by GJ Zukow
and when I listened I could hear the familiar sound of a little round striker sparking a flint.
I remember thinking to myself, "What kind of madness is this?", as the distinctive scent of someone smoking crack cocaine drifted in through the window. Not that I've ever smoked that garbage myself but the best place to find and buy drugs is at your local High School.
I crept up to the bathroom window and nervously glanced through the small opening. There was someone incredulously smoking the crap right next door. I could see the light from the lighter flash and burn for a few seconds at a time. A shoddily hung blanket haphazardly covered the window right across from me. It was foolhardy to say the least. There were gaps in the makeshift curtain and I could almost see the person as he struck the lighter. I saw the curtains move in the small breeze and realized whoever it was had the window full open, leaving me to wonder if I had taken shelter next to a crack house. I hadn't noticed it before, but now, I saw the yard was overgrown with weeds and miscellaneous junk was scattered arbitrarily around the property. The house's paint was peeling and most of the gutters were either clogged or hanging from the roof. It was obvious to anyone who knew what to look for that this was a drug house.
I wasn't the only one who had noticed the brief flashes of light. The street lights silhouetted the halting gait of what could only be the undead. At first there was only one who was drawn to the sight, maybe out of some kind of curiosity, I don't know what alerts them.
That's when a loud, haggard and rasping coughing fit echoed in the otherwise silent night.
In a heartbeat every one of the walking dead turned and started to converge on the house next door. I ducked down and listened alertly. The zeds are quiet. They don't moan or mutter for "Brains" as they do in those cheap movies. In reality they are almost silent, the only sound they make is the sound of their shuffling walk as they drag their feet through the grass or along the pavement. The falling rain, as light as it was, almost covered the noise of their approach. My senses were fully aware and quickly there came the sound of multiple pairs of feet dragging and thudding through the grass.
More flickering light, then another round of coughing. Every zombie in the immediate vicinity was converging on the house next door. The undead started banging relentlessly on the near dilapidated structure next door. They were pummeling and clawing with necrotic hands, attempting to get inside and slacken their unquenchable hunger.
I heard the crack-head next door swear profusely as the horde shattered the windows and ripped apart the ragged screen to the room he was in.
The deafening sound of a large caliber handgun boomed out, punching huge holes in not only the zeds he was aiming at, but also the house I was hiding in. It was all I could do to huddle in the cold bathtub, hoping no bullets had my name on them. Six shots were fired in quick succession, followed by what could only be the sound of the weapon's hammer clacking uselessly on already fired shells.
"Mother-fuckers get out! Get out! God damn you!", he hoarsely screamed.
Then came the distinctive sound of something solid smashing into a skull amidst the sound of more windows breaking. The undead had found fresh meat and the gunshots served only to call more of them to the soon to be served meal.
I risked taking a peek through the window then. A mass of the parasite controlled monsters had completely surrounded the house next door. The space between the houses was filled with the hungering horrors. Thank all the Gods that the fiend’s attentions were focused on their prey next door, none had noticed me. I watched the horde as it poured in through the busted windows, mindless of the sharp shards of glass as it ripped open huge tears in their unfeeling, rotting flesh.
As the hungering dead flooded the house I heard the neighbor's back door slam open as the occupant tried to make a run for it. He didn't get very far, even though he was swinging an aluminum bat, there were just too many of them. I watched, transfixed by the terrible sight, as the undead dragged him down and mercilessly bit huge pieces of flesh from his body.
Just before the man disappeared from view under the mob of ghouls we made eye contact. He saw me and looked straight into my soul before he vanished, screaming, down the gullets of things that should not be. I still see his pain filled eyes. It is something I will remember for the rest of my life, however long or short that is. I will not die like that. Before that happens I will save a last bullet for myself rather than be eaten alive by the murderous living dead.
I could hear the zombies eating. They were ripping and tearing at the man's flesh, greedily feasting. With those hideous sounds in my ears I gathered up my things as quietly as a mouse and fled out a window on the side of the house opposite the massacre. It was clear of zeds on this side, away from the neighbor’s house, all of the fiends were busy. It would have been suicide to stay there any longer. There were too many of the abominations. Too many, too close.
I got more than a block away before I started to come across more of the undead. I took refuge in another house, finding one that was unlocked so I wouldn't have to risk making noise by breaking in. I thanked whatever God or Gods that were watching over me, for the hundredth time that night, upon finding it empty.
I tried to sleep but couldn't. Not after what had happened. I looted what little food there was and in the morning found a set of car keys.
I had no desire to stay in a house with large picture windows. What I wanted to find was a castle with a nice big moat filled with alligators. I would settle for a solid building with boarded up windows, or preferably, no windows.
I couldn't carry everything I had for very long and decided to "borrow" the mini-van in the attached garage. I decided to scout the area for a suitable place to hole up in until the dead die their final death. I truly have no idea how long that will be. Surely it can't be too long. Even though the flesh of their unwilling hosts is dead, the parasites themselves are alive. They still have to be subject to the same needs for food and water as everything else, right?
I loaded up the vehicle and drove. I ran down and over a handful of the unliving things when I could.
The risen dead include young and old alike. From nightmarish babies in diapers crawling on all fours to elderly senior citizens hobbling, hunched over and unsteady. They wore the bloodied and tattered clothes they died in, some were dressed in nothing at all.
They shambled and staggered around singly, but that was actually rare. More and more the zeds seemed to gather together in groups, like some frightful mass of ants. Just like army ants, one or two are a nuisance, a group of them is a deadly threat.
Sometimes I had to turn around and find another way around a herd of the undead, I encountered them milling about certain houses and buildings or around blood and gore smeared spots on the ground.
Sometimes I had to back track around road blocks or accident scenes. Sometimes I was able to drive over lawns or through parking lots. For the most part I think it would actually be faster to get around on foot, if one could stay clear of the ravenous atrocities that is.
I did stop for a fully loaded, snub-nosed, gun black, thirty-eight "Saturday night special" revolver lying all by its lonesome in the middle of the street. The Gods put it in my path for a reason, I figured. I stuck it in my back pocket and almost forgot about it.
I had seen a couple of possible places to hide when I realized how close I actually was to the Winter Park Hospital. The desire to try and find out what happened to my mother came into me then, I found it impossible to ignore the urge. Unfortunately the closer I got, the denser the number of the undead became. There are only a few ways to get to the hospital and every time I got close I drew more and more unwanted attention to myself. Finally, depressingly, I had to abandon my quest to get to the hospital, there were just too many of them. Some part of me clung to the idea my mother was hiding somewhere in the hospital and I had to go and save her. I had to push that thought down and bury it deep. If she was alive still she would have tried to at least call me. I still have my cell phone and st
ill all her cell phone does is ring and go to voice mail, which is almost full by now. Besides, nobody lived for long after catching the Scarlet. I knew in my head she had joined the unholy army of the dead, I had to convince my heart to abandon any hope to find her alive.
After doing nothing more than getting the attention of a large number of zeds, who eagerly lurched and swayed as fast as they could towards my vehicle, I returned to my search for a place to hide.
I came to another road block, this one with an up-armored Humvee in the center. Dead (truly dead) bodies littered the area. I was trying to negotiate a way around it, grimacing as I drove over rotting corpses when I saw a lone figure come up from the interior of the M114. The marine's face was a deep scarlet, his eyes black as the void and he checked the bolt on the mounted machine gun, ensuring a round was chambered. I saw him check to ensure the safety was off as he swiveled towards me. I punched the gas as hard as I could and ducked as far down as I could while still being able to see where I was going.
The machine gun spit fire and slugs at me. The bullets were hitting the back end of the minivan and were quickly punching holes up to the driver's seat. I didn't escape because I drove well or the minivan was fast. I
