by Samie Sands
I check through my rucksack again, ensuring I have enough supplies to last me the few days it’ll take me to get to the airport. I can’t take too much because I don’t want to have a really heavy bag. I’m sure we’ll all be looked after in the camp anyway, so I’m not too worried. As long as I keep in mind the ‘three rule’ I’ll be sure to have everything I need.
“So you can survive three hours without shelter, three days without water, and three weeks without food. Okay, so matches, tarpaulin, clothes, my water bottle…” I sift through the items, all the time talking to myself. It might be silly, but I’m still picturing myself as the heroine in a film, and I don’t want to come across as stupid. I know what I need to do and I want that to be obvious.
I’ll also need something to fight with. That’s the one item I’m having trouble finding. I try to think of the resourceful things people use in films, but they all tend to be set in America, where they have access to guns. I don’t particularly want to rely on a knife. I’ll have one with me, of course, but I learned from the fight with my sister that it allows the zombies to get far too close. Obviously I know I can fight well that close, but I want to give myself every chance of survival.
I half-heartedly pick up a hammer. Breaking through a human skull is seriously hard and I’m unconvinced that this is up to the task. I spot some piping and wonder if that could work. It might not be hard enough, but if I could rip off a long enough part, I could use it as a stunning tactic. I could push them further away while I escape. It isn’t ideal. I actually want something deadly, I want to be able to make a difference, but right now I think I should just focus on meeting up with everyone else. Anything else can come later.
I roughly tug at the piping and quickly realise that it isn’t going anywhere. Frustrated, I kick it hard and instantly regret it. Hopping around on my throbbing toe, I suddenly notice a golf club tucked away in the corner of the room which must have belonged to my dad. I tentatively pick it up and examine it. It’s solid, I’ll give it that much, and I could use it in the same way as the piping, just to push the zombies further away. If I encounter them in small numbers, this will suffice. Of course, I’m a lot faster than any zombies, so if it comes down to it, I can run like the wind. It might not be perfect, but I’m pushed for time, so I’ll just have to use what’s available to me.
I shove on my warmest jacket and grab my rucksack. When I’m ready, I stare at myself in the full length mirror by the front door. I look into my dark brown eyes, trying to spot a flicker of fear. I know it’s there inside of me, but I don’t want it to show. Pouting as I swing the golf club over my shoulder, and posing in different positions, I mentally prepare myself for what I’m going to have to do.
“Come on, Alyssa, it’s time to kick some ass!” Even as I say these words, they sound hollow and stupid. The small amount of terror is burning away in the pit of my stomach, but I’m ignoring it. I’ve already proved to myself that I can kill the zombies; I just need to go out there and get myself to the airport. It’s simple really, so why I am paused? “Okay, Alyssa, let’s just get this done. You may not even need to fight, so try not to think about that. Just get to the airport and all will be fine. There’ll be people there, and food. It’s got to be better than this, anyway!” This pep talk works a little better. I force the burning rage to fill me up again. With that on my side, I know I can do anything.
I swing the door open, ignoring my pounding heart. I’m angry, I’m furious; I’m seriously pissed off about AM13. Fuck these zombies, they’re nothing compared to me. I’m human, I’m not infected, which gives me one hell of an advantage over these undead, shuffling bastards.
I whisper the words “Goodbye, Lexi,” and let one more thought of my little sister cross my mind. Not the zombie version, the living version. The one I loved, the one I wanted to protect.
CHAPTER 7
ETHAN
I feel a lot better gripping tightly onto this crowbar. Of course, I have no idea what to do with it, but it’s like a comfort blanket all the same. I found it lying on the street, abandoned. I examined it closely for a long time, deliberating over the decision to pick it up. On the one hand, it is covered in blood, so I know someone else relied on it as a weapon, which must mean it’s a good choice. On the other, it’s covered in blood that’s tainted with AM13, the one thing I’m trying desperately to avoid. Also, as no one was in the vicinity, I have no idea how useful it actually was as a defensive mechanism.
Despite everything inside me screaming against my choice, I picked it up. I didn’t want to be left completely vulnerable and if I can just ignore the negative voices inside me, telling me that the virus is dripping off the crowbar, that by simply holding it, I’m turning into one of the infected, I know I’m a lot better off with it. The end I’m actually holding is clean, but my eyes keep drifting up to the top. My chest gets tight and my legs start to feel numb. Then I have to retrain my brain to focus back on one step at a time. I can’t get tangled up in fear right now; I’m trying to keep my breaths to a minimum, finding that the more aware I am of my breathing, the more difficult it becomes to do it quietly.
I’m positive the infected are severely increasing in numbers by the minute, unnaturally so. I keep telling myself that they’re just attracted to the noise and smell of people outside, but my brain is becoming more and more fixated on the idea that the virus is airborne, and that the decision to bring us all out here has effectively wiped us all out. It feels like simply breathing in the air is sucking in AM13. It’s a possibility, isn’t it? This virus must have come from somewhere, and for it to spread as rapidly as it has, there must be something unusual about it.
My brain is constantly whirring, trying to find some logical solution, a reasonable answer. I’ve never been one to just accept things; I need to know all the details behind it. It’s why I struggled so much in education. I would become so obsessed with something that I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on other lessons. It’s also why I always found working such a challenge, I tried monotonous jobs, such as factory line work, I tried jobs that would force me to use my brain. I couldn’t succeed in any of them. In the end, I managed to find a job as a personal assistant, which weirdly suited me better than anything else. Focusing on someone else’s diary and problems allowed my brain to switch off from myself. In fact, it’s that job that changed my life…
It’s almost as if my brain was preparing me to re-open and think about the people I’d forced myself to lock away in a box inside my head. My job as a PA for a CEO of a large IT business led to me meeting Clare, who would go on to become my fiancée—for a short time, anyway. My boss was her father, which meant she was often coming in to visit. Although she obviously came from a very wealthy family, she didn’t seem like a rich, spoiled brat. She worked very hard at her own job, she didn’t swan around in designer clothing, and she was lovely to everyone all the time.
I fell in love immediately, but never thought she would look twice at someone like me, an OCD ridden, uneducated, desperately shy fool. She could’ve had anyone in the world, so when she asked me out on a date I was crippled with self-doubt and insecurities. In fact, the first two times I didn’t even show up. Nerves got the better of me and I spent those evenings stood in my suit in front of the mirror, watching the sweat pour down my forehead and willing my legs to move. Imagine, standing up such a gorgeous girl who was actually interested in me.
Luckily, for some strange reason, she never gave up on me and our romance blossomed. It was never easy and straight forward. I struggled in this brand new realm of which I knew nothing. I found it hard compromising with another person; it forced me to come out of my shell a bit. After I proposed, she moved into my flat, which presented even more challenges. She didn’t understand how I ran things—how could she? I can see now how I resented her taking up room in my precious, perfectly organised space. I also knew she could do better than me, and hated living under her shadow. She was a much larger character than I could ever be. Niggl
es led to arguments, which led to an inevitable split.
This happened only a couple of days before the Lockdown. We were so preoccupied with our own issues that we barely paid any attention to the virus or the news, so as soon as I finally caught wind of it, I become crazed. I only cared about AM13 and the quarantine, which allowed Clare to be forced out of my thoughts. If I didn’t think about her, none of what had happened could hurt me. I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t even call her.
But now, I’m standing in front of her parents’ town house, which I know for a fact she always retires to when she needs space, and all the emotions I’ve blocked out are flooding back. I’m overwhelmed with sadness; I’m desperate to see her face again. She could be here; she may not have left yet. I could find her and we could muddle through this together. With a task to focus on, our insignificant problems will fade into non-existence. When we get some sort of life back, we can make another go of it. A proper go. I’ll never take her for granted or fall out over silly things again. I’ve already changed so much, I’m sure she’ll be able to see that.
I step quietly to the door, my heartbeat in my ears. I push the door without knocking. It cracks open and her arms fling around my neck.
CHAPTER 8
ALYSSA
“Oh shit!” I quickly slam the door behind me, panting and grabbing hold of my forehead. I just need another minute to prepare myself. It’s not that I’m scared or anything, but opening the door just made me see the sheer volume of zombies out there. Facing that many so close-up is a lot different than peering out of my bedroom window at them. They seem…bigger somehow. I mean, I’m not exactly tall anyway, so I’ve always felt tiny in crowds, and in a group of the infected, that sensation is even less appealing.
I can’t just go out there all guns blazing, I need a plan. I’ve criticised others for getting themselves killed by doing stupid things, I don’t intend to follow that same pattern myself. There’s just so many of them. I need some sort of distraction, something to take their attention elsewhere. Where is everyone else that’s heading to the airport? You’d think the odd one would find the scent of another human to follow, wouldn’t you? I wonder what it is about me that makes my scent apparently so delicious.
If only I had a sniper rifle. I bet I’d be good at that, ridding the streets of the zombies from the safety of my own home before going out with barely any left to worry about. No point in getting an idea like that in my head, I suppose. Gun options are never going to be available to me. I don’t know how to shoot, anyway. And guns are stupidly loud and you have to have good aim, so maybe I’m better off without one.
I need a practical solution, one that I can actually work with. Maybe I could leave out the back door? I hurry into the kitchen and peep outside. On first glance, it seems a lot clearer. I’ll have to make my way through people’s gardens, which may involve a lot of fence-jumping, but it’s better than the alternative. I grip the end of my golf club tighter, making my move quickly. I don’t want to give myself any time to deliberate or second guess myself. Another minute and I might completely talk myself out of this decision. I don’t have time for any of that, messing around will get me nowhere.
I creep as quietly as humanly possible, constantly vigilant of everything around me. I try to be aware of my exact location, and where everything is, but it’s actually a lot harder than I thought it would be. Trying to notice everything at once takes up a lot of concentration. Maybe I should just focus on myself and what I’m doing. Speed is of the essence here. I don’t know how much time I have to get to the airport so I really need to get a move on. I won’t stop listening though, that much I do have to keep up.
My boots squelch in the mud, making me jump every single time. I keep looking around to check that no one is behind me. My fingertips have gone red with the cold, and I can see my puffs of breath in the icy air. Why did all of this have to happen now? It would have been much easier to deal with in summer—honestly, it’s so inconvenient. The cold is just another problem I need to deal with on top of everything else. I need to get to the airport today really; I don’t want to have to spend a night outside. Freezing to death is not exactly high up on my wish list. It would be a shame to die because of the cold in the zombie apocalypse.
“Shhh!” I whisper to myself, stopping abruptly. A noise. I heard something, I’m sure I did. What was it? Oh God, don’t panic. I just need to work out where it was coming from, and then I can see what it was. I’m sure it was just an animal or something. Nothing to worry about. I will my heart to stop thumping so loudly, I can’t focus on anything while it’s being so loud.
The silence rings out, but I won’t be fooled. I refuse to be killed because I didn’t follow my instincts. I know for a fact that I heard crunching footsteps coming from somewhere. I’m convinced that they weren’t my own. I force myself to replace the fear I’m feeling with excitement. This is what I’ve spent my life working towards. I’ve won one battle, I can win another. Plus I’m well protected; my arms feel stiff with all the duct tape covering them. I swing the golf club above my head, imagining how this scene would look on camera.
I continue to walk, but very considerately, my eyes constantly flicking in every direction. It isn’t long until I hear it again behind me. I swing around ready. My breath sucks in rapidly, the cold air stinging the back of my throat.
Of all the sights I was expecting to see, this was not it.
CHAPTER 9
ETHAN
Relief floods through me. She’s here. We have a second chance at happiness, another opportunity to make our relationship work. The only woman to ever accept me for all my flaws, to love me for my quirks. I’ve found her and she forgives me for my neglect at such a terrible time. I will make it up to her; I’ll never do anything so awful again. Just as I’m about to fall happily into her embrace, I take a deep breath in.
Stench. Rot.
It hits me hard, like a thump in the stomach—this isn’t Clare happy to see me and pulling me in for some much needed comfort. This is her rife with infection, and desperately clawing for my flesh. A ball fills my throat and I struggle to get air around it. My head starts spinning and my heart bursts from my chest. My fingers and toes tingle with panic, and I grip onto the wall behind me just to keep me upright and steady. Luckily, in a moment of confusion I somehow manage to get away. The entire time is a blur so I have no idea what happened, but I’m racing up the stairs nonetheless.
I need to get away from her. I need to get my head together, decide what to do about her. I also need to check my skin to be sure she hasn’t gotten anything on me. I don’t want us both to be stuck here, in this house, with the infection. Vomit rises through my system and splatters on the ground beneath me. I don’t stop running—focusing on finding somewhere to hide. I can hear her, I think she’s right behind me.
Soon I find a bathroom, which is the exact room I need, and I slam the door behind me with a resounding bang. I lean my back against the door, breathing heavily, tasting the sick on my breath, which is making me feel ill. A tear splashes onto my cheek as I think about Clare. This loss feels worse than any of the others. This one is my fault. If only I’d been more accepting, if only I hadn’t ignored her. If she’d stayed with me, she would still be alive. I pound the wooden door behind me in frustration, I don’t want to believe it; I can’t accept it. Not Clare too. Haven’t I been through enough?
Of course, my banging is met with a much louder, more terrifying thump as a response. I need to act quickly—I can’t let her get in here or I’ll be trapped. I flick the lock closed and push the washing basket up against the door. If she’s strong, this won’t hold for long so I can’t dither. I rush over to the mirror and switch the tap on. The sound of the rushing water soothes me for a second; if I can get my skin washed I’ll be able to think straighter. As I run the warm water over my arms and face, my pulse slows down significantly. Even though I can’t actually see anything on me, I can feel it washing away—leaving me and flush
ing down the drain. I also have to clean my teeth to get rid of the stale smell, and scrub the splatters of bile that hit my shoes on the way up the stairs. I would never have been able to concentrate with all of that filling my brain. Now I’m fresh, I can focus on the bigger problems.
Next I need to get out. I look towards the door, to where Clare is standing, and remember her hiding behind pillows at the scary moments in horror films. How has my kind-hearted, lovely Clare become the villain? She’s now the monster I need to escape from. If I wasn’t so frightened, I’d be laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
And now I have to kill her.
That thought bursts loudly into my brain in my negative doomsday voice. It’s mocking me, laughing at me, enjoying my pain. No, I can’t do that. Although I think I would rather someone kill me, than leave me in that infected state, but I would never be able to forgive myself if they found a cure and I’d murdered my beautiful Clare for no real reason. No, I’ll find another way out of here. No one needs to die today.
I made a stupid move going upstairs, I shouldn’t have let panic rule my decisions. Now it’s going to be really difficult for me to get out. I glance out of the window, is there a drain pipe I can climb down or something? No, I’m not going to be able to do that. The only way I’ll be leaving is through the front door. Now it’s just a question of how. The hungry look I saw in Clare’s eyes suggested she isn’t going to give me up easily.
