by Shawn Weaver
Burning skyscrapers lit up the night providing light in a city with no electricity.
For days, I had been sprinting from building to building, trying to stay out of sight from everyone, alive and dead. After the first week, I don’t think I saw one soul that didn’t want to take a bite out of me.
Day and night, jets bombed deep in the city. I hoped to see the army rolling down the road. If they were like the police, they would shoot me on sight, then check to see if I were living or dead.
I-90 was a snarled mess with thousands of cars, most of them heading into the city. I could see quite a few accidents, more fender benders than hard collisions. As the attacks started and the highways became congested, more and more cars ran out of gas. Open doors showed that people had tried to flee the swarming dead. Not seeing any bodies, I assumed that everyone attacked had risen. I hoped they were lucky enough to be ripped to shreds so that they did not add to the terror.
I have no clear idea of just how many people rose after being attacked. If their heads were still attached, their bodies would attack no matter how many parts were removed. The brain had to be removed to finish them off.
I found that out the hard way when I tried to break into a car one night, and found a head with most of its spine still attached. The damned thing snapped at me like a mad dog. Its spine whipped in the air like a tail, trying to move it across the seat to get at me.
Taking a guess, I would say 75% of the people killed by the dead rose soon after. That’s 1,856,250. Yes, I’m good with math—a lot of good that will do me now.
The number of dead went down every day, still leaving me at a disadvantage. There had to be over 200,000 people still alive in the city and suburbs. I just hadn’t seen hide or hair of any of them. At least I hoped some of them were still living.
CHAPTER TWO
The arrival of winter found me in Schaumburg, or Rolling Meadows. Hell, I didn’t know. Two months of running and I still wasn’t making much progress on foot. All I knew was the farther I got away from the city; the less dead there seemed to be. Don’t take me wrong. They were still everywhere, hiding in houses, walking the streets. But their numbers were distinctly less than what I had seen downtown.
Last week I saw three zombies trying to get into a stalled car with a family trapped inside. I felt bad for them, and wanted to help. There was no way I could. Unarmed and alone, I was just as vulnerable as they were. Even more so, because I was not inside a wrapper made of steel and glass. Though the way the dead pounded on the windows, it would not be long until they gained entry and were feasting on the warm flesh inside.
A biting cold snap drifted over the area bringing with it a smattering of snow that coated the ground. I hated the cold, always did. And this year I’d never been colder. It was probably the fact that I only had one set of filthy clothes and no boots. My sneakers were worn down. Luckily, I found a parka and a few oversize pairs of socks at a thrift shop that had not been totally looted.
The best thing to come from the cold was that when the temperature dropped below freezing, the dead slowed, turning into ugly popsicles, allowing me to move safely through the streets. That also gave me the chance to exact some revenge for my friends and family. I smashed dozens of them as they stood in the streets, staring straight ahead as if looking toward some unreachable goal.
After a while, killing them became tiresome. Not as much fun as I thought it would be to give back what they had been dishing out.
When the cold finally forced me to find a place to hole up, I found one near a tiny train station where the L-train headed towards Harvard and the outlying towns.
I kept hoping to hear a train rumbling by, bringing with it hope and people, showing me that all of this was just a dream. The train never came and the track sat frozen, as did a woman who I had found sitting on the curb. Dressed in a light jacket, with curlers in her hair, she didn’t have a mark on her. It looked to me like she had just gave up, sat down, and welcomed the cold. Snow piled like a hat on top of her head.
Across the street from the train station were buildings constructed from red brick reminiscent of 1940 America. I found my home above a barbershop where two apartments connected to street level by a stairwell that let out into the barbershop.
The apartment’s occupants had left in a hurry. The cupboards were still stocked with mostly canned corn, green beans, and a few boxes of pasta. The fridge was a mess. With the power out, it had festered into a mold-filled pit. I opened the door once, hoping to find something good, and ended up leaving my lunch of stale crackers and peanut butter on the floor.
I kept the cold off a little by starting a fire in a stockpot in the center of the kitchen floor. So not to burn a hole through the floor, I set the stockpot on a bag of potting soil I found in a closet. I learned quickly what not to burn. Mattress stuffing, for one, filled the apartment with moldy black smoke that smelled like the bodies I had been hiding from.
Within two weeks, I had burned everything not nailed down in the apartments, including the cupboard doors that I knocked off with a hammer.
On top of that, I was constantly wearing two pairs of pants, three pairs of socks, and a couple of flannel shirts. Everything was too big and hung on me. Still I could not get the biting cold off. I was afraid of getting frostbite. It didn’t help that I had to pull off the socks that I was using as mittens whenever I had to do something.
Down to my last can of corn, and needing wood to keep the kitchen warm, I dared to look out the living room window at the train station, and the frozen woman. Even though I knew no one was out there, I didn’t want to draw any undue attention my way.
I had scavenged through the two small businesses next to the barbershop. A flower shop to the left and a gift shop on the right. The gift shop was a tourist trap filled with dusty Chicago memorabilia. It looked like the shop was ready to open at any moment, while the flower shop was just a cold, moldy wasteland of dead flowers.
Across the tracks were blocks of ranch style houses with quiet snow lined streets and peaceful yards. Some still had toys scattered across them, screaming of innocence that made my heart ache for home.
I did not have to put any thought into it. My growling stomach did most of the motivating. I made my way down the stairs. Stopping at the door, I pulled the chair I had wedged under the doorknob for additional security.
I looked through the window to see if the coast was clear. As usual, it was. Slowly I opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. The clean coat of snow crunched under my feet, as an icy breeze hit me in the face, making my cheeks burn.
I grabbed a handful of snow to quench my thirst. One good thing about winter was no lack water. It was everywhere. All I had to do was boil it. Most of the time it tasted like tin, but it would have to do. I ran out of bottle water a long time ago.
Running across the street, I did not worry if any of the dead saw me. If any were nearby, they were as frozen as the woman on the curb was. As I passed her, I could have sworn that her eyes tracked my every move. If her mind was still active, her frozen muscles could not respond to her desire to eat.
Needing wood, I decided to grab some branches first. There weren’t any trees nearby, so I made my way past the small train station and over the tracks. Crossing the street, I entered the pristine neighborhood. From a distance, nothing seemed to be touched by the devastation that had run over the city. But the farther I walked down the street, evidence showed it had happened here as well.
Doors were open, windows broken. Two houses down, a car had smashed into the side of the house. I did not need to see what was hidden beneath the snow on the rear window to know that blood coated the glass inside.
Luckily, the last few storms had taken small limbs off the trees. I gathered as much as I could carry. Snow sneaked down my collar chilling my back as it melted. For a moment, I could imagine that my brothers were in my backyard again, pummeling me with snowballs. Then a painful moan crossed the yard.
Ripped o
ut of the pleasant memory, I stopped. Gripping the sticks close to my chest, ready to run, I peered at the dark windows that faced me, seeing nothing.
By a nearby garage, a trashcan tipped over as a starved orange tabby dashed from it. Underneath its matted fur, I could see its ribs poking out. The sudden sight of the cat made my heart skip a beat. Not the fact that the can fell making a loud sound that would attract all the dead in the area. But the fact that a creature, though starving, was still living, like me.
I had no idea how the cat survived the cold. It probably hid where it could and ate what it could. The animal gave me hope that more living beings were out there.
I then realized that the tabby was the first animal I had seen or heard in two months. Did they become victims of the dead like their owners? Or were they smart enough to flee when they had the chance?
Smiling, I struggled to get the pile of sticks home, dropping a few along the way. I shouldered my way through the barbershop door. Forcing the door closed, I wrangled on the lock and looked out the window. The sticks that I had dropped stood out against the stark white, giving a clear trail to my hideout. I thought of trying to cover up my tracks, but I knew there was no way until it snowed again. Anyway, there was no one around and the dead were not smart enough to follow my boot prints.
I lost most of my load by the time I reached the top step, causing me to make multiple trips to get everything in the kitchen and tiring me out for the rest of the morning. My intake of nourishment was not meeting the needed goal. I was barely surviving.
Glad to have some kindling, I fed the fire. Low on matches, I figured it was best to keep something burning at all times. Even a low fire was better than nothing. Pulling off my sock gloves, I put my hands as close to the growing flames as I could. Doubting that I would ever feel the warmth of summer again, I rubbed them together trying to get the cold out.
CHAPTER THREE
Food was low, down to two cans of creamed corn, and a block of spam that reminded me more of paste than meat. I tried to spread everything out as far as I could, but my rumbling stomach was relentless and I had to give in sometime.
Now I needed to scavenge for more. I had searched every building, exhausting every resource on my block. All I had to show for it were six hammers, a shovel, and an old-fashioned pearl handled razor I found in a barbershop drawer. I felt a little safer with the razor tucked into my back pocket. I didn’t know if I could actually use it. To do so meant close combat and I did not want to get close to any of those undead monsters.
Best of all I found a sleeping bag. Now when I lay next to the fire, I could slip inside and snuggle up, giving me nights of comfortable, warm sleep.
Ever since the morning, I had heard the cat, I hadn’t returned to the residential area. I knew that there was food in those houses. But with that cat’s moan came the knowledge that the dead were there, too, moving about in the houses, not frozen like everything outside.
Behind the barbershop were two more streets making up the small town center of this tranquil suburb. If I hadn’t known the teaming city of Chicago was just a stone’s throw away, I would have thought that I was in a different state, maybe Maine or Connecticut. Hell, I could have stepped into a different time period, for all of the brick architecture was a 100% turnaround from the steel and concrete that made up my hometown.
Looking out the bathroom window, I could see over the tight alleyway and roof of the businesses behind me. On the next block was a row of small eclectic shops that I would have loved to browse through before this all began. On the corner was a small gas station with two pumps out front. Next to that, a tiny convenience store reminded me of those general stores in turn-of-the-century movies.
That was where I wanted to go. There had to be some food inside. Even a lonely box of cereal would be good, that was if looters hadn’t already cleaned out the store. The large windows in front were still intact, so I had hope that I would find something.
What I really wanted was a cheeseburger. I knew everything to make one was long gone. But I could dream, couldn’t I?
Grabbing a pillowcase, I headed downstairs. Instead of going out the front door, I cut through the barbershop and out the back into the alley piled high with fresh snow. Turning left, I made for the street. Near the end, I stepped on something that crunched under my sneaker. Looking down I saw the crushed head of a possum. Beady black eyes stared up at me, its thin body barely making a bump in the snow.
“Eeeewwww!” I kicked the head away. The rest of the possum’s body stayed glued to the cold cement.
Stepping out of the alley, I jogged across the street and crossed through the pumps at the gas station. Reaching the convenience store, I stopped in front of the raised sidewalk, slowly stepped up and looked into the large window. Sunlight did not cut through the glass, giving shadows room to play in every corner. Anything could be hiding behind the service counter, or tiny aisles, stocked with a taste of everything I needed.
The store looked untouched. Maybe it was. Then again, maybe it was a trap to lure me in.
My stomach growled as I looked at the boxes and bags inside. Most of it was just empty calories. Then again, I didn’t care. I just needed to eat.
I looked both ways checking the street. All I saw were snowdrifts. Kitty-corner across the street stood a worksite filled with concrete pipes, a beat up old John Deere tractor, and a mound of dirt. Around the entire lot, a chain link fence swayed in the breeze.
Stepping to the door, I kept my eye on the window, watching for any movement inside. When I pushed the cold door handle, a bell rang at the top, making me freeze.
Confident that I was alone, I let the door swing closed behind me. The bell rang again, echoing in my ears.
I thought about taking the razor out of my pocket in case anything showed. That would mean taking off my sock mittens, and I was cold enough with them on.
Dust hung over everything. Mouse droppings traced lines on the floor, crunching under my shoes as I walked to the service counter.
The first thing on my mind was food. Spying a display of Snicker bars by the register, I rush over, grab one, and rip the wrapper off. The dark chocolate called out to me. I didn’t see any mold and at this point, I didn’t care. I bit down on the frozen bar and ripped off a mouthful. My stomach rumbled as the chocolate melted against my tongue.
I downed two more before I made myself stop. A cold pain filled my belly as the candy bars began to digest. I had to will myself to slow down, or they’d be back up and all over the floor.
Next, I knew that I needed a flashlight. I had one a month ago, but the batteries died. So, like everything else requiring electricity, it ended up in the junk pile, forgotten.
Rounding the counter, I put the pillowcase next to the register. On the wall hung a rack containing thirty different kinds of cigarettes; on a shelf above the cigarettes was a line of cheap brandy and other kinds of alcohol, their amber bottles sitting three deep.
Below all of that was a small counter with a lottery register and small package displays of miscellaneous items. Two-pack cigars, energy pills wrapped in black and yellow foil, and three large trays of lighters with colorful designs and women wearing next to nothing.
I grabbed the lighters and stuffed them in the pillowcase. I then rifled through the drawers under the cash register counter. They held useless crap, everything from crumpled receipts, pens, paper, and a chipped handle of what used to be a screwdriver. Finally, in the back of a drawer I found a thin flashlight encased in purple plastic.
I flipped the switch, hoping for the best. To my relief the bulb lit, blasting me in the face, making me see spots for a moment. Now I had light, but for how long? I put batteries at the top of my list.
There was so much I needed. I doubted I could carry everything in the pillowcase. Making multiple trips would leave me open to be seen. I doubted that anyone was around, but I didn’t want to take the chance. Anyway, it would be dark soon, so my tracks would be covered.
> Shinning the flashlight in front of me, I walked around the counter.
With no power for months, anything in the coolers that lined the back wall had rotted, leaving moldy hunks in cellophane, though the water and soda were still good.
Luckily, the cold had kept down the mold content. Come springtime this shop would be a cesspool of green stuff climbing the walls. So what would have probably chased me out of the store by smell alone wasn’t so bad to handle. The first tiny aisle I stepped into was lined with boxes and boxes of candy bars.
Though every bar was frozen solid, I couldn’t help myself and I grabbed a Milky Way and ripped off the wrapper. Biting it into manageable pieces, I let the chocolate warm and coat my tongue. I closed my eyes and savored the taste, forgetting the world outside for a moment.
My stomach rumbled for more. Gnawing on the rest of the bar, I grabbed a couple of handfuls and shoved the bars into my bag.
I wanted a Coke to wash the chocolate down. The cans on the endcap were bloated from freezing and I knew that they would leak everywhere after they thawed. The two littler bottles sitting in small racks on the side of the display were also swollen, still sealed with their caps on tight. After they thawed, the soda inside would be flat, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Back at the entrance, I grabbed a blue wire-handled basket from a stack of four. I placed a few two litters in the basket and made myself grab some water as well.
With the flashlight aimed forward, I slid the basket across the floor with the side of my shoe. The candy area stood beside chips, and I grabbed a couple bags of Doritos. Reaching the end of those shelves, I turned to the left into the next aisle. A small section of hardware and household goods hung from hooks on a white pegboard.
Spying batteries, I grabbed all they had, then two more flashlights. The pillowcase was getting heavy, but I couldn’t stop. The need to gather as much as I could took over.
