Saving Humanity Series (Book 1): Humanity's Hope

by Sinclair, Pembroke

  He decided to check out the rest of the wall and see if there was an area where maybe—hopefully—it would be easier to get through the razor wire. Staying low and keeping an ear out for sounds, he hurried down the street.

  Luck was on his side. About two blocks away was a power pole that had broken and was angled into the ghetto. It was just what he needed to get in. A flutter of excitement and a sense of disappointment about finding a way in coursed through him. He scrutinized the area around him before dashing across the street. Pressing his back firmly against the wall, wishing he could melt into it, he glanced up and down the street again. He stepped away from the wall and tossed the hoe over. It would have been impossible to climb with it, but he wasn’t going to be without it. The clank of the metal part of his gardening tool as it contacted the ground echoed around him, causing him to cringe. Probably not the best idea. The sound was bound to draw lots of unwanted attention. Why hadn’t he thought about that before? His life depended on not being detected. Nerves were making it impossible for him to think straight. There was a saving grace, though. Once the zombies figured out there weren’t any humans around the sound, they would give up their pursuit. He just had to give them some time. Unfortunately, that was the one thing he didn’t have a lot of.

  With a sense of urgency, he rushed toward the pole and jumped. He grabbed the metal handle/foothold and pulled himself up. He hooked his feet around the metal as best as he could and climbed. Pain shot through his shoulder, but adrenaline spurred him forward. As he reached the bend, he risked a glance down. He was right over the top of the wall and the razor wire. A few more moves and he could drop down on the other side. Thankfully, the clang of the hoe hadn’t attracted any attention, there weren’t any zombies directly below him, but he could see them only a few feet away. He’d have to hit the ground running.

  It’s not too late to change your mind.

  He pushed himself up a few more rungs, then unlatched his legs from the metal hooks. He dangled just long enough to see where he’d land, then let go. He bent his knees to cushion his fall and to pick up his weapon. As he straightened and started running, the reality hit him. He was inside the zombie ghetto.

  CHAPTER 13

  Caleb didn’t hesitate. He ran to the small brick building that lay before him and pushed open the door. It was a tool shed with barely enough room for him to stand in, but all the walls were intact, and the door closed. He grimaced. Of course the first building he would find in the zombie ghetto would be a shed full of tools. There were no windows, so he cracked open the door to let a shard of light in. It glinted off the clean—and in surprisingly good shape—tools that hung orderly on hooks on the wall. The back of the shed had a small workbench with a vice and other tabletop tools. It was an absolutely terrible hiding place. Sure, he had weapons, but they would do him no good if he was surrounded by a horde. There was only one way in and out. He needed to find better shelter.

  He peered out the crack in the door and took in his surroundings as best as he could with his limited vision. A large backyard full of dead grass stretched in front of him until it ended at the concrete slab that had been the house’s foundation. Only a few buildings were left in the ghetto. The open space made it easier for the humans to keep tabs on the zombies. It wasn’t like the undead needed protection from the elements. Why even have buildings at all? It didn’t make a lot of sense, but Caleb wasn’t going to question it. He needed the safety, and he was glad he could still find it.

  He pushed the door open farther and stuck his head out. He needed a better idea of where he needed to go and what threats were in his way. Just beyond the concrete border of the house’s foundation was a clump of zombies. They stood incredibly still, their eyes staring at nothing. Silence pervaded the area. Disturbing silence. Caleb felt his breathing was obscenely loud and took small, shallow breaths to keep from being heard. He finally understood what the phrase “You could hear a pin drop” meant, and it sent a shudder down his spine.

  He stepped back into the shed and pulled the door closed. He was convinced the zombies had heard the goosebumps form on his flesh. It was a ridiculous thought, but it was also so quiet he was sure he could hear them. He thanked his lucky stars his hoe hadn’t attracted any attention. Its clank would have rung out like a bomb going off.

  Why hadn’t it attracted their attention? It was noise. Caleb had witnessed a sneeze attract their attention in a wind storm. Maybe he shouldn’t question it. Maybe he should just go with the flow and continue on with the rest of his plan. These were all things he could worry about later—should he find himself caring.

  When he was surveying the area, behind the creatures and to his right, he noticed a house—it wasn’t difficult since it was one of the few standing—and he assumed that was where the roundup crews made their base. They would need a place to stage their operations—assuming the rumors were true. The longer he stayed in the ghetto, the more he was inclined to believe them. Again, there was no need for buildings if only zombies were supposed to be in here, so he was sure the living made it a point to come into the area. He just wished he knew how often. During his surveillance, he noticed the gate by the house. This in and of itself wasn’t special, the gate had been there before, but the keypad that would allow people in and out looked new. A luxury that wouldn’t be necessary if the living weren’t coming into the ghetto. That gave him hope his plan would succeed. Once the opportunity presented itself, he would head to the house and wait for the humans to show up. He really hoped he didn’t have to wait for long.

  Taking deep breaths and tightening his grip on the handle of his hoe, he prepared himself to step outside. His leg muscles tensed when his mind brought up the picture of what was waiting for him out there. He readjusted his grip on the hoe again. He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, as if the motion would loosen him up and get him ready to go. He attempted to step forward, but his own body stopped him. He sighed with frustration.

  You can do this, he told himself.

  But why do you want to? The voice in the darkness asked.

  I have to!

  He started bouncing with more ferocity. His feet thumped softly on the dirt floor.

  They’ll hear you if you aren’t careful.

  Caleb sucked in a sharp breath and froze. His eyes moved toward the crack in the door. He expected to see the rotten flesh of a zombie staring back at him, but all he saw was light. He stepped forward and peered out. Everything was just as it had been the first time he looked out.

  He placed his hand on the door and bit his bottom lip. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed the door open and stepped out of the shed. It wasn’t that he had finally found his bravery and was ready to move. No. It was the thought of being trapped in a tiny space with the undead waiting to eat him that spurred him into action. If he was going to die, he was going to put up a fight, not be cowering in a tool shed. Every movement he made seemed to echo in the stillness. His gaze darted across the mass of undead, waiting for—expecting—the creatures to charge him at any second. He had stepped completely outside of the shed and stood there for several moments, his gaze still scanning the horde. He took a small step to his right then stopped. His lungs burned as he held his breath. Letting the air out in a slow hiss, he took another step. His legs ached to run. His breathing came fast and shallow. He took another step.

  From somewhere in the distance, a loud “whoop, whoop, whoop” shattered the silence. It was distinctly human, and it sounded like it came from the other side of the wall.

  They know!

  His pursuers must have figured out he was in the ghetto and rather than risk their lives to get him out, they were going to let the zombies have him. But then what? He’d be no good dead. What could they learn from his corpse? It didn’t make any sense, but it also didn’t matter. The zombies had been awakened.

  As if connected by a string, all of the zombies’ heads lifted and turned toward his direction. Caleb froze. His heart dropped into his stomach,
his bladder and bowels threatened to release their contents. As if given some unheard command, the zombies lurched forward. The pop of cartilage and the crack of bone on bone, along with the rustling of decaying clothes, filled the air. A few low moans tore through Caleb’s skull, causing his stomach to clench. He was still close to the shed, he could make it inside. But then what? He had nowhere to go. His only salvation lay to his right.

  Run!

  The world around him blurred as his focus locked on to the house in front of him. It was so far. He was never going to make it. But he had to try. He couldn’t just stand there and be torn apart. The wall of rotting flesh moved closer. Caleb sensed it rather than saw it, and he tore his gaze away from his goal for a brief second. His heart skipped a beat, a surge of adrenaline rushed through his body. The nearest creature was only a few arm’s lengths away. It was far enough the shambling creature wasn’t really a threat, especially since Caleb could outrun it, but it was still closer than he wanted to be to the horde. He drove himself forward with more urgency. His gaze focused back on the house.

  Go! he told himself. Keep pushing forward.

  Caleb was only vaguely aware of the burning in his lungs and the pain in his legs. He could see the front door, and it was getting closer. He just had to keep driving forward.

  Suddenly, his vision blurred and the house disappeared. What the hell was going on? Panic gripped his chest, and he felt himself flailing, his feet still pumping back and forth, but they weren’t contacting the ground. It took half a second, but Caleb realized he had fallen. His gaze shot to his left and took in the zombie that had taken him down. It had gone down too. Where had it come from? The creature Caleb noticed a few seconds earlier was basically a skeleton. He couldn’t tell what it had been before. It grabbed and pawed at Caleb’s legs. A scream lodged in his throat. He held it in. Most of the others hadn’t noticed him yet. Screaming would guarantee their gaze would be directed toward him. He kicked frantically at the creature. His heel connected with its rib cage, and he felt the bones give way beneath. The crunch was audible over the shuffle of undead feet and the rustling of clothes. The zombie was unaffected by the injury, but it was pushed back, giving Caleb the ability to slide away. Unfortunately, the fall allowed the other creatures the opportunity to move closer. Caleb would never make it to the house.

  Scrambling to his feet, he raised the hoe over his shoulder and prepared to whack. He stepped back to give himself a bit more space, and his heel caught on something. He went over backward. The air was knocked out of his lungs when he hit.

  This is it. This is how your life ends. Hope it was worth it.

  Rotting flesh and the stench of death surrounded Caleb. The sky was blotted out with tattered clothes and shredded limbs. There were too many. He’d never survive. But he also wasn’t going to lay down and die. His grip tightened on the hoe, and he held it out in front of him. The next zombie that came close was going to get it in the face.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead, his mouth had gone dry. He was completely surrounded now. The pain from the bites would surge through him at any moment. He held his breath. The creatures shuffled by him and occasionally over him. One stepped on his leg and lost its balance, rolling onto the ground next to him. When it couldn’t get back on its feet, it pulled itself along the ground—right past Caleb. What? That couldn’t be. They should have been tearing him apart. Instead, they were ignoring him, like he wasn’t there.

  Or like you are one of them.

  Caleb’s stomach knotted. His gaze drifted to the bandage that covered the bite on his arm. Bile rose in his throat. No. It couldn’t be. He sat up slowly and glanced at the undead around him. They continued forward, driven by some primal need that was popped into gear by the sound on the other side of the wall. Their eyes were unfocused, but their steps were determined.

  Out of curiosity, Caleb swung the hoe out to the side and tripped a zombie. The metal end sliced through the flesh and hit the bone with a small clink. The creature went down, reaching forward to pull itself along. With the slightest hesitation, Caleb leaned forward and stuck his face inches from the zombie’s. The stench was overpowering, causing Caleb to gag. His eyes watered, and he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. He wanted a good view if the zombie attacked. The creature didn’t even turn his way. It kept pulling itself forward.

  “Hey,” Caleb whispered. His voice cracked with fear. He flinched after saying the word.

  The zombie didn’t react. It remained intent on moving toward the other sound.

  Caleb sucked in a sharp breath and jumped to his feet. He ran. Shouldering and pushing through the rotting flesh, he continued his mission of getting to the house.

  CHAPTER 14

  Caleb slammed through the front door and closed it with authority. He spotted another door to his left and pulled it open. A coat closet. Perfect. He stepped in and closed the door behind him. He sunk to the floor as his breath came in rasps. Bile rose to the back of his throat, and he attempted to swallow it back down. The world spun around him, but in the confines of the closet, it didn’t seem too out of control.

  What happened in the ghetto replayed through his mind. He realized the zombie that had been on his legs wasn’t trying to attack him, it was attempting to get back on its feet. He shuddered. The thought wasn’t exactly comforting. They thought he was one of them. They thought he was a rotting killing thing. His stomach cramped. The bile burned into his mouth. They thought he was the one thing he despised the most. Caleb swallowed thickly, and the bile slid back down his throat, but the acrid taste remained in his mouth.

  No, he told himself. You are not like them. You are nothing like them.

  But they made you what you are, the voice in the darkness whispered.

  Instinctively, his fingers lightly touched the bandage on his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut and took in a shaky breath.

  It doesn’t matter. I’m still better than they are. They may have made me, but I will destroy them.

  He took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. He was still human. He still had thoughts, feelings, and emotions. He could make his own decisions. The desire to consume other humans’ flesh hadn’t overtaken him. He was nothing like the zombies. Nothing. His stomach uncramped, and his breathing came a bit easier. Opening his eyes, he assessed his situation. Even though he wasn’t exactly a zombie, that didn’t make what had happened less unnerving. He had been in the middle of a horde. He’d come face to face with the undead. It was like his dream had come true. His entire body shuddered. Even though his dream wasn’t a reflection of anything that had happened in real life, it still pulled from real events and enhanced his deepest fears. Caleb hadn’t even been in a zombie pile before today, but he had watched his father die in horrific fashion, killed by the undead. That had been bad enough, but the dreams made it so much worse. Instead of watching from a distance, which was what happened in reality, he was forced to face the death up close in his dreams.

  He shook the thoughts from his head. His body tensed as the full realization of where he was hit him. The house! And not any house, the headquarters of the humans when they came to the ghetto! Crap! What if there was a camera?

  His heart rate increased, but he took several breaths to calm himself down. He reminded himself there were cameras everywhere around the ghetto, and he hadn’t been overly cautious about avoiding those. He had convinced himself they didn’t monitor the area regularly. They checked in every once in a while, but not religiously. Why had he assumed that was what happened? Because then it made his plan make sense. He wouldn’t have done what he did if he thought he would get caught immediately. Even if they did see him climb into the ghetto, they would be fools to follow him. He knew he had an advantage they didn’t.

  He calmed himself down further, but he couldn’t stop the involuntary shaking of his muscles. Hopefully, when he was more focused on what he had to do, it would ease the shock. Caleb nervously chuckled to himself. He didn’t think he’d make it this far. He ha
d hoped he would, but there was always doubt in the back of his brain. He couldn’t stop now. He had to keep pushing forward.

  Taking a deep breath and wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, he leaned forward toward the door. With his hand on the knob and using painfully slow movements, he cracked it open. He peered out, straining his ears for sounds in the house. If he had tripped an alarm or was on camera, he expected the living to be on their way. Muffled moans and small creaks reached his ears. He listened for a few moments longer. No other sounds were heard. Before opening the door farther, he surveyed the surroundings.

  From his vantage point, he couldn’t see any furniture in the house. Layers of muddy, torn rugs covered the floor, and cracks appeared in the walls. The off-white paint was cracked and peeled and had browned in several places. At one time, the woodwork had been dark and rich, but time had faded it and caused areas to splinter. The sun streamed through the windows and illuminated the specters of dust. To Caleb’s left, doorways led to various parts of the house. He tried to imagine how grand the house looked in the before times, but his imagination wasn’t working at the moment.

  His gaze drifted upward toward the ceiling. Bare light bulbs were evenly spaced across the length of the foyer, and a ceiling fan with a broken blade was in the middle. He saw the angle of stairs and the faded bars of the banister, but that was all. If there was a camera up there, it was well hidden.

  Steeling his nerves, he pushed the door open farther and stepped out. He paused when he was completely out of the closet and listened. The moaning and creaking had both faded. No other sounds reached his ear. Gently, he closed the door and headed down the hall. He was in the house. He could check that step off his list, but now he needed to figure out when and if someone was going to collect zombies. Since his entire plan was built on speculation and hearsay, he doubted he would find anything. A schedule or some kind of inventory sheet would be ideal, but why would it be here? Still, he’d been lucky up to this point, so he was willing to take the chance of finding something.