It did not take long to find out what would happen when the food was gone. It was a gruesome scene as they began to tear into one another. The smaller ones went down first, torn apart by the bigger ones. Sam watched the nightmare out the window, his hand nervously rubbing his beard roughened jaw. “I can’t believe I caused this,” he whispered, although in the grand scheme of things, he knew a bunch of cats were insignificant.
Ellie pulled him away from the window by the hand and then she switched the music back up, even louder than before, to mask the growls and cries outside.
***
He had lost count of the days, but he knew it had been more than a week since the cat incident. It was more the stink of the cat carcasses rotting outside that kept them indoor than the fear of one of the infected paying a visit.
They grew bored and both began to wonder what if anything was left outside the valley. Food was dwindling. The beer was nearly gone. Sam longed for the ocean and the sun and began to consider returning to the coast. He would ask Ellie to go with him, he decided. Of course, if she did not want to go there, he would stay with her. The idea of being so totally alone scared the hell out of him.
Ellie began to show signs of infection on a Tuesday evening, shortly after an ill attempted venture to some of the neighboring houses. Their only encounter with anyone was with a guy they had known back in grade school. Peter. Peter-somebody.
Pete had always been a bit off and when they discovered him, he was sitting crossed-legged on the floor in a pool of his own waste. The stench nearly overwhelmed them. His urine and feces had soaked into his jeans and up the hem of his t-shirt, some caked and dry, some quite fresh. He had devoured his left foot to the bone.
He seemed to be completely unaware of their presence in the house.
“Shoot him,” Ellie said.
“He’s not doing anything, Ellie,” Sam protested. “Let’s just leave him. He’ll be dead soon enough.”
“He’s dead now. Do it. He knows we‘re here—”
“You can’t really believe that. He hasn’t even moved.”
“Look, you go into the kitchen and see if you can find anything we can use. I’ll watch him.”
Sam shrugged and went to search the cupboards. It was only a few moments it seemed, before he heard a scuffle, then the shots. He jumped, heart thundering, dropping cans of food onto the floor.
“Ellie!”
He found her sitting on the floor grasping her calf. Peter-somebody was sprawled on the floor, his rotting brains spilling all over the rug. His legs still twitched slightly.
“I told you, Sam!”
“What the hell—”
“He fucking bit me.”
“Here, let me see.” He took her hand and pulled away. Blood jetted from the ragged wound and he nearly fainted dead away. He took a deep breath and pressed her hand back over it. “I’ll find some gauze or something.”
“Fucking lot of help that is,” Ellie muttered. “Cut my leg off, Sam. Maybe it’s not in my bloodstream yet.”
Sam pretended not to hear her and fled to the bathroom in search of a first aid kit.
She was showing signs of infection before the night was over. Very soon he would be alone again.
***
Now he sat, waiting, back against his bedroom door, Ellie‘s rifle lying on the floor next to him. She had gone crazy an hour ago, tore up his room, then went into a rant about how fucking weak he was. How stunted. How sniveling. She screamed through the door that she had dumped him on her own, not because of the constant prodding from her family. He was weak and most times she only stayed with him because she had pitied him. She cursed him with language saved for sailors and death row inmates. She clawed at the door furiously and he could imagine her nails splintering and peeling back from the ends of her fingers.
She begged him for death, before things went even further south. He promised over and over again that he would.
He lied. He’d always been able to spit out a lie as easily as the truth.
He could smell the death stink coming under the door. He could hear her breath against the wood, almost as if it were on the back of his neck.
“I’ll break through this fucking door, Sam. I will take you down with me for doing this,” she whispered, wet and slurred. “I will take you down and you will hurt like I hurt right now.”
Sam reasoned that surely there were others out there that were not infected, but those thoughts quickly turned to the possibility of being the only one left. Was there a reason to go on, if he was to be all alone? Besides, did he actually think he could survive long enough to find others?
Ellie was right, just like Katy. He was weak. He was an overgrown little boy.
His little daughter had been devoured right before his eyes. His mother, who had coddled him and his father, who had doted on him were gone, too. Everyone who loved him was gone.
His world was as good as gone.
He sat as the sun began to sink and the hallway became dark. Ellie had grown quiet again and he knew she was waiting as well.
Finally, he sighed and reached up. He unlocked the bedroom door then he picked up the rifle. The moved across the hallway, opposite the door and placed the gun across his knees.
“I’m waiting, Ellie,” he said quietly. “I’m waiting.”
Dead Girl
Rise of the Dead Volume 3
Dead Girl’s Blog
Tuesday, September 09, 2014
I never thought it would happen to me. Damn that Tommy Barker. Always grabbing at me. So we stopped over at Allston Park and went down to the beach to you know. Ever since I let him go under my sweater after Laura Murphy’s birthday party a month ago, he’s been determined to go all the way. But I was drunk that night and besides he does want to use protection—
Never mind. The point is this—we went down to the beach and suddenly there was this old guy stumbling out of the dunes like some kind of drunk or maybe perv, and Tommy—that jerk—ran off with his junk hanging out and left me there with my pants halfway down.
Turns out this old guy wasn’t a drunk (though he might have been a perv—at least at some point). He was one of those. You know. Those Deaders that’s been on the internet and in the paper. One of those things my dad is always warning me to stay clear.
But there he was. Dead as homemade shit and stumbling around in his stinky, wet clothes. He was on his knees before I could get my jeans buttoned. Then he clamped his teeth into my calf. He ruined my best jeans—the ones Mom picked up at Hollister. That numbnuts tore a hole right through those jeans and took a piece of my leg, too.
You know, I don’t think I even realized he was a Deader until I kicked him. Right in the side of the head, just like he was a soccer ball, and he let go right away, but only because his lower jaw came loose on that side. I remember standing there a second and watching his rotted black tongue sort of waggle and flap around. Then I ran. It didn’t really even hurt that much. The ER doc said that was likely because of the adrenaline rush I had. But now I’m just high on the pills he gave me. He gave Mom a little bottle of pills, too. To add to her collection.
Anyway, Tommy had the car running already. Good ol’ Tommy. How manly of him, BTW. Idiot. And then had the nerve to bitch about me getting blood all over the floorboard of his daddy’s Lexus. He dropped me off in front of the ER entrance and sped away with my purse and my phone. I had to use a greasy payphone to call my dad.
Boy, you should have seen the look on my parents’ faces when they picked me up. You’d thought I was caught screwing the entire Varsity and J.V. football team at a church picnic.
“What are we going to do with you, Audrey?” Mom asked. She was crying, but she did that sometime anyway and usually for no real reason. But they seemed to think the whole thing pretty dire.
I sighed, rolled my eyes in the backseat of Dad’s Beemer, and watched as the bloodspot was already growing wide and dark through the bandage.
That dumbass ruined my best jeans. Did I mention tha
t?
Posted at 09/09/2014 11:52:34 pm by deadgirl
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Dead Girl’s Blog
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
It’s not like those stupid movies. The Deaders haven’t overtaken the world—at least not yet. We still go to school. Our parents still work and go out to the country club and pretend to play golf when they are really there to socialize, impress one another and swill martinis. Us kids? Well, we still go to football games and clubs and to the mall.
The Deaders have become this weird, nagging environmental problem, like global warming or beach erosion. It makes good headlines, but it usually doesn’t touch you personally. That is. As long as you ‘re careful.
I don’t know why I’m telling you all of that. Unless you live under a rock, you’ve heard about it.
Geez. I can’t believe I let this happen. I made Tommy keep condoms in his glovebox (although the latex makes his little wiener break out), but didn’t think to make him check for Deaders behind the dunes. Obviously, our sex wasn’t all that safe.
I’ve been reading some stuff about what’s supposed to happen to a person once they’ve been infected. It doesn’t sound good.
I’m a little scared.
Monday, I go back to school. I hope bigmouth Tommy hasn’t told anyone.
Posted at 09/10/2014 09:03:59 pm by deadgirl
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Dead Girl’s Blog
Monday, September 15, 2014
Tommy Barker, that weasel. He told. He told everyone and what’s worse, he told what we were doing before it happened.
Cheryl Lindsey laughed. That slut. “I guess you’re not gonna be Homecoming Queen this year,” she said.
It never dawned on me; but it’s was true. I’ll probably not be around for Homecoming.
Or graduation. Or college.
Oh, crap.
I’m going to be a Deader. A nasty, rotting Deader.
When I got home this afternoon, Cindy was in my room. I think she is already deciding which of my things she wants to keep and what she plans to throw out. My room is a lot bigger than hers. She’ll move right in once I’m gone.
Posted at 09/15/2015 04:14:09 pm by deadgirl
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Dead Girl’s Blog
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Something weird happened this morning when I was getting ready for school. First, I’ll tell you, I’m looking fairly sallow, like I haven’t been to the tanning bed in months. My skin is for shit and I’m wearing more makeup than normal. Anyway, the strange thing was, when I put on my lip-gloss, my lips just started cracking. Like chapped lips, but ten times worse. And this icky black stuff started oozing out.
I ran and told Mom and she gave me a tissue and said, “It’s only going to get worse, dear. Now don’t make me late for work.” She’s an anchor for the local news, so she thinks she knows everything about everything because she can read some copy.
Oh well. School was long and I felt tired all day. Chloe and Sarah and the rest of the squad (except for Cheryl, who wants my spot as head cheerleader) pretended sympathy, but I heard them laughing when I got up from the table in the cafeteria and dumped my tray. I’m not sure why I got lunch anyway. I’m certainly not hungry for…pizza. Barf!
You know, the upside of this entire thing is this. I don’t think Tommy Barker will hassle me for another feel.
Posted at 09/15/2014 03:35:33 pm by deadgirl
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Dead Girl’s Blog
Friday, September 19, 2014
Friday and no calls. God, I ended up going to the mall with Cindy and her dumb friend Kendra, who is this fat little geek—not unlike my sister, BTW—who enjoyed detailing what I might experience next during my—transformation. Never thought I would resort to paling around with my weirdo 14 year-old sis on the weekends. I think I know what it feels like to be ugly now. I mean, I haven’t changed that much, but something is…off. These guys were trailing us in front of the A.E. store and when I turned around, they looked-well … surprised. And not in a good way. I suppose I still check out from behind okay
I guess I could blame it on who I was with. That’s what I would have done a month ago, anyway.
OMG, I wish I were dead.
I mean all the way dead.
Posted at 09/19/2014 11:03:19 pm by deadgirl
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Dead Girl’s Blog
Monday, September 22, 2014
It’s more and more difficult to get myself together for school. This morning when I was brushing my hair, some came out.
Actually, a lot came out.
And some of my scalp.
I called Mom and she came in, smiling this big fake-assed smile and suggested I wear a hat today. I dug my pink Kangaroo golf cap ( that’s not especially cool any more, BTW) , then realized my blouse didn’t match, so I had to change it, also. Plus, my head sort of oozed this thick, yellowish crap from where the scalp had come off. I stuck a bandage over it.
I ended up late.
Do you know what it’s like to walk in late front of a class full of kids when you’re dead?
Somebody giggled. Now, I truly know what the losers felt like when I laughed at them and made those snarky little comments.
For some reason, I haven’t been making so many clever little comments, lately. It’s like my brain isn’t working like it used to.
Gym class was a royal bitch from hell. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t run. I was slow. Awkward. I felt like a fool. It was like my muscles had forgotten how to function. And in volleyball, too. I lettered in volleyball last year.
Cheryl, that slut. I heard her say, “Way to move, Lurch. Has rigor mortis already set in?”
Then after lunch, I went to my locker and saw that some wit had written, “Audrey Scott has crotch rot” across the front.
Clever.
Anyway, I decided then to hell with it and left early. Another “plus,” if you can call it that, to this whole Deader thing is this—you don’t get into trouble for cutting class. But Cindy nearly had an aneurysm and went whining to Dad that I was getting special treatment because I’m turning into a zombie.
She’d better watch out. I’ll bite her and take her right down with me.
Actually, I am somewhat peckish.
Posted at 09/22/2014 02:45:11 pm by deadgirl
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Dead Girl’s Blog
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Well, the school thing is over. It's too difficult to be ridiculed. Teased. Mocked. I've never been treated like that. It was as though they hated me. Cindy suggested they might just all be a little afraid. Of me. Of what they might become.
A lot of people would be glad to be done with school. I suppose I’m weird, though. It was fun when I was special. Being dead doesn’t make a girl feel special. It makes her feel nasty.
Plus, Cindy feels sorry for me, otherwise she wouldn’t have been so nice. They hate me for being different, just like I always hated people for being different..
Nobody calls.
My father switches off the news when I come into the room. I guess he thinks seeing footage of those Deaders might upset me. And those commercials—those bizarre funeral homes where they don't even put the dead in the ground because they are still up and walking around. “Now, your loved ones can be put away.” People are so sentimental. They can't part with anything, even the dead. Like an old pair of shoes. You always hope they come back into style. Same way with the Deaders—you hold on to them and hope they come up with some sort of cure.
Those places show rolling green pastures, but they don’t actually show any Deaders. Deaders aren't very pretty.
Posted at 09/30/2014 05:08:01 pm by deadgirl
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Dead Girl’s Blog
Saturday ,October 18, 2014
Someting is going on with my head. It fe
els like I have maggots in there. Squirming. I canot always think of the words I want. I can't rememmber how to spel everything.
Stood for a lomg time and looked at meself in the mirow. So ugly now. Bkack & sticky drool driped off me chin and I didn;t wipe it away, It doesn't matter.
Mom & Dad did not cume into my ruum today. They hadRosey leave a steak on my dressser when she clened up. she crosses hersef when i lok at her & sayz some prayer in spannish.
The steke was not cooked and it waz soo gode. I felt lik i had not eaten in 10o0 years.
I lcked the blood from the plate and my fingers, two.
Posted at 10/18/2014 09:17:56 am by deadgirl
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Dead Girl’s Blog
Tuesday,October 21, 2014
dor is lockt frum te outside.
Hard to tink. harder to rite thsi—i ate the padz off of all me fingerz tips. Starving to fuking deth,
Roeys brot those big ol diapers to me cauz this blak stuf is coommin out of my ass.
Carpetz all ruined in hear
I cannoot go to slep anymor. I twitch all the tim. never stop. Like a spaz.
Hungry. Stakes do't make me full lipz r gon. I ate thme in my sleep, suked on them. & my cheek.
Nobody cals.
Posted at 10/21/2014 11:43:08 am by deadgirl
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Cindy99’s WP
Friday, October 31, 2014
Audrey cannot write anymore.
School has closed now, at least for a while, until they can get the number of Deaders under control.
Audrey bit Rosie's cheek off last night and made a run for it. Poor Rosie. Now, she'll be a Deader, too. Dad paid to have her sent back to Ecuador or wherever she came from.
It's sad. She has grandchildren.
Audrey. I felt odd, kinda outside of myself when I saw her flash by my door. I had not seen her in weeks. It was like watching a scary movie, but here, the monster is my sister. And she can get you.
Box of Zombies: Rise of the Dead Volumes 1-3 Page 5