by Amy Miles
“If this doesn’t prove how far the human race has sunk I really don’t know what has,” I mutter as I squeeze excess water from my hair and then lean back against the wall.
My eyes grow heavy and I allow myself a few minutes to fall slack. A snore startles me awake sometime later and I use the sink to pull myself onto my feet. I feel no less tired, but at least I managed a few minutes of rest. It might be the last that I get for a while.
Shoving my legs into my jeans and pulling my new shirt overhead, I feel almost normal again until I reach for my boots to put them on but immediately stop. I can smell blood on them.
Closing my eyes, I push the air out of my lungs and plunge the boot soles into the toilet, scrubbing them with used towels until the paper is worn through and I can no longer smell the blood. The water is now a brackish color, but it disappears in a whirlpool when I flush the toilet.
Grabbing the half a roll of toilet paper off the back of the toilet, I tuck it under my arm and begin to search through the store for a bag. As stupid as it might seem, toilet paper has become quite the luxury item in my life and I’m not about to let this opportunity to stock up pass me by.
Near the front of the store I find an old messenger bag that couldn’t possibly have been sold in this store. I dump out the contents onto the floor and rifle through a couple used notebooks, a lighter, a melted Twix bar, some tissues that I stuff back inside and a pen. There is nothing really of use, but I tear open the Twix wrapper and lap up the chocolate, moaning with delight as it goes down smooth as silk.
“I’d almost forgotten what that tastes like.”
Before leaving the clothing store I make a quick sweep behind the shop’s counter and turn up a handgun concealed in an old book carved out to fit the shape of the gun in a drawer beneath the cash register. The door stands wide open and all of its contents have been looted, but the robber failed to see the only valuable thing in the store.
Holding the gun in my hand, I feel the weight of it. My dislike for guns has not changed, but I know it will be a necessary evil where I am going. Especially if I don’t want to have to kill with my bare hands.
Tucking the gun into my back pocket, I grab a decorative sheer black scarf off a mannequin, wrap it around my face to shield my eyes and head back out onto the street. A breeze lifts my newly washed curls off my shoulders. It comes from my left and I turn to see a wall of clouds approaching.
My mood instantly drops. A coming storm will make tracking the scent of Cable and his Flesh Bags much more difficult. I’m not sure just how well I will be able to feel Cable now that he’s on the move. I need to hurry.
For several hours I hunt for their exit location, moving along the sewer lines only to come across an old trail that leads me well out of my way and I am forced to circle back along the Cumberland River until I find their scent once more. Cable feels disturbingly distant as I try to narrow down his exact location and come up empty handed. The only chance I have of locating him is to track him on foot. The only sense that I can get when I try to read his is that he is headed south, but that leaves a very large area to cover.
As the winds rise and the first droplets of rain begin to fall, I catch a break when an unmistakable odor near a storm drain leading out of town proves to be stronger than anything I have smelled all day.
I scrunch up my nose in disgust. “A large group of Withered definitely came this way.”
Ignoring the lead that weighs down my legs, I follow the scent, pausing to kneel at each storm drain to sniff the gutter before returning to a slow jog. With each block that I leave behind me, the farther out of the heart of the city I travel. When I enter the suburbs on the other side, Nox and the Opryland hotel are lost in the distance.
Here and there I spy the remains of bodies along the side of the road, some rotted completely through and others torn and shredded. At first I think nothing of it as I force myself to focus on the task at hand, but slowly it begins to dawn on me that I am not feeling any hunger pangs and as the next body appears in the road, I slow down.
I realize long before I crouch beside the woman that she has been dead for quite some time. Her skin has been stripped of its color and sags on her emaciated frame. Her hair has begun to fall out, lying in clumps of rotted flesh around her head. Her cheeks are missing. Only muscle and her upper teeth can be seen when I roll her head to the side to take a closer look.
Reaching out to lift her eyelids, I jerk my hand back. Her eyes are pure white.
“What the hell?”
Pushing back from the woman, I stare in horror at what remains of her body. Her lower half is missing, torn away just below her belly button. The ground is stained black with her diseased blood. Along her arms I can see teeth marks far too large to be that of a rodent.
“The Flesh Bags are eating their own kind now.”
There is no way to know if she was a mutated zombie or one of the originals, the ones who were harmless, mindless walkers. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. The evidence before me proves that no one, not even a mutated hybrid is safe now.
It is hard to shake the image of the woman as I push on ahead, stumbling more than I am able to jog. The rains quickly leave me soaked and chilled as I struggle to find my way and I begin to feel discouraged.
Here and there I spy evidence of life, though it is easy to tell that the people have not been present for quite some time. The reality of the evil that has befallen this city tells me that they have either fled or been disposed of. I try not to think about it as I run, keeping the highway within sight but not risking the exposure of being on it.
Less than half an hour later I spy the Nashville International Airport off to the side and slow to catch my breath. It stands as a mechanical graveyard of abandoned planes. Bits of broken tails and wings from crash landings still spread across the tarmac in sweeping gashes of black soot. The control tower appears to have tumbled and fallen to the ground long ago, most likely taken out by a falling aircraft. The windows of the terminal have shattered and weeds have begun to grow up the sides. There is no point in detouring in search of supplies. I’m sure it was thoroughly ransacked ages ago.
I stay the course as I continue following the intermittent scent, wringing water from my scarf which now serves as a shield from the gusting winds rather than the sun. I know by the tightening in my gut that I must be getting closer. Cable came this way for sure, but how much father did he go?
It was my own naiveté that believed he had taken up residence in the city. Of course he would seek a position of benefit to him. Being in the suburbs would provide him access without the danger of being stumbled upon by one of the patrols that was sent out in search of survivors. Cable’s base of operation is nothing if not well thought out.
The scent of death amplifies as I begin to see signs for a sewage treatment plant and it all becomes clear.
“That’s how you knew how to get into the hotel. You’ve been using the tunnels to move around the city all along.”
I hold a stitch in my side and wish for the hundredth time that I could rest before I go through with my plan. Nox would say it is foolhardy, and at this point I would agree with him, but it’s the best I’ve got.
It makes perfect sense that Cable would hole up here now that I stop to think about it. What better way for him to maneuver his army in broad daylight than to remain underground?
I jog the remaining five miles with the hopes that I am going to turn the bend and come upon Cable’s destination, but as I reach the plant I know that he didn’t stop here. The trail continues further off into the heart of a shopping center and I follow it to the front doors of a storefront. From here I can’t tell how exactly far their territory lies, only that I am at the gates to hell with only a handgun, a small messenger bag and a roll of soggy toilet paper. It’s not hard to understand why I’m seriously beginning to second guess my plan.
A
s I kneel beside a cluster of shattered glass and the remains of the mangled double door frame, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about the become some zombie’s chew toy the instant that I step inside the building. I doubt it will be the last time that I have this feeling either.
Despite the ceiling of gray clouds heavily pregnant with rain overhead, I sense that the sun is beginning to set. I was so focused on finding Cable that I let the hours slip by. Standing here, toeing the line of his army’s home territory, I know that there is no turning back now. They can already smell me.
The thought of Cable being so close by dredges up mixed emotions. Every gut instinct tells me that I should be running as far and as fast in the opposite direction but I can’t leave yet. Not until I give Cable my message.
Nearly five hundred men, women and orphaned children reside within the hotel walls that I just left behind, still paralyzed with the fear that at any moment the Flesh Bags will scale their walls and return for them. With night quickly approaching, I know Cable will be tempted to strike again. I need to create a diversion and fast.
TWO
As I kneel in the wet entryway of what was once a big box store filled with supplies for small business owners and the odd ragged mom with six mouths to feed, I know that this is definitely the stupidest thing that I have done to date. If Nox were here, he’d called me a dumbass and for once I would wholeheartedly agree with him.
The thought of Nox makes my chest clench with regret. I know that he will not let me go without a fight. In another life, I might have felt all warm and squishy inside over that, but that life, that world, can’t exist anymore. I don’t have the luxury of falling in love again, especially when I’ve still got a deranged ex trailing after me. How did I get so lucky to end up with a former lover turned homicidal zombie with serious attachment issues?
The only thing I can do for Nox now is to leave and let him get on with his life. Rip off that bandage before the wound has a chance to fester. In time, he will move on and forget about me. At least that’s what I tell myself as I glance over my shoulder and scold myself for my wavering nerve when I hesitate at the very door that I have been trying to reach all day.
“There is no way I’m going to pussy out now.” I try to bolster what few shreds of bravery remain intact.
It is not like me to lose my nerve so easily, but then again, I’ve never had to struggle with inner demons quite like this before. Nor has my enemy ever worn the face of the man I once loved.
I have to finish this while I still can.
“Flynn would most likely call me a pansy right about now.” I stare at my reflection in the twisted metal beside me and see myself smile. “Turns out he might be right after all.”
After Nox, I will miss my teenage friend Flynn the most. When he discovers that I’ve left him behind to go on this harebrained mission, he will be miffed about it and probably demand to join up with Nox’s rescue team. Nox will tell him that he’s too young, to which Flynn will find some way to tail them in a foolish attempt to prove Nox wrong. Although I’ve only spent a short amount of time with Flynn in the hidden bunker hospital beneath the hotel, I learned quickly to love that kid. He’s a fighter with more spunk than most of those halfwit soldiers Cap used to do his dirty work. I only hope Nox can temper Flynn enough to keep him alive.
I pause to sniff the air and wrinkle my nose at the foul stench that sours the falling rain.
“Yuck. This is definitely the place.” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand as I blow out the breath that is tainted with the stench of rotting flesh, feces and soiled clothes. “I never want to smell like that!”
The hairs on my forearms rise up as I peer inside the dark depths of the building. Something definitely lurks within this vast warehouse.
Casting a glance behind me toward the city, I wonder if Nox has already formed a search party to come looking for me. There will be no way for him to track me now, not with the rains washing away all traces of my footsteps. He will scour the city in vain, but I will be long gone. My only hope is that he will not endanger the lives of his soldiers this close to nightfall for my sake.
Several shards of glass splinter under the toe of my boot as I lean through the doorway to get a better look. Just inside, I see overturned magazine racks. Most of the pages are torn and have begun to fade where the sun reaches them during the day. Beyond that wait dormant checkout lines, empty snack shelves and beverage coolers. Raiders got to this place long ago.
Normally, I would never dare enter a place like this alone. There are far too many blind spots, with multiple aisles running the length of the building and vantage points from shelving up high. It is a logistical nightmare, but I have no other choice.
From somewhere within the building, I hear the telltale sounds of footfalls and freeze. The sound comes again and I allow my eyes the chance to adjust before moving forward.
Shoving logic, and what feels like every ounce of sanity, into the recesses of my mind, I step through the doorway and into the pitch dark. My own footsteps sound exaggerated against the concrete floor as I walk around overturned shopping carts, a spilled end cap with broken light bulbs still in their packages and empty Slim Jim wrappers.
Another shuffling sound reaches me. I halt and duck low to get my bearings. It came from my left and instinctively I turn toward the outdoor section to the right. Breathing deep, my nostrils flare as I catch a scent that makes my blood run cold and my anxiety rise at alarming rates.
Lowering my hand to the back of my pants, where my 9mm pistol is tucked into my waistband, I fight to still my nerves as I silently creep along the aisle. Moving past a row of kayaks and paddleboards, I press my thumb against the gun’s safety catch. There is someone moving at the end of the row.
Raising my pistol as I walk in a crouched position, I keep an eye on the shelves above me in case this is a trap. I know all too well how the Flesh Bags love to hunt in packs like wild animals, but to have a human sitting right here in the middle of their territory feels wrong.
The click of my safety disengaging startles the figure in front of me and two hands fly up into the air.
“Don’t shoot,” a young voice calls. “I’m unarmed.”
“Who the hell are you?” I stare directly at the boy as he frantically shakes a flashlight before turning it on. The beam is high intensity and the painfully blinding light forces me to look away, but not before I see a shock of red hair, followed by a healthy dose of freckles and vivid green eyes.
“I’m Bingley Emerson, but anyone who knows me just calls me Bing. Of course, no one really knows me anymore...” He trails off as his voice cracks with fear. “I’m really sorry if this is your spot. I swear I don’t mean you any harm. I can just grab my stuff and head out if you want. Just please don’t shoot me.”
I stare at him for a moment around the edge of the bouncing light, watching as he struggles to keep the flashlight level in his shaking hands.
“How old are you, Bing?” He seems decent enough. A bit ragged from travel. The bloodshot eyes worry me. Has he been bitten?
I look to the shelves above me again but see nothing moving.
“Sixteen, give or take a week. I lost track of the days a while back. I reckon I had a birthday at some point but don’t really know when.”
“Are you alone here?”
I can sense that there are Flesh Bags moving closer but none have entered the main part of the store. My skin tingles with warning. I force myself to ignore it.
Bingley shouldn’t be here. Looking at him fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt, I realize that he truly has no clue the shitstorm he just walked into.
“Sure am.” He looks somber as he peers into the darkness, but I know that he can’t see any farther than his flashlight beam. “I’ve been on the road for a while now, coming up from ‘Bama. It’s been a long walk, but I figure if those Walkers are moving s
outh, then I’m heading north!”
I take a step forward. “Have you been bit?”
“Bit?” He scratches his head and I see a bit of dandruff fall free and float to the floor. “I can’t say that I have seen many dogs around these parts the past week. Almost like they all up and ran off. Kinda weird if you ask me.”
His flashlight flickers and dies. Bingley groans and begins beating it against his hand but it refuses to turn on again. “Darn thing keeps doing this. The package said you can charge it by shaking it but I think it was just some stupid sales gimmick. It’s nothing but a piece of crap.”
I ignore his muttering and step closer again. “I’m not talking about being bit by a dog. I’m talking about the zombies.”
His head pops up and his eyes grow wide with surprise in the dark. “You’re joking right? Those Walkers out there on the streets aren’t real zombies. They’re harmless unless you’re trying to sleep. I swear it never fails that one of them always comes stumbling past right when I’m starting to fall asleep.”
This kid rambles too much and my patience is growing thin. He may not sense the approaching Withered, but I sure can, and I don’t want to be here when they arrive.
“Not the Walkers.” I close the gap between us to only a couple of feet. He stares blankly into the dark. He can’t see or hear me. “I’m talking about the new ones. The ones who have a taste for human flesh.”
Bing’s face drains of color and he swallows hard. “No, I don’t reckon I’ve seen one of those.”
“Is that so?” I kick the toe of my boot against his bag and he jumps when a crushed can of corn rolls out and hits the floor. I spy some matches, a couple flare guns and duct tape sitting near the top but no other signs of food. I’d wager by the sheer bursting of the seams near the bottom that he’s tried to shove an entire sleeping bag into his pack. “Well, Bing, that’s all about to change. You see this place is just about the worst place for a guy like you to be hanging out.”