by Oliver, Nick
“Fuck.” I cursed myself, and the whole damned day. I tried to keep my voice down, no point in yelling and attracting more Infected, but I couldn’t help it, almost like cursing when you stub your toe. It happens. I ran as fast as I could down the street with at least a hundred following me. I was already tired from holding the door for so long, I couldn’t keep this up forever, I needed to find something, anything to get out of the open.
After about a half hour I slowed down to a walk, it started to rain pretty hard. My clothes got heavy from water pretty quick, and I was completely soaked in no time. I looked back and saw a dozen of them still following me a quarter mile back. There was a dirt road about a mile down the road. When I got there, I noticed it was a driveway that led to a two story house.
I jogged down the driveway to the house. It seemed abandoned. There were no cars around, the windows were all broken, and the siding was falling apart in places. The front door had no handle or lock, and was partially open. I kicked it lightly and it swung in, revealing the empty house.
There was no furniture in the front room. The walls had no pictures or paintings, and the wallpaper was faded and peeling off in places. The kitchen didn’t have any appliances in it, and the cabinets were all smashed apart. I ran back to the front door and saw the Infected making their way down the driveway to the house.
I went up the stairs to see if I could use something up there to brace against the door. About half way up the stairs my foot broke through one of the steps. I carefully placed my weight the rest of the way up, and found the upstairs just as empty as the bottom floor, not that I couldn’t get anything down those stairs without them collapsing anyways.
Then I got an idea. I got a firm grip on the hand rails, and started stomping the steps. Most of them broke relatively easily, all rotten or already missing. I made sure to break the first 14 steps out, so the first structurally sound step was over 7 feet off the ground, too high for an infected to pull up. I jumped up, grabbed the ledge and got to the second floor as they pushed the front door open. I waited to make sure they couldn’t climb up, then lay down on the floor, closed my eyes, and drifted into a deep sleep.
Chapter Eight: Obstacles
12:00 PM, July 2
I woke up to the sun shining directly into my eyes. I shook my head and sat up. My clothes were still damp, sticking to me. It wasn’t just the heat, even though it was at least ninety degrees, this was from the rain the night before. I took off my clothes and hung them on the railing overlooking the bottom floor, which had several zombies staring up at me, reaching and clawing the walls and collapsed staircase. I felt a slight pain and tenderness on the soles of my feet whenever I put pressure on them.
I untied my boots, and peeled the socks off my feet, they were still completely soaked. I was so exhausted last night I must have just passed out on the floor without taking the time to get my wet clothes off. The bottoms of both my feet were soggy and wrinkled. If I didn’t keep them dry they could easily turn into blisters, so I decided to take it easy here for at least a day or two just to make sure. I hung my socks up with the rest of my clothes, and patted my feet dry with a towel.
“Fuck,” I cursed out loud. I didn’t want to sit here and wait, and every day I was stuck here was another day Sarah could be killed, or worse. But if I walked on my feet like this, they would blister and I’d have to wait even longer. The less time I wasted the better.
I tried to use my time to the best of my advantage, so I started to take an inventory of my remaining supplies just in case Wade or one of his goons took anything out. There was enough food for a day or two, maybe three if I stretched it. My bat was pretty beat up, missing a splinter or two, but still in one piece.
I couldn’t find my machete. It must have still been at the warehouse, but that wasn’t a big deal, I could always find another one. My 9mm on the other hand was still in there, though the clip in it was only half full, with a full spare clip. The flashlight’s battery was dead, so I put my extra one in it and tossed the other downstairs, hopefully whacking a zombie on the head. I smirked at the thought. There were also a few wrappers from candy bars I ate a few days ago. I tossed those too.
There was still one can of Dr Soda left. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to raise my spirits a little. I tried to drink it slow, but that was a hopeless cause. I finished it in about ten minutes. My supply of shotgun shells was pretty low, with only five left in the shotgun, and five left in my backpack. Hopefully, I’d be able to find a supermarket or maybe a gun store soon, if they hadn’t already been looted of all the ammo that is.
My map was sticking out of one of the pockets, so I pulled it out and unfolded it. According to my calculations I was close to the Florida border. I wasn’t exactly sure where I was, but I had a pretty good idea, and it looked like it was going to take at least three, maybe even four more days of walking. If I found another car, I would be able to shave it down to one day or even less, depending on how much gas I could find.
I couldn’t help but smile a little bit. I was damn close to finding her, closer than I thought I was. Unfortunately I couldn’t get going yet, so I needed to find something to occupy my mind for the time being.
Luckily I had grabbed a simple gun cleaning kit before I left. It consisted of three metal tubes, a handle, and scrub brush that you screw together, oil, and a towel to wipe it down with. I hadn’t cleaned it since before I left my grandmother’s house.
In retrospect, that was probably a stupid idea to wait so long to clean it after the number of shots I’d fired and elements it had been through over the last few days. The pads I placed on the scrub brush end were filthy, almost completely blackened from all the powder and gunk inside the barrel.
I took my time and wiped all the rust and blood splotches from the outside of the barrel, from all the rain over the last few days. I could have just done a quick cleaning, just to keep it nice enough to fire, but I had to kill time so I made sure to give it a nice and thorough cleaning.
The smooth clean metal glistened in the light slightly, much better than it was an hour ago. I loaded the shells back into it, pumped one into the chamber, and then loaded another to replace the one I’d just chambered. I placed the remaining four shells in my pocket for quick access. I had a feeling that I’d need them sooner rather then later.
I tried to relax for a few hours after cleaning the gun, but it was about three in the afternoon and I was bored out of my mind. My feet were dry now, but still a little tender. There were only about four hours of decent light left in the day, so it wouldn’t be worth it to try and travel now. By the time I got on the road, and because of my feet, I wouldn’t be able to travel very quickly. I’d just get stuck in the middle of nowhere with no light, practically no ammo left, and what must be at least a hundred of those things downstairs by now.
Eventually I managed to take a small nap, but it was still light when I woke up. The noise from downstairs was just too much to get a good restful sleep, and this time the only thing I dreamed about was those fearful green eyes staring into my soul, almost begging for a chance.
My feet were still a little wrinkly, but they were dry. My socks and boots that I had hung up earlier were also dry, but I wanted to keep my feet exposed to the air so I kept them off. I put the rest of my clothes on. It was going to be getting dark soon. I checked the time and saw there was only about an hour until sunset.
My bag was still leaning against the wall where I left it. My shotgun and pistol were lying right at my side, all packed and ready to go.
Moans were still echoing up from the Infected ranks below. Their skin was oddly discolored, leathery grey in appearance. The untreated wounds on their bodies oozed a deep maroon colored liquid. It couldn’t even be described as a liquid anymore, since it was almost corn syrup like in its viscosity.
I took my pistol and fired into the chest of one looking me in the eyes. Well, they were all looking me in the eyes, but this one seemed to stick out a bit. He was wear
ing what must have been a pink polo shirt. His unnaturally blond hair was sticking up for the most part, except on one side where it looked like he’d slept on it, though, it was probably where he died on it.
The shot didn’t do anything to his facial expression. His jaws just gaped open in a moan, then snapped shut biting at the air in front of him. The wound was in his heart, and the small quantity of syrupy blood that did come out, only oozed out slowly, not like what would normally happen. Roxie had been going to school part time to be a nurse since high school, but had wanted to be one for as long as I could remember. She’d told me what happened to people when they received such wounds, especially when she saw what happened in most movies and said that such things were normally portrayed unrealistically.
Granted, I wouldn’t claim to have any knowledge on the subject other than what I’d heard from Roxie or seen on some television special, but the heart is what pumps the blood. If that is ruptured, it should pour out a lot more than it was, even if it was thicker than usual. That is, unless the heart wasn’t pumping blood anymore. But if it wasn’t, then how were these creatures alive?
Maybe Roxie was right, maybe they were zombies. I’d thought she was just being funny over the phone, not wanting to call them by what I assumed was the scientifically accurate name of “Infected.” She must have understood the actuality of the situation from the beginning, or at least once she saw one for herself in person.
I shivered at the thought of her bumping into one in a dark alley. It didn’t last too long though. Nick wouldn’t be very far behind her if he had even an inkling that something bad was going on.
Then my mind drifted back to worrying about Sarah again. I wasn’t there to stop whatever was in that dark alley. I was stuck in some abandoned, infested, structurally unstable farm house hundreds of miles away, for at least another day. I closed my eyes and imagined what she must be doing right now, hoping that my thoughts would be one of those cheesy “looking at the same moon” kind of moments, but instead all I could picture was her being chased by Rodger, running on an enormous treadmill, not able to get far enough away.
“Fuck,” I exclaimed out loud. I hadn’t thought about Rodger. As much as I hated the son of a bitch, he was resourceful enough to probably be able to survive this. And with nothing stopping him from just taking what he wants, he would go after Sarah. I punched a wall in anger. The old and already crumbling drywall shattered upon impact. Luckily I missed the stud, but not by much.
If my feet weren’t still tender I would probably have been pacing around the room. Instead, I was just sitting there, arms crossed, moving my foot in a tapping motion, but never actually touching the ground with the bottom of my feet, just swinging up and down.
I’d always kind of enjoyed privacy. If I had a day home alone, it was a nice time to just relax, not have to spend the whole time trying to please someone or do chores for my parents. But this was different, in those situations other people where only a text or phone call away but now? Just sitting here with absolutely nothing to do, productive or otherwise, I realized how easily someone could lose their mind in situations like this.
Probably the only reason I wasn’t losing it myself was that I had a long term goal, something to keep my mind off the present. I couldn’t just go bonkers here and leave Sarah to fend for herself. I had to stay sane for her, no matter how much noise the undead downstairs were making, I’d have to endure.
If I had some alcohol, I could have had a few drinks and then fall asleep easier. Though, I didn’t want to be impaired in any way if something were to go wrong, like if the floor I was lying on suddenly collapsed or something. I shifted my weight a little bit, making the floorboards below me creak and groan, and decided that that was a distinct possibility.
I decided that it was safe enough for me to drown out their moans with my mp3 player. They couldn’t reach the top of the stairs, and I needed to hear something other then those god damned moans for a while. I put on my headphones and cranked some classic rock
I felt my eyelids getting a little heavy as I rocked out for a while and rested my head against my bag, using it as a pillow. Eventually, I fell asleep again. The music helped, but I was still worried. Even though I was as safe as I could be right now there was something bothering me. The music may have drowned out the sounds of the undead, but their presence, their memory, that was a constant that I could never avoid, never escape.
5:00 AM, July 3
I awoke to a subtle beep. My headphones were still on my ears, but were no longer emitting music. I looked down at the mp3 player and saw a little flashing battery symbol on the screen before it went black completely.
They were still downstairs, reaching and swatting at the air. It must have stopped raining sometime in the night. It was probably still wet outside, though it would probably dry out as the day progressed.
My feet were good. My socks and boots were dry now, so I put them on, strapped my backpack on, slid my shotgun’s strap over my shoulder, and holstered the pistol. The windows were all broken, and a few were covered in plastic. I tore the plastic off of one on the opposite side of the house from the front door.
There was one of those crisscross vine fences up the siding. The vines on it were thick from lack of maintenance, and I hoped that if it could hold the weight of all those vines, it would be able to support me as well. I reached over and shook the boards, testing their strength, they seemed strong enough, and so I started climbing down.
The vines were wet, and quite slippery. So I took my time so I wouldn’t slip and fall all the way down. The ground was just as wet as the vines. My boots sank about an inch into the muddy grass, so I kept on the move, not standing in the same place for too long for fear of my foot sinking too deep and losing a boot, or falling over and getting completely covered in mud.
The driveway, or at least what used to be the driveway, wasn’t paved. It used to be completely covered in gravel, but now there were only a few patches packed well enough to keep from sinking into the mud. I tried my best to hop through these little islands of stone. Behind me the horde must have heard the squishing and smacking of mud, because they were working their way toward me. Luckily, they didn’t have the common sense I had to watch my footing. Several of them fell forward face first into the muck, and all the squirming they did trying to get out just made them get stuck worse, burying their limbs into the mud.
When I finally reached the paved road, I wiped as much mud off my boots as I could. I glanced back in the direction of the Warehouse. The fires must have been put out by the rain. I could just make out a faint humming, hundreds of moans radiating from the numerous corpses gathered in one place. I adjusted my baseball cap, and took off at a jogging pace, and left it all behind me.
I passed more and more cars as I reached civilization again. Most were abandoned. Some still had its occupants, either dead or, otherwise. There were no other survivors, even though it would be retarded for someone to stay in their car in the middle of a road with those things, but not seeing anyone else alive, at least, not anyone friendly was beginning to discourage me. Then again, in a world like this, who would be friendly? No more law, no more order, everyone would do anything to protect the things keeping themselves, and those they love alive.
Shit, I considered myself a good guy, and it didn’t take much for me to kill those people back in that warehouse. If the tables were turned, what’s to say someone wouldn’t kill me thinking I was a bad guy? I saw his face, the fear, the desperation, the green eyes, judging me.
I’d been walking for about six hours by the time I finally saw a sign that raised my spirits a little bit.
Florida State Line: Five Miles Ahead.
A smirk crept up the side of my face, and my pace sped up slightly. Being so close was glorious. I felt like I could see her from here, sitting on her dad’s porch on the swinging bench we used to sit on when we were kids. Granted, she probably had her dad’s shotgun, shooting at the occasional zombie walking d
own the rural road her house was on. Then again, she was with Nick and Roxie, and they were heading to the high school last I heard, so maybe she was sitting on the second story, looking out over the railing, sitting in a desk, and waiting.
The sun was beginning to dip. I only had about an hour of sunlight left. Luckily there was a truck stop a mile ahead. I picked up my pace again. Hopefully it would have some supplies and a decent place to sleep for the night.
6:30 AM, July 4
The truck stop was pretty spacious. I’d looked for supplies the night before, but it had already been cleaned out. Even the vending machines were already smashed open and emptied out. The Zombies were outside the front entrance, banging on the steel door. I had knocked a vending machine over in front of it just to be safe. I wasn’t taking any chances after the other day.
The sun was just about to come up, so I started heading toward the back. I’d dropped a vending machine in front of the back door too, but I didn’t hear any pounding from outside, and it wasn’t like they were setting an ambush. I pushed the heavy machine out of the way, and opened the door. The sun was peeking up over the horizon, illuminating the parking lot. All the Zombies must have been out front.
There were a few cars in the lot, so I jogged over to the closest one. It was an old station wagon with the wood paneling in the side. The door was locked, so I had to smash the window in. I checked the dashboard and console for the keys, but no luck. Then I looked under the side and saw one of those magnetic key holders. It had a key in it, and when I put it in the ignition, the car fired up pretty good and had about three-quarters of a tank of gas left.