by Taja Kartio
Then my path was blocked. Another Infected appeared from God-knows-where. The unexpected set of snarling teeth forced me down an alley with the two Infected only feet behind me, snapping at my heels.
I made a sudden hard turn into the backyard of a house with a sliding glass door wide open. I slammed it behind me and jumped at the sudden impact from the Infected ramming into the glass. Now there were three of them. I knew it wouldn't hold them for very long but it would give me a few spare moments to find something sharp. I turned, my eyes darting around a blank living room. It was nearly empty except for two couches, a coffee table, and a bloody body lying slumped against the fireplace. Its face was completely bashed in and I couldn't recognize any features of a human face.
There was barely anything on the counters in the open kitchen, or in the drawers and cupboards for that matter. Every little door I pulled opened was either empty or filled with one or two useless items. I needed a knife or something but I couldn't find anything of the sort. There wasn't even a fork or butter knife to use in my defense.
"What kind of freaking kitchen doesn't have silverware?" I asked myself out loud, my frustration skyrocketing.
The excessive banging on the sliding door made my stomach lurch, there was a small crack at the very top by the framing. I didn't have time to look through an empty kitchen anymore. I left and rounded the corner to a set of stairs. I didn't even think of trying for the front door until I was already up the steps.
Too late now.
The top of the stairs gave me two options. To my left were two rooms while straight ahead was a hallway with several open doorways. Not really having the time to think it through, I went straight down the hall to the last room ahead and slammed it behind me. They already knew where I was so there was no use in trying to close it quietly. Barely moments after the door latched to the frame, their charging bodies crashed into the other side. The whole door shook. Keeping my back to it, I made myself aware of the room I was currently taking shelter in. I was really sure I wanted to puke, not just because of my situation but because of the smell.
Flies swarmed around so fiercely that I could hear their beating wings over the sound of the Infected behind the door. An older man along with two children laid in a bloody mess on the bed. The man's arm was wrapped around a young boy that had his head laid on the man's shoulder while the younger girl was slumped in the man's lap. All three of them had a single hole through their head. On the wall above them, written in.. was it paint?
GOD HAVE MERCY ON US ALL.
I almost found it was sickening in a sense that they just gave up without a real fight. They didn't even attempt to try to survive. I guessed the father gave the children no choice on whether or not to live, which I found even more sickening. I understood his reasoning but the kids deserved more than that. I wasn't sure what could have been a better alternative but I was sure they didn't deserve a death in this ugly fashion.
The man's free arm rested on the girls back. Still intertwined in his fingers, was a handgun. I lightly leaned off the door, hoping it could hold out just a bit longer. My nose recoiled more as I moved closer to the decaying bodies. I glanced down at the gun, my fingers reaching for the man's hand. I cringed at the cold frigid feel of his skin. His grip on the gun was tight and it took a lot more strength than I expected to pry it out of his bony fingers. It seemed unnaturally heavy but I didn't have time to question it too much. I turned quickly at the sudden crack of wood beginning to split. The Infected would break through any moment now. I moved back, around the bed and to the wall on the opposite side of the room.
One hinge busted off the doorframe. Probably one more hit and the door would be down. My hand clenched the handle of the gun like an anchor and sweat began forming in my palm. My head then leaned back and hit the wall behind me. I suddenly felt lost and completely unstable. This was crazy. This was insane. I was in deep shit. Actually, that phrase didn't begin to cover how deep in shit I was right now. I was having a hard time coming up with a situation worse than this, soon to be overpowered with beings intending to kill me and eat my raw guts.
No... I really couldn't think of a worse situation.
The door blasted off the last hinge. One Infected fell to the ground with the door while the other two didn't even waste a final battle cry before jumping the bed toward me. I wasn't even aiming as I pulled the trigger. I just pulled it again and again. I watched one bullet fly into the chest of one Infected while another hit the other's arm. I wasn't entirely positive, but the other few bullets probably missed the Infected completely. The couple hits I managed slowed them down but didn't stop them. I pulled again, this time hitting the male Infected in the chest. Right where the heart would be.
It immediately went limp on top of the bed.
I pulled again, this bullet blasted through the second Infecteds neck. Blood spurted as the body fell to the floor. I was honestly a little astonished with myself with the lack of experience I had with any sort of firearm. Unfortunately, I had no time for celebration. There was one more. My two pointer fingers pulled the trigger once again but couldn't get it to move to its full extent. It was jammed, or out of the bullets, I wasn't really sure.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
The remaining Infected scrambled over the bed at incredible speed. Before I could even register what it was doing, it took me by the shoulders and threw me across the room into a wooden body-sized mirror next to the wall. The glass of the mirror shattered and the wood snapped underneath my weight.
I was still recovering from the landing when the Infected jumped on top of me, uncaring that a piece of the wood was underneath my shoulder. A cry tore from my lips from the pressure. The Infected's hands started hitting my head and chest, each just as powerful as the last like a long set of unwavering punches. I tried to reduce the number of hits by pushing the Infected back with one hand as my other reached behind my back to grab the long piece of wood from the broken mirror frame. With a firm grip, I was able to swing it over my head and hit the Infected across the head. It rolled off me and onto the floor a couple feet away. I took the split second-time window as an opportunity to twist up and scramble on top of the Infected. My knees buckled on each side of its torso, straddling it. The wood piece in my hand was raised high and without a second thought, was brought down with sheer force onto the Infected's skull.
The action was repeated over and over and over again. By the sixth or seventh swing, the body beneath me was completely still but I kept using every bit of force I could muster up to keep slamming the wood down over its skull. I didn't stop myself until the salty tears began to blur my vision and I was in the midst of a hysterical breakdown. My chest heaved and my breaths spurted in fast chunky fragments. I dropped the wood in my hand after I had a clear look at what I'd just done. Suddenly terrified, I dropped back and skidded myself across the floor until my shoulders bumped into a dresser a few feet behind me. Bile built in the back of my throat and I had to turn away to spit the repulsive substance onto the floor. Dry heaves followed.
My emotions conflicted violently. I just killed three of them, completely overkilling the third one to the point where gory chunks of flesh and bone was scattered in all directions. Blood painted the floor and speckled the bed sheets. I could feel it on my face and my neck. It coated my sweatshirt and drenched my hands. The more I studied the way the blood overlaid my skin, the more my stomach churned.
I sat on the floor long enough for my teary eyes to go dry but not long enough for my cheeks to rid of their flushed feeling. When I finally managed to rise to my feet, I left the room and avoided eye contact with my ugly handiwork.
I hardly remembered walking out of that house and out to the backyard. It was all a slow flash. I hardly paid any attention to anything around me, not even to see where I was stepping. Everything was a bit of blur. I did know that my side was aching again. All the adrenaline and I hardly realized how much pain I was in and how out of breath I was.
Than
kfully the gas station wasn't too far, and thankfully everyone was still there.
Alex was beside the suburban, sitting on the ground with his legs pulled to his chest. He stared at the few Infected lying still around him with a lost expression. Kale and Beckett stood by the doors of the Holiday in the midst of a heated argument but the moment I walked into view, all words were dropped and the conversation they were having was over with. Both sets of eyes were on me.
In seconds, I was greeted with questions and concerns on my physical state but all I had to offer was my incredibly bloody appearance, an unfamiliar gun, a piece of grisly wood, and a very vague explanation.
Seventeen
Again, we ended up sleeping in the car after driving north a ways. Again, we had no blankets or pillows to make our sleep more comfortable, just the clothes on our backs and the leather car seats. But tonight I was awake and drowsiness hadn't tempted me yet.
A few hours ago, I took down three Infected by myself. Somehow. My hands were still trembling. Adrenaline was still pumping and it wasn't the good kind. It felt the same as jumping out of a plane without a parachute and watching the ground become more clear by the second. This adrenaline had butterflies brutally eating away at my stomach. My heart was beating so fast that it felt like it was hitting the walls of my ribcage. It hurt. The terror wasn't all from being attacked, chased, and cornered but also that I had killed. Those three were the first.
I knew that mentally, the Infected were no longer there. Everything that made a human, all the memories, experiences, all the unique features that made a person who they are, an Infected didn't have any of it. Their only mindset was to kill. They had no compassion, no goodwill, and no mercy. There were an it.
But physically, they were still people. They still had two eyes, a pair of lips, and a nose. A body that looked liked an everyday human being and that was what I'd murdered. They were all once someone’s loved one. They were once someone’s friend. I'd never killed anything in my life and I felt like the world was about to come after me for it.
Kale had parked the suburban on the side of a street in another quiet neighborhood. There wasn't much of a view. Lots of trees. The houses in this neighborhood were divided by walls of thick foliage. Kale apparently wanted us to try and comb through a couple of these houses and find one that could suit our needs for the time being. I wasn't fond of the idea but I supposed that sleeping in a car every night wasn't ideal either.
From the corner of my eye, up the street, was a movement. My heart skipped a beat as the movement slowly trekked down the middle of the road.
A lone Infected.
It had a sloppy gait. Each step made it look as though it was ready to fall over its own two feet. A low muffled groan left it's lips like it was in pain. I kept still, only letting my eyes shift to watch it lumber on. It's uncontrolled, jerky movements were engaging in a very bothersome way. It twitched consistently and its jaws randomly snapped at its surroundings but was very unaware of me watching it. I'd never seen one like this, drifting along. It had no target to pursue so it minded its own business. I found it a bit unsettling. It was acting almost exactly like a damn Hollywood style zombie.
"Dani?" A whisper. Beckett was awake in his seat, looking like he hadn't even shut his eyes once tonight, "Why aren't you sleeping?"
"Why aren't you?"
He didn't answer that. He purses his lips for a second, "Still thinking about earlier?"
I nodded slowly, "How did you feel? The first time you killed one of them?"
I watched him shrug lightly, "It was different from killing when I was overseas with Kale."
"But I thought you were a medic?" I asked.
"I was," Then Beckett smiled slightly. The very ends of his lips turned upwards, "I had my bad days."
"Really?"
"Just because I was a medic doesn't mean I didn't have to kill. I trained, just like everyone else and when I had to, I killed like everyone else had to," Beckett was no longer smiling. His expression was grim and his eyes were lost, looking off into an unknown place that I could only follow by listening to the words he spoke, "The first time I killed, it was a Taliban soldier with an active grenade. I shot him in the neck before he could throw it and next thing I know, I'm watching a man explode. Literally. I walked over to him after and there wasn't much left. Parts were missing. There was blood everywhere. Couldn't even tell he was a person still. If I hadn't shot him, he would have thrown that grenade and killed myself and four others. I felt no remorse for him knowing that.
The first Infected I killed was the one that attacked you the first day everything went to hell. Our neighbor. Manny Kinnold. In the moment, it was instinct. He was trying to kill you and Kale and me. I wasn't thinking about anything else except getting rid of the threat. But after, Manny's body was just laying in a pool of his own blood on our kitchen floor. Other than being a bit pale, he looked like the same person who offered to mow our yard and repaint the shutters just out of the kindness of his heart. He was a good man and Kale and I had put kitchen knives through his head. We killed a friend and I wasn't sure what to feel. I felt like I lost some of my humanity for committing the crime. Then I find you back in the living room, still bleeding profusely. You were banged up and bruises were already forming. It was that moment I knew that I'd done the right thing. You were alive.
In both cases, I murdered. But both deaths came down to the fact that it was either them or myself and the people I love and care for. Nowadays, you have to choose who you want to win every battle and if we let it dig into our brains every time we end a life, we'll all go just as insane as the Infected. Kale killed Casey to save us. I would do the same. It's us or them. We're all we've got, all we've ever had. If one of us goes, then there's nothing left. We all lose."
Beckett had never talked about his past life in the military. Both Kale and him had never been breathed a word about any of it and I never asked. I didn't think he would be bringing it up now. I couldn't relate as I'd never had to be in any situation like that but I suppose that in a way, it matched the worldly setting we lived in now. The Infected were the enemy, they would kill me and everybody else.
It was just hard knowing that mankind was already slipping away. I guess I just to learn that killing someone who wasn't us, would keep us alive.
I looked away, turning to look back out the window. The Infected I had seen wandering earlier was now standing still, head waving up to the night sky in short jolts.
"What are you looking at out there?" Beckett asked after a long while.
My head tilted slightly on my neck. I pointed, "That Infected down the street."
Beckett stretched his neck to peer around the passenger seat, "It's pitch black out there."
"It's just down there. Standing there. Can't you see it?"
Another silence drew out before my brother spoke again, "You can see really well in the dark."
My eyes tore away from the Infected and my neck turned slowly, "What makes you think that?"
"Don't play games, Dani. You know you can."
Ya, I guess I did. That didn't mean I understood it, "I didn't know until we were walking through the sewers and you were all complaining about how dark it was down there and how you all kept tripping over garbage. I could see like it was the day. I could see everything. And I guess now I can too," I looked back at the Infected, "I can see it's torn black t-shirt and muddy khakis."
"It's the Infected blood in you. It's changing you."
My breath was shaky. I've asked it once and I was about to ask it again, "Changing me into an Infected?"
"No. I don't think so."
I watched that Infected walk it's way up the street and throughout the hours, it wasn't the only one I saw. There were others. Some walked and others stood about for long periods of time. I watched them all night, long after Beckett fell asleep again.
Eighteen
The garage door was wide open and packed to the ceiling with cardboard boxes and all kinds of jun
k you'd see in a regular garage. Sports equipment, tools, lawn gear, etc. Kale kept his gun tucked away in his jeans and took a metal baseball bat from a barrel in the back. Beckett found a golf club, an iron, and Alex had a hockey stick that was shorter in length and probably belonged to a twelve-year-old kid. I, on the other hand, was stuck with absolutely nothing. Kale wanted him, Beckett, and maybe a bit of Alex to handle the dirty work if there was any. Even though I had shown yesterday that I was perfectly capable of bashing an Infected over the head.
I just decided to go along with it. I wasn't in the mood to argue. I was tired after moping to myself all night last night.
The door that opened to the inside of the house led to a living room. It was simple. A couch, a TV on the wall, some shelves with pictures and trinkets, a coffee table. Nothing out of the ordinary and it was pretty clean like any regular old home would have been.
I stayed back as Kale and Beckett checked every room and every closet for an Infected or any potential surprise bodies hiding out.
Alex minded his own business, lightly swinging the hockey stick in the air around him and didn't take too much part in the house investigation. After the kitchen had been searched through, I told Beckett I was going to stay behind. He agreed only because the downstairs sweep was clean. He and Kale would go upstairs alone.
"You okay Alex?" I asked after a moment or two.
He swung the hockey stick again, avoiding eye contact, "I guess. Just a little homesick, that's all."
I could definitely understand that.
"Me too," I sat down on a stool behind the counter.
"And now here we are, scouring through all the cracks and crannies of someone's else's home because we need somewhere to sleep. It just doesn't... Feel right," He stopped swinging the hockey stick and let his arms fall at his sides limply, "And if we were forced out of our homes before, what's going to make this place any different?"
