Two are better than three. Taking an extra second to close the door behind her, Ambrose dashed for the far end of the street where the two lone Eaters turned in earnest. She could almost see the cogs of their dead brains turning as an animalistic veil descended over their features, contorting their already grotesque faces. Their half-eaten arms reached out as they lumbered towards their prey, their twisted legs bowing beneath them. Ambrose nearly sighed in relief; they were Shufflers. Then everything went to hell.
The window of the bookstore shattered as four Eaters spilled from inside. One, a woman with half her face missing, impaled on the glass. Despite being trapped, her body still struggled to reach for Ambrose, what was left of her mouth moving with unrelenting hunger.
Two grown males and a child, maybe ten years old, lurched to where she had frozen in the middle of the street. Alerted by all the noise, the three Eaters at the other end of the road turned and spotted her.
Two began to move, their slow gait easily outpaced. It was the third that slowly turned to her, his lipless face splitting into a chilling smile, that knocked the breath from Ambrose. His body mostly intact, the Eater ran for her.
Chapter Four
Feminine Care
Shelly was covered in blood – she was always covered in blood these days. She hated the crusted mats in her mousy blonde hair. Hated even more that her highlights were starting to fade and her favorite stylist was likely roaming the streets somewhere, drooling for flesh. She stared longingly at the boxes of hair dye in front of her, wishing she could take one and fix the highlights herself. But water was precious. She couldn’t afford to waste a drop to rinse the excess chemicals when the time came for that crucial step. Groaning, she stepped over the Freak she’d just wasted to scour the shelves of the convenience store for anything useful.
A loud crash was followed by marbles rolling across the ceramic floor. Shelly grabbed hold of her shovel, ready to whack anything that came around the corner of the aisle. Quick footsteps rushed forward followed by a thump and a groan. Small, dirty hands splayed on the floor, the bitten nails coated in dried blood. Shelly lowered her shovel as she recognized the chipped pink nail polish her little brother favored.
“Blake! What have I told you about staying quiet!”
“Sorry, Shell,” he scampered to his feet, “I just wanted to play. I didn’t mean for them to burst from the bag.”
Shelly took a deep breath. “It’s ok Blakey,” she soothed, trying to make amends. “Just, try to be more careful, ‘kay?”
Blake nodded, his growing hair falling into his eyes. He would need a trim soon. Mom had never liked letting it get so long – it always managed to become a tangled mess when it did. Shelly needed to find scissors. Another set of footsteps came rushing behind Blake. Fletcher held his pickaxe in one hand, a sledgehammer in the other.
“We’re fine, Fletch,” she rolled her eyes. “Blake just tripped; that’s all.”
Fletcher stared down at Blake, assessing, “You okay buddy?” Blake nodded vigorously, smiling up at his hero. “Kay then,” Fletcher continued as he looked to Shelly, “You wanna keep an eye on him, or should I?”
“I want to go with you, Fletch!”
“Shh!” They hushed him in unison. Though Blake’s lapses were becoming less frequent, Shelly still worried how often her baby brother seemed to forget the world they now lived in. At least he had finally started to control his bladder when he actually saw the carnage outside, but Shelly would much prefer to change his bed sheets nightly if it meant this nightmare was simply that – just a nightmare.
“I’ll take him,” Fletcher agreed, holding his hand out for her brother. “Let’s go see if we can find any candy, ’kay bud?”
While the boys went off to one end of the store – most likely to hit up the toy aisle along their way – Shelly went to work, starting with the feminine care products. Five nights ago they were forced to run from their hiding spot, leaving almost everything behind. They had each managed to grab a bag, but Shelly’s necessities were amongst the things they had been forced to abandon. Mother Nature would be making her house call soon. Shelly needed to be prepared. It was as she made her way to the front of the store that movement out on the street caught her eye.
A Runner was out there, one with a slight limp. Shelly had never stuck around to see the process of a Runner becoming a Shuffler and she wasn’t about to start now. She had to warn the others. The Freaks must have heard Blake’s marbles. More of them would join the one and escape could become difficult. As Shelly was about to slink back through the aisles, the Runner fell, shifting onto her rear as she tried to crawl backwards. It took a moment for the bulb inside Shelly’s skull to light. The girl outside wasn’t a Runner, but the Freak that slammed into her sure as hell was.
Quickly Shelly turned, ran through the aisles in search of Fletcher. She found him at the opposite end of the store, Fletcher teaching Blake to play hacky sack with a knock off Beanie Baby. “Fletcher!” She stage shouted, “Fletch! There’s someone outside! A girl! She’s alive!”
“What? Did she see you?”
“No. She’s a bit busy being attacked. Now c’mon! We have to help her!”
“How many Freaks?”
“One, but there will be more if we don’t hurry. She’s injured.”
Shelly turned to race for the front of the store, but Fletcher caught her by the arm. “Injured? Is she bitten?”
“I don’t know!” Shelly huffed. “But she will be if we don’t go out there now! Now, c’mon!” Tugging loose she ran for the front door, Fletcher cursing as he hurried behind her. Blake knew the drill: stay close, stay hidden, run like hell if you need to.
Months ago it would have been a strange sight. Now it was one that had branded itself into each of their memories. A girl – a teenager, not much different from others who had once made up Shelly’s group – wrestled on the ground with a rabid man. He growled into her face, his lipless mouth revealing gnashing teeth that slowly inched closer to the flesh of her neck.
Shelly made a quick scan outside the store, assuring herself the streets were clear of more Freaks. Sufficiently satisfied, she ran forward. Fletcher was hot on her heels one moment, then shot ahead of her the next.
The Freak, utterly transfixed by the squirming meal pinned beneath it, did not see the pickaxe zooming to the back of his skull until it was too late. Fletcher’s blow didn’t quite hit the sweet spot and the Freak turned, his bloodshot eyes finding a new quarry. The Freak was fast; Fletcher was faster – you had to be in order to survive. As the Freak charged, Fletcher was ready with his hammer.
It was over quick. One swift blow, and the Freak was on the ground. What remained of its brains were now splattered across the concrete street.
Chapter Five
Hodgepodge
Blood splattered her clothes as chunks of flesh flew to her face and stuck on her lips. Ambrose moved quickly, wiping her mouth on the hem of her shirt, the only piece of her clothing that remained free of filth. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – become infected.
Ambrose panted heavily as she looked at the mush covered ground. Pieces of brain and fragments of skull littered the already polluted and stained street. There was nothing left of the face that had tried to consume her.
A shadow loomed above her. It was the blond guy who had saved her life.
“Freaks inbound!”
Ambrose gazed beyond the guy to a girl, close to her age, pointing down the street from where she had made her mad dash. “Seven.” Ambrose panted. The guy looked questioningly down at her. “Seven,” she repeated. “Seven more of those things were after me.”
“Looks like they were joined by a few more,” the girl trembled.
“You bit?” The guy asked Ambrose. She shook her head. “Then c’mon.”
He retrieved the pickaxe that had gone flying when he broke the Eater’s head like a piñata. Ambrose still hadn’t moved when he came back. Shock was setting in. She couldn’t afford to be
come paralyzed now. She tried to make her legs work but her synapses were fried. No matter how much her brain instructed her legs to move, the message derailed somewhere within her queasy belly.
Something shuffled behind the girl. She was unaware of the incoming danger, too focused on the lumbering group ahead. Ambrose found that she still had control over her vocal cords. “Look out!”
The girl turned to where Ambrose stared, her shovel ready. Her shoulders relaxed as she reached for the shuffling boy, pulling him into her side.
“You’re going to draw more to us. Quiet!” The guy whisper-yelled at her. He reached down to haul her up, moving away when he thought she was steady. Ambrose wobbled. Her damn ankle had bent awkwardly when she had dodged one of the slower Eaters. Spying her injury, the guy cursed. He stuck the pickaxe into the waistband of his jean, then saddled beside her as he slung her arm over his shoulder.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Not everyone is a complete ass. Not yet, anyway.”
“C’mon,” the girl took the lead, “our place isn’t far from here.”
Ambrose shuffled beside her savior, only slightly quicker than the Eaters behind them. “You have a place?”
“A temporary one. It’s an apartment complex that’s pretty secure.” The girl hurriedly trotted down the street, swung her shovel at two approaching Eaters, then turned left after two blocks. A few more Shufflers spilled from the alleyways, but thankfully there were no more Runners. Runners had become rare, but even a single one was dangerous, more so than its slower relatives.
It wasn’t long before Ambrose saw the complex ahead. It was five sets of buildings, each one with garage houses parallel to them.
The parking lot was a carefully crafted disaster zone. Near the second apartment building were three cars parked trunk to hood in a chain leading from the building to the garage units. The low areas where the hoods and trunks met were reinforced with tables, chairs, bookshelves and more. The fourth building down was barricaded in a similar manner, albeit with long industrial garbage and recycling cans in lieu of everything else.
The girl and the boy were first to climb the tires of the least clustered car before jumping into the safe zone. Removing her arm from around his shoulders, the blond guy wrapped his hands around Ambrose’s waist as he helped lift her up onto the same roof. Reaching back, the girl helped Ambrose slide down on the other side before swiftly leading them to the middle building. As they traversed the lot, Ambrose could see the gaps between the buildings had also been fortified with a hodgepodge of furniture.
“You did all this?”
“Only some. The town was mostly Freak-free when we arrived, so we took some time to add to the decor,” the girl chirped, spryer now that they had left the Eaters behind. “Stores were decently stocked,” she continued. “We decided to hunker down for a while and do some scavenging – five stores in the last two days, plus two days to fortify – not bad, huh?”
“Isn’t that dangerous? To stay in one place for so long?”
“The world is dangerous,” the guy answered.
A chair was set against the knob of a unit’s front door. Removing it, the girl opened the door and allowed Ambrose and the guy to enter past the front landing. Ambrose counted eighteen stairs in all as she hopped up the dangerously narrow steps. She heard the boy follow behind them, the girl securing the chair beneath the knob again, this time on the inside.
There was a moment of shock as Ambrose stared around the small living room; it was surprisingly clean. Furniture was oddly placed throughout. Or it would have been odd if the world had still been a normal place. As it was, she understood the layout before her.
Tall bookshelves blocked the two front windows though they were already veiled by dark green curtains. A brown loveseat was placed across a glass sliding door, one likely leading to a balcony. Eaters couldn’t climb as far as she was aware, but perhaps they knew something she didn’t.
To her right was a small kitchen and dining area. A breakfast bar divided the kitchen from the living room. The large opening above the bar was covered by three thin blankets tacked and tapped to the ceiling. Bags lined the dining room floor, filled with whatever the group had managed to forage. Ambrose looked away from the bags. Those were their things, not hers.
The boy came up beside Ambrose, a shy smile on his little face as he kneaded a Beanie Baby bear in his hand.
“Know how to play hacky sack?”
Chapter Six
Running out of Fucks
The Altered sunk its teeth deep into Marek’s leg, right where his childhood scar paled against his otherwise pink skin; he’d never liked that scar anyway. The Altered tore away with flesh and ligaments hanging from its mouth, blood gushing down its chin. Its ravenous eyes were triumphant; he had found a meal in the barren world.
Marek didn’t scream. He didn’t bother to fight as the Altered continued to feed, licking and slurping the warmth that leaked from Marek’s veins. What was the point? He was bitten. He was alone. If he stayed still, it would be over quicker.
Another Altered joined the first. The woman crouched behind Marek, circled his chest with her mauled arms as she pulled his back against her front in an almost loving embrace. Marek knew the sleeves of the cerulean sweater that covered those arms. It was Pamela’s favorite.
Pamela?
Her grey hand skimmed down his chest, down to his soft belly. She tugged up his shirt to expose his sweaty skin, caressed his panting body. Marek looked up. He wanted to see her one last time – wanted to commemorate the brown curls, the wide pink lips. The slight bump of her nose... Their eyes met, and that’s when Marek finally screamed.
Pamela was no longer Pamela. Half her hair had been ripped out, nose and right cheek bitten off, her lips were coated in dry blood and her teeth were mustard rot; but it was her eyes that cut Marek the most. No longer green with vibrant life, they were yellow and hungry, cruel as her hand became a claw that ripped into his belly. There was no remorse in her gaze as she shredded his skin, stripped what she could of his insides in one handful. Her prize pulsed and squelched as she brought it to her lips.
Marek’s liver dangled from her bloodied fingers, stained the ground bright red. He screamed and screamed as her teeth feasted on his organ. Screamed as his heart broke because he had done this to her. He had failed to save her from the fate she now dealt him.
And failed to put her down after to save her from turning into a monster.
Marek woke covered in sweat, a half empty bottle of whisky in hand. He wasn’t drunk; he was barely buzzed. Why the fuck wasn’t he drunk? Because there wasn’t enough booze left in the world to drown his sorrows.
He was tired. An evening dedicated to running from a massive horde would do that to a guy. The Shufflers were easy to evade. The damn five Runners he encountered had been more problematic. It had been worth it though, for more than just the useless, too warm, liquor.
He’d snuck into the steel kitchen, quiet as a mouse as he opened the first cabinet he came upon. It wasn’t hard to find a bottle in a bar. This one however, was one likely stashed in the cabinets beneath the stove by one of the former employees. It was when he stood from his crouching position and banged his head on a hanging pan that trouble started.
Marek had shot through the swinging door, blasted out through the front as Runners from the alley stayed hot on his heels. Then he’d taken another risk. Going back to the alley where he had taken a piss, he managed to climb over the chain link fence of the otherwise dead end. He barely cleared the top of the fence, escaping the berserked Runners that tried to grip his ankles and drag him down. More Altered waited behind the fence, luckily all Shufflers and easily outmaneuvered.
His steps echoed down the hollow streets, alerting the Altered to his location. They were incessant – jumping out at him from between buildings, crawling out from beneath abandoned cars. He would evade the Runners only to meet back up with them on a different street.
The
stitch in his side built until it threatened to be his undoing. Marek popped the bottle’s cork with his teeth, chugged down half of what was left in one swig. If he was going down, he didn’t want to be sober. It was as he waited for the Runners to find him that he saw her. Not far down the street was a girl in a green shirt pulling down the blinds of a bookstore. If he stayed there, if the Runners converged, they would smell her out in their frenzy after they had finished with him. No doubt he would soon join their ranks and charge after her as well.
He didn’t want be the cause of yet another person’s downfall. Taking a second swig, he waited for the Runners to spot him before heading down another alley, determined to get as many away from the unwitting girl as possible. There was a county road just up the ways. He could get there; then run as far as he could before his legs gave out and they took him down.
Marek rounded the street that would take him up the county road. He needed to slow down if he wanted the Runners to keep him in their sights. But it seemed to be a night of improbabilities. In a world where everything had died, another living creature caught his attention.
To his right was a small Church. Its windows were boarded up – some from the outside, some from within – and thick chains held the doors shut. At the foot of the building’s cement steps, lazily licking its paws, lay a chocolate brown dog.
“Fuck me.” Marek groaned.
His voice must have traveled in the silence. The dog looked up at him, assessing. It rose slowly, tail stiff. The animal sniffed in his direction – likely checking to see if he was one of the many Altered – with one paw raised, ready to bolt if he was. Satisfied with its findings, its body went lax, ears flopping down as its tail began a cautious wag. The animal slowly shuffled to the edge of the building, eyeing him a final time before heading towards the back.
Red Paint: Proceed with Caution Page 2
