Surviving Earth: Makayla's Journey Continued

by Cora A. Murray

  She seizes the hand that holds the katana. Her jaw jerks with every movement, making it comical. As I slice the katana upwards, I sever her bony arm. She jerks backwards, her next move is to try and slap me, but I am much faster, I duck as the slap goes through the air above my head. She moans and punches out randomly, trying to connect any way she possibly can with my body. Twirling the katana in my hand forward, I open her stomach, spilling the contents onto the wide porch. The smell alone makes vomit rush up my throat into my mouth. I somehow fight it back down and stay on the attack, my katana hits home each time as the freshie starts to get frustrated. She recklessly dives forward trying to knock me from my feet. Its entrails follow behind as she moves. She slips and falls on her intestines, upon reaching her side I end this new sad existence with a slice across the neck, severing her head from her body.

  Chapter Five

  I walk back into the house, every eye is on me. I know that what they witnessed was both bloody and gory and now I'm most likely a villain in their eyes, but she had to die. I was always the one dealing with the problems of this world. Each one of these survivors would soon come to realize this and either move on or get over it.

  Clara holds the sobbing young girl by the shoulders, preventing her from rushing outside.

  "Cole, Levi, we may need to deal with the mess tonight before the scent of her fresh blood draws in more zombies,” I murmur, too tired to make an effort in confronting the remaining survivors. I march into the kitchen, find a towel, and start cleaning myself off.

  "Mak, are you okay?" Gage whispers when he ambles into the kitchen.

  "I'm good, Gage, just tired." I lean on a counter.

  "I'll help the brothers deal with the body. You stay inside and rest." He turns to leave.

  "No, Gage, it's too dangerous out there for you."

  "I'm not a kid anymore. I can help. Fuck, Makayla, we all should be helping more than you let us.”

  He has grown up since I found him, what now seemed so long ago. He stands taller than me and even though he is only fifteen, he's turned into a man as we've faced the many problems on the road. "You're going to have to get over your need to protect and let others help, end of story, Makayla!"

  "You've turned into a man before my eyes. I do trust you to be able to look after yourself, little brother, but it's not going to stop me from worrying over you." I draw him in for a quick hug. "Go on and help the brothers. They’ll need eyes on their backs as they deal with the freshie’s body." I steer him toward the door. My heart-beat accelerates as I watch him walk into the night. This is going to be hard. This is going to be impossible I think, rushing to a window to watch over Gage as he watches over the two brothers.

  The next morning, my eyes roam over the remaining seventeen survivors. I know now that they are going to need more than what I can offer them. My first thought is to take them back to the safe house, but that will soon grow too small and they will deplete the food supply too quickly. My second thought is leaving them all here after securing the house the best we can. I know the two brothers will stay and keep everyone safe, but they need a car and more ammunition. My brain quickly processes the thoughts and denies them as plausible.

  "Mak, what's up? You seem troubled this morning." Clara asks from beside me.

  "We can't keep dragging seventeen more people around the US with us. They'll soon tire out and it's just not right."

  Clara lifts her hands in the air and asks the one question that's been plaguing my thoughts.."What was the point in rescuing them then, if not to help them find someplace safe that they can live and be as happy as they can be?"

  I lean my head on her shoulder. "They're going to need more help before we can leave."

  "I know, but they'll have the brothers here to help them survive. You did your part. You rescued them from a certain death,” she says drawing me into a hug.

  Sometime later, I ask Levi and Cole to come outside so we can talk. “I don't feel it's fair to drag all of survivors around the US with us, I am hoping that this will be a safe place for them and I hope you will both stay, to help guide and protect them.” I whisper. Levi and Cole so much alike, both slide hands into their overlong hair. “We’ll stay, but as soon as we think they're able to look after themselves, we’ll be on the road after the three of you,” Cole says, his eyes look grime, but determined.

  A couple days later we have everyone sit in the living room, I open my mouth to speak ten times then shut it just as quickly.

  Stepping forward, Clara speaks for me, she knows I’m struggling with this decision. "We want to help make this place safe for you all, we think dragging you all across the US would be wrong and it would soon wear on you. I know it may seem we're abandoning you, but we're leaving you in good hands with Levi and Cole. Before we leave, we'll make sure you have what supplies you may need for a few weeks."

  I move Clara out of the way, knowing she isn't responsible for any of the survivors, it is on my shoulders. "First off, we'll make the house safe by boarding up windows and unnecessary doors. Then we'll head out and find a usable car or truck, so you're not stranded here. Next we'll find you needed supplies such as water, food, and medicine and help train anyone interested in helping Levi and Cole protect this place, because they will need relief to get rest and what have you." I wipe my damp hands on my shorts.

  "Wait, you brought us here only to dump us?” A man asks. “You're no better than our captors were." He walks out the door.

  I rush after him and grab his shoulder, but he brushes my hand away. "I swear I'm not leaving you here if you don't wish to stay. Anyone is welcome to go with us when we leave, but we're traveling and it's not an easy life."

  "I will stay and help the brothers guard this place. Maybe it will be safe for a while,” he says while running a hand through his overgrown beard.

  "They will need all the help they can get." It would be nice to take the brothers along on our travels for extra protection, but they are needed here.

  Two towns later and we’re no closer to finding a running vehicle than when we first started this search. Most tires were rotten and the cars beyond repair. I found out the man's name from earlier was David and he is a mechanic, which is greatly needed at this point. He’ll come with Clara and me in search of two perfect cars or trucks.

  I throw my hands up over the top of my head, I am beyond frustrated. "There has to be something in one of these damn towns,” I say, blowing hair from my eyes.

  "Wait, look at that old farmhouse,” Clara yells. “It has a garage and it's closed tight."

  We pull into the drive, my eyes roam the surrounding area, watching for signs of movement. This place reminds me of the farmhouse where I was shot. "Be careful,” I tell Clara and David.

  We stop in front of the house and crawl out, my eyes ever watchful. David tries the garage door, but it's locked. My dad's Glock falls easily into my hands, I’m not taking any chances this time around. Knocking rapidly on the locked door, we wait several minutes, but nothing moves from within. When I kicked the door with my foot it did nothing to help us get inside, it only caused me to jump around and curse at the stupid lock.

  Clara hides a smirk as she walks up to the door, shoots the knob off, and the door swings inward. "That was easy, huh?" She smiles..

  "Bite me, Clara!" I roll my eyes as I hop into the home.

  The door swings in revealing a cobwebbed and dust covered home. No one had been here in awhile from the looks of the place. I check by the door looking for keys, but I don't find any. I move further inside to find the garage door. Once I reach the kitchen, a putrid scent makes me gag. I cover my nose and glance around. I find a zombie in such a state of decay it can't move. Its legs lay in tatters at its side, and bones are the only remain of its arms. His or hers, I’m not sure at this point, eyes hang from the sockets. The moans it make as it visibly tries to scent the air, it's transparent face rises in the air, what's left of its nose flares. It's appears to be desperate. It shifts slightly
to the left, the only movement it can make, it's last ditch effort to feed, only caused more rotten flesh to fall from its body. The Katana slips into my hand. I swiftly end the zombie’s miserable life with one swipe across its neck.

  Turning I continue looking for a door that opens into the garage. The door I assume leads to the basement is locked with four master locks. Not sure if I should chance it. I glance over my shoulder to see Clara and David staring at the door.

  "Should we open that door?" Clara asks, with fear in her eyes.

  "Someone locked this door for a reason,” David says. “Maybe we should leave it alone." He exchanges looks with Clara and me.

  "Maybe you're right, but aren't you curious about what's on the other side?" I ask.

  "I am, but why would it be so securely locked if it wasn't zombies down there?" Clara asks the question that I’m sure is on all three of our minds.

  "I'm going to check it,” I say “both of y'all can go back to the truck if you feel you need to." I lift my gun, ready to shoot the locks off once they leave.

  Clara raises her pistol. "I'm not going anywhere I'll always have your back.”

  David aims his shotgun.

  "You two might want to move back." I direct them back a few feet. I pull the trigger and it’s loud, but it does the trick. One lock down, two to go. With my hand on the trigger, I release another round into the second lock. The house comes alive with noises. Moans and shuffling of feet. We all know what that means. Behind the locked door holds more than a few zombies. Maybe even a horde. The banging started next, loud and insistent.

  Backing further away from the door, David's fearful eyes remain glued to the door. "Maybe we should leave this place."

  "We can leave this door locked, but we still need to check the garage." I scan the area for other doors.

  Clara and David do the same. I'm ready to give in and leave when David points to the fridge sitting in the front of a door. "Hmmm, not sure it's such a great idea to move this either,” he says, leaning lightly on the fridge.

  "Hey, over here,” Clara calls from the kitchen counter, holding up a handwritten note.

  "What does it say?" I ask hesitantly.

  "To whoever may find this place and my note, we were once happy here until the night two infected men showed up. My mom being the kind-hearted sort she was insistent upon helping as best she could, but nothing she did helped. Late one night the now new zombies fell on us, eating at their own pace going through the house taking bites of everyone. My mother hid me away. Only three of us remained human after this, we did our best to keep them at bay, even forcing some into the basement and more into the garage, they seem to be afraid of flames so we used torches to force them where we wanted them to be. I had help at first, but what I didn't know was that they'd been scratched when we rounded the zombies up. Now I lay here waiting for the end to come because you see those two turned and now I'm turning. I can feel a difference in my body, I'm dying. I know. Please whatever you do don't open the doors and release the small horde. Also, if you will, please do me a huge favor and end my life for me. Thank you. Jamie Sutherling”

  Wiping a tear away, Clara lays the note back on the counter. "That's so sad. She must be the rotten zombie over there,” she whispers, gesturing to the now deceased zombie.

  "I guess that means we leave, right?" David asks, nervously.

  "You and Clara can go, but I can't leave knowing someone may happen upon this house and what lies within." I say, checking my dad's Glock for ammo.

  Clara sighs and her hands on her hips. "You know I'm not leaving you here to face this alone."

  "You two are crazy,” David says. “You’re not even sure of the amount of zombies you'll be facing." He turns to walk away.

  "There can't be very many left able to move around. Look at the girl and she was the last to fall." I walk back to the basement door.

  "You think so? Then what was pounding on the door?" He runs his hands through his hair, looking more and more frightened as the seconds ticked by.

  "Go wait in the fucking truck, we can handle this without you." I throw back at him.

  "What kind of man would I be if I let you handle this alone? None that's what kind,” he stomps on the floor, now both anger and fright shine within his eyes. "Damn, let's do this then!" He moves to the fridge that blocks the garage door.

  David and I slide the fridge to the side, Clara covers our backs as we aim our guns at the door. Behind the door, it’s quiet, easing some of the tension within the room. I push the door open, the moans of the undead are louder and attract my attention, but most of the zombies are so decayed movement of any kind is impossible. I replace my Glock with my katana, which slides smoothly into my hand. Dealing with these undead will be easy. We just have to get past the smell that permeates the garage. The stench of rot and decay hangs heavily in the stale air. I easily remove the heads from the zombie waste piles and trudge on. After eight or so zombies, the garage is empty of the living undead.

  Chapter Six

  The two cars in the garage sit useless on flat tires, dry rot already doing its damage. I turn back to Clara and throw my hands up over my head and walk from the garage. The next door that awaits us, two locks still remain in place. I stride up to the door and lean my head against it to listen for signs of movement. When I hear none, I back away before aiming my gun at the next lock. It falls to the floor. With one lock left, the bump starts on the floor once more, only this time louder and more persistent.

  "I'm not sure what's behind there, but be ready,” I whisper, my katana falling easily into my hand. The door starts to rattle from inside. The one lock won’t hold long. I hesitate as I stare at the door, but once I gather my wits, I blow the last lock from the door.

  The door slams open with a bang and three very large ugly zombies stumble forth. Their arms reach out for the three of us. Brown pus-filled blood oozes from the tallest one’s eyes down his face. Lifting my katana, I slice the tallest, disconnecting both hands from the zombie. Pus and blood ooze out onto the floor and across my shoes. Still the zombie comes forward, its teeth chattering for want of my flesh.

  I swing my katana removing bits of flesh as it flies through the air. Soon there is nothing left of the zombie, but brown secretion and rotten flesh. I flip my katana around and catch sight of a zombie crashing onto David.

  “Close your eyes and mouth,” I scream as I rush to his side. As I swing, the katana’s sharp blade easily slices the zombie’s neck. The zombie’s body falls on top of David, pinning him to the floor and soaking him in blood and gore. Brown, mushy brain matter slides down the blade of the katana landing by David’s face.

  I move swiftly and push the body off David. "Did he bite or scratch you?"

  "I'm not sure. I need a minute,” He chokes out, his body shivering with nerves.

  Rotating, I move to Clara's side, her zombie lies dead on the ground with a bullet through its forehead. I draw her in for a quick hug and ask. “Are you okay?"

  She flings up a hand in dismissal, and says, "yeah, yeah I'm fine, how are you and David?"

  I cast my eyes toward him. “I'm good, not sure about him."

  "I'm okay,” he says. “So quit the stressing. I'm not turning into a flesh craver." He walks to the basement door and looks down into the darkness.

  Following close behind him, I look down into the pitch darkness of the basement.

  "Are we going down there?" Clara asks.

  “Yes,” I say.

  "You're not going down there alone, even if I have to throw a fit or knock you the hell out to stop you. I'll do whatever I have to do to stop you." Clara raises her fists as if she will actually hit me.

  Doubling over, I laugh for several seconds, feeling better than I have in over two years. I turn back to the door. "Time to face the uncertainty of what awaits us below,” I mumble under my breath as I grab my flashlight and grip my katana. Flashing the light from side to side, I strain to hear any sounds of movement. I can feel Clar
a's breath on the back of my neck as we continue down the stairs.

  When we reach the bottom, I see several lumps of decayed zombies trying to reach our side, but moving is impossible for them since they have little to no skin left and their bones lie where the zombie eventually fell. Most can’t open their mouths to moan, and their faces are sunken to the bone. The slight chattering of teeth is the only noise coming from these rotten zombies. They still crave flesh and I'm positive they would be on us in a second if they were able to move. The smell coming off them is overwhelming. It permeates the air. I force the rush of vomit back down my throat and hold my nose, I end their miserable lives with a swing of my katana disconnecting their heads from what is left of their bodies. Brown congealed blood seeps slowly from the necks of the zombies.

  We check the room quickly, and find nothing of use. "I think it's time we get the hell out of this creepy place,” I say, as I walk toward the door. Once we get closer to the door, I notice several things at once. The sun is casting its last rays of the day, and there are five freshies walking around the truck and one is opening the truck door.

  I turn my head swiftly toward David and Clara, and hiss. "What the hell is going on with the newly created zombies? They seem almost human. Look at them.”

  "What are we going to do?" David asks.

  "We're gonna send them to hell with the rest of the nasties." Clara adds more bullets to her pistol.

  When I hear the roar of the truck, I race outside with Clara and David behind me. We fire off our guns at anything that moves. Two freshies are dead their red blood stains the ground. The large freshie behind the wheel of the truck roars angrily before throwing the truck in gear and flying across the yard towards where we stand.

  "Jump!” I scream.

  The truck slams into the house creating a terrible crashing sound. A freshie grabs at me, his bloody teeth inches from my face. Out of the corner of my eye I see that Clara and David were both dealing with a freshie of their own.