by Rob Fox
Darrell turned to look at us. "He was about to change. He was about to change. I—I—I—" He dropped the gun and ran for the front door. Pulling away the barricades, he could only apologize and repeat, "He was changing." Reggie went for one of his signature tackling moves, whatever he could do to keep Darrell from opening the door. Five steps away. Hell, maybe even closer. A single gunshot rang out from behind me. Darrell crashed through the front door. Maybe crashed isn't the proper word to use. I guess I should say he flew through the door. That’s what happens when a bullet tears through your back and explodes out your chest.
I turned to see Eliza holding the pistol, a look of pure hatred spread across her face. I flinched at what I had just witnessed. I couldn't take my eyes off sweet little Eliza, whose husband had just been taken away from her, who in a matter of seconds had become a killer. No! An executioner.
I stared too long. Before I knew it, half a dozen zombies had entered the room. With in another thirty seconds, the room was full of the undead. “RUN!” Reggie snapped me from my trance with a yell and a tug on my shirt. I ran for the window, Reggie directly in front of me. Eliza ran as well, straight into a pack of zombies. Now I will never know for sure, but I would almost swear I heard her yell, "Wait for me Mikey! I'll see you soon!" She was pulled into four pieces before I could even make it to the window. Poor Eliza never had a chance.
Reggie burst through the window on a mission. He was not going to be the next meal. I was right behind him. Once we were on the ledge of the window, we looked down. Shit! Third floor! We had to choose: being eaten alive or breaking our necks jumping. I chose to take my chances with the daemons behind me. Surely I could get around them. I could escape. Better odds I thought. Reggie chose for both of us. He chose to jump and take me with him. As he hurled himself out the window, he grabbed my shirt. I had no choice.
When we hit, I heard the crunch of my ankle cracking the dumpster Reggie had aimed for. He was off his mark, by—pardon the pun—a foot.
I had no time to think about the pain before three zombies surrounded me. The stench of their rotting flesh nearly choked me. I was done for. WHACK! The sound the two-by-four made as it smashed across the left cheek of the nearest zombie was music to my ears. Reggie grinned as he swung the board twice more, offing the remaining two surrounding me. He was so pleased with himself he never noticed the one behind him. His grin quickly turned to pain as the undead former Burger King employee chomped down on my savior’s neck. Blood flew in all directions as he fell to the ground.
I ran as fast as I could. Pain was no longer an option. Just getting to safety was all I could think about. Three miles later, my ankle was swollen to the size of a grapefruit and was the color of a ripe plum. I ducked into a nice multi-million dollar home that appeared to be vacant. I barricaded the doors and tried to cover the windows as best I could throughout the house. I found the master bathroom, locked myself in, and passed out for a few hours. I woke long enough to bandage up my scrapes and post a quick message on here before I passed out from the pain again.
The house is blessedly quiet. I will checkout the house more tomorrow. As for me, tonight I am going to take a shower and sleep more.
Good night, Eliza, Mike, Darrell, and Reggie. May God tuck you away into His loving arms. You will all be missed.
Day 7
The swelling in my ankle has gone down quite a bit since last night. I soaked it in cold water for most of the night and most of today. There hasn't been any action today, thank God. I wandered through the house today, looking through drawers and cabinets. You really learn about a family when you have full access to their stuff. It appears a Bill and Becky Allen owned this place. They had two children, both girls, looks like a newborn and a pre-teen. Judging by the amount of blood I found in the kitchen area and in the swimming pool, I doubt any of them survived the first wave of flesh eaters. Bill was a doctor, from what I can tell, a heart surgeon. Since there was a newborn baby in one of the photos in the living room, I am guessing Becky was at home with the kids most of the time. Wild scenarios danced through my head about how the family must have fought off the killers, desperately struggling to save their children, each of them happy to take the place of their girls. Bill would have taken out two of them while Becky screamed and cried in the corner, sheltering her new baby, pleading with the monsters as they violently ripped the squalling child from her arms. What horror it must have been watching their pre-teen baby girl devoured before their eyes, knowing there was nothing they could do. Bill and Becky had probably both become freshly turned zombies, happy to die so they could be a family again, unable to do so thanks to the fresh virus now turning these high-class millionaires into brain-eating morons. Life is cruel. The undead are even crueler.
I swear I will not allow myself to be one of them. I can't. My God, what if I became a zombie and found my love Darcy hiding in a corner? Would I eat her? Could I? What if she was a zombie already? Could I bash her skull in? Should I even attempt to find her?
I think I am going crazy. Everyone around me is dead or undead. The living are going insane, like me. Can I continue to survive like this? Do I want to survive like this? The doctor has pills. I could take just a handful, and this would be all over. You are my only friends, and I know none of you. Maybe this is the end for m
Someone is here!
It's Dr. Allen...
Day 8
Death is all around me. Two weeks ago, I was nothing more than a networking engineer. Now, I am a harbinger of death. I have killed zombies, and now I have killed a living breathing human—the twisted fuck that he may have been, he was still alive before he got home.
I heard a loud bang and someone whistling some old song I could vaguely remember my grandfather whistling when I was a child. He was walking through the house as if he had not a care in the world. He walked right into the kitchen, not even glancing at the blood-splattered floor, walls, and cabinets. He opened the refrigerator door, got out some items, and sat down to make himself a sandwich! I sat in the hall closet watching this man eat a sandwich while being surrounded by the blood of his family. I watched as he finished his sandwich, walked out the back door, and made his way to the tool shed in the back yard.
When he reemerged from the shed, I was in complete disbelief! He walked out with his wife. Only she wasn't the same as she’d been in the pictures hung so neatly on the wall. She was now one of the undead! She was missing her arms and most of her midsection. I couldn't be sure, but I could swear I saw her spine through what was once her stomach. He had her on a leash with a ball gag in her mouth.
He brought her inside, chained her to the refrigerator, and pulled his chair up next to her. I could just barely make out what he was saying, but from what I could hear, the conversation (although one sided) went something like, "Becky?...Becky?" She did not respond, so he punched her directly in the face. "Now Becky, I told you when I call your name, you better listen to me! … I hate seeing you suffer. Ha, ha, ha, okay, actually, I love seeing you suffer, you nasty bitch." He again punched her in the face. She did not respond. "Well, honey, unfortunately the children weren't as lucky as you. They were torn to pieces when I threw them to those beasts. So sadly, it is just you and me."
When I heard this, I recoiled in horror. How could he have fed his own children to the zombies? I could not let him get away with this. I wouldn't be able to live with the knowledge.
I crept out of the closet and made my way to the "good" doctor’s office. Looking around, I found a baseball bat signed by Chipper Jones hanging in a nice glass case on the wall. I grabbed the bat and headed to the kitchen.
He was gone!
"Who the hell are you?" I heard this as he came up behind me. I spun around and smacked him in the head with the bat, as hard as I could. I didn't ask questions; I didn't allow him to explain. I just simply hit him. He fell to the ground the ground, dropping a plastic bag full of something that appeared to be chunks of flesh—no doubt one of his children.
He was not moving and just barely breathing. When I’d struck him, I’d removed a good portion of his scalp. I struck him again, and this time, he stopped breathing altogether. I searched his body and found car keys.
I then walked into the kitchen and allowed Becky to follow her husband.
I glanced outside to see a brand new, shiny SUV sitting in the driveway. I will leave this cursed house tonight! Darcy, if you are still alive, I am coming for you.
Day 9
Fate or luck? After a week of pure hell, it looks like things are looking a little better…for now.
Yesterday, I got in the SUV, my first time in a vehicle since the attack. God, it was great to be driving again. The roads were in bad shape. Cars were parked in the middle of the road or in someone’s house. There were cars with busted-out windows; no doubt the owners had been dragged out and eaten alive. I also passed by hordes of zombies. The numbers have gotten much larger since the first wave of them. They are all ages and all sizes. They are indiscriminate on who they choose to devour. There were toddlers walking or limping down the road. Instead of a teddy bear hanging from their tiny hands, they were carrying a severed hand or foot. There were elderly men and women; there were supermodels and bums. I saw a man in a business suit fighting with a woman in a KFC uniform over the body of what appeared to be a middle-aged man.
I was getting closer to my house. I’m still quite a few miles away, but I’m closer than I was this time the day before. The interstates were completely shut down, so I was forced to take back roads.
I passed neighborhoods that were barricaded, armed gunmen keeping a close watch. I am living in a war zone. How has this happened? How long can we keep this up? The power has to go off at some point. The phones are all down, and cell phones are useless. We will soon be forced back to the Middle Ages. This much destruction after only a week! What will it look like after a month or a year?
While driving, my mind wandered to far-off places. I never noticed the gas light flashing red, warning me that I would soon be walking. I noticed it about two seconds before the car stalled. It would not crank back up. Well, it was good while it lasted. I grabbed my bat and the few supplies I had packed before I left the house and hit the ground running. After less than a mile, my ankle had swollen back to the size of a grapefruit. To my left was a group of the undead. They had not spotted me yet. It was only a matter of time until they smelled my living organs.
I felt the cold hands brush against my neck and the hands cover my mouth. As I turned, I saw a kid that couldn’t have been a day over fifteen. He was motioning me to follow but be quiet. I followed, not knowing what I was getting into but knowing I had no choice. The boy led me back to a large house that was more like an encampment or a fortress. There was a large brick wall surrounding the house, with barbed wire around the top. We came to a large metal door. Metal spikes stuck out of the door, waiting to impale anyone stupid enough to come close. I was reminded of the last Mad Max movie. The boy whistled, and the metal door creaked open very slightly, just enough for us to get inside, then instantly closed behind us. Once inside, we were surrounded by a group of teenagers and a woman who appeared to be mid- to late-thirties. Her name was Deanna. The boy who saved me was named Cole. He was her son. The others were friends of his who had been spending the night when the shit hit the fan. They found this old house with the large wall around it and made it their own.
Not much has happened since I got here. I did sleep pretty well last night, and Deanna made some good soup, so I have a full stomach again. I am not sure how long I will stay here, but here is safer than out there. They do patrols every hour and monitor the parameter constantly. I feel safe here. They are all very optimistic of the future, which is exactly what I need right now.
Has fate finally come to my rescue, or is it just luck? Either way, I will enjoy it as long as I can.
Day 10
The moaning! The undead constantly bang on the outside walls. And then there’s the constant moaning! All night and all day today, all I’ve heard is the low, painful moaning. They never shut up. I hate them. I hate them all. Okay, I've got to get a grip, have to calm down. I couldn't sleep because of the noise, between the moaning of those bastards and the constant whining of the teenagers. I can't help but laugh. It kind of feels like I'm at a My Chemical Romance concert. Oh, the horrors they have seen, waaaa, blah, blah, blah. They know nothing of pain. They have never had to deal with the IRS!
When the outbreak started, they were spending the night with that Cole kid, having a birthday party. Then they found this place. They haven't had to kill their supervisor and watch people get mauled right before their eyes. They haven't been pulled out of a window, nor have they had to beat a man to death. How can I live with myself? He was a living, breathing human. He was one of us. Who made me judge, jury, and executioner? They know nothing about pain and heartbreak and guilt.
I woke up to moaning and crying this morning after about an hour of sleep. When I walked out of the room I’d been “issued,” it was bright outside. Most of the kids were huddled up, discussing the plan for the day with Deanna. Off to the side, there were two kids, twins, holding each other and crying. That’s when I noticed something that will forever haunt me for the rest of my life.
Propped up against a wall, blood-smeared and sweaty, was a little girl, holding a newborn. It was Dr. Allen's children! He had not killed his children to feed them to his wife. He had found this place, a safe place for his children, and went back to be with his wife. He loved his wife so much he could not stand losing her. What have I done? I have now taken these girls’ mother and father. I am evil. But I didn't know. How could I?
I have to leave this place. I don't deserve to live. I am sorry, Darcy. If you’re still alive, I love you.
I am going out the gates.
Day 11
Rain.
Rain has a way of washing away the old and dirty and making it look nice and clean. Special people also have that ability.
Yesterday, I was all set to walk out the front gates and end my miserable life. I would let the undead do their worst to me, because I felt I deserved it. I was set and ready. I had made peace with God. I’d reached the front gate and had my hand on the latch that would deliver me to certain death when it started raining. Not just a slight rain. A monsoon came from the sky. I paused just long enough for Deanna to see me. She came running out into the rain, grabbing me by the arm, and began pulling me back to the house. I stopped her just short of the front porch. Right there, standing in the pouring rain, I broke down. I was sobbing and confessing my sins to a complete stranger. She never tried to stop me, not that she could. I had things I had to say to someone. I told her of all I had done and what I was planning. She just looked at me, frowned, and hugged me. There in the pouring rain, we cried together.
We walked back to the house hand in hand.
As we reached the front porch, someone screamed right outside the outer wall. We all ran to the front gate, weapons in hand and ready to strike. As we pulled open the gate, one of the kids came running in, covered in blood and very pale. We slammed the gate shut as five zombies descended on us. One of the ghouls got his arm through just as we were slamming it shut. The arm was severed just below the elbow. No one stopped to look at the arm. No one even watched it as it crawled across the ground, aimlessly wandering around looking for its owner or its next victim. Instead, we all stared in disbelief as one of our own stood before us in the rain with a fresh chunk of flesh taken out of his arm. He was infected. He was fourteen years old. He was Cole's best friend.
How long now? How long before we must kill this young boy?
This time, I curse the rain.
Day 12
Stupid kids. A rumor went around about how we were going to kill the kid that got bitten. Cole decided he couldn't let his friend die, so they both ran off. I am gathering some supplies to go out looking for them. Stupid kids. I'm only doing this because Deanna has threatened to go out her
self. She saved my life, and now I have to save hers. I have to get to them before the zombies do or before Cole's little friend turns into one. Either way, I am sure I will have good stories when I get back—if I get back. Wish me luck.
Day 13
I have been out and about all night and all day today and have yet to find Cole or his soon-to-be-zombie friend. Damn teenagers, they always think they are right. Why the hell am I even out here? I could just say forget that stupid kid and head home. But what kind of person would that make me? I hate my conscience. I have been put through Hell the past few hours and for what? Some kid that will either be dead or ungrateful that I am there to save him. Me saving someone. Yeah, I'm a regular Superman.
Getting out of the gate yesterday was no easy task. I had my trusty bat, the same bat I’d used to kill an innocent man, and some food and water. I opened the gate slightly. Only two zombies were standing at the front. They were walking directly into the wall, like a blind dog after moving the furniture around in the house. They must have been blind before their "change." I stepped out onto the still-wet sidewalk. The gate slammed shut. Before I could even think, both blind zombies smelled their next meal. They both turned toward me with their mouths hanging open, fresh blood and meat hanging from their incisors. I waited for them to get close to me. With one strong swing, the bat struck them both in the head. The bat made contact with the first one, and his head slammed into the second one’s. They hit the ground. They were still very much alive, or undead, however you wish to call it. I took out all my anger on both of them. I bashed their skulls into the ground as if I were playing the Whack-A-Mole game I used to play at Chuckee Cheese, only this time, I didn't win any tickets. Covered in zombie blood and exhausted, I made my way into the woods surrounding the complex. I decided to keep to the shadows and avoid fights and confrontations as much as possible.