I made it with plenty of room to spare. A hysterical giggle burst from my lips before I could stop it. Leave it to me to laugh at the most inappropriate of times.
I got up and brushed myself off. While I still had the nerve, I jumped over to the next building, and then one more, before I stopped. The roof of the next building was too far away.
I ran over to the front edge of the roof and looked back towards the Starbucks. Flames and smoke were still pouring out of the building, and to my horror, so were zombies.
Zombies are terrifying.
Zombies lit up like the human torch? They were petrifying.
I stood there in a shocked stupor before I physically shook myself and ran to the trap door on the roof.
I pushed on the trap door, but it didn’t budge; I slammed my fists on it, and yet it didn’t open. I could feel that the wood was old, though, that it might give if I could put enough pressure on it.
I stepped back and brought my boot down with all my might on the outer edge of the boards. The vibrations of my stomp jarred my leg and my hips and clattered my teeth together. I slammed my foot down again and again until my entire leg was numb from the strain. The boards creaked and groaned but didn’t break.
As a last-ditch effort, I stood completely on the door with both feet and then with all my body weight poised above the entry, I jumped up and came back down with all my might.
The plywood broke and I fell through the opening with a resounding CRASH!
Lucky for me, my backpack broke my fall, though I thought I had died from the jarring impact alone that knocked the air completely from my lungs. For a long, ringing moment, all I could do was gasp for air. Dust settled around me, shot through with veins of sunlight. Then the pain started. I’d brought a piece of the wood with me when I fell.
When I was able to move again, I sat up and reached for the six-inch long piece of wood sticking out of my right thigh. I shimmied out of my backpack and pulled out the small first aid kit. I opened up some gauze and medical tape and then unscrewed the small bottle that had been labeled “rubbing alcohol”. I swiped at the sweat that had beaded on my forehead with the back of my hand.
With the gauze in my mouth and the alcohol in my shaking, left hand, I took a deep breath and jerked out the piece of wood, pouring the liquid on the wound in the same moment. I bit down on the gauze to keep from screaming. I almost blacked out from the pain.
When I could see past my agony, I pressed the gauze to the wound and then tightly secured it in place by wrapping medical tape all the way around my leg.
I shoved everything back in my bag and stood up carefully. The leg was sore, but not bad enough to hinder my movements too much. I had lost precious time breaking into the building and getting hurt.
I clutched my recon blade in my left hand and my handgun in my right. It was time to move.
I made my way down the rickety stairs and cautiously pushed the door open. I wasn’t even sure which store I was in. I didn’t know the town all that well. I walked out and immediately knew where I was—Light Oak Antiques and Collectibles. The back part of the store was a disaster and the front part of the store was worse.
The good thing? I didn’t run into any zombie antique dealers.
The vehicle that I had my eye on from the roof of Starbucks sat parked in front of the shop across the road from where I now stood. The odd thing about the antique shop was that none of the windows had been busted out, so I felt a tiny bit safer than I had at Starbucks. I was going to have to make a run for the SUV and hope that I was right about the keys being left in the ignition.
I tightened my grip on my gun and knife and jerked the door open . . . and froze. I hadn’t noticed as I stood in the store that above the door there was a large bell attached, so that when people entered, the store owner would hear them from the back room.
I had just rung the fucking dinner bell.
And sure enough, from the right side of the building came two zombies and from the left came one zombie lit up like a flamethrower.
I ran.
I made it across the street quickly and when I glanced into the window. I saw the keys dangling in the ignition. I grabbed the door handle only to find it locked. Right about that time, the first zombie caught up with me, her bright purple fingernails matched her purple, high-waisted jeans. One arm that reached for me had dozens of rubber bracelets dangling from it. The 90s truly were back in style.
I skidded just out of her reach.
Screeching, I aimed for her head, and pulled the trigger. The zombie fell backward immediately, and I took the chance to point my gun at the backseat window and shoot. Another zombie lunged for me with his mouth already opened wide. I stumbled back slightly and pulled the trigger, catching the zombie point-blank in the face, dropping it.
I shoved my arm impossibly far into the window to try and get the locks open, not caring that my arm was getting all scraped and cut up in the process. I was reaching as far as I could, my heart trying to explode out of my chest, when I saw zombie-torch-dude coming up on me in my peripheral vision.
My finger skimmed the button and I heard all the locks pop open. With a guttural cry, part restrained sob, part scream. I swung open the door and scooted inside just as the undead human torch crashed into the door and began pounding his fists against my window.
Each thump against the window pounded through my skull; each fist that smashed against the glass left behind chunks of melted and charred skin and bloody smears.
The engine turned over on the first try and I could have cried from pure relief.
I slammed the vehicle into drive and pressed the gas like my life depended on it, which it did.
Not even the blast of Justin Bieber’s Baby coming through the speaker system could wipe the smile off my face. No, I turned the volume up full blast, held on tightly to the steering wheel and navigated around as many obstacles as possible, even running over bodies if I had to, laughing the whole time with tears streaming down my face.
I glanced in the rearview mirror when I was almost all the way out of the roughest part of town and saw at least two dozen bodies lurching out of alleyways and out into the open. Several of them were on fire. I might not have cleaned out all the zombies in town, but I sure as hell put a dent in their numbers before I left.
*****
I took the time to pull over and load more bullets into my gun before I drove into my old neighborhood. Well, neighborhood didn’t really fit any longer. Warzone seemed much more appropriate.
Everything I could see was completely destroyed from the huge airplane that fell from the sky and landed in my residential neighborhood. The burnt trees and houses looked like a group of tornadoes made of lava had touched down and leveled everything in their path.
Anxiety pitted the center of my stomach as I pulled in front of my house. It was surreal to think that only the day before I nearly got clipped my little Mariah as she whipped past me on her new skateboard which had been a seventh birthday gift from her nana. Or that our neighbors, the McGregorys, had invited us over for a BBQ three short nights ago.
I cut off the engine, glancing around me to make sure the noise of the car didn’t garner any unwanted attention. I stepped out of my commandeered vehicle slowly, grimacing at the slight noise the door made when it opened. I carefully shoved the keys into my pocket and left the car door slightly ajar.
I felt twitchy as I kept looking in every direction, careful not to step on glass and not to make a noise as I made my way toward my front door.
A zombie lumbered around the side of my neighbor’s house when I shut the door. With a jolt, I recognized Mr. Howe, still wearing his pajamas and only one shoe, just like I’d last seen him.
I swallowed back tears and stuffed my gun into the holster on my leg. He moved quickly, but at a wobble thanks to his missing shoe, until he was right on top of me. I barely registered the large portion of his scalp completely torn away where there once had been meticulously combed white a
nd silver hair. I pushed down a small sob before it could erupt from my lips.
I lashed out and drove my blade right into his forehead. He jerked and then stilled, his body dropping to the ground.
“Sorry, Mr. Howe,” I whispered. I glanced around hastily and then ran the rest of the way to the front door of my house. The door had been kicked in. I swallowed my anger and entered the house with my gun drawn.
I made my way from room to room, just poking my head in to look for survivors or zombies, and quickly realized they had only been after food and supplies.
I went into the kitchen and grabbed a large black garbage bag, then headed for my dad’s room. There were supplies I needed to get, and I couldn’t dawdle too much.
But when I stepped through the door, his presence hit me like a tidal wave, making me dizzy—his clean, soapy smell, his half-dirty T-shirts carefully folded on top of his dresser, the portrait of Mom in its gold frame.
I sank onto his bed, fighting back tears, then picked up his pillow and held it to my nose, inhaling his scent. I closed my eyes and hugged the pillow to me like a lifeline. After I sat there for much too long, I stood up and gathered the things I’d come for.
I added my dad’s pillow, a sturdy sheet, and a blanket to the bag first, followed by the last five MREs that were left in a box under his bed. I took out all the ammunition that was left in a storage bin under the bed and added it to the bag as well. I was relieved to find more ammo for the rifle.
Next, I went into my room and glanced around. This was going to be the last time I would be back here for a long time—maybe ever. I grabbed my iPod out of my desk drawer and shoved it into the bag. I knew it was fully charged, so I still had a little playtime left on it.
I swung open my closet and thanked the heavens above I had never been a girly-girl. I’d insisted, even when my dad protested, that my clothes and shoes be practical and even border on boyish. Since I was about to turn eighteen, he’d given up on trying to get me to wear any pink. I think he finally realized what a waste of time it was.
I added a week’s worth of undergarments, socks, and one set of flannel pajamas to the bag. Next I added every single tank top I owned and then half a dozen tee shirts, two pairs of jeans, two pairs of dark cargo pants, and three long-sleeved thermal shirts and leggings. Finally, a waterproof jacket. The small, compact bundle would’ve made my dad proud.
I grabbed my dad’s dog tags and my mom’s locket off of my dresser and hung them around my neck, glad to have my most prized possessions with me again, then I glanced around my room one more time. At the last minute, I snagged a picture of my dad and me off of my desk and one of my mom and threw them in too. Nothing else meant anything to me, and anything else would have been a burden to carry.
When I went into the bathroom, I simply raked everything I thought might be useful into the bag: Tylenol, cold medicine, rubbing alcohol, more first aid supplies, toothpaste, lotion, lip balm, two towels and washcloths. In the kitchen, I grabbed Ziploc bags and two empty water jugs. By the time I was done, my bag was bulging.
I only had two more items I needed. I headed to the garage and found what I was looking for quickly.
When I left the house, I had to move fast, even with everything I was carrying with me. The family that had just moved into the only vacant house on the street lurched around the corner of the house just as I reached the SUV, looking eerily like they were just coming over to chat before dinner. But the young daughter’s head slanted forty-five degrees off her neck which had been torn open by someone’s teeth, her curls were matted with blood and snarled into a tangle. The father was missing an eye and half his left arm. His Tarheels pajama shirt sleeve dangled uselessly where the appendage used to be.
I threw my huge sack into the back and then jumped into the driver’s seat before the Delrays made it to me.
I started the car, threw the Justin Bieber CD out of the window, shoved my own Flyleaf CD into the player, rolled down my window, and waited for the zombies to get in range. Then, just as the words “fully alive” blasted through my speakers, I put the three zombies down. I drove out of my old neighborhood, determined to make it back to the cover of the woods before it got dark.
΅
When I pulled the SUV off the road, I was dreading getting out of it. My heart pounded and I was sweating even before I stepped out of the vehicle.
I walked to the back and took the shovel out, making my way over to an all-too-familiar wreck site. The next hour was a blur, my mind ringing with the surreal terror of finding my dad exactly where I’d left him, my bullet hole still in his forehead, his beautiful blue eyes forever closed.
I found a spot inside the tree line and dug until I couldn’t lift my arms anymore. As soon as I’d covered him with soil, I felt a sense of accomplishment but more poignantly of utter loss and loneliness.
When I was done, I sunk to the ground and wept until I couldn’t weep anymore. I now had my dad’s wallet and wedding band in my pocket. I felt a sense of relief and calm wash over me. He would have been proud.
I wiped my eyes and got back into the SUV. Finding a spot about a half mile down the road, I drove the SUV into the woods as the sun was beginning to set, going as far back as I dared and parked it in an area that was surrounded by thick foliage. I pocketed the keys and then grabbed the huge bag out of the back of the vehicle and also grabbed the tent I’d picked up out of the garage.
It was a nice one, not too big, but most importantly, it would keep my safer from the elements. I exited the woods and stepped onto the road, peering over to the place where I had parked. The SUV wasn’t visible. I sighed in relief. The vehicle could come in handy later on, so long as no one siphoned all the gas out of the tank.
I took a deep breath, made my way across the street, and stepped into the forest. I immediately relaxed, back in my element, and happy to be alive.
I set out at a slow and steady pace, feeling the day’s events weighing heavily on me, and the bag I carried slowed me down even more. I pulled out my iPod and allowed myself the luxury of one song while I made my way deeper and deeper into the forest. Pink’s Beam Me Up played as I tuned everything else out.
With each step I took, the carnage and decay of the new world slipped further away from me.
I put one foot in front of the other, each beautifully sung word cleansing a tiny piece of my soul until the uncertainty of my tomorrow didn’t feel quite so unbearable.
PART TWO
Six Months After the World Went to Shit
The dead never sleep.
They don’t have to; they never get tired. They just keep going and going, like some sicko’s version of an Energizer bunny. They do, however, have times when they shut down and stand idle for whatever reason.
Don’t get me wrong, you make too much noise or run in front of them, whether they’ve been like that for hours or weeks, they’ll snap out of it in a flash and try to make you their next meal. Me? I don’t plan on being anyone’s meal anytime soon, so I kept my eyes alert and my footsteps quiet as I entered the military base.
It had been a little over six months since I had last seen the base, and with what I’d witnessed that day, I still hadn’t expected the level of carnage and destruction I now found. In the cities, yes. But at a government Army base? I figured they would have been better prepared to deal with everything that went down. I guess no one could’ve been prepared for people—civilians and soldiers alike—dying and then coming back as mindless monsters, hungry for human flesh and blood.
I don’t know what drove me out of the woods this time.
I had been living in the forest by myself for the past six months and had only come out a handful of times to scavenge for supplies and to try and assess what kind of shape the world around me was in.
This time I really didn’t need supplies and it was pretty damn obvious the world had gone to Hell in a handbasket, and yet here I was making my way into a very dangerous situation.
Of course, an
ywhere I went could now be considered a high risk since everywhere I turned, I could run into one of the zombies lumbering around aimlessly.
I think more than anything else I was just ready. Really ready to find out what was going on elsewhere in the world.
Was the government completely shut down? Were there safe zones? Exactly what happened that day to cause this clusterfuck?
I had asked myself these questions over and over again the past few months and had even gone so far as to pack up all my gear to make my way back to civilization a few times, but each time I stopped myself, came up with an excuse to hold out, to live the best way I could alone in the woods.
To survive.
It wasn’t until a few days ago that I realized my dad wanted me to survive, yet survival meant so much more than just being alive. Survival meant adapting and moving forward. I’d survived, however, I wasn’t living or adapting. I’d become stagnant.
So, here I was out of my element, trying to find some answers, feeling way too exposed out in the open. I’d gotten used to being cloaked and hidden in the woods. Now I felt naked and vulnerable with nothing around me as camouflage.
I was no longer used to my old surroundings—civilization.
The sounds of the dead shuffling around and moaning in the receding shadows caused a fine mist of sweat to break out on my upper lip as I pressed my back up against the checkpoint building leading into the Army base. I wiped a sweaty hand on my faded black cargo pants and tightened my ponytail.
I could use a haircut, I thought randomly. It had been, what, ten? twelve? months since my last one? I shook my head. Didn’t matter.
Decaying bodies that had been left out in the elements since that first day were everywhere. Some hung out of vehicles, some littered the street and walkways, and others were mostly hidden in grass and weeds, strangled and overtaken by nature run amok.
State of (Book 1): State of Decay Page 5
