by A. Rosaria
“I didn't sign on for this,” the driver muttered.
Ralph dragged Lauryn up. “Help me with her.”
The driver instead got up and ran to a window, opened it, and started pushing himself out. Ralph was about to yell for him to come back when he saw the dead boy sit back up. His glazed eyes turned on the driver. It wasn’t a boy anymore. It was a dead thing. Ralph had felt the pulse and there had been none. The way the tongue lulled out, the eyes set on infinity, were telltale signs that he was dead.
Ralph grabbed Lauryn and urged her to stand. Slowly, the dead boy stood up. He shuffled to the driver who was stuck in the window and grabbed onto him, pulling him back. The strength it used was not normal. It ripped the man away from the window, jumped on him, and attacked. The driver tried to keep the biting boy at bay, but his teeth came closer with snap of his jaw.
Ralph couldn't help the driver and he didn't want to help him after the man had been willing to leave them to die. He helped Lauryn to the same window the driver had tried to climb out of a second ago.
“Go!” She shook her head. He had no time for this. He pushed her forcibly out the window. “Hold onto me and turn around.”
She did as he asked but slowly. The driver screamed. In the back of the bus, more bodies stirred.
“Let go of my hands.”
Bungling from the window, she looked up scared.
“Do it.”
She let go and fell on her back in the dirt ground.
The driver's screams stopped with a dead gurgle. Ralph did not have much time left. He quickly climbed out the window. Before dropping down, he glanced back in the bus. The jocks were shuffling forward, intent in death to do what they had promised in life. The kids who were still awake were crawling away, too weak to scream. He couldn't help them. He let go and dropped next to Lauryn.
They were beating against the windows. Their death stares fixed on them. It wouldn't take long before they found a way out. Ralph crawled and pulled a dazed and groggy Lauryn up.
“We need to move.”
The scare and the horror around them had put some color back in her face. She nodded. Supporting her, he walked as fast as he could. The steel doors were closing on them. They had about a hundred feet to go. He heard a thud behind him. He had no need to watch to know what it was. One of the things found its way out.
“We are not going to make it,” Lauryn whimpered.
He pushed on, almost dragging her.
“Leave me, save yourself,” she cried.
Screw that, he was not going to leave her behind to die a gruesome dead. He saw what had happened to the driver. He couldn't allow that. He pushed on. Ten feet to go. He heard heavy footfalls behind him, more than one now, and they were closing in rapidly. The moans and growls were right behind them. Their teeth were inches away. The gate was about to close; he pushed her through and jumped after her. With a clang and squish, it shut. Something heavy and wet fell on his back. He grabbed behind his back. He held a severed arm, a sport jacket sleeve still on it. He gulped the bile back and threw it away before Lauryn saw it.
She sat on the ground a foot from him, staring at the horror going on below. A line of buses snaked through the landscape and disappeared behind the horizon. Buses were rocking violently as if people were fighting in them, and from what Ralph had seen, that would almost be a certainty. Soldiers were shooting at the bus that had stood next in line to be sent into the pit. People poured out of the door and some crawled out of the windows. They were all shot. All along the line, people started leaving the buses in a panic, chased by the dead. There were not enough soldiers to stop everybody; eventually they would get overwhelmed, and by that time, he and Lauryn would be long gone.
“Oh, God,” Lauryn said. “I'm going to turn into one of them.”
She sobbed where she sat. He wanted to hug her, cradle her, sooth her pain, but they could not stay there. Soon the soldiers or the zombies would notice them. There, he had said it. The one thing he had been denying, but it was unmistakable. Dead bodies walking were just that. He was not clear how it happened or how it worked. It must have been caused by the flu; it couldn't be anything else unless it never was the flu to begin with.
“We need to go.”
She pushed him away and resisted him pulling her back up, but the flu had weakened her. She soon gave up fighting.
“Please leave me; it hurts all over.”
He held her tightly, arms slung around each other. They walked like they had just returned from a night partying. Instead of going down the hill, he led her around the wall surrounding the pit. They would never survive if they tried going right through the line with buses and the onslaught going on there. They trudged on; each step brought them farther out of sight and increased their chances of escape.
Out of sight, he started looking for a place where they could descend easily. By the time he found an easy slope, Lauryn was breathing heavily. She had kept silent, but now she whispered in his ear, “Put me down, please.”
He didn't want to. He knew what would happen if he did and he just couldn't face it right now. He went down the slope, dragging her with him. He saw a ditch a hundred feet away. They struggled over to it, and he sat her down and dropped next to her. The adrenaline rush left his body and he felt the strain of the day now. Pain, hurt, fatigued, and many more uncomfortable feelings. Him being the healthy one, it must have been ten times worse for Lauryn. The realization of what had happened hit him hard, amplified by the screams faintly ahead and the shots ringing in the air.
She was crying; he wanted to cry. Was this happening all over the world? What about mom and Ginny? Did everyone turn or only those the flu killed? Could someone be cured? He grabbed and pulled Lauryn to him and hugged her tightly. The question that he didn't want to ask, but had to answer, was: What about her?
She sobbed, her head buried against his chest. “It's going to happen to me and you know it.”
He knew all right. “Doesn’t need to be so.”
“Stop it. I will not be the death of you. You'll leave me here, you hear.”
He shook his head, holding his tears in. He didn't want to look at her. He knew if he did, he would see the fever in her eyes, her runny nose, and her pale skin. Admitting it made it final.
She grabbed his head with both hands and pulled him to her with a strength he thought had left her long ago. He felt her lips on his. A fevered tongue press inside. He let go for a moment, then pulled back. Her face was glowing, her eyes dilated, her smile lovely but weak.
“You need to go. I'll be all right.”
He nodded. He looked around and saw a sheet of plywood a distance away. He nabbed it and took it with him. If he went away, he would not leave her without some sort of shelter. His heart ached at the thought of leaving her behind, but the thought of what would happen when she turned, what he might have to do to her, was much worse. He fought his tears and put on a brave face. He tried to say something but choked up. Ralph breathed deeply.
“I'll cover you up. Stay in there and hide from anyone.”
He kissed her good-bye. She grabbed his hand before he turned away.
“Ralph, I think I...am happy we became friends...survive this.”
“You hang in there; I'll come back for you.”
She let go of him and closed her eyes. He withstood the urge to feel for a pulse. It was for the best he didn't know, to remember her in life instead of in death. He tore from her side and ran. He kept running and cursed himself for giving her hope by saying he would come back while he was not even sure he would.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ralph ran up a hill. Drawing shallow breaths, his lungs were about to give out. He dropped on his knees and stretched out on his back. In the distance, he saw the wall surrounding the pit and the heat still emanating at its top, painting the darkening sky red. Soon it would be pitch black and he hoped the zombies could see worse than him. From this side, he could not see the buses or any movement. The shots fired
had stopped a while ago. The last of the soldiers was dead by now; they had been eaten or joined the ranks of the walking dead. There was no way they could have fended off the multitude of zombies.
Ralph scanned the base of the walled pit for any sign of Lauryn. He was afraid he would see her shambling around, turned into one of these grotesqueries. He touched his lips. The sensation of kissing her lingered and so had the taste of sickness. It was not fair. He finally spotted the plywood he had used to cover her up. No movement. No sign of her. She probably had passed out; he hoped against all hope that she just slept, recovering from this infection.
Far off, he heard the whop of rotors. Two specks appeared on the horizon. They came in fast and low, stopping a distance from where the buses were parked. They hovered for a short while and then a stream of fire left them. Missiles propelled forward and rained destruction on the ground. The explosion flashed the sky. More whops sounded and more gunships joined the two, unleashing their rockets. They went up the line, destroying everything. The boom of the explosions hurt his ears. He could only think about how Lauryn must be suffering now. He was glad the attack helicopters focused their fire on moving targets and that the wall of the pit functioned like a barrier against shrapnel. She would survive this; however, her head will be ringing for days. He gritted his teeth. That was if she was still alive.
He stood up, ignoring his screaming muscles, and continued on. He needed to get far away from the destruction and find a way home. Going up seemed to be the most logical choice. He hoped he could make it before darkness set, so that there was still light for him to see a road or a town, or any place where he could seek shelter. If he found nothing, he might have to sleep in the open.
The explosion of rocket fire kept on in the distance as time passed. The sun kissed the horizon. The sky above the pit glowed. A line of burning patches snaked the landscape, and beyond that, light flashed with each explosion. He could only guess how long that line went on for. So many people had been lined up to be destroyed. The living and dead together. In a vain attempt to save the world.
He was on top of the hill. It had taken more time than he expected it to. Fatigue, and the many loose stones, made for a slow climb. Here, he had barely enough light left to see. The land stretched far out; the vegetation was sparse, more sand and rocks than green. There was only one road visible and that was the one they took to come here. If he ever wanted to return home, he had to go back the same way. He knew they had passed a couple of villages on their way, but right now it was impossible to go that way and they were tens of miles away. The helicopters were circling the road, clearing it of anything moving. Besides, it would be dark soon. He looked in the opposite direction. Far away he saw a few lights. A small town maybe. He couldn't see that far.
He had no time to waste. The little light he had left, he needed for the descent. Without it, it would be too treacherous to go down and he would have to spend the night on top of the hill. He had seen no shelter here. He really didn’t have a choice. He started the climb down. After a few near falls—a misstep that could have possible sprained his ankle, but luckily didn't—the last part of the descent he ran, small rocks rolling after him. He made it down just as the last rays of light shot in the air and darkness draped the land. It amazed him how quickly he got down compared to the ascent.
The moon was covered by clouds. The only light he had to go by was the glow of the fire in the pit, but even that was subduing with no more fuel being added. He walked in the direction he thought the town was. At ground level, he couldn't see its light. It left him guessing if he was going in the right direction. It was not the first time he had been alone. Since he got his driver’s license at sixteen, he had been driving around by himself. He was not into partying, so his parents never worried he would do something they deemed dangerous, and they allowed him to stay out late. He would go to the movies with Tom or eat out—nothing fancy or exciting like running from zombies in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes he would just drive just to drive. Too bad his car broke down and he didn't have the money to fix it. His dad didn't want to loan him the money and instead, he had urged him to get a job.
The thing was that being alone didn't feel strange to him, though being out here in the middle of nowhere was. The expanse around him looked the same wherever he turned. Only the hill and pit served as known landmarks. No roads. No phone or electricity cables running above him. It was just a barren landscape with shrubs here and there. As time passed and the clouds became darker, he saw less and less of that landscape.
He had been walking for awhile and had covered some distance. Behind him, the glow of the fires was almost gone. He didn't know exactly how long he had walked. The battery of his smart phone had died on him and he had no wristwatch. It felt like hours, but could have easily just been one. Darkness had the world in a stranglehold. There was no moon or stars in the sky, leaving little light for him to see. He slowed down. For all he knew, he had been walking in circles. No, not circles. He had taken care in keeping the pit to his back, but he could have walked the wrong way and be miles away from the lights he had seen from the hill.
He stepped on something hard instead of the dirt and foliage he been walking on. He knelt down and felt with his hand. The road. He had stumbled upon it. To his left would lead back to where he came. He couldn't go there. He turned right. Walking on the road at night could be dangerous, but he was sure that today there would be no cars coming. Soldiers must have made it clear someway or another that the road was closed. He walked for about another hour when he got a definite answer to that. The road was blocked with traffic fences and a sign that the road was closed.
Far away, he saw lights shining. Ralph ran toward the town, laughing and whooping as he went. He would finally see people again. Get help. Call home and check on his mom and Ginny. There had to be someone willing to help him. Maybe someone would lend him a car. What if they were dead and walking? He stopped running and hollering. Staring at the lights, now much closer, it didn't feel so inviting anymore.
No movements, sound, anything. He could see shades of buildings. The streetlights cast eerie shadows over the walls of the houses. He walked closer, keeping to the side of the road in an effort not to stick out. If he had to flee, he could bolt into the darkness of the wilderness surrounding the small town and hope that the zombies were not the fast-moving kind or that they could see in the dark.
The lights inside the houses were off. Was the town also quarantined? Its inhabitants could have been the first to go down after the pit. He got closer and saw there was in fact one house with its lights on. The town consisted of a few hundred houses, he guessed. The row of buildings was split by the road that coursed through the town. He hugged the wall of the first house. It had no fence or garden. He crept along it toward the closest window. He peeked inside. With the little streetlight coming in, he saw an empty room with walls that still needed plastering. The houses were recently finished. He walked around the corner. A for sale sign was stuck in front of the house. In fact, they were in front of all the houses, but the one with its lights on. He was in a new subdivision, recently finished. It wasn't a town; it had more of a gated community feel to it, but on a smaller scale, or it must be a small project in a larger one. Either way, the inhabitants were one family; plus one if you counted him.
There was only one family he could ask help from. If they turned him down, he would have to seek it somewhere else, and there might not be a somewhere else—not anymore. The good thing was that he didn't have to worry about zombies. This family would have been secluded from the infected, living in such a remote location. He sighed in relief and followed the road to the house. It couldn't be more than two hundred yards to the house, a small distance compared to what he must have walked already.
The houses on each side of him stood in darkness like empty husks waiting to be filled. But with how the world was falling apart, they would likely stand dormant for some time. He passed a house still under constructio
n, one of five all neatly rowed next to each other that formed a nice block. The last houses waited to be finished. A construction van was parked next to it. The windows had to be put in and the walls painted; the job was almost done. It was a perfect place to seek shelter if the need arose. He would not have to break in; he could just get in one of the open windows. Maybe even through the door. How likely would it be locked anyway? He was tempted to check, but thought better of it.
Turning away, he continued to the occupied house with its light illuminating the desolate darkness. Ralph glimpsed some movement in the shadows. He halted, looked around, but saw nothing. It must have been his imagination playing tricks on him. A container office, probably from the real estate company, stood a bit away from the houses. A few trucks, a car, and a van stood parked next to it. About to move away, he heard something brush against the van. He whirled around. A silhouette moved from behind the van. It was a man with a construction helmet on—one of the workers left behind. Shade covered his face. The man stood motionless, staring at him.
Ralph waved. “Goodnight,” he said and immediately felt stupid for doing so.
The man lurched forward in an awkward way as if each step was his first. Ralph backed away. It meant one thing. A moan came from another direction. He looked. Two other men came from behind the third house under construction. Same as the first, they had construction helmets on and they had the same kind of walk. The van zombie was getting closer. Ralph could now clearly see that its throat was torn out. This one had not died from the flu. Ralph backed away from him. Behind him, he heard a growl. Three more came walking. They were going to surround him and block his escape.
He had no choice; he ran for it. The two were fifteen feet away. He had to get past them to get to the house. With any luck, they could only move slightly faster than walking. The house was still a hundred yards away. He rushed the two zombies, ducked under their grabbing arms, and ran between them, leaving them fast behind. Angry growling and moans chased him, but they couldn't keep up with him while he was sprinting. He felt his muscles sour; he couldn't keep this speed up any longer. He was almost there; just a little bit more and he would safely reach the house.