She trotted back, keeping her eyes off their dismembered corpses, and knelt down in front of one of their supply bags. She searched inside and saw that it had a couple of canteens full of water, a handful of maps, a first aid kit, and only two cans of food. She picked it up and flung it over her shoulder, leaving her clothes that had been washed in blood by the fire. Running out from under the overpass, she followed the hill until she got onto the highway, continuing in the direction that she would have if she didn't take the deviation into the woods.
As she got away, her legs felt like rubber the whole time and her face had twisted into a display of pure terror, tears, and madness.
4
Whispers on the Wind
Sarah squatted behind a tree that had been cracked in half by a lightning storm just off the road, looking at a map. The SEALs had one for the northern part of North Carolina and another for the east of Virginia, and it reminded her of the maps David had taken from the gas station in Roanoke.
She had been traveling off and on for the last month, more concerned with surviving and staving off zombie attacks than making progress in any one direction, and she hadn't gotten too far from Durham and Raleigh. She was on the 50 highway and she was heading south toward Raleigh. But there was no intention in her direction; that was just the way the road took her.
Right now all she was concerned about was finding a safe place to hide. After leaving the grisly scene under the bridge, she ran as far as she could, and when she couldn't run, she slowly jogged. When she couldn't do that, she forced herself to at least walk, half-bent over and wheezing the whole way. A million questions were in her head and she couldn't answer any of them. She never saw or heard anything in the night, and she woke up as the only survivor to the murders. Was it because she was a woman? Why had the mysterious attacker only felt her up and not harmed her like the others?
She looked over her shoulder the entire way after she escaped, expecting a crazed maniac to sprint down the road with a machete, and only after going for a good half an hour did she feel safe enough to stop.
There had been no sign of the killer since and she didn't know if he was just skulking around the area, murdering unsuspecting victims, or if he was following her. The first body she found had already been murdered and dumped near the road before she got there, so she hoped it was the former; just a deranged lunatic prowling the area like a rabid wolf.
It made her think of the lunatics she and David had encountered on the way to Noah's Ark and she began to rethink her decision to decline Wayne's offer to stay. But she knew it was one of those damned if you do, damned if you don't scenarios. The only way from now on was forward, wherever that may be.
She traced her finger along the map and saw that there were some suburbs down the road eventually. She was deep into wooded country and it would probably take her the rest of the day to reach them, but even if someone was following her, she knew she would be able to disappear once she got there and be safe until she figured out where she was going to go ultimately.
She neatly folded up the map and placed it back into the supply bag that she had taken from the SEALs' camp, picking up the water canteen she had next to her and taking another swig. She eyed the two cans of food inside the bag, feeling her stomach rumble, and decided to go with the chicken noodle soup. She pulled it out and hacked at the lid with her hatchet, carefully prying her fingers into the hole that it made and peeling it off without cutting her fingers. She yanked off the twisted piece of metal and discarded it. It left an uneven hole in the top of the can, but it would be enough to drink out of. She pressed the can to her lips and took the cold liquid down her throat. When she finished, she tossed the can on the grass next to her and put the water canteen back in the bag and stood up. She went to leave, when she stopped and looked at the can.
It was just sitting there, clearly visible from the road. She went back to it and took it farther into the woods, hiding it under a rock, and came back to the road, making sure there were no other signs of her presence. When she was satisfied, she carried on and followed the dull asphalt as it twisted and winded through the pale trees.
At about suppertime, her stomach started grumbling again and she wanted to stop and eat. She had a can of Bush's beans in the bag and nothing else, but she knew she still had a ways to go before she would get to the suburbs, and she wanted to keep it just in case. She still had the hatchet on her, and she had been practicing a little with it since she left Noah's Ark.
She glanced over her shoulder and peered down the last stretch of road she'd traveled.
Not a single creature was in sight, not even a bird.
She left the road and walked into the woods, dropping the bag behind a tree where it wouldn't easily be found. She opened up a canteen and took a swig of water before she left, then she set off deeper into the woods.
The hatchet swung on her hip and she slowly drew her fingers along the handle, gripping it and sliding it out of her belt loop. She held it by her side as she crept through the woods, pausing periodically to listen for rustling around her.
The woods ahead were covered in the leaves of dead deciduous trees, faded to dull oranges and browns. The gray sky peeked through the bare branches shooting out every which way above, and the wind gently came down and licked at her. The ground in front of her turned into a short hill, with the top of it extending out into a little rock cliff that stood about six feet over the ground below where the hill sloped down and wrapped around it.
Sarah gingerly moved to the edge of the cliff and stopped, scanning her surroundings.
For a while, there was nothing. But then something rustled to her right. She looked down below and saw a flash in the corner of her eye, tucked well behind some trees in the distance. She focused on it and a moment later it scurried again, coming out from the trees.
A fat squirrel poked its head up from under the orange-brown leaves and looked around like the periscope of a submarine emerging from water. It hopped forward, stopped and looked, hopped, stopped and looked, then it scurried off deeper into the woods.
Sarah waited on the cliff to see if anything else would appear, but after a couple minutes, nothing did and she followed the hill down and stalked the squirrel.
The leaves crunched under her feet and she winced with every step. She hadn't found the squirrel again yet, but she was sure that it would pop up again soon. She was aware of the hatchet's weight in her hand, the sound of her footsteps, each movement of her body. She was patient, but she was ready.
There was a sound to her left and her head snapped over to it. The squirrel ran across the ground, swimming through the leaves with the speed of an Olympian, and bounded over a large root sticking out of the ground. It paused at the base of a tree then started to climb it.
Sarah stopped at a tree next to her and leaned against it, wrapping her body around to get a look at the furry creature.
It sat on the trunk, staring blankly above and waiting, almost like it knew it was being watched. It deliberated for a long time, then it finally scrambled back onto the ground and sniffed the cold winter air. Slowly at first, it lumbered right in front of Sarah, cutting from left to right, only about ten feet away.
She stayed perfectly still and didn't let a single breath into her lungs. Her hand was gripped tightly around the handle of the hatchet and she could almost feel it aching to be thrown.
The fat squirrel stopped at the base of another tree twelve feet away and buried its little head down under the leaves, rummaging around. Its bushy tail stuck straight up into the air and its back curled up, bundling itself halfway into a ball.
Sarah's view was clear and the squirrel had gotten much closer than she thought it would. She twisted her body and put her back to the side of the tree, stepping a leg forward and planting it on the ground in a long stance to be able to throw the hatchet properly.
When her foot softly pressed down on the leaves, the squirrel's head shot up and darted around in both directions. Its
back was to her, but it still looked in her direction with its beady little black eyes while keeping its body completely still.
Sarah waited for it to put its head back down, and after a long moment where she thought it was going to bolt, it finally lowered it. She drew in a deep breath and held it in her lungs, feeling the cold air swirl inside her. She lifted the hatchet above her head, keeping her feet still, and she shifted her weight onto her back leg.
A soft swirl of wind seductively wrapped its way through the trees and brushed across her skin. The squirrel's head stayed buried.
Sarah lined up her shot carefully and ran through every step of the technique through her head. If she killed it now, she would probably have time to gather some wood and start a small fire to cook it before it would start to get dark and she would have to move on for the suburbs.
When that special moment came that all athletes felt where everything was right, she shifted her weight forward and swung her arm.
"SARAH," a rough voice said. It was soft like a whisper, but it was spoken in a loud and harsh tone, and there was a distinct smokiness to it.
She released the hatchet as her whole body jumped from the surprise, and her arm gave a twitch and sent it off-course. It bounced off the ground next to the squirrel, rebounding against the tree and spinning to the side. The squirrel shot off like a bolt of lightning and was out of sight before she could even comprehend what happened.
Sarah spun around, searching for the source of the voice. The sky was a murky gray, but it was light enough out to see the entirety of the woods around her.
But there wasn't a soul in sight.
"Who's there?" she asked, fear creeping into her.
The wind picked up and she heard the gentleness of it brushing against the trees answer her call. But no voices.
She wanted to tell herself that she imagined it, but she was positive she heard it. It wasn't just a trick of the wind; she could hear the distinct timbre to it, the way it came off the tongue in a rough and oscillating tone.
Sarah ran to the hatchet and picked it up, brandishing it in front of her. "Who's there?" she called again. "Answer me!" Her voice was shaky and her adrenaline made her hyper-aware. It was as if she could see every tree in the woods, hear every sway of a branch.
But still there was nothing.
The fear did awful things to her. Suddenly she didn't know where to run. She couldn't tell where the voice came from and every direction was now a trap, a murderous psychopath waiting for her. The trees seemed to expand, creating miles of distance to get out of the woods when it had only been a matter of yards before. Her stomach clenched and she shivered. Her coat no longer seemed to do anything against the cold, and she wanted to be anywhere but here.
She didn't think of the details; she didn't think that it was still miles until she reached any kind of shelter; she didn't think that it might get dark before she got there; she didn't even think about how her stalker knew her name. She just started running.
Her arms pumped through the air and the hatchet became an extension of her hand. She was ready to lash out at anyone or anything in her path. She stared straight ahead in the direction that she had come... at least, the direction she thought she had come. Her tunnel vision carried her and her lungs felt like canisters of pressurized gas.
The wind swelled and gusted around her as she flew across the leaf-strewn ground. Where it was gentle before, now it howled and shrieked, sharply slicing itself against the tree trunks and splitting into a thousand directions of furious sound.
That rough voice chanted her name over and over again, being carried on the waves of the wind and being shrouded in it. But she knew that wasn't right; the voice had only spoken once and now she was hearing it behind everything.
The edge of the woods came into view and the final trees dotting along her exit were individually registered in her mind like objects on an obstacle course. Their trunks seemed larger than she remembered, and her brain pondered that every one of them could easily hide an entire person behind it.
Her heart pounded and she held the hatchet up in front of her, starting to wave it around in anticipation of the killer jumping out from behind a tree. The sounds of leaves being kicked up into the air were loud in her ears, and she couldn't tell if they were all caused by her footsteps or not.
She weaved through the trees as her heart clutched at each one, and then she heard the killer behind her, approaching like a cheetah, unmistakable.
Sarah didn't dare look back. She ran for her life, but she knew she wouldn't make it far.
The last nest of trees sat in front of her like prison bars and she nearly leaped out of them. She came out onto the grass next to the road, and in one swift movement, she spun around and swung the hatchet horizontally to slice her stalker in the face.
Her arm swung and caught nothing but air, because there was no one there. Her brain started to click in to the reality of the situation and she looked around, trying to find where he went before finally realizing that he wasn't chasing her at all.
Had she actually heard someone speak her name in the woods? At the time, she was sure that someone had, but now she wasn't. Given time to let the frightening thoughts bounce around and fight with each other in her head, she wasn't sure of any of it.
The first signs of darkness touched the sky and she didn't want to linger anymore. She was hungry and she could use a drink of water before she departed, but she would just grab her bag and go—sort out the rest when she got somewhere safe.
Sarah went back into the woods a few paces to retrieve her bag, holding the hatchet at the ready the entire time. She walked around the tree where she had dropped it and reached down.
It wasn't there.
She stood upright and paused, not understanding what she was seeing. She glanced back at the highway and stepped out toward it again, studying her surroundings and confirming that it was indeed the same place where she had entered the woods earlier.
Sarah returned to the woods and traced her steps in her head very carefully, once again coming to the tree that she was positive had her bag hidden behind it, and once again finding that it was gone.
Coldness crawled through her body, and this time it had nothing to do with the temperature outside.
She backed onto the road, staring in horror at the woods. The dryness in her throat nudged her, letting her know it was there and that she had nothing but the clothes on her back and the hatchet in her hand. The confusion and fear grew until she could hardly breathe.
The clouds slowly rolled across the sky, choking out the sunlight and letting the first pocket of darkness loom, as Sarah fled down the road.
5
Sojourn
Darkness fell sooner than expected, blacker than usual. The night was here, the temperature dropped significantly, and Sarah was still on the road. She staggered along, somewhere between a jog and a shuffle. Her heart was about to explode and the insides of her lungs felt like they were coated with sand. The woods stood on either side of her, tall and looming. The trees stared down with maniacal faces, gleeful at her imminent demise.
Sarah couldn't run anymore, having traveled down the road for almost two hours, and she moved off to the grass and collapsed to the ground. Her entire body screamed at her and she rolled onto her back, letting the air painfully fill her lungs again.
She felt like she pushed herself beyond her breaking point, but she never wanted to stop. As she had traveled along the highway, she continually looked over her shoulder. As it got dark, every tree and every shadow it cast on the road made her second-guess. The shadows constantly moved and she became paranoid, doing double takes the entire way, only to find that it was nothing.
As she lay on the grass now, she lifted her head and peered behind her along the road, still seeing nothing following her, though it was becoming increasingly difficult to see anything in the dark.
When she started to calm down and it didn't feel like all of her organs would pop, she fo
rced herself up. She trotted along very slowly, already becoming tired again.
The road followed a gentle bend through the trees ahead, but just before it disappeared out of view behind the line of trees on the right, Sarah saw another road branching off from it to the left.
Her heart hammered again, but this time it was more from excitement than exhaustion. She remembered the map showing that the first road to intersect with the highway led to a neighborhood. She picked up speed, ignoring the pain in her body, and forced herself to run for the final stretch. She knew that she had lost the killer, and if she could find a house to hide in for the night, she would be safe. If he had followed her at all, he wouldn't have come this far.
Sarah ran along the gentle bend of the highway until the adjoined road widened in her view and the trees on the left started to pull away, revealing what was behind them.
Just like the map had shown, the side street split up and led to rows of houses. They were all big two-story houses spaced widely apart with plenty of property to themselves, all sitting atop a sprawling hill of overgrown grass and weeds, and all of the streets crawling with zombies.
Sarah stopped in her tracks and pressed herself against the nearest tree, peeking around it.
The dead shambled in the moonlight, and they seemed to cover the whole neighborhood. If she wanted to get to one of the houses, she would have to go through them. They couldn't see well in the darkness, but neither could she.
Ashes in the Mouth (Zombie Apocalypse Series Book 3) Page 4