by Russ Melrose
A powerful rumble of thunder shook the condo. I had to get going. Physically, I felt good. I rubbed my injured shin and noted how much better it felt. There was still a slight tenderness, but the leg felt sturdy. The welt had become a hard, small knot, and the surrounding bruise had faded and turned pale yellow. The aching in my arms and shoulders had subsided. I'd even been doing pushups three or four times a day to strengthen them for my trip across the valley. I'd decided to travel four blocks a day. It would be safer if I took my time and made sure I didn't make any mistakes. I didn't want to tire myself out. I needed to stay fresh in case of emergency.
I was as ready as I'd ever be. I picked up the backpack and slid my arms through the straps and snapped the front buckle closed. It was a snug fit. Then I spent a few minutes practicing drawing the bat from my backpack to get a good feel for it. And as I drew the bat out from the backpack for what must have been the twentieth time, I couldn't help but feel ridiculous.
All I had to do now was push the chest of drawers away from the front door and I'd be on my way. I'd placed four moving sliders underneath the legs to minimize the sound. First, I maneuvered the couch to give myself enough room to push the chest away from the door. The chest moved easily and quietly. Then I opened the door, and though it made little sense, locked it before I left.
Downstairs, I edged the front door open and peered out into the gray rain. I scanned the courtyard but didn't see any infected in the area. I stepped out and looked around, keeping one hand on the door just in case.
If there was a problem, I could always run back to the apartment. It would be an option right up until the time I crossed the street. Once I crossed the street, there'd be no going back. The heavy rain pelted my head and my crew cut was already sopping wet. I let go of the door and ran crouched down toward the edge of the building. The sky grumbled loudly as I took a breath and peeked around the building's corner. The road that led across the bridge was empty. And for a moment, the world seemed to be a deserted desolate place, devoid of life, and strangely enough, the thought provided me with me some comfort.
While the path across the bridge was perfectly clear, I didn't move a muscle. I remained perfectly still and I knew why—because every step I took carried me further away from the comfort zone of my apartment, and I knew the infected would never get to me if I stayed there. The fearful part of me kept me locked in place, seeking the familiarity and comfort of what was known. Like most people, I preferred the coziness of the carefully crafted life I'd created for myself. And though that life had essentially been destroyed, I still pined for the remnants of it. But that life no longer existed, and I'd be a fool to cling to it. I ran my hands through my hair like a squeegee to wipe the water away and stepped away from the condo toward the bridge. If I went back, I knew I'd never leave. I'd eventually starve to death and wouldn't do anything to change the outcome. Call it a passive suicide.
I began running determinedly toward the bridge, and as I made my way across the bridge, I looked both ways to see if there were any infected lingering on the banks between the creek and the condos, but there weren't any infected around. And other than the screeching of the crickets, the condos were like a silent ghost town, staid and quiet amidst the blustery storm. I slowed down as I approached the streetside condos. I hugged close to the side wall of the condo on my right, hoping the shadows would obscure my presence.
As I approached the front of the building, my view of the street to the left widened perceptibly. Straight across the street was a home with a six-foot white vinyl fence in the backyard, and I decided the fence would be my target. While I was facing east, the house faced north. It would make my task easier. I'd actually be climbing over the side fence bordering the backyard.
From my vantage point, I could see as far as a block and a half down the street to my left and still didn't see any infected wandering about. Everything was clear and I began to believe I'd get across the street without any problems. I inched my way toward the front edge of the building. The closer I came to it, the slower my movements became. The heavy rain was making a racket, pinging loudly off the roofs of the cars in the front parking lot and slapping the leaves of the elm trees in front of the complex. Leaves and small branches littered the street and parking lot. The blustery wind wasn't as strong as it had been earlier and was blowing out of the west now. It gusted at my back and was still strong enough to slant the rain. I leaned my head toward the edge and caught a glimpse of the side street to my right.
I spotted five of them a half block down on the far side. They were milling about underneath a tree next to the sidewalk, four adults and a child. In the growing darkness, it was difficult to make out details through the blurring veil of rain. All I could see were black silhouettes walking drunkenly in circles underneath the tree, randomly bumping into one another.
I was surprised to see them. For some nonsensical reason, I'd expected the street to be empty. I moved my head back behind the edge of the building and took a breath. Ever since I'd come up with my plan, I hadn't once imagined anything going wrong.
After a few deep breaths, I decided I had two options. I could run as fast as I could across the street and climb over the fence before they had a chance to catch me. There was no question I could move faster than them and the distance to the fence was about the same for both of us. But if I slipped or fell on the slick pavement, they'd be on me before I could make it over the fence. The only other thing I could think of was using the cars in the condo parking lot for cover. If I got low enough, the cars in the parking lot might block me from their view. That would get me closer to the street and closer to the fence. From there, they'd have no chance to catch me even if I fell.
I stooped low and moved back to the edge of the building, and when I peered around the corner, I couldn't see them. I kept low and moved cautiously alongside the parking lot curb, keeping an eye out to my left in case any infected showed up down that side of the street. The rain was so loud, thrashing through the trees and pounding the cars, I couldn't hear their constant moans or rasping breaths. It made me nervous not being able to hear them. For a moment, I was tempted to raise my head to catch a glimpse of them but thought better of it. If I could hear them, I'd at least be able to gauge their location. I kept my eyes trained to the left for any unexpected visitors. Then there was a sharp crack. I'd felt the tension of the branch right before my foot had snapped it in two. I remained motionless for a few seconds, listening intently, hoping they hadn't heard me.
A loud piercing shriek sliced through the chaotic rain. I lifted my head and saw the infected child careening wildly down the street. I couldn't believe she'd heard the sound of the branch breaking with all the attendant noise from the rain. The advantage I'd gained was already lost. I started to run and kept my eyes locked on her. And then I began running faster. She was a young girl, maybe eight or ten. The others noticed me and began trundling frenziedly down the road in my direction, but they'd never catch me. I thought I could make it to the fence moments before the girl got there. If I could pull myself over the fence in one smooth motion, I'd be in the safety of the backyard.
It only took me a few seconds to reach the condo frontage road. I ran as fast as I could, my waterproof hiking shoes splashing the standing street water. I headed in a direct line for a fence post that rose several inches above the top line of the fence. I would use the post for leverage to help pull myself up and over. The infected girl had started off in the direction of where I'd been when I snapped the branch, and she had to readjust her line of pursuit. Probably cost her a second. She reached her right arm out toward me and let out a screeching high-pitched wail—but she was thirty feet away. I leapt over the curb and timed my steps leading up to the fence. When I got to the fence, I jumped up and grabbed the top section of fence and reached up to grab the top of the post, but as I grasped it, my hand slipped on the wet vinyl and my momentum carried me back down to the ground. I stood up and glanced back and she was fifteen feet away a
nd closing. She lurched toward me, her head bent forward in a crazed focus, a maniacal look on her small, dusky face. Several slick strands of dark wet hair slashed wildly across her face.
The other infected were still thirty feet away. I reached back for the bat and pulled it out and held it with both hands in a striking position above my head as I moved forward. I trembled wildly. As she reached for me, I brought the bat down hard on her skull. I might have killed her, but before impact, I'd turned my head away and let up on the bat's momentum. I still heard the sharp crack of bone and saw her slump to the ground in a daze. Her head lolled in a spiral circle. She looked up at me with a foggy expression. She lunged for my leg, but I was already at the fence and out of reach. I tossed the bat over and quickly pulled myself up and over using every ounce of strength I could muster along with a sudden, powerful surge of adrenaline.
As I picked up the bat and replaced it in the backpack, the other infected slammed themselves into the fence. I felt a sharp tightness in my chest and noticed I was gasping for air and my heart was beating wildly. My breaths were rapid and shallow. I was close to hyperventilating. I consciously slowed my breathing and tried taking deeper breaths. I felt incredibly drained and still had another seven blocks to go. I stumbled across the yard but only made it halfway before I fell to my knees and began to retch violently. Before long, I'd vomited out the entire contents of my stomach. Even after there was nothing left, my stomach continued to roil and spasm with dry heaves. All the while the infected continued to relentlessly bash themselves into the vinyl fence.
*****
The rain had dissipated into a light drizzle. I peered over the fence into the back parking lot of one of the businesses on 9th East. I couldn't be sure which one. The last seven blocks had gone smoothly and I was feeling better. It had taken me three hours to get here. Only once had I seen another group of infected. There'd been maybe twenty of them slowly shuffling down a darkened street, a chorus of soft, rasping moans rising from their throats. They seemed passive when there was no prey in sight.
I was a half block from Barry's Locksmith Shop. Since all businesses had closed that first week, I was hoping there wouldn't be many infected lingering around the 9th East business area. The back parking lot was clear. I clambered over the fence and crept up to the side of the building. I placed the battery-operated alarm clock in a dry section underneath the eaves of the roof. After placing it near the wall, I grabbed my binoculars and moved to the front of the building. I scanned the street in each direction but didn't see any infected. The street was well lit since the street lamps still came on automatically each evening. I couldn't be sure if there were infected around because of the abandoned cars littering the street. Toward the end of the first week, the infected began attacking motorists in their cars, mostly at intersections. Some people ran red lights to get away but would crash into cars crossing the intersections. Others, backed up at intersections, abandoned their cars and tried to run from the wandering groups of infected. Some got away, some didn't. By the first weekend, every major intersection in the valley was cluttered with wrecked and abandoned vehicles.
I used the binoculars to get a detailed view and still couldn't see any infected. And while it was good news, I wouldn't take anything for granted. As long as I hurried, I estimated it would take me three to four minutes to cross the street and travel the half block to get to the locksmith shop.
I set the alarm clock for six minutes to give myself a cushion, and I checked my watch. It was ten to eleven. I headed to the front edge of the building. In the middle of the street, a late model Ford pickup truck with its driver side door open straddled the median. If I needed cover when I crossed the street, the truck would be adequate cover. I glanced in each direction, then sprinted across the two southbound lanes for the truck. I crouched down by the front grill and looked around. The rain had become an almost imperceptible mist, and I still didn't see any movement anywhere. I could see the locksmith shop down the street and it looked as deserted as the rest of the businesses along 9th East. It was an eerie scene. 9th East had become a surreal wasteland, murky and foreboding. I took a breath and ran across the northbound lanes to a 7-Eleven store and made my way around to the back area behind the store.
As I made my way through the back lots of the businesses, I kept as close to the buildings as I could. I kept checking my watch to make sure I'd get there in plenty of time. But even with the illuminated dials, it was tough to make out the time in the inky shadows.
I needed to be at the locksmith shop before the alarm went off for my plan to work effectively. I'd set the alarm to the buzzer setting, an obnoxious sound that grew louder and more shrill as the minutes passed. Breaking into the locksmith shop would make enough noise to attract the infected from nearby areas, so I needed a distraction, and the alarm clock would serve as a perfect diversion. The timing had to be perfect. As soon as the alarm went off, I would shoulder the back door open or smash through a window pane. The noise I made would be short-lived, and I was gambling the annoying alarm would draw their attention away from me.
I climbed over a short cement wall and I was there. I checked my watch and still had nearly two minutes left. The parking lot area was small. Just four parking stalls. A large garbage bin was nestled against the back fence. The fence was a chain link affair that led to a neighboring backyard. That would be my avenue of escape. The back door had a window pane with the name of Barry's Locksmith Shop stenciled on it in white lettering. I headed for the back door and drew my bat from the backpack. I'd decided smashing the window would be the easiest way to break into the shop.
The rain had started back up again. A steady downpour. Not as heavy as earlier, but enough to mask any sounds I might make. I still had a minute and a half to go. It was dark inside the shop, so I leaned my head against the glass pane to peer inside, but the door gave way and I nearly lost my balance. I grabbed the sides of the door jamb to keep myself from falling. And while I was able to grab the left jamb with my left hand, I clumsily clubbed my right hand into the edge of the other jamb and nearly dropped the bat. My hand stung from the pain.
I rubbed my knuckles as a jumble of anxious thoughts peppered my mind. The alarm would go off in a minute, only I didn't need the diversion anymore. My clever plan had backfired. There wasn't enough time to run back and turn the alarm off. In a minute or two, 9th East would be crawling with the infected. As bad as that was, I had a more imminent problem. What if someone or something was inside the shop? Could the owner still be here? Or someone infected? Time was running out. I had to get a lock pick set now. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. But the door wouldn't close and I noticed the wood in the door jamb near the lock had been stripped away by a previous break-in.
I slipped the backpack off and jammed it as best I could against the bottom of the door. I removed the gun from the backpack and stuck it inside the front waistline of my shorts. The gun would be a last resort if needed. I gripped the bat with both hands and began moving down the hallway. There were two doors on each side of the hallway, but only one door was open, the second door on my left. I raised the bat in a striking position and moved toward the open door, keeping an eye to the front. The shop was remarkably quiet, and it dawned on me that if there were any infected inside the shop, I'd have heard their moans. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, and as I came abreast of the open door, I could make out the shadowy silhouette of a toilet against the back wall of the room. I breathed a sigh of relief and closed the door.
I kept my bat ready as I entered the retail area of the shop from behind the counter. Light from a street lamp angled through the large windows that covered the shop's front wall. Because the actual retail area was small, it was easy to see there weren't any infected in the shop. On the other side of the counter were two merchandise carousel racks. I'd check them first.
As I moved around the counter, I heard the faint staccato ringing of the alarm sounding off through the steady drumbeat
of the rain. In another minute, it wouldn't be so faint.
I hustled to the racks. Product packages were strewn around on the shop floor. I scanned the front and sides of the racks but didn't see any lock pick sets or tool kits. Just keys and key chains, alarms, screwdrivers, and small drills. The back of the racks held more of the same. I turned and looked into the glass counter case and there they were, on the top shelf of the case. A half dozen sets on display. But they were behind the glass and I needed to get behind the counter again to get at them.
That's when I heard the first plaintive moan. I hunkered down behind one of the racks and waited. He had to be close for me to hear him through the rain. The large windows in front, separated by the door, were filled with big lettering which gave me cover but also obscured my view. When he trudged by, all I could see was that he had long dark hair matted down from the rain and was half-dragging his left leg. He was a loner and his attention seemed fixed on the sound of the alarm which had now taken on a shrill, high-pitched cadence. As he passed by the shop, I hurried around to the other side of the counter, but the sliding glass doors to the case were locked.
I foraged through the drawers beneath the cash register looking for a key but found nothing. I heard a muted chorus of moans echoing through the rain. A lot of them were coming and I had no idea what to do. The only way I could get to the lock pick sets would be by smashing the case glass and doing a grab and run. But smashing the glass would draw them to me. The moaning intensified and mirrored the growing intensity of the alarm. They were getting close. I knelt down behind the cabinet of drawers below the cash register. I could feel myself tensing up.
I thought about spending the night behind the cash register and waiting for them to leave. But what if they lingered around for several days? There was no way to tell how long they might hang around and I hadn't packed any food. The sink in the bathroom would have running water, but the water would be contaminated. And I doubted there was any food around. Then there was the back door. If one of them wandered around back and started pushing against the door till it opened, I'd be trapped. But as much as I hated the idea of moving an inch from the safety of my position, I didn't see cowering behind the counter as much of an option.
