by Megan Berry
I leave the bike just a few feet into the treeline and push it underneath a small Christmas tree looking tree that still has all it’s lush green branches to hide it. I stare at it assessing before giving up. It will either still be there later when I need it, or it wont. This is the best I can do. I make my way back to the treehouse easily enough and climb up the ladder without half the trouble this time.
I eat another granola bar and then boredom starts to set in again. I really should sleep but knowing what I have coming up as soon as the sun sets, I don’t think I could sleep a wink. I reach into my bag and pull out a book that I’ve been keeping from that pharmacy where we almost died, and then got separated and I ended up meeting Silas. There never really seems to be enough time to sit down and enjoy a good book in the zombie apocalypse; I snicker at the thought. I actually haven’t ready anything in months though. It’s a little startling because I used to read a couple novels a week, but not really that surprising considering everything that’s been going on.
I pop the book open, and at first its difficult to get into the story. I have too much swirling around in my brain, but I persistently keep reading the words and turning the pages and it doesn’t take long before I’m transformed from this crappy tree house to Regency era London, and the romance between a duke and a young miss from the country, in town for her first season.
I don’t even notice the time passing until the light begins to dim, and I have to squint harder at the words on the page. Finally, I give it up and close my book with regret. It’s show time, and the thought fills me with dread. I tuck the book carefully inside my bag and send up a silent prayer that I actually live long enough to finish reading it.
Chapter Eleven
I stand up stiffly and my back pops, making me wince. Maybe I should have known better than to sit cross legged on the unforgiving wooden floor for hours, hunched over a book. I take a few more tentative steps as I gather up my meager belongings and slowly my sore muscles start to warm up and unknot. It isn’t completely dark yet, but its rapidly approaching, and I decide to use the little bit of daylight I have left to get myself down the ladder without breaking my neck.
I toss my backpack down before me, not wanting to fiddle around with any more rope right now- I’ve already rolled it up and shoved it back inside the bag. I cringe at the overly-loud sounding thump as the backpack hits the dirt below. I tell myself that I’m just being overly sensitive, and it wasn’t actually that bad, and then I start my own descent.
It’s slow going getting down the ladder, I think it’s less about maneuvering in poor lighting and more the way my brain screams at me for self preservation, telling me to go back up to the treehouse and abandon this crazy quest of going out after dark. It has pretty much been our cardinal rule since day one, don’t travel at night, hole up and wait it out- but that was before Silas got taken.
I reach the bottom and my skin prickles uncomfortably, I’ve never been a fan of the dark, even before the zombies. I feel like hungry eyes are watching me from the trees and with my wild imagination, I’m not even sure if they’d be zombie eyes, or other wild creatures. I swallow down my terror and pick up my pack off the ground, pulling my axe free of its holder, keeping it in my hand for easy access. I would much rather use my gun right now, but I can’t risk the noise attracting attention in the dark- that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t use it without hesitation if things get too out of control. I am well-aware of it’s reassuring weight on my hip, and my fingers know the way.
I’m glad to see that there is a nearly full moon rising in the sky. I don’t know if strategically that is for the best or not, but it makes me feel a little bit better regardless. I head down the trail that I marked out earlier, and it only takes me a couple minutes to find the bike. When I pull it out from underneath the tree, the brush rattles and it makes me even more jumpy. I wheel the bike out of the woods and scan the yard once more, but again, it appears to be clear.
I get on the bike and am not completely sure what to do with my axe. I don’t want to secure it back to my pack as it will be too tough to reach back and grab it while I’m riding, but this bike doesn’t have a basket. I finally settle on resting the axe awkwardly across the handle bars and keeping my hands on it, and the handle bars. It’s not the most comfortable thing, but then nothing about this ride is going to be comfortable.
I kick off, cringing at the loud clicking of the chain, and wobble a little bit at first, it’s been probably a year since I’ve been on a bike, and never with a pack filled with survival gear and an axe across the handle bars. I get the hang of it, after only a couple peddles and I find myself at the end of the driveway in no time. I stop and strain my ears for any sounds, but I can’t hear anything, not even crickets. I’m shaking as I start off down the road, but I know I have to try everything to get Silas back.
I ride right down the center line, my theory in doing this is that I will have time to swerve if anything emerges from the ditches on either side. Every time I pass a driveway, I hold my breath. Every time I pass a bunch of trees lining the side of the road, I almost forget how to breath. My eyes try to scan the darkness, but I can’t see anything in their shadowy depths.
I can however see the road, almost as clear as day. I speed up and get going a good clip, repeating the mantra, ‘it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay’, over and over in my head as I go. It weirdly helps me a little bit. I wouldn’t say it relaxes me, but it makes it possible for me to remember how to breath. I spent a good amount of time staring at the map this afternoon and carefully tracking my road back to Louisville because I didn’t want to have to stop my bike for anything, even the map.
I anxiously keep my eyes peeled for my next turn, it’s the second intersection I come across, and I make a wide turn to the left. I slowly release a breath, now I just have to keep my eyes open for the next road and go right. I change my gears, fiddling with them a little bit to ease the tension in my legs, and they click quietly. I alternate keeping watch between the two sides of the road, hoping I don’t see anything bad, but trying to be prepared as best I can, if I do.
I’m scanning the ditches so carefully that at first, I nearly miss the looming shadow in the middle of the road. I slam on my brakes and wince as they let out a squeal. The zombie in front of me turns in my direction with a hungry moan and starts limping slowly right for me. I feel like kicking this piece of crap bike as hard as I can into the ditch, but instead I get off and quickly use my foot to bring the kickstand down, dragging my axe off the handle bars as I go.
I meet the zombie halfway and use my momentum to take a swing at him, but he somehow manages to move, and my axe buries itself deep into his shoulder. His arm twitches uselessly at his side as his arm is half severed, but it doesn’t deter him. He comes at me again and after a quick tug that proves to me the axe is going nowhere, I’m forced to leave the weapon in his shoulder and dance out of the way. I almost grab for my gun to finish him off, but I have to resist the impulse. The gun is only if I get into real trouble. Even though it has a silencer, the gun is not completely silent, there will also be muzzle flash in the dark and that could attract all kinds of things I would rather not know my location.
I blow out a breath of frustration as my hand skips over the gun, and lands on my big knife instead. I hate this- I hate it so bad that I want to scream. I head back towards the zombie again, this thing is big, and dread fills me with every step. The zombie growls, and I seriously consider getting on the bike and pedalling away, but the zombie has my axe. I’m nearly toe to toe with the zombie, trying like hell to avoid his remaining swinging arm, when something catches my attention coming out of the ditch. I glance away for a second, momentarily distracted, and the zombie latches hold of my jacket sleeve with a surprisingly firm grip. His teeth chatter in excitement as he goes in for the bite and then suddenly, he’s knocked to the ground, as something goes flying past my face.
The zombie hits the pavement w
ith a large thump, followed by a series of growling. I turn and start to run away, but curiosity has me glancing over my shoulder. A large… dog, I think… has the zombie pinned to the ground with its jaws locked around the creature’s throat. The dog is growling, and so is the zombie as it snaps its teeth and tries to bite, but it’s face is pinned down by the pressure on its neck. I watch as the zombies one good arm reaches up to claw at the animal’s fur, and a wave of pity takes me by surprise.
This dog just saved my life whether it knows it or not, can I really just run away and let the zombie eventually get free, because out of all the injury a dog could inflict on a body, I doubt it will be able to damage the brain enough to slow this thing down. The zombie will eat the dog if I don’t do something. Without thinking I run forward, knife still in hand and plant the blade through the zombie’s temple. The zombie quits wiggling instantly and after a minute the dog lets go of its neck, somehow sensing its prey is done fighting.
I take a quick step back when the dog leaps off the zombie’s corpse in my direction, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to be mauled. The dog doesn’t growl though, it lets out a small whimper and then plants itself down in front of me, giving a half-hearted wag of its tail.
I’m unsure what to do- this is hardly the actions of a man-eating killer, but I can’t just trust some random dog either. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is the same dog I freed from that basement room back at that house. Has it really been following me this whole time and I didn’t even know? The dog lets out another long whine and I’m suddenly more scared that the dog is going to attract zombies, than of the dog itself. I reach out without thinking and pet the dog on the head, and it doesn’t try and rip my arm off.
“Good dog.” I tell it trying to sound soothing, and the dog thumps its tail a little harder at the praise. I slowly walk around the dog and when it still doesn’t make a move to attack me, I bend over and retrieve my axe from the zombie. I look back and see the dog watching me with curiosity. I can’t see it that clearly in the dark, but it kind of looks like a German Shepard with its large size, dark fur, and pointed ears and nose. A friend from back home used to have a dog that looked just like it.
I wipe off the blade of the knife first, and then the axe on the zombie’s shirt and then pull off my backpack and dig out a peanut butter flavored granola bar and toss it to the dog. I’m not sure if the dog should eat stuff like this or not, but it was just locked in a room for how many months eating it’s owner, so I don’t think a granola bar is too crazy given the circumstances.
The dog lets it drop to the ground before giving it a sniff and then wolfing it down in one bite. It walks over and nuzzles my hand with its head, and I pet it again. “I have to go.” I tell the dog, even though I’m sure the dog doesn’t understand me, the dog whines and nuzzles up against me again, and I feel terrible as I walk away and head back towards my bike.
I get on the bike and the dog hasn’t moved, so I start pedalling and go a couple feet before turning around again and the dog still hasn’t moved. “Come on.” I whisper to the dog and the animal leaps to its feet and starts running towards me, like it was waiting for me to give it permission. I’m not sure if it will continue to follow me or find its own things to do and wander off, but at least I invited the creature and I don’t have to feel guilty about it. The dog lopes along beside the bike, keeping pace with me easily, and I start to feel a little better, I’m still completely terrified, but it feels good not to be alone out here anymore.
We make good time, and after about half an hour we hit the interstate. I’m not really winded, but I start to worry the dog might be getting tired- which might be crazy considering the extreme danger I’m in. I stop at the stop sign, even though there isn’t any traffic and glance down at the dog. Its tongue is lolling and its panting, and I feel a stab of pity for it. The dog probably isn’t in the best shape after being locked in a room, mostly starving for who knows how many months.
I want to stop and give the dog a break, but I know the danger we’re both in. The dog lifts it nose to the air and scents the night, then takes off towards the ditch and I hear splashing as its front paws go into the water and then noisy lapping as it takes a long drink. I realize that I’m literally a sitting duck right now while I wait for the dog to have a drink, so I kick off again and give a low whistle for the dog. I hear splashing and then the steady clicking of the dog’s nails on the pavement as the animal falls into line beside me. “I’m sorry about this.” I whisper to the dog as we continue on. The dog is malnourished and probably doesn’t have a lot of energy, but once we rescue Silas and find the others it will all be worth it when we are all back at the cabin- and that includes the dog. It hasn’t tried to eat me yet, and it did try and save me.
The dog lets out a growl, and I glance down at it sharply. Its stopped running along side my bike and has turned its attention behind us with it’s hackles up. I don’t slam on the brakes because they are very squeaky, but I do stop pedalling and put my feet down to slow myself. “What is it?” I ask, even though I know the dog isn’t going to answer me. The dog takes a few more step in the opposite direction and begins to growl loudly. “Shh.” I hush the creature, if something hasn’t discovered us yet, it will very soon with the noise this dog is making.
The dog actually seems to listen and lowers its voice, though it continues to growl in a low, menacing way. This dog is starting to give me a serious case of the heebie-jeebies, its pretty obvious that something is behind us, but I don’t think we should hang around to find out what it is. A low chorus of moans seems to answer the dogs growl and I nearly jump out of my own skin.
“No.” I whisper to the dog, as I start pedalling again, this time faster. I do not have the balls, or skill set to stand my ground and take on more than one zombie at a time- and that noise behind me, sounds like a hell of a lot more than one zombie. The dog doesn’t follow me for a minute, just stands staring behind us into the trees and I start to get annoyed. I didn’t ask for the extra responsibility of a pet. Dogs are noisy and a lot of the time in this new world, you have to be extremely quiet.
The dog turns finally and starts running along beside me again, and even though I just went through a long list of reasons why dogs suck in my head, I’m relieved that the mutt isn’t going to stay behind and get eaten.
The dog is still running beside me, but it keeps turning its head and looking behind us too, which causes me to do the same since I’d really like to know something is coming before it jogs up and bites me in the shoulder. It’s okay the first couple times I try it, but the third time I look back, my bike starts a dangerous wobble that I can’t correct, and I end up hitting the pavement in a tangle of metal and bruised limbs.
I want to lay back on the pavement and cry. The dog starts whining and rushes over and begins licking my face which snaps me out of my self pity spiral when I remember that this is the same dog that was just chewing on a zombie less than an hour ago, and who ate its last owner in a basement. I cringe and start spitting as I push the enormous dog away and start to sit up. The dog turns back towards the invisible zombie hoard and whines again, and I force my body to bend despite the mind-numbing sting in my knees from the road rash.
When I stand up and use my hands to push myself up, I can tell that they are road ravaged as well by the pain, but I grit my teeth and ignore it because a little road rash is nothing compared to being torn apart by zombies. I stand up and I can’t help but limp when my knees have to take my weight. I walk over to the bike and stand it up, hoping like hell that it’s still rideable. If it’s not, I’m pretty much screwed.
I reach down with some effort and retrieve my axe off the ground, thankful it didn’t stab me when I fell, and then I straddle the bike again and push off. The bike seems to be okay, me not so much. After a while though the pain decreases to a dull ache, and I resist the urge to keep checking behind me. I’m not that skilled, and the dog will let me know if something rears its nasty face.
> The dog suddenly switches to the other side of my bike and starts growling towards the other side of the interstate’s meridian. I follow the dog’s line of sight and see a small group of zombies in the far traffic lane. They set up a collective moan when they see me, and the dog starts to head off in their direction, but I let out a whistle, the zombies have already seen me anyway. They are still a good sixty feet away though, separated by a concrete barricade that they will probably have some trouble maneuvering. I can be well away from them before then. “No.” I tell the dog and I’m surprised when it actually obeys me and keeps trotting along at my side.
After a couple minutes when I don’t seem to be in any danger of the zombies catching up, I loosen my grip a little on the handle bars and bring my one palm up and rub it on my jeans. I wince when I feel small pebbles and bits of dirt rub against my wounds. I pass it over a couple more times and then switch that hand back to the handle bars and do the same with my other hand trying to get rid of some of the debris before it scabs over and gets infected.
I should probably stop and administer myself first aid, along with some strong disinfectant, but with zombies behind me and more of them popping out as we go, I can’t afford the luxury. I have to reach Louisville ahead of these zombies and figure out a way to save Silas. The dog is silent for now, and I take that as a good sign.
It doesn’t last, of course. No sooner do I think about how quiet the dogs being and feel even the smallest speck of relief than the dog starts growling again. This time its not looking behind us, or off to the side, but straight ahead.
Chapter Twelve
I try my best to scan the area ahead of us, but it doesn’t help. The moon is out, but it’s still too dark. The dog growls more loudly as I stop my peddling and start to coast instead, straining my ears to hear. I hush the dog again, and then I hear it. Moans and groans and not just one or two.
