Zombie Island (Zombie Apocalypse #1)
Page 6
We all leave the apartment in the next hour or so, and disappear into the city. My job is to gather as much food and water as possible, so I have my backpack, and a duffel bag to load with supplies that we might need while on the road.
I climb down the fire escape, dropping silently into the alleyway. With baseball bat in hand, I crouch down behind a dumpster, checking to make sure the coast is absolutely clear. With the rise in zombie population and the addition of the zombie Warriors, Louisville isn’t safe anymore.
When I’m sure the coast is clear, I inch along the wall of the alley until I come to the street, and I look up and down twice. There are no zombies out at the moment, and I leave the safety of the alley at a mild jog.
The bags are clunky and somewhat hard to maneuver, but I can’t afford to drop them. If we’re going to get anywhere, we’re going to need a bunch of food, water, and supplies. We can’t only scavenge along the way; we need to be prepared.
With my recent zombie hunter encounter fresh in my mind, I make sure to triple check all of my surroundings before moving forward. Now that they’re aware of my presence more than ever, I can’t afford to make stupid mistakes. They’re going to kill me if they catch me; that’s all there is to it.
The grocery store comes up just ahead, and I hesitantly make my way to it. The front of the store is made entirely of tall, glass windows, and it bares the obvious signs of the zombie infestation. Blood smears all of the windows, and some have been broken out by looters.
The door is propped open by the rotting corpse of a dead zombie. The body’s been bloated beyond recognition by the sun, and I carefully step around it, trying to avoid looking at what’s left of the swollen face.
The inside of the store is completely destroyed. Blood has pooled along the floor, body parts lay scattered around, and food has been thrown around carelessly. When the infection first hit, people flooded the supermarkets in terrified crowds, destroying as much as they took.
I grip my baseball bat tightly, and peer up and down each of the eight aisles, checking for any sign of movement. A low growling sound meets my ears, and I slowly start to back away from the final row. I can’t be sure if it’s a dog or a zombie. Either way, I’m in trouble.
Since the infection spread and people started dying, all the house pets reverted back to their basic instincts. I’ve seen dogs tearing zombies apart for a meal, and even turning on each other. They’ll do anything to survive, including eat me alive, just like a zombie.
Honestly, I’d rather have the zombie. They move slower, and aren’t as coordinated.
Slowly, the dog sticks its head around the end of the aisle and spots me. It’s a boxer, and his muzzle is red with fresh blood. As I’m watching, he slowly licks his chops and bares his teeth in a loud snarl. The muscles of his legs bunch up, and I tighten my grip on the bat.
I don’t like the idea of killing a dog that’s just trying to survive, same as me, but only one of us is going to leave this store alive, and it has to be me. I don’t want to do this, but I will.
He charges at me, moving much faster than I would have thought possible, and jumps. I swing the bat as hard as I can, and it connects with his front shoulder. He tumbles away from me, rolling head over heel into a display case of nacho cheese sauce. A few remaining glasses shatter around him, showering the dog in yellow dip.
He gets up and shakes himself off, before turning to face me again. He charges, and I swing, but the bat goes high, and the dog crashes into my chest, knocking me to the floor, sending my bat skittering across the store and out of reach. I don’t have time to worry about that though, because his bloody breath is in my face, telling me that I’m about to die.