The evening was warm, smoke thick in the air, making breathing hard. The sun was low on the horizon providing shadow to move through. Jasper crept, his legs bent, body low to the ground, at this point speed had to take a back seat to stealth. He kept one hand on the hilt of his sword as much as he could, to keep it from tangling in his legs more than to have it ready.
There was a yacht club on Shore Drive, a small one with a half dozen boats in. Part of him wanted to grab one of the boats and set sail, avoid all the risks of going overland, Charlottetown was also a port city. Of course he didn't actually know anything about sailing, so he kept moving past the small building and all the boats with a sigh of regret.
His muscles wanted to run, his hunched posture putting more strain on his legs than just letting his stride take him, moving as fast as he could away from there. It was so tempting, but around him there were shambling dead people, moving slowly, aimlessly. He was sure he could handle one or two easily, and with the right position even four or five. There were dozens even on this sleepy side street. If they realized he was there he would stand no chance. One of them got close to him, so he lay down, staying as still as he could. He started to feel cold despite the warmth of the evening, the ground, at first pleasantly cool, was sapping the heat from his muscles. His stomach felt hollow, empty. The thing moved away, shuffling down the road. Time to get up and keep going, agonizing step by agonizing step. Full dark had set in, and even with the fires it was hard to see anything.
Out of the blue Snow let out a snarl, quiet enough that it didn't carry, and then there was a thumping sound. In the half-light he could make out the white dog sitting on the chest of a zombie, an older man with a large gut. The man was trying to bite Snow, jaws snapping, neck at an angle that he never could have achieved while alive. The big husky mix held him down, a paw on either shoulder. Jasper pulled his knife from his belt, pushed the creature's forehead to the side and slammed his heavy blade through its temple. The creature stopped trying to bite, lying still on the ground. "Thanks buddy" Jasper said, his voice no more than a whisper. He started moving down the road, a bit shaken, but also confident that Snow had his back.
Finally, a flash of light from a nearby explosion told him he had reached the small bridge at the end of the road, he had made it a full five kilometres from his house, a less than twenty minute run achieved in a day
He moved quickly across the bridge, no cover to be had there, and into the small park right past it. Night had been a mistake. The zombies didn't seem to care about the darkness, while it crippled him. Better to move through as much of the day as he could, maybe just stay out of sight of heavily trafficked routes, stay off roads, be more careful. There was a small hut inside the park, door padlocked shut. Jasper used the hilt of his sword to break the lock as quietly as he could. With all the noise going on around him he risked being heard, even if it was a small risk as quiet as he was being, reasoning it was less of a risk than trying to keep going outside. Snow followed him into the hut, padding along on silent paws. He pulled the door behind him, and then took out his phone. The light from the flashlight app was almost blinding after the hours of moving in near total darkness.
The hut was, as he had always assumed, a storage hut for groundskeeping equipment. He decided to scavenge a bit, and then try to catch some rest. Despite having slept most of the day he was exhausted. Probably a combination of stress and lack of food he figured, so he did a quick survey of the room and then moved tools and random stuff into a pile so he had a bit of clear floor to lie on. He put down some canvas sacks filled with soil and lay down on them.
A very bad morning
Robert was lying in bed. It was rare that he got to sleep in, but he had just come back from active duty and had a bit of R&R coming to him. Something brought him to consciousness, a movement in the bed next to him. He opened his eyes and saw his wife, Samantha. Something wasn’t right about her, very far from right. Her mouth was open too wide, and her eyes were grey and dead. She was trying to bite him. Not a playful, sexy bite. No, she was trying to take a chunk out of him. He grabbed her by the throat careful to force her chin up so she couldn’t get her teeth engaged and then lifted her slight frame with his powerful arms and threw her out of the bed. She crashed through the chair she kept at the dresser, reducing the largely ornamental piece to splinters. His mind ticked through possibilities, what was happening. In a moment he knew what was going on. Hell, there was enough media out there to remove any doubt. Somehow Samantha was clearly a zombie. He decided that he needed to test it though, to define the problem space empirically. She was up and snarling, her arm at an impossible angle as a result of the fall, bone poking through the skin, but no blood just a small trace of a thick, black substance. He jumped out of bed, wearing nothing but his boxers. Samantha was five foot two, while Robert was six foot three. She was slight if toned, he was large and heavily muscled. He kicked the thing that used to be his wife and she went down, not unconscious or even dazed, just knocked off her feet. He dropped to one knee on its chest and grabbed a broken chair leg. He slammed it into Samantha’s chest, breaking through her rib cage like it was nothing. She didn’t stop trying to bite him. Okay, point proved, she was clearly a zombie. He pulled the jagged piece of wood out and drove it through her eye. Then she did stop, like he had flipped a switch.
He got up, went to the wall safe and took out his forty four rhino. A large gun, really too large for this situation. It was better suited to stopping large animals, but he liked it for the intimidation factor. He was calm. Heart rate slightly elevated from physical exertion. He loaded the gun and then set it on the dresser next to him as he got dressed. He decided to wear his fatigues, they seemed like the most practical choice.
If Sam had turned in her sleep why hadn’t he? Also, what about Robert Junior and Kayla, his children? He listened and realized he could hear fairly rhythmic thumping coming from the kids’ part of the house. So, probably zombies as well. "Okay. So, how do I deal with this? Clearly, I have to make sure the children aren't a threat. Fuck. I'm talking to myself now." His ability to be rational surprised him. Robert had always known there was something wrong with him. An empty cold place in the core of his being that nothing seemed to touch. He thought about his children having turned, having to cave in their small skulls, pierce their brains, and discovered that he felt nothing. It was just a job that needed doing. Nobody had ever noticed, ever called him on it. He remembered once, when he was a teenager, he's tortured a fellow student, subtly driven him to the point of quitting school. The kid was a nerd, carried a briefcase to class in grade eight, dressed in suits. Robert had threatened to lock him in his own locker every day. He hadn't done it, but he was way bigger than the kid, could have done it easily. Never really said anything overtly cruel to him, and was often friendly to him in public. Every morning "I'm going to lock you in your locker. You won't be able to get out." The kid was claustrophobic. Eventually he had a breakdown, left the school and never came back. When he talked about why he said it was because of Robert. When Robert's teachers asked him about it he said he didn't understand "He's my friend, I have no idea what he thinks I've done." Robert had no idea what the kids name was.
He laced up his boots, kept despite Sam’s objections in the master bedroom, and got his kit together. A full pack, ready to go at a moment's notice. Enough gear to take him through a week or two on the road. Once he was fully equipped, including his pack and weapons belt, he headed out into the hall. The thumping was coming from Kayla’s room.
He took out his bush knife. Zombies would require a quiet approach, and conserving bullets would be important. He opened the door. His daughter had turned as well. The pink room was a shambles, everything not attached to the walls knocked down. Kayla was wearing her footie pajamas, pink with bunnies on them. Her curly blonde hair was disheveled, in a way that Samantha didn't allow after she was up and dressed. Her eyes showed the truth. The iris was a washed out grey, pupil missing. Her tiny jaw was ope
ning and closing, with some sort of horrible internal rhythm, as if she was trying to chew the air. She came out moving as fast as her dead body would allow, grabbing for her fathers’ leg, that horrible mouth questing for flesh. Robert swung the large bush knife straight down into her skull. There was a crunch and the knife sunk in several inches. Her little body went limp and fell to the floor.
Robert was pretty sure he should be feeling something, but nothing, just nothing.
Well, only one room left. Just his son… he drew his knife and headed for the door.
Fire and Water
Naomi was getting ready for work. Her roommate was still in bed, so Naomi tried to be as quiet as possible, not worth the hassle if she woke the bitch. The restaurant where she worked didn’t have AC. To tell the truth it wasn’t much of a restaurant, just a counter, a kitchen, and a couple of stools by the window. Most of the business they did was catering or takeout, but the food was made from scratch and tasty. Thing was, it was going to be hot out and with the stove running all day the place was always worse than the outdoors. She pulled on a crop top and a tiny pair of jean shorts, barely enough coverage to be considered clothes, the outfit left most of her smooth dark brown skin exposed. A lot of the customers stared at her, but the tips were way better days she dressed like this. For shoes she grabbed her favourite strappy high heeled sandals. Work was at least an hour away by bus. Part of the joy of being broke… she lived where she could afford to, not where she wanted to. She’d been at the restaurant for two years, but only full time since she graduated high school last June, a single summer working for her aunt. It paid well, and it got her something to put on her resume, real work experience she could point to. She had a plan to get the hell out of this town, leave behind the ignorance, the poverty, the racism. The largest city in the province and still it was full of people with no ambition, people who saw as far as the horizon and no further.
Darryl was in the living room. Naomi didn't hate her roommate just because of Darryl, but he was a factor. Having her boyfriend sleep over every day, never paying rent, eating the food Naomi brought home from work. Naomi wasn't even sure Darryl had his own place these days. God knew he never left. Berta was an issue all on her own, sleeping all day, dealing out of their apartment, but at least Naomi didn't have to put up with the same kind of crap from her.
"Hey girl, looking hot. When we gonna hook up?"
"Never. Get a job."
"Fuck you bitch. You know you want my dick."
"I wouldn't touch your skinny white dick if it was the last dick in the fucking world. Pay some fucking rent. Get a fucking job. Get the fuck out of my apartment. Oh, and stop eating my fucking food. Bitch."
Most of the time it seemed like he thought they were joking around with each other. Naomi wanted to stab him in his sleep.
She stepped out into the hallway, slamming the door behind her. The elevator was slow, and while she was waiting Darryl came out, stood next to her by the elevator door. Was he actually leaving the apartment? A miracle. "What, you decide to look for a job today?"
"Got a court date."
"For fucks sake. You know you gotta dress right for that shit right? Baggy jeans and a wife beater? The fuck you thinking?"
"Yeah, ho. Like you know shit. Those shorts don't even cover your skanky ass. Looks like you're working a street corner dressed like that."
"Yeah, well, I have a job. What you got? Why I bother trying to help your sad ass anyway. I don't fucking know."
Finally the elevator doors opened. Was that blood on the floor again? She hated living there, hated being poor, hated Darryl and Berta for being everything that everyone thought they would be and nothing more.
They stepped onto the elevator together. Naomi was pretty sure Darryl hadn't bothered to shower. "What's the court date for? You knock over a convenience store or some shit?"
"Custody hearing. Trying to get my kids back."
"They'd be better off if you didn't. You know that right?"
"Fuck you bitch. What's a nigger cunt like you know anyway?"
"I should fucking stab your ass for that shit. Ain't your bitch a nigger too?"
"Yeah, I like dark meat. Don't mean shit though. Good enough to fuck, not for much else."
"Jesus christ, the fucks wrong with you?"
Finally the elevator hit the ground floor. Naomi almost ran out, she wanted away from Darryl, his ignorance and blatant racism. That's when the chaos hit her. Her apartment was on the ninth floor, and the windows were never open, because even with the heat it wasn’t worth it to hear the neighbourhood outside, the sounds of poverty filtering through the air. As soon as she could see outside it was obvious that something was wrong, very, very wrong. There was fire billowing past the building, and people were running, some screaming. She went to the door to get a better look, see if she could see what was causing the problem, Darryl crowding behind her, putting his hand on her ass, pig.
There was a car on fire just past the door, and crowds of people were surging around it. She saw one of them catch fire and fall to the ground. He was trampled by the crowd, nobody even pausing to help him up. Then there were others, slower moving, quieter, more deliberate. Every once in a while one of them would catch up to one of the running ones, usually when they fell. The slow ones started eating the fast ones every time they caught them. Even though there were a lot of people running the shambling ones outnumbered them by a large margin. The chaos in the street looked like it was going to spill into the lobby any moment, so she started towards her apartment. The elevator had headed up, but was on the way back down. Darryl followed her, quiet now, his already pale skin even whiter. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. There were two people standing in the elevator, and one lying on the floor, throat ripped out. The two standing had blood covering them, flesh hanging from one of their mouths. They turned, reached out, grabbing Darryl. He tried to pull away, but despite their slow movement he couldn't break their grip. They pulled him down, as he screamed, sinking teeth into his flesh, tearing at him. His screams choked off with a wet gasp. Naomi ran for the stairs.
Naomi made it up couple of flights when she saw movement coming her way, the jerking movement letting her know it wasn't anyone living. She ran down and headed through the first door she was able to reach, slamming it behind her. Her mind ticked off options, narrowing the list as circumstances became clear. Limited options, but there were still a few viable ones, ways to get out of there.
She kept going until she hit the basement. Thanks to an ex-boyfriend who was obsessed with urban exploration she had been through most of the steam tunnels in the area, kilometres of narrow passages, some so small she needed to crawl to make it through, some large enough to walk upright. Don had been a huge nerd, not the kind of guy she usually dated, but the one she actually liked the most. He hadn't realized it, but she had loved exploring the tunnels. It was something nobody knew, she loved maps, navigation. Had since she was a small child, just another secret she hid from the world, another thing that got lost on her friends and family, they all saw the surface. She'd reached the point where she could navigate the tunnels blindfolded, escaping from her life down there, pushing herself to go further, learn more, instead of sitting in her apartment growing ever more resentful of her circumstances and her roommate.
As she was about to duck into tunnels she spotted the janitor's work station. There was a pair of Chuck Taylors that looked like they were only a bit too large for her. She ditched the pretty sandals and threw on the sneakers. Sure, she would probably get blisters, but that was going to happen either way and her odds of being able to walk were better if she wasn’t wearing high heels. Sometimes pretty shoes had to take a back seat to practicality.
Entering the steam tunnels she headed north. Any other direction just brought her deeper into the city. She didn't know how widespread this was, but it seemed like a good idea to get as far away from population centres as possible.
There was an exit that led into a
small park, time to head back into the world. She had her backpack with her, a tiny one that was essentially a purse. She had her phone in it, but she didn’t even know who to call. It was clearly zombies, just like in the movies, and she had no family she cared about. Her aunt wasn't really someone she liked. Maybe she should call Berta, her roommate, but she hated the lazy bitch enough to be in favour of the zombies eating her. Instead she started walking, checking for any movement.
She made it to the edge of the park before the zombies became an issue again. There were dozens of them on the street, wandering back and forth. It was a terrifying sight, most of them looked mostly normal, like people walking down the street, except they didn't walk right, shuffling and limping, limbs too stiff or too loose, heads at strange angles. A few were worse, burned, trampled, some bitten, all broken, horrible to behold. She wanted to scream, to run away, to curl up in a ball and die. Instead she took a deep breath and said, "Okay Naomi. You can do this, just tramp it down. Deal with your emotions later, deal with this now," silently in her head.
The biggest question in her mind was where to go. The city wasn't safe, not even close, but she didn't have the resources or skills to live in the middle of the woods by herself. The airport was north, no people living there. Things had gone off the rails sometime late last night or early morning, so probably not that many people present. It was also very self-contained, with restaurants, a hotel, all sorts of things she could use. It wasn't far, but first she had to get across the street.
A bad ending
Mona was running. The smell of burning was strong in the air. Fuck. Her trailer was on fire. Fuck. She’d set her trailer on fire. Fuck. Terry was dead. Fuck. She’d killed him. Set him on fire with the trailer. Fucker had tried to eat her. Fuck.
She kept running. A girl reached out for her. Mona smashed her as hard as she could. The girl went down, hard. Mona kept running. More, a crowd of them. She turned and ran another way. She was still high as fuck.
A Long Walk Page 2
