It was time to examine her ankle. It was throbbing and bruised darkly. Swelled to almost twice its size, Sara hoped there was nothing fractured inside. She removed her shoe and elevated her foot on the bed with some of the pillows, settling back after she finished off the apples. Exhaustion overwhelmed her and right before she fell asleep she felt Goose jump onto the bed and snuggle up against her side.
The Carnival
Morning came and thankfully there was no sign of the dead outside in the sun-filled yard or road. There was something even more disturbing about seeing them on a glorious sunny day versus a gloomy one; something even more unnatural. Hopefully, they had just passed her by in the night or were distracted by something else before even getting this far. She couldn’t help but think of the horror of turning a corner on the road up ahead and running into them.
Leaving the shelter of the house was made much less difficult by the memory of the family that lay in the room upstairs. She bound her sore ankle with an ace bandage found in the upstairs bathroom. Next she gathered some canned food from the cupboards and placed them in a bag she found in one of the empty rooms, then left, closing the door behind her. Stopping on the porch she stood still and carefully listened for any sounds, hearing nothing she made her way to the barn. Off to one side was a newer model pickup. It was locked, the keys were probably somewhere in the house, maybe even in the pocket of the deceased man. Inside the dimly lit barn were numerous empty stalls with used hay that probably housed the cattle. They weren’t in view but she knew that some farmers moved them from pasture to pasture for fresh grass so she thought nothing of their absence.
An old bike with a basket clamped to the front leaned against the barn wall. She paused and considered it. Maybe silence was the better way to travel, thinking back to the first trip to town and almost getting caught in a large group of the dead. “What do you think, Goose? Want to ride in the basket?” She looked down but the dog was not in sight. She pushed the bike out into the yard and found Goose staring out past the barn and growling softly. The hairs on her arm stood up as she watched the small dog standing tense but there was nothing to see or hear. Or was there? An unidentifiable noise was coming from over the hill, she could just leave now and not check it out yet curiosity got the better of her. The top of the small grassy hill provided a panoramic view of the pasture below. She quickly ducked down, the scene firmly burned into her mind. There had to be a hundred of the dead down there, feasting on the remains of the farmers herd. Dead cattle were strewn from one end of the clearing to the other. It was a banquet for the dead. It was time to go.
****
Goose went back in the front basket, she put the pack on her back and she was off. How many years had it been since she even rode a bike? Thankfully it was one of those things you just never forgot, although she was a bit shaky at first, muscle memory kicked in. When she came to blind corners, she slowed down, always aware that the dead could be just around the turn. Although her ankle was still sore, pedaling wasn’t nearly as painful as walking. She felt like she could ride for hours but the ache in her legs assured her that just wasn’t the case. Goose, however, seemed to be enjoying the ride, his tongue hanging out and ears back.
She passed a few more houses, all of them a distance from the road. Most of them were simply empty; some had doors left open and signs of violence. One house had burned and was still smoldering despite the rainy evening the night before.
Riding under the warm, late spring sun any other day would have been relaxing and fun, now it was a dismal chore ruled by fear.
Hours passed and Sara was tired, her bottom ached from the small bike seat and her thighs burned. But the view over the next hill made her forget all of that. The road gently sloped downhill, with a clear view all the way to the next town over.
The metal framework of an unlit Ferris wheel was visible above the tree line. The brightly painted arm with a passenger car attached, another carnival ride, jutted above the trees as well. Just the kind of sight that would have made her kids squeal with excitement. The sharp pain of unrelenting grief ran through her like a wave. A wave that would, if allowed, quickly overwhelm and drown her if she were to dwell on it for too long. Refocusing on the scene, she squints her eyes looking for signs of life.
Although there was no movement discernable from this distance, her curiosity was piqued and the downhill slope enticing in its promised ease from the repetitive pedaling she had forced upon herself thus far. From up here, the scene was unsullied by any walking dead or abandoned vehicles. From here, the view looked almost…normal. The pull of the curiosity of that scene was too much to ignore and she decided to coast down the hill and check it out before taking a break. The next fifteen minutes were the easiest she had spent on the bike, just tapping the brakes to keep her speed from building up too much while her eyes remained locked on the unfolding scene below.
At the bottom of the hill, just past a small copse of trees, lay a large field. The carnival filled most of the empty space and on the far side she could see a small lot with at least a dozen cars parked in it. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Her gaze traveled the length of the fairgrounds straining for clues as to the whereabouts of the owners of those vehicles.
Besides the rides, there were colorful plastic banners, flags, striped tents and booths common to a small town fair. The entrance was cordoned off with orange cones and temporary fencing that was knocked over in a few places. Walking past the colorful ticket booth, she was struck by how eerily quiet it was. She wondered if there was anyone hiding in there. Maybe there was a lost child hiding in one of the tents. She had to look. The “what ifs” got her and she knew she would not just leave.
The dog was put down and the bike leaned up against the ticket booth that stood guard over the entrance to the fair. Goose was elated to finally be on the ground again and immediately went about his sniffing and peeing routine. The fact that he didn’t immediately growl or bark set her at ease.
Scanning the area, she breathed deeply and the faint smells of the carnival enveloped her.
So faint, but still detectable, the sweetness of cotton candy, fried dough, popcorn, and the crushed grass of the field. The bright flags hanging from the booths snapped in a strengthening breeze. With the sun warm on her face she lost herself in a daydream. She could almost hear the calliope music and children’s laughter whispering in her ear of happier times. The scents and sounds pulled from a lifetime of summertime carnival experiences. The horses on the carousel were shining in the sun and she envisioned her daughters riding happily on their own steeds.
She wandered farther in amongst the game booths and food stands. Entranced by her memories she continued to walk in deeper, her mind showing her the way it was instead of the way it is. The power of the memory, so strong, overwhelmed her senses as she looked around for the source of the sweet smells and the promise of a cherished treat. This was more tempting than the stark reality of her current situation.
The sound of Goose growling finally broke through her reverie and reality snapped back into place, the view around her changed. There in front of her was the Tea Cups ride. The cups themselves covered in chipped and faded paint, the specters of lost children filling the seats. Blinking away tears she didn’t realize she was shedding, her gaze cleared.
Her daydream was shattered and she found herself in the middle of the fair, surrounded on both sides by the booths and stands. Damp and rotting stuffed animals hung from the wires and fading, curled music posters drooped from another game booth. The odor that she mistook for cotton candy took on a sickly sweet smell that made her feel ill and wary. She whispered for Goose, suddenly afraid to raise her voice in this carnival turned mausoleum and turned to go back to her bike at the entrance.
From the blue tent up ahead came a figure. Sara froze. The figure came closer and she saw it was a man. Not a spot marred him and she was filled with hope that here was a survivor like her. As she was about to call out to him, his next step sent him
on a collision course with a taunt rope that kept the tent pulled tight. The man tumbled face first into the long trampled grass of the midway, not even extending his arms to break his fall. Sara ran toward him instinctively trying to help but stopped short as she got a better view of the back of his neck. It was torn wide open, vertebrae exposed and glistening wetly in the daylight. This man was not alive and he wouldn’t be helping her. She backed away as he began to push himself up from the ground. The touch of an icy cold hand on her arm caused an involuntary shriek to escape her. She leapt away from a small woman who had bite marks all over her face and neck, and spun around to head around the other side of the fairground back to the entrance.
As she ran with the dog, she was suddenly aware of the folly of her situation. Nothing would be normal again, this carnival would fall apart and rot into the ground just as all the other things she had taken for granted in her life. A gust of wind set the colorful flags flapping just as dark clouds began to cover the sun. Looking back, Sara was relieved to see that the she had put some distance between herself and her pursuers. They were not fast but never seemed to tire or stop.
Up ahead she saw movement beyond the ticket booth where she had left her bike. She froze, there in the entryway beneath the suspended fairground lights, were a handful of the dead. They swayed and stumbled in her direction. The next gust of wind brought the smell of their decaying bodies. She ducked behind the hotdog stand and whispered “shhhhhh” to a trembling Goose. Unsure if they saw her, she thought about running through the back of the fair, hiding behind tents to stay out of sight but the thought that more of them could be just around the next bend had her paralyzed.
She eased open the flimsy door to the hotdog stand and put a foot up to climb in when what she took for a dark colored tarp in the dimness of the stormy afternoon alighted to a dense cloud of flies. Once they lifted off their perch she saw the decaying body of what was once the person who probably ran this stand. She couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman because most of the head was gone and remainder strewn with a writhing mass of white worms. Swallowing back the urge to vomit, and to scream, she backed away and checked the progress of the pursuing dead. They were too close, panicking, she turned to run but the corner of her backpack caught on the metal edging of the doorframe and halted her escape.
She tried to turn and jerk it loose and only succeeded in making the flimsy stand shudder causing all manner of metal utensils housed within to clatter and fall. The noise caught the attention of the undead and they seemed to move faster toward the promise of fresh meat. Seeing them trudge closer, Sara began to unclip the harness of her backpack frame. Her fingers didn’t seem to want to move, the clips fought her every attempt to free herself. She leaned over, dropped Goose to the ground and frantically attempted to extricate herself, her heart pounding so hard in her chest it hurt. She was struggling to get in a full breath when finally the last clip was defeated. Quickly turning, she tried to free the pack just as Goose began a volley of terrified barks. The cloud of flies buzzed loudly alighting on her face as she tugged and pried at the stuck pack frame. From the corner of her eyes she saw Goose backing away on his short legs as the dead came closer. And now the clown had caught up with her too. With a frustrated cry she dropped the pack with all her food and gear and stepped backward just barely escaping the first of the grasping hands that reached for her. She backpedaled, then turned and ran for the back of the fairgrounds, following Goose, hoping he would smell any danger ahead before she would. The last tent flashed by and she jumped over a downed metal fence at the end of the field. Her pursuers were barely visible amongst the colorful tents but she kept going. The sky was becoming very dark with the approaching storm and lightning strikes became more frequent.
Up ahead, a sign, Town of Durham, Pop. 3358. That meant how many dead? The temptation to give up, to just stop running was strong. She needed a place to hide and rest. The first building in the town was a brick and mortar post office, all the entrances were locked, and because they were steel doors, she was certain there would be no breaking in. Defeated, she checked the two vehicles in the parking lot, and even though she didn’t expect there to be, felt even lower when there proved to be no keys in them.
The pursuing undead had made it past the metal fence and were crossing the field. She was exhausted, they never tired. Tears stung her eyes at the thought of running anymore on exhausted, overworked legs. This town was unknown and running blind through the streets, unarmed and vulnerable seemed a bit too hard. Sara turned away from the horde and walked on. The idea of just stopping, letting them catch up…no longer prolonging the inevitable, it was so tempting. She slowed her steps, slowed, and…stopped. The relief was overwhelming, the fear was gone, and it was time to let it go. She closed her eyes, pictured her beautiful daughters as the monsters grew closer. She could smell them, hear them drawing closer. The rain began in earnest and she put her head back, allowing it to wash the tears from her cheeks, and she waited, ready for the end.
“Hey!! You down there!! A voice called from above…
Shannon Walters
Shannon Walters is an aspiring author whose short stories can be found in several anthologies. By day she manages for a collision repair facility and a service department. When she's not working or writing, she reads...a lot, and blogs. *whispers* check me out at Blondie Loves Books on Wordpress. www.steelyshan.com
My Socially Awkward friend
By Justin Dunne
Her name badge said ‘HELLO, MY NAME IS FLO’ and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was her subtle attempt at humor. Not all ladies who work in diners in the middle of nowhere are named ‘FLO’…are they? She must have caught me staring at her perplexing name badge, or her boob that it was pinned to, either way she smiled and asked to take our orders.
I ordered a black coffee and my friend, Gordy, ordered a tea.
…*SNAP*…
“I’m sorry that what I’m about to say might upset you, but I can no longer hold it in.” I said to my friend.
“Ohhh kay”
“Why are you having a tea? We said we would stop, rest a minute, and enjoy a coffee together. You just ordered a tea.”
“Tea, coffee, it’s all the same isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not all the same, it’s an ambience thing and you’re ruining the vibe of it by having a tea. We were going to relax over a coffee.”
“Were you planning on swapping mugs half way through? Are we here to do a review on the hot beverages? You are not tasting it so what does it matter to you what is in my cup? You can hear I’m drinking a liquid, you can tell that it’s hot. I could have anything in my cup and you wouldn’t even know. How can it ruin the ambience?”
“You’re 32 years old and still don’t understand the makeup of ambience, it’s all about roasted beans and shit. You’re disgraceful. We are men that enjoy the bitter taste of coffee not nanas’ sipping tea.”
“I’ll tell you what’s ruining the ambience. Your attitude.”
We were doing a cross country trip in a moving van. When I asked my friends who wanted to help me move, Gordy was the only one who put his hand up. At the time I was grateful.
“Yesterday when we had breakfast at the pancake house, you had a salad. A salad for breakfast in a restaurant that specializes in pancakes?”
“Yeah, but who did we have to make an emergency stop for an hour after eating specialty pancakes? Was it me, or was it Captain Poopy Pants? I listen to my body”
I’d known Gordy most of my life. I knew his mother and his father and the social situation he grew up in. It was very similar to mine. Which is why I don’t understand why it sometimes seemed like he was raised by an alien race. His heart was in the right place, and he was one of the most genuine people in the world, but he was socially very awkward and people had trouble understanding him…especially women.
“Lunch two days back at that little delicatessen sandwich place. I saw a continental roll. I ordered a continental roll.
I ate a continental roll.”
“You’ve been holding on to this for two days?”
“You ordered one hundred grams of mortadella, one hundred grams of shaved ham, and a gherkin. Only because I’m your friend did I sit next to you while you ate it out of the paper wrapping, and only because I’m your friend I’m telling you now that you annoy me.”
“Bread is so filling and a waste of my time. It’s empty calories.”
“You’re not normal.”
“I will not conform…you disgrace.”
Flo came back with our hot drinks. Gordy wrapped his hands around his mug to warm them from the cold night. He held it up high so that I couldn’t see its contents and wafted his hand through the steam before slurping it loudly.
All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse Page 10