Tales of Terror from Survivors (Zombie Apocalypse #3.5)

by Hoffman, Samantha

  He found a mirror in the bathroom and recoiled at his own reflection, a scream building in the back of his throat. His own dark brown eyes stared back at him, but they were lifeless and devoid of anything remotely human. His cheeks were gaunt and his skin looked papery thin, as if it was stretched to the breaking point. Scars broke up the once smooth surface, tearing their way across his jaw and leaving jagged, puckered craters in their wake.

  Tears dripped down his cheeks as he took in his appearance. He looked like a monster, like some kind of ravenous animal had tried to eat him. He didn’t understand what was happening around him and he didn’t understand how he got to be the way he was now. Nothing made sense and he wanted his mother or sister to comfort him and tell him everything would be okay. But they weren’t here and he was all alone. He closed his eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears, but it was no use.

  Turning away from the mirror, he went to the last room at the end of the house, where his mother had slept mostly alone since his father died of a sudden heart attack four years ago. She had dated a little here and there, but he had never made it easy on her, and she always tried to put her children’s happiness before her own. So she remained alone for the most part, and he felt a tremendous sense of guilt over it right now. He had been out living his life as best as he could, expecting her to remain home and mourn the memory of his father long after his death.

  He pushed open the bedroom door and choked as a wave of hot, foul air hit him. It smelled of death and decay, and it seemed to choke the life from him. He bent over in the doorway and retched, his body heaving as it tried to bring up anything it could from his empty stomach. He turned away from the door, gasping for air, but the smell followed him, permeating throughout the house. He wasn’t stupid; he knew what a stench like that signified. Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he turned back towards the bedroom.

  His eyes passed over the framed photos on the walls, the disturbed vanity against the far wall, and they lingered on the queen sized bed. A body was spread across the lower half of it, rotting away into nothing but the blue sweater and black leggings it wore. Even decomposed, he could still make out his mother’s features. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was her. It had to be. Who else could it have been but her? She was too small to be Naomi, which left only one other possibility.

  He took in her skeletal appearance, with her prune-like shriveled skin, missing eyes, and straggly hair that had started to fall out, and he sank to his knees on the carpet at the foot of the bed. His hands clutched the bedspread as he wept. His stomach cramped and his chest ached as he cried once again, a feeling of dread growing in his heart. It seemed like everything around him was wrong and just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, they somehow managed to do just that. He felt wrong—sick and abnormal—he didn’t know what was wrong with the world, his mother was dead and clearly had been for some time, and he had no idea where the rest of his family was.

  I’m all alone, he thought, wrapping his arms around his sides, trying to hold himself together. I don’t know what to do from here. Where do I go?

  His first thought was to find his aunt Delonda. Aunt Lonnie and his mother hadn’t been close in a few years, but he and his cousin Demarion were thick as thieves. If he still had them, everything might turn out okay in the end. They didn’t live too far away, and he thought he might be able to make it before nightfall if he hurried. But as much as he wanted to find them, he couldn’t bring himself to stand, to leave his mother like that. He turned away from the bed and leaned against it, putting his head on his knees as he cried, trying to figure out what to do.

  He would never be able to bury her. He had never been a large boy, and whatever had happened to him seemed to have left him feeling weaker than a newborn in some ways. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to get her outside, if he could even bring himself to touch her body. But he didn’t want to just leave her here like this, rotting away without a chance to rest in peace. He wanted to give her a nice resting place; somewhere he could visit her when he was in a better place. I could always find Aunt Lonnie first and come back for my mother later. Maybe Demarion would help me bury her?

  What if Aunt Lonnie and Demarion are dead, too? What if I’m really all alone? What would I do then? Where would I go, who would take care of me? The thought of being alone made him feel helpless, and he slumped over to the ground at the foot of the bed, feeling like an anvil was crushing his chest. Everything was so wrong. How was he supposed to keep going when all he wanted to do was give up and rest?

  He fell asleep some time later curled up at the foot of his mother’s bed. When he woke up in the morning, he found the skin of his cheeks tight from tears that had dried during the night. His stomach growled loudly, and he had the feeling he would have been able to eat an entire cow by himself. But he doubted there was any food left in the house. He didn’t remember anything from his time away from his family, but judging by the state of things, he’d been gone for quite some time. He was sure anything that had been in the house was either long gone or had expired and would just make him sick.

  He left his mother’s bedroom without glancing back at her body even once. He had the feeling that if he did, he might never find the courage to leave her side. As he stepped out onto the front porch, he was unsurprised to find dozens of people milling around in the streets with dazed expressions on their faces. Clearly whatever had happened had happened on a mass scale, and there were lots of others suffering the same as him. He took some small measure of comfort in knowing he wasn’t struggling alone, but it just meant there was nobody that could tell him what was going on and what had happened.

  He passed an older woman missing part of her arm. The flesh was stripped away down to the bone, and his stomach rolled at the sight of it. He hurried down the street, but it seemed everywhere he looked he found others that looked like him, people that had obviously suffered some kind of attack. He tried to ignore how many of the wounds seemed to look like bite marks—similar to the one his brother had given him years ago when they were kids.

  His mind raced with possibilities, but he pushed them all to the back of his mind as he made his way to Aunt Lonnie’s house. He traveled the streets that had been so familiar to him at one time, but now they were nothing but a memory. He found himself struggling to remember the fastest way to Lonnie’s, but after only two wrong turns and a dead end, he managed to find his way out of the city and to the next town over. He was surprised to find a wooden barricade ringed with barbed wire blocking his entrance into the neighborhood his aunt lived in.

  A man stood guard on top of a lifted truck, and the man looked down at him as if he was a disgusting cockroach under his boot. He wondered if the man wanted to shoot him with the rifle in his hands, but the man made no attempt to stop him as he passed through an opening in the barricade. He found a few others standing uncertainly around the opening, and he wondered how long the doors had been open to others. Probably not for some time, if he were to judge by the reaction of the people living in the neighborhood. Miraculously, they all seemed to look like normal people. None of them were covered in scars and they all seemed to be in decent shape, like they hadn’t spent months starving and wasting away like he had.

  He passed under their disgusted stares, trying not to feel like a freak as he made his way to his aunt’s house. It was a blue two-story house near the end of the street. The white picket fence out front was weathered and the yard had been neglected for some time—the grass grew nearly up to his knees, the flowerbeds were full of dead flowers and weeds, and the vines that grew up the trellis had taken over and spread to engulf the entire side of the house. But it was clear that someone still lived here, as evidenced by the fresh vegetables growing in a patch of bare earth that took up much of the side yard.

  He stood at the edge of the sidewalk, unsure of what he might find inside. Would his aunt and cousin be okay? Or would he find some strangers that were living in his family’s home? He tried to
make his feet carry him up to the front door, but he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move an inch. Fear had locked his muscles and left him unable to do anything but stand there and stare at the house.

  Before he could do anything, the front door opened a crack and a plump woman poked her head out. Her eyes were wide, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The door opened wider, and she stepped out onto the stone path that led to the driveway. Lonnie wiped her hands on the dirty apron that hung around her thick frame, and he could see that they were trembling. “Corey?” Her voice was quiet and hesitant, but that one word was enough to break through his fear.

  Corey…that’s me. Named after my dad. Corey Anthony Carmichael the second.

  Lonnie rushed down to the sidewalk, pulling him against her buxom chest, squishing his face against her. He inhaled deeply, remembering the scent of her vanilla lotion. It enveloped him, and he felt safe for the first time since he awoke in the middle of the street. While she practically squeezed the life from him, he cried into her chest, hoping she never let go of him. All too soon, the embrace ended and she held him at arms length, getting a good look at him for the first time. Her eyes lingered on his jaw, and he could only imagine the horror of seeing him this way. She wavered for only a second, and Corey realized she must have seen a lot while he had been away for her to not even flinch at the sight of his mangled face.

  “Mom?”

  Corey recognized Demarion’s voice, and Lonnie stepped aside. He couldn’t remember ever being happier than he was right now, seeing his aunt and cousin alive and well. But Demarion didn’t share the same feelings, and he flinched, recoiling back through the door. Corey’s spirits fell, but Lonnie pulled him closer again, rubbing his head to try and comfort him. “Don’t worry about it, Honey. I’m sure he’ll be happy to have you back, no matter what you’ve been through. He just needs some time to get used to it. Nobody is quite sure why people are coming back, but I’m glad they are. I’ve been praying all day that you would come back to me. I never thought it would happen so soon after this miracle.”

  “What miracle? Lonnie, what happened?”

  She looked down at him, her eyes narrowing a fraction. “It seems I have a lot to tell you. Corey, why don’t you come inside and I’ll make you something to eat. You look half-starved. Some warm food will do you some good.” As he followed her up to the house, his mind flashed back to what had most likely been his last meal—the struggling child. He swallowed quickly to avoid throwing up on his aunt’s back. “I’m not sure how much you know, so I’ll just start at the beginning. Take a seat in the kitchen and I’ll talk while I cook.”

  Corey followed her to the large and spacious kitchen his aunt had been immensely proud of for years. He noticed Demarion slink away out of the corner of his eyes, but he tried to pretend he hadn’t. He just sat in one of the chairs and impatiently waited for Lonnie to start speaking. While she got a bowl down out of the cupboard and cracked open a can of soup, she started talking.

  “Nobody is sure how it started, but a lot of people started to get sick. They couldn’t be helped, and they died. But they didn’t stay dead; they came back to life and started to eat people.” As the soup heated, she turned to face him. “There were so many of them. They were unstoppable, taking over entire cities and wiping them off the map. Even the government and military couldn’t keep up with them, and eventually, everything just got overwhelmed.”

  Lonnie dished out a heaping helping of soup and two slices of fresh baked bread while she continued to talk. Corey listened with a mixture of fascination and horror as he shoveled down his food. He finished eating as Lonnie was finishing her story.

  “I’m not sure what happened, but yesterday all of the zombies dropped to the ground and stopped moving. We hoped it was the end of this long and never-ending nightmare, but they began to move again and we were devastated. However, we quickly noticed that they were changing, changing back into what they had been before. Maybe not exactly the same, but familiar enough to no longer be a threat. We’ve been watching and observing, wondering what would happen next. It looks like things might finally be taking a turn for the better. You being here now is a sign of good things to come, Corey.”

  “So, I was one of those things?” he asked. His food had settled in his stomach like a lead weight, and he tried to swallow quickly to keep it down.

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes going to the scars on his face. “I can tell just by looking at you. There’s no telling how long you’ve been that way, but it’s taken a toll on you, that’s for sure. You’ve been scarred—emotionally, physically, and probably mentally, too. We won’t have any idea what kind of damage was done since this is all so new. We don’t know if you’ll go back to normal or if you’ll always be different.” She stopped and looked at him, studying him as if she was trying to find some sort of answer without having to ask the question. He had a feeling he knew what it was, but he wanted to hear her ask it.

  “Do you remember anything from when you were…not yourself?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I can remember little flashes of some of the things I did. I remember…hurting…someone. But it’s not clear to me, more fuzzy than anything,” he lied. “But I don’t remember everything, like what happened to my mom, Naomi, or Rodney. I know my mom was killed, not by one of those things. But Naomi and Rodney are just gone. I don’t have any clues where they might be or if they’re even alive or not.”

  “I’m sorry, Corey, but I think you should believe the worst. Everyone has been torn apart from loved ones, and even if they are still somehow okay, there’s a real possibility that you’ll never be reunited with them. They could be on the other side of the country living somewhere safe and under populated, maybe they were put down by someone passing through and rotted away to nothing, or they might have woken up without any clue who they are. They might not even know there are people out there looking for them. I don’t say this to be mean or frighten you, but keep your expectations low, Corey. They’re gone, and barring a miracle, they’re not coming back.”

  “So we just sit here and pretend they don’t exist anymore?”

  “Of course not,” she said, reaching across the table to take his hand in hers. “We move on with our lives and live them to the fullest we can, like they would want us to. We have a lot to rebuild before we can have a real life, and maybe we’ll have something to show for it if they ever find us. But we can’t worry about them for now; we have to worry about ourselves first and foremost. We’re here, we’re alive, and we’re ready to move on.”

  “Mom?” Demarion poked his head into the kitchen. His eyes never once glanced over at Corey, and he felt a twinge of sadness in knowing his own cousin was afraid of him. “I brought the radio like you asked. Did you find the batteries?”

  Lonnie let go of Corey’s hand and got to her feet, straightening her apron. She took an old beat up radio from Demarion and placed it on the counter. She fiddled with a pack of batteries that were far too large to be useful for most common household things, and when she was done, the radio came to life. There was nothing but static on all of the stations she tried, but she didn’t look too upset. When she noticed Corey and Demarion both watching her with interest, she smiled.

  “I thought perhaps the government might be behind this miracle, and if they were, they might be putting out some sort of broadcast to fill us all in. I’ll leave it on the emergency station and we’ll just have to pay attention.” She put her hands on her hips and frowned. “You look like you need a hot shower and some clean clothes. Fortunately, we’re pretty well off here, and we’ve got some very smart people helping us. We’ve had hot water for about four and a half months now, and it’s been a godsend. I’m sure some of Demarion’s old clothes will fit—you’re about the size he was a year or two ago.” She looked at Demarion. “Go see if you can find some jeans and a shirt for him to wear. Underwear and socks, too.”

  Corey followed Lonnie upstairs to the bathroom, and
he found himself smiling at all of the familiar surroundings. Even though he now knew the odds of ever seeing the rest of his family again were slim, he could still have a life here with Lonnie and Demarion. It wouldn’t be the same, and he knew he would always miss his family terribly, but things might actually turn out okay for him. Better than he could have ever hoped. Still, as he stripped down and stepped into the steaming hot shower, he felt a longing for what he didn’t have.

  Naomi was the most prominent thing on his mind. He wondered where she was right now, and what she was doing. If he had to pick, he would have assumed Naomi would be far more likely to survive than Rodney. Not only was she older and more experienced in how the world worked, she was a star athlete and she knew how to take care of herself after spending years helping to take care of him and Rodney after their father’s death. She had a fire in her that could never be contained, and she was the kind of person to never stop fighting until the very end. If he would see one of them again someday, it would be Naomi.

  He tried not to think about it as he showered. He would rather focus on the hot water and how good it felt to wash away all of the blood and death that coated his tired body. He scrubbed until he was raw and then kept scrubbing, trying to rid himself of the memories of the atrocious acts he’d committed. It was easier said than done, but when he stepped out of the shower into a cloud of steam and found a pile of clean clothes waiting for him, he felt like a new boy. He pulled them on with steady hands, and took a deep breath before facing his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  He had to admit that he did look much better than he had when he showed up on Lonnie’s doorstep, but he couldn’t get past the scars on his face and the rest of his body. The dirt, blood, and only God knew what else was all washed down the drain, but that stuff was only skin deep. There was grime beneath the surface that still needed to be washed away, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. How did you wash away your sins?