from the front door of the apartment, I sprinted toward the six foot tall chainlink fence. I discovered quickly the gate was padlocked and wouldn’t open.
Shit!
Deciding to catapult my body over the top proved another costly error. I didn’t see the jagged edge until it was too late. A long piece of metal grazed my inner thigh and ripped into my jeans. The loud rending of fabric echoed in my ears as I struggled against the pain and sudden fear. The fencing wire stabbed into the flesh of my thigh and I screamed which only increased the hungry snarls of the Runners.
Blood dripped down my leg and onto the ground as I fell over the top and onto the other side – directly onto hard asphalt. I smacked my body on impact, successfully yanking the fence from my thigh and jeans as blood spurted from the wound. I cried out in agony and hauled myself to my feet, running as far and fast as I could. My injury was deep and bleeding steadily, soaking the leg of my jeans a dark crimson with each step.
Shocking pain pumped through my body with every beat of my frantic heart. More H.I.M.S. and Runners joined those already on the hunt as snarls and growls, gnashing of teeth, and shuffling feet joined the cacophony of morbid song that trailed behind me. I was nearly panicked. There was no way I could keep this up. I was already faltering as the adrenaline in my body began to dissipate. For a few seconds my vision tunneled, causing my body to sway as I regained my balance.
Up ahead was a scaffolding tower.
If I could make it, I could climb up high enough to be out of the reach of the H.I.M.S. It wouldn’t stop the Runners for long but at least it bought me a few minutes. Climbing the ladder up the scaffolding to the flat wooden platform, I knew it was my only chance. Just as I reached the top something slammed into it hard and I bit down on my lip to keep the scream from launching deep in my throat. The side of the metal banged into the brick façade of the house it was anchored to and I nearly wet my pants.
Mistake #3 – I thought the scaffolding was a good place to escape.
Yeah, I didn’t think that through.
How long did I have before I landed on the ground and became the next meal?
Desperate to escape, I tried to move and found my leg wasn’t any help at all. I was weakened by blood loss, but forced myself to my knees, looking around for somewhere else to go. There was nothing but rooftops. I’d never have the strength to haul my injured body any further. Defeated, I collapsed and lay down, certain my doom quickly approached.
This was it.
My time was up. The undead were crowding the ground below me, bumping into one another and the rickety scaffolding. I was trapped, my i
njured leg dripping consistent droplets of bright red blood into the gaping outstretched mouths and hungry snapping jaws of the H.I.M.S. They were whipping themselves into a frenzy. A consistent low moaning reached my ears. Some of the undead were snarling and reaching upward, desperate for more as the wind blew the droplets around in the air. Black lips opened wide as bloated tongues lapped at the structure where some of my blood was slowly trickling down the metal.
I knew with certainty that I was going to bleed out fast if I didn’t do something. Pulling the bandana from my head, I tied it around my upper thigh. Tight. I couldn’t help the low scream that escaped my lips. Pain seared my brain. Dizzy, I lay back against the plywood deck, close to the edge of the platform. In a few minutes, none of this would matter. I’d be dead.
A monster. Just like them.
I closed my eyes, exhausted from the struggle of living and constant loneliness. There wasn’t an ounce of fight left in me. If this was it, I’d welcome the loss of a horrific reality. Maybe if I shot myself in the head I wouldn’t become one of the Infected.
My fingers twitched as I reached for my gun.
“Hey!”
My eyes shot open wide in disbelief.
Was someone calling out to me?
Chapter 4
Shock held me frozen stiff as the tall muscular frame of a man dressed in military cammies headed straight for me. My jaw dropped as I watched him run across the roof and drop to the shingles, stretching a hand in my direction.
“Hurry!” he shouted, holding his hand out, and gesturing for me to get moving.
I managed to pull myself into a kneeling position, but as I stood my leg gave out beneath me and buckled, sending me falling backward and the platform teetering as it shook under the sudden shift in weight. The entire structure swayed as I clung to the wooden base, terrified I would be dropped into the flailing arms of ravenous undead waiting below.
“Shit!” I heard him curse as he slid slowly down onto the platform, testing his weight before he stood, edging his way carefully closer.
A moment later I was hauled to my feet and slung over his back as he balanced his weight on the rickety scaffolding. The whole structure of metal beams and wood was going to topple at any moment. Several pops and a sharp crack rang out in the muggy air. We swung back and forth like a pendulum, creaks and light snapping warning us of our inevitable death. A small chuckle escaped his lips.
Was he laughing?
This guy was insane!
Who did he think he was? A superhero? Fucking Tarzan?
He made it to the ledge where he hoisted my body up over his head – surprising me with the amount of strength he held in his arms – and tossed me up high enough that I managed to pull my body onto the roof. Seconds later he gripped the edge when the platform busted apart, snapping and disintegrating before my eyes. He was left dangling by his arms just feet above the massive horde of undead below.
I screamed.
The roar of the H.I.M.S. grew louder as they anticipated being fed like sharks in a tank.
Frightened he was going to fall after saving my life, I reached for his wrists and hoped to stabilize him. Our eyes locked. One hand slipped as he smiled – he fucking smiled – and then grunted as he swung his body forward. The momentum brought him close enough to grasp the ledge again as he thrust his body up next to me on the roof.
My jaw dropped. Who in the world was this guy? And where did he come from?
The horde below was snarling and growling, the taste of blood still lingering on their bloated and blackened tongues. At least thirty crowded the side of the house in desperation as Runners slammed into the brick façade. We were safe on the roof, but not for long. As more joined those gathered below, the foundation would be pushed and shoved until it started to crumble. Before long the roof could cave in.
“Your name?” The man’s deep gruff voice brought my attention back to him.
“Bailee,” I answered softly, wondering if he was going to say his name next.
“I’m Sawyer,” he answered as his cool blue eyes drank me in.
“Thank you.” I slid closer and winced at the sharp shooting pain in my leg. “I owe you one.”
We shook hands. “Well Bailee, you’re going to need stitches and some antibiotics if you don’t want that leg to fester and become infected.” He scrubbed his hand along the stubble on his chin, at least two days’ worth of growth. Should have been a lot more if he didn’t have a safe place to stay. “We need to move. The sooner we leave the Rotters behind, the better.”
I stared at him, uncertain of what that would mean. He saved my life but trusting him wasn’t an option. What if he was a sicko who wanted to take advantage of an injured girl? Was he part of a group? I had way too many questions. “Are you alone?”
He arched a dark brow. “No, you?”
I decided not to say and shrugged. “Maybe.”
He smirked. “You coming or not?”
“How many are in your group?”
He stood and held out his hand. “More than a handful. You’ll have a chance to meet everyone.”
“How many males and how many females?” I asked, planting my hands on my hips.
He laughed, shaking his head. I could care less if he thought I was crazy. “Well, there’s more males since a good many of us came from the military base and the females had already shipped out when this shit show started. Of course, there’s more than one couple, some singles. Does it matter?”
“If you’re a weirdo it does,” I pointed out, giving him a measured look.
“Come on. No one is going to hurt you but we have to leave and get those injuries treated now.” He was still holding out his hand.
I sighed. He was right. This was probably stupid but my options were limited. My hand was enveloped in his larger one as he hauled me to my feet. For just a moment our eyes met again and I saw a flicker of something intense linger in the deep blue depths before he blinked and led me across the roof.
Fading into the background were the chomping teeth and low growls of the H.I.M.S. Damn undead. I wished I could run them all over with my Hummer. Or better yet . . . a steamroller. Then I could use them all for practice like sheets of bloody range targets.
I actually smiled at the thought. Shit. I think this whole adventure was making me one fucked up individual.
Ask me if I cared. The answer? Nope.
As the sun sank lower in the sky, I knew I didn’t have much chance of survival unless I left with Sawyer. Only time would tell if that choice was foolish or not.
“SAW!” A BLOND GUY WITH a skull bandana stretched across his sweaty forehead and dressed in desert military issue cammies ran forward and clapped him on the back, a cheesy grin plastered across his face until he saw me limping behind. “Who the hell is that?”
Sawyer nodded in my direction. “A friend.”
A friend? Since when?
“What the fuck, man?”
Sawyer shrugged. “We knew each other before all the shit went down. Bailee is cool.”
Did Sawyer just lie? Why?
The guy looked me over. “Bullshit. She’s just a pretty face and an extra mouth to feed. Since when do we take in strays?”
Wow. Jerk.
“Listen jackass,” I answered, walking around Sawyer and jabbing my finger in his chest, “I’m not a damn stray. I’ve been surviving on my own since this whole thing went down. I’m probably smarter and better prepared than all of you combined so quit the display of testosterone before you piss me off.”
His eyes widened in surprise and then he tilted his head back and laughed. Hard. “Colin Razzier,” he blurted as he stuck out his hand and I shook it, “but everyone calls me Razz.”
“Bailee, as you know. Don’t be an ass, Razz.”
He laughed again. “I like her. Doesn’t pull any punches.”
I caught Sawyer’s grin. “See? She’s got spunk. We need that.”
“You’ll have to pull your weight if you’re sta
ying,” Razz commented as he arched a cocky brow. “I imagine that won’t be a problem once you’re better.”
“Who said I’m staying?”
“Well, me.” Sawyer exchanged a look with Razz and then turned my way with an innocent expression that proved he had some kind of ulterior motive. “I was kind of hoping you would.”
“Why?” I asked, wincing as another sharp pain crept down my thigh. Blood was seeping through the bandana and dripping onto the concrete below. I needed first aid. Immediately.
“Why don’t we debate that while I tend to your leg?” he countered, answering my question with a question. Man, I really hated that. My uncle used to do it to me all the time.
“Fine,” I agreed, leaning on him for support, “but I want answers.”
“And you’ll get them,” he promised, scooping me up before I could protest, “but your leg first.”
Half an hour later he was finishing the stitches on my thigh as I lay back against a hospital bed. I’m not sure where they swiped it from but I noticed the entire room was set up like a mini clinic. Boxes full of supplies filled the room and stacked on countertops full of gauze, bandages, drape cloths, peroxide, sterile water containers, painkillers, etc. Several hospital beds lined the walls next to a row of IV towers. Surgical equipment was laid out on a metal tray, clean and ready to be used. I was kind of impressed. They seemed to have what they needed in case of serious injury or emergency.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked as I looked up. “You seem lost in thought.”
“You’re well prepared here,” I observed, watching his reaction. “How long have you been at this location?”
“Long enough. This is one of the first places we settled when some of the guys started to turn.” He pressed a bandage over the stitches and stood up, washing his hands and putting away supplies. “Where were you when it all hit?”
With my uncle. “With family.” I didn’t elaborate. For some reason, I didn’t think he needed to know all about me yet.