Lone Survivor: An After Zombie Tale of Love & Survival (Last of Us #1)

by Nikki Landis

  Before I knew what was happening, the glass gave way and shattered completely. H.I.M.S. began to fall through the gaping hole in the wall and splattered to the ground below as more of the living dead pushed in and those in front had nowhere to go. The sickening squelch of bodies and flesh hitting the hard concrete ground reached my ears. Dozens. Yes!

  In triumph, I dashed toward the open door, raising my knife. The first body I encountered was a middle-aged man with a gut and a Blue Jackets jersey. He met the sharp end of my blade, directly in the left eye. Squelch! I yanked the blade free, kicked the body aside, and kept running, dodging the H.I.M.S. close enough to turn in my direction. Thrusting the blade through the ear canal of a young guy in an American flag t-shirt and pants with little flags all over them, I ignored the squishing sound and spurting tainted blood.

  Just as I was crossing the threshold of the door, the lights decided to turn back on. The building seemed to hum with an inhuman buzz. My eyes watered at the sudden flash of bright white light as I realized the hall was full of undead who were still heading toward the sound of the gunshot.

  Damn!

  My only choice was to run as fast as I could beyond the emaciated and bloody bodies whose deteriorating flesh hung on their frames like meaty curtains. I hoped the sudden light disoriented them long enough for me to clear the building. Their milky eyes didn’t seem to have great vision in bright light. Staggering and temporarily blind, the H.I.M.S. bumped into one another and the walls as I ran, pushing and shoving, desperate to reach the front reception area by the main front doors to the office complex.

  I made it to the emergency stairway and fire escape, yanked open the door, and descended the nearly deserted stairs. Only two floors. Luck was on my side. Well, maybe.

  Not sure what I would find once I left the stairwell, I focused solely on escape. I managed to run through all the brightly colored undead, including the Bloater located just outside the elevators. I avoided Bloaters like the plague, which is kind of ironic considering this was a zombie apocalypse. Bloaters weren’t the worst I could encounter, but they were bad enough. Their overextended guts were puffed with putrid fluid and blood, their skin stretched taut as spidery blue veins spread across their large distended bellies.

  They pop like ticks squished under a shoe.

  I found that out the hard way once. Don’t ask.

  As I fled the office building into the dark night, I noticed two things. One, the H.I.M.S. weren’t dying as they fell from the two-story window above. They were only slowed down. Many scrambled to their feet and began to shuffle in my direction, even with dangling or missing limbs. Two, there were Runners. My biggest fear in this new world – the undead I was terrified of most – were the Runners. Actually, they were Infected, not quite fully turned.

  Yeah, luck was definitely not on my side.

  Chapter 2

  The two Runners were hot on my trail as I sped through the city street that filled with the undead as they fell from the office window just a short distance away. Repeated thuds rumbled the ground as the multitude of bodies hit. The more that fell, the higher the mini mountain of zombies grew as they piled up and prevented those on the bottom from escaping. Some of the lower ones were crushed by the weight as limbs and heads stretched taut and flattened out or were ripped away.

  Hiding in the dark wasn’t an option. Had they been regular undead I might have been able to lose them, but not the Runners. They were fast, like really freaky fast. I figured the Runners tended to be newly turned as they always looked far less grotesque and had most of their organs and body parts intact.

  Not that it mattered for me.

  As their intended target I knew outrunning them would never work. I was in good shape and athletic, but I would eventually slow down and falter, but not the Runners. They seemed to have an excess of energy that never ran out. The virus must have mutated weird in the beginning. Kind of made sense that once the virus had infected the H.I.M.S. over a period of time, it would deteriorate their bodies further and slow them down. However, MS69 never killed anyone.

  What a shame.

  I mentally shrugged and headed straight for my vehicle about half a block away. Wish I would have parked closer but it was too late to linger on my mistake. Survival was all that mattered. I made it without a hitch and managed to yank the door open and slam it shut seconds before I was overtaken by the Runners. Three of them now. They preferred the night for some reason which is why I usually tried to venture out only during the day.

  Those damn enhancements.

  Fuck my life!

  Starting the engine of the Hummer, I ignored the banging on the exterior and pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor with my boot. The big vehicle lurched forward and picked up speed as the needle rose and accelerated fast. I fishtailed as I straightened out the wheel and peered through the windshield. This wasn’t going to work. The Runners didn’t let go even as I increased speed.

  Time for a new tactic.

  I swerved left and right intentionally as I hoped to fling the Runners from the vehicle’s steel frame. One fell and I promptly ran the fucker over without regret. There was a horrible crunching sound as I bounced up and down in the seat, followed by a sickening squish that was more like a pop and let me know that particular zombie wouldn’t be back up anytime soon. A spray of blackened blood splattered the driver’s side window and side mirror. One down.

  Two more to go.

  One of the Runners slid down from the roof and was now attached to the front windshield. He punched at the glass, causing the surface to crack in one spot. I gaped at him as I noticed the OSU sweatshirt and ball cap he wore. How was the hat still attached? Was the damn thing sewed onto his head?

  If it wasn’t patriotic citizens or Blue Jackets fans, then Ohio State University alumni, students, and fans had a way of appearing out of nowhere. I swear this town bled scarlet and gray. Forced from my thoughts as the Runner punched the windshield a third time, I screamed.

  Rule #3 – Don’t lost your shit!

  Panic exploded in my chest. I couldn’t let the thing get inside so I swerved again, the car scraping against the side of a brick building as the metal grazed along the surface with an eerie screeching sound that could be heard miles away.

  Fuck!

  I was ringing the damn dinner bell!

  Pulling back out into the road I decided to slam the brake pedal as the Hummer slid across the blacktop, dislodging the Runner from my windshield. Now was my chance. I rammed the gas into the floorboards as he stood up and ran in my direction, ready to spring up from the ground like some kind of freakish wild animal. Before he could leap high enough, I ran this freak over, too.

  A loud pop let me know the head was severed from the body, crushed and forever destroyed. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I confirmed the decapitation.

  One left.

  I couldn’t see the final Runner, but I could hear it. There was a scraping sound above my head. Damn thing was on the roof!

  Perfect.

  I picked up speed for a few minutes and then slammed my foot on the brake pedal. The Hummer stopped just feet away from a parked semi-truck. Burning rubber made the tires smoke as I left a seriously wicked skid mark on the asphalt. The Runner flew from the top of the vehicle, rolled over the hood, and landed with a thud on the unforgiving concrete below as he tumbled several more feet. Not to be deterred, he scrambled up without delay. I hit the gas pedal hard and rammed into him, pinning the Infected between the semi-truck and my Hummer.

  A devious smile curved my lips.

  Take that, asshole.

  My boot pushed the gas pedal down harder as the edge of the grill stayed pressed up against the Runner. The crunch of metal and the grinding of the gears, blood spurting up on my windshield, and the gurgling sound of a resisting body all filled my ears. Certain I had done enough damage, I backed up several feet.

  The Runner’s upper body fell to the side, landing inches beside the rest of the torso and
lower limbs. Cut right in half. Served the damn thing right.

  Don’t fuck with me.

  I needed a catchy new nickname or some shit.

  Like Lil’ Killah.

  Damn, that would make an awesome rapper’s name. Move over Nicki Minaj, I’m the shit now!

  My laughter filtered into the cab of the Hummer. I amused myself way too easily. I think I was sick in the head . . . but it was better than undead.

  The Runner began to crawl with only its arms and what remained of the severed spinal cord and upper body toward my vehicle. Intestines and bits of mangled flesh dragged behind the body, leaving a slimy bloody trail in its wake as the Infected clawed along the ground. No worries. I wasn’t sticking around long enough for it to ever get close again.

  Fucking Runners.

  Correction – this was a Crawler now.

  Fuck all zombies!

  Sneering at the Crawler, I sped away and cranked Slipknot in the vehicle. One of my best finds since the world went to shit. Unlimited access to music, movies, and books thanks to a huge three-story Barnes & Noble store. Duality blared through the speakers and I screamed the lyrics with a newfound sense of badassery. Yeah, it was an awesome word. The noise would attract more of these fuckers but for the next three minutes I’d enjoy the loud music before I returned home and pretended that life wasn’t so fucked up.

  My gaze flicked to the rearview mirror and the few undead who attempted to follow. Although no one could appreciate the gesture but me, I flipped the middle finger anyway.

  Man, I really hated the zombie apocalypse.

  SAFELY INSIDE MY PLACE, I locked up securely for the night. All I wanted was a hot shower and to crash, to forget about the reality that life after death was one great big joke as I slept. Out of habit I made my rounds and checked every inch of the place before I was certain I could rest. My alarms were set up at every window and door, even if some of them were impossible to penetrate ten stories high. The extra precautions made me feel safe as I attempted to lay in the darkness alone and gained the rest my body so desperately needed.

  As I lay on a comfy bed with rose patterned sheets, I was reminded of my life before the undead ruled the world. You know what I missed the most? Public places like restaurants – even the crowded ones on a Friday night, clubs with pounding music and cheap drinks, hopping in my car and driving to meet a friend or just texting to say, ‘hi’. It’s those social memories that screwed with you now. The loss of connection to anyone or anything.

  Family was the one constant I had with my Uncle. Now that he was gone, I was left all alone. The eerie silence of knowing that no one cared if you lived or died took a heavy toll. And it wasn’t just family and friends and normal everyday life. It was the fact that everything ended so abruptly. There were no factories or farmers or people making the things in life I once took for granted. No media or television or internet. It was all gone.

  Nothing mattered anymore. Money. Taxes. Politics. Even life or death.

  Man’s obsession for higher power and immunity drove these monsters to the top of the food chain. The desire to become more, obtain more, always have more.

  Greed. It always came down to that, didn’t it?

  All that was left were those who survived the first waves of destruction, who fled the carnage, and by some crazy miracle managed to escape.

  We were the few.

  The brave. The fearless. The chosen.

  Or the stupid.

  I preferred to think the latter.

  I’d love to debate this concept with another living, breathing human being not infected or reanimated after death. Anyone at all.

  Any. Single. Solitary. Soul.

  But it would never be.

  I was pretty sure I was the lone survivor.

  Chapter 3

  Day 366, A.Z. –

  Sunday. At least, I thought it was Sunday. Sometimes I forgot and made up my own calendar. Whatever worked, right? It wasn’t like it mattered. Time had no meaning anymore.

  I used to love Sundays before the virus and infection hit. Before man decided he was so damn greedy but I didn’t need to jump on any soapbox. There was no one to hear it anyway except for the Infected or undead. I preferred an audience to my rants but not the H.I.M.S. All they did was moan and growl and grind those damn teeth. Click, click, click. It was enough to drive you crazy.

  One of my few random joys on Sundays was the time to relax and listen to music. I barricaded myself up on the penthouse loft of one of my “homes.” Long ago I decided to set up a safe house every few blocks stocked with necessary supplies. This task kept my mind occupied and my days busy in those early weeks and months, especially if I needed to crash somewhere quick. I’d have a lot of options.

  That happened way more than I’d like to admit.

  In the beginning, when I was so overwhelmed and afraid, one of the things I thought about doing was ending my life. After all, I was alone now. There was no one else to talk to or keep me company so why not? What was the point of living? Why stick around in a world dominated by the undead?

  I couldn’t go through with it. The whole suicide thing.

  Believe me, it was tempting. I never thought about those dark days now. Too risky. I didn’t want to fall into depression or give up and it was so easy to do that now. Sometimes I wondered if it would hurt if I jumped off the edge and let my body freefall. I’d be dead so fast from this height that I’d contemplated it often enough, but I could never complete the task. Something held me back. Fate? Destiny?

  Freaking karma? Who knew?

  Maybe it was the thought that I would return as one of them. Of course, I never had the drug to begin with and my uncle knew much more than he ever let on, even up to those final hours. Not that his research was every fully explained to me.

  In my previous life, Sunday was the day I spent with my uncle, Mark Schroeder. He raised me from a little girl when my parents were killed in a car accident by a drunk driver. I was young, only seven years old, and most of my affection and memories revolved around Uncle Mark. He was always loving and kind. He doted on his sister – my mother – since they were kids. A few years older, he protected and loved her until she met my father. The three of them were inseparable after that. Once I was born, my parents stopped going out and stayed in with me. They ditched the ‘party’ days in favor of parenthood.

  Uncle Mark would babysit often so my parents could enjoy their date nights. It was a tradition as well as Sunday dinners. My mom would cook and we would play games like dominoes. Sometimes we watched a movie or went to the park.

  Until the accident happened.

  Nothing was the same after they died. I remembered that fateful day vividly. I was haunted in my dreams by snippets of past experiences. The police arriving at our door. My uncle crying and holding me tight. The double caskets being lowered into the ground. Two headstones side by side. I recalled his sorrow and how Uncle Mark’s eyes never quite sparkled the same again.

  As a teen I loved music and became a little rebellious which I sort of regretted now. Poor Uncle Mark. He didn’t deserve so much crap from me but I was a lonely girl without a mother and I took those emotions out on him. In the end, he forgave me which was far more than I deserved. Wish I could forgive myself.

  Sore subject.

  Enough of that bullshit. No more thoughts of the past. I didn’t have the luxury to indulge in feelings. I never was an overly emotional girl.

  I turned up the music for once and let my cares fall away as I began to sway to the notes. I was so glad I downloaded all the songs on my iPhone before the chaos exploded. Thousands of songs were now at my disposal, one of the few things left that made me feel normal . . . and human. I was alive. This building still had electricity. Another reason I liked it. I charged my phone often.

  I still had all the texts, email, and other messages from a year ago. I couldn’t wipe the cell and erase it all like it meant nothing. A link to my humanity, this little piece of technology w
as crucial to my survival.

  Was it stupid I coveted such a material possession when the world had gone to shit?

  Nah, there was no one around to give a fuck anyway.

  DAY 367, A.Z. –

  I hated Mondays.

  Since yesterday was designated a Sunday that meant I was stuck with today being the worst day of the week. I’d always hated Monday. The first day of school or work. The beginning of a long week. The end of the weekend. No more sleeping in. All valid reasons and I’ve added a new one since the undead ruled the world.

  Scavenging.

  Since there’s not much that hasn’t been looted or broken into, the easiest way to find food and water was to scavenge for supplies. Neighborhoods were dangerous so I didn’t search many houses unless they had a solid fence surrounding the yard. Too many unknown variables in so much space. Apartment buildings were tight spaces and even though the living quarters were small you had to watch out for the undead and Runners who slept during the day.

  That’s right.

  Runners slept like normal humans. It was scary as hell, too. You didn’t know until you were up close if they were one of the undead or a resting Infected. Body language was the same – slow even breathing and remaining upright but eerily still. Unless they caught the scent of blood. They snapped to awareness faster than you could blink. Maybe Runners ‘slept’ to conserve energy. I’d seen them huddle together in large groups, too. Did they do this for warmth? I wasn’t sure why Runners needed the rest except my theory that they were more human than the regular undead seemed to support this idea.