The Lonely Living (Book 1)

by Sean McMurray

  I peered at it, World Studies. I shook my head. And I told my teacher I would never use this in real life. I actually smiled a bit as I dropped it on the ground and picked up my rifle.

  I hustled to the end of the hall and just as I reached it the overhead door at the other end surrendered to the horde’s assault and gave way. Clawing frantically, they peeled back the metal door like it was the top of an aluminum can then squeezed through the gap, fighting each other to be the first through. I slid to a stop at the top of the stairwell. Lumbering up the stairs toward me was a barefoot little girl wearing a tattered and torn night gown. She was sickly gaunt with thin stringy hair hanging dreadfully over her face. At first I was uncertain if she was one of them, but a glimpse of her dark hallowed eyes revealed the truth. Saddened, I took aim with my rifle. I paused before pulling the trigger. The little girl, as gone as she may be, reminded me of Abbey. All wisdom told me to pull the trigger, but I just couldn’t do it. I dropped the rifle from my shoulder and ran past her down the stairs.

  My moment of hesitation cost me precious time because it seemed the horde was nipping at my heels as I scrambled to the first floor. I rounded the corner, hoping to reach the main entrance to the school and the snowmobile waiting outside, but much to my dismay it was blocked by another cluster of the undead. When they caught sight of me, they moved almost in unison to attack. Without stopping, I fired into the mass. The bullets did nothing to halt them. A few fell, but were quickly trampled underfoot by the unrelenting mass of undead. Forced to an abrupt stop, I glanced over my shoulder. The horde was rounding the corner, hissing and squalling like wild animals. Directly in front of me, another mass of flailing limbs and snarling mouths pressed forward. I was hopelessly trapped. But, I wasn’t going down without a fight. I stood tall and emptied the remainder of my clip into the horde. Ammunition spent, I threw down my rifle and pulled the Beretta from my thigh holster. Firing in both directions, I stepped backward as my pursuers moved in closer. Barely out of their grasp, I fell back against a door and to my tempered excitement discovered it was unlocked. I quickly opened it and slipped inside a darkened room. I threw my body against the door. Straining with all my might against the onslaught, I managed to shut and lock it. Breathing heavily with my back against the door, I closed my eyes and slid to the floor exasperated. I sat with my eyes closed for a few minutes pondering my current predicament. I was trapped with no food or water and little ammunition. Inevitably, desperate thoughts surfaced on my mind and I decided that I wouldn’t let them take me alive. Surrendering to those thoughts, I lifted the Berretta to my head and pressed the barrel against my right temple. Prepared to pull the trigger, I whispered three last words, “I’m sorry Abbey.”

  I sat with the gun to my head for an agonizing few seconds before dropping it to my side. I just couldn’t do it. I opened my eyes and immediately something caught my attention. On the opposite wall was a pulsing blue light. Bewildered, I stared blankly at it for a moment before climbing to my feet and walking over to the opposite wall. The glow was coming from a small flash light that was sitting on top of a thin filing cabinet. The beam of the light was aimed at a nearby closet door. In disbelief, I picked it up and examined it.

  This can’t be…

  Getting caught up in the excitement of possibly finding what I came for and forgetting my current predicament, I swung the closet door open. I stepped back in horror as my heart sank deep within me. I was too late again. Lying on the floor was a recently diseased middle aged woman. Tears filled my eyes and I cursed in anger as I picked up a desk and hurled it against the wall.

  “What was I thinking?” I said, defeated. “I was a fool to believe that there was someone alive here.”

  Having given up I walked over to the door. I bent over and picked up the Berretta. But, before I could lift it to my head I heard a muffled moan from the closet. I shined my flashlight inside. The woman was the same as before and completely still. Then I heard it again only louder. I raised my weapon. Was she changing? I took an anxious step forward and looked closer at the woman, she was definitely dead. Then I heard the muffled moan again and I noticed she was lying on a pile of blankets. Without hesitation, I ran over to her and rolled her stiff body off of them. I pulled the blankets away and my heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Lying curled up in a ball was a young woman and she was alive.

  Part Three: Revelations

  9

  Alive she was, but barely. She was thin and bony and her clothes were filthy and torn. I gently rolled her over onto her back and moved the grimy and matted hair out of her face. She briefly opened her eyes and mumbled almost inaudibly, “she said you would come,” then returned to a seemingly incoherent state.

  I opened her mouth and her tongue was dry, cracked and flaky. “You’re dehydrated.” I said dreadfully.

  I looked around for something to drink. Empty water bottles, food wrappers and open cans were scattered all over the closet floor, but there wasn’t an ounce of food or a drop of water to be found.

  “I have to get you out of here.”

  The horde was wailing as they pounded the door from the outside. I frantically searched the room and closet for a way out. I started to talk to the girl as she slipped in and out of consciousness. “I can’t open the door with them outside. There’s no way we’ll make it past them.” I clenched my fists in indignation and pleaded, “Where can we go?”

  I paused and tried to think. A moment ago, I’d given up and now I was more motivated then I’d been since I lost Abbey. My outlook may have changed, but my situation hadn’t. We were still hopelessly trapped. I glanced up to curse, but discovering that ceiling was a drop ceiling, I stopped myself. “Up.” I said hopefully.

  I swiftly climbed atop the metal cabinet and lifted up one of the ceiling tiles. There was little more than a foot of clearance between the drop ceiling and the concrete floor above and every inch of it was filled with the angry cries and disparaging moans of the horde outside. The miserable melody of the deathly chorus wafted up through a small vent over the door and hung heavy in the air, making my situation feel all the more dire. I dropped down to a seated position on top of the cabinet. “We gotta get out.” I mumbled. “But how?”

  I pondered that question for a moment, grasping at air for answers that didn’t involve me opening the door to my undead guests outside and their unyielding desire to eat my flesh. The only other way out of the room was the vent, which I couldn’t fit the girl through let alone me. In frustration, I hopped off the cabinet and began to pace the floor. Grieving my circumstances, I walked into the closet and inside a piece of trash caught my attention. I bent over and picked it up. It was the plastic wrapping of sliced bacon.

  “You didn’t eat this raw?” I asked the unconscious young woman. “Of course you didn’t. But, what did you cook it with?”

  She was quiet, but a few minutes later I found the answer anyway. On a shelf in the closet was a portable camping stove. I pulled the propane tank from the stove and twisted the nozzle. I took a quick whiff of the gas then twisted the nozzle shut. The tank wasn’t empty, but there was no way of telling how much was left inside. “Hopefully enough,” I said as I sat the tank down on the shelf, “hopefully enough.”

  I left the closet and pulled the cabinet from the wall. Once there was enough space for me to squeeze behind it, I did just that and slid the cabinet next to the door. I pulled a flare from my belt and went back to retrieve the propane tank. Using some masking tape I found, I attached the flare to the side of the tank.

  I hope I don’t blow my hands off.

  Being very careful not to drop the improvised bomb I was now holding in my right hand, I climbed atop the cabinet. With little difficulty I pulled the vent from the wall. I paused and took a deep breath.

  Here it goes.

  I lit the flare, turned the nozzle on the propane tank, just a bit, and without hesitation tossed the bomb through the hole. I dropped to the ground and covered my ears expe
cting a loud explosion, but nothing happened. After a few seconds of sitting curled up in a ball, I relaxed. My heart sank at the realization that my bomb didn’t go off. I stood to my feet. “Dam—”

  -- BOOM! Heat and smoke poured from underneath the door and the ground rumbled under my feet causing me to fall against the wall. I gathered myself and hurried over to the young woman. She stirred a little as I slid my hands under her body and picked her up. She was very light and I could feel her ribs and spine underneath her clothes. With her head lying softly against my chest and her limbs dangling at my sides, I carried her to the door. After a few attempts I managed to unlock it. The handle was hot to the touch, but I bit my lip and turned it anyway, burning my hand in the process. Smoke billowed through the opened door causing me to stumble backward in a coughing fit. I calmed myself, took one last breath and charged forward into the furnace. It smelled terribly of scorched flesh and the black smoky air was so thick it was nearly impossible to see. My eyes burned and I choked down wasted breaths, as the fire and smoke tightened like a noose around my neck. Fraught hands grasped for me in the smoke, but I shook them off as I searched for the exit. I tripped over a burning torso and nearly fell. As I regained my footing, a flaming fiend lurched for us, but I kicked it in the chest and it fell away. The moans of the damned grew louder and more severe as the fire spread. I staggered down the hallway, my body weakening with each step. Finally, nearing collapse, there was a touch of cold air.

  I’m near the exit.

  I plodded forward and the air became clearer, colder and at last I tumbled into the snowy dark. I climbed to my feet and made for the snowmobile. I hastily laid the young woman in my sled then jumped in the seat. I started it up and pulled away just as the remainder of the horde burst out the broken doors of the school. I sped away into the night as the wretches registered their despair with deathly shrieks and howls.

  When I was safely away, I stopped to gather myself. After my pounding heart began to slow and my breathing normalized, I climbed off the snowmobile to check on the young woman. She was still alive, but her skin was now ice cold.

  “Stay with me,” I said as I brushed some snow off her face, “I’m going to take care of you.”

  Quickly and carefully, I wrapped her up in all the blankets I had and strapped her to the sled. I opened her mouth and attempted to give her a drink from my canteen, but my still trembling hands caused me to miss the mark and spill the water all over her face. I dried her up and after steadying myself, tried again. This time I was successful and managed to get some water in her system. After finishing, I slipped the canteen back in my bag on the sled. I then reloaded my handgun and topped off the gas tank before climbing back on the snowmobile.

  A light snow was falling around me, but a bitter, cold wind was whipping it up into a frenzy, limiting my visibility. It was going to be very hard to find my way home in the dark going the way I came and my earlier tracks had most certainly been erased by the wind, which left me two options. Find a place to stay for the night and wait for the morning or follow the river. Believe it or not, I agonized over the decision. That young woman’s life was hanging by a thread and was going to take something just short of a miracle to save her. So, despite my internal anguish, I decided to follow the river.

  I stayed as near to the bank as possible, keeping my focus on the terrain before me, moving as fast and as recklessly as the safety of my passenger would allow. About a half hour into the drive, I neared the source of my internal anguish, Christ’s Church by the River. The old church wasn’t much to look at and in the dark I could barely see it, but I knew that place as well as I knew Little Eagle’s Island. I slowed down a bit and searched for a way to avoid even driving by it, but there was no place to safely cross the river. I slowed to a stop at the edge of the property line. A mixture of sadness and anger swept over me as my body began to tremble once again. The solitary Church, with its once proud steeple, loomed over me like a giant tombstone. My head filled with memories and thoughts of a time that felt like a distant dream, but in reality was not that long ago. I closed my eyes to drive away the tears that were welling up inside them. “Curse this place.” I said in disgust before hitting the throttle and speeding away into the night. I didn’t look back nor did I want to. The further away from that place the better.

  10

  A couple hours later, I reached the mouth of Red Lake. My body was numb from the cold and more than anything I wanted to fall into a snow drift and sleep. I crossed the lake and pulled the snowmobile and sled right up to the front porch. I unstrapped the young woman and carried her inside the house. I laid her down on my couch, relit some of my candles and then stirred the coals in the fire place. I tossed some kindling on the coals and soon enough the room was lit with the orange glow of a young fire. I pulled off my gloves and warmed my hands by the fire, for a moment, before turning my attention to the young woman. She was still unconscious and the only sign of life was the tender rising and falling of her chest when she breathed. I slipped my left hand under her head and tilted it forward. I carefully eased the water into her mouth and she still gagged before finally swallowing it. I resigned myself to staying awake and repeating the process, until she began to recover. In between drinks, I took a wash cloth and gently scrubbed the dirt and grime off her cheeks and forehead, revealing a pale, emaciated face. Nonetheless, I was struck by her. She was undeniably pretty and I was smitten. But, at the moment I was more concerned with her survival.

  I spent the rest of the night giving her drinks and by morning I could barely keep my eyes open. Sips became small drinks and small drinks became gulps. Gradually, her health improved and color returned to her face. I boiled a pot of coffee and sipped on it in an effort to keep myself awake. It didn’t do much good; my body was threatening to go on strike. I gave the young woman another drink and she briefly opened her eyes, revealing a flash of green iris and mumbled something that sounded like thank you. I sat the pitcher of water on a table next to her and sank deep into my chair. I went out like a light.

  I awoke hours later to the smell of something burning. No, it wasn’t something burning exactly, it was something roasting. I sat up in my chair. The young woman was awake and crouched by the fire cooking a piece of meat. I didn’t say anything at first, I just watched her, too caught up in the surrealism of the moment to speak. She was wearing the same filthy, torn clothes and was too keen on the food she was cooking to notice that I was watching her. She still smelled of death. Finally, the aroma of the roasting meat broke through the stench of death and reminded my stomach that I hadn’t eaten in a day. I stood up out of my chair and started for the kitchen. The sounds of my steps startled the young woman who flipped around like a spooked animal to face me.

  “It’s ok.” I said, holding my palms forward.

  An awkward moment passed with us staring at each other. She looked at me expectantly like she was anticipating me saying something to break the silence, but I was instantly transported back to high school and frustratingly speechless. Eventually, I stammered out the first words that came to my head. “You smell bad.”

  She flashed confusion and I caught myself.

  “What I meant to say is that if…if you want to take a bath, I’ll run some hot water.”

  She looked at me strangely, like she couldn’t quite figure me out.

  “I’ll go take care of the water for you.” I said awkwardly as I turned away. “My name is Blake by the way.”

  Forgetting my hunger, I went to the back porch and fired up the generator. It had been a while since I used it, so it took a few good pulls to get it started. I figured by the time the young woman finished her meal, the water would be warm enough for her to take a bath or a shower. While the young woman was eating, I went upstairs and got some of my old clothes from when I was younger. I grabbed a pair of purple sweats and a Ninja Turtles t-shirt and carried them downstairs. I held the clothes out in front of me like they were a peace offering and she took them without s
aying a word.

  I nodded to a nearby door. “The bathtub is in the bathroom and there are towels and soap and stuff inside.”

  She flashed an uncertain smile and headed toward the door. I paused for a second and thought about how ridiculous I must seem to her. Of course the bathtub is in the bathroom, where else would it be you idiot? I shook my head and walked away. I was almost to the kitchen when I heard the sweetest words.

  “Blake.” The young woman said softly. “Thank you.”

  I smiled to myself and said over my shoulder, “You’re welcome.”

  The young woman disappeared into the bathroom and I into the kitchen. I pulled a can of vegetable soup from the cupboard. After opening it and pouring it into a plastic bowl, I put the soup in the microwave and pressed the one minute button. I watched the bowl of soup spin in the microwave for the entire minute like it was my favorite television show. The microwave dinged and I opened the door to a steaming bowl of soup. It was a thing of wonder, hot soup in a minute, no fire required. I let the soup cool a bit while I went and retrieved my journal from my bedroom.

  I sat down at the table with my soup, tossed in a couple of pieces of jerky and began to eat. In between spoonfuls, I detailed the past two days in my journal. It was easy to write as the words just flowed from the pen. Soon, I had filled two pages and emptied my bowl of soup. Just as I finished my last sip, the young woman appeared in the doorway. Instinctively, I stood to my feet. Her hair was wrapped up in a towel and she was holding her old clothes.