Death never used to scare me. It surrounded me my entire life, so I guess you could say I've just gotten used to it. It wasn't until I found out that we won't STAY dead that it started to frighten me. That was the only security I had in life, knowing that once I died, I would be able to rest; I'd actually stay dead. I guess that's why people choose cremation over burials, because it sets the soul free and lets your body be one with the universe. But now I have to struggle onward because my life finally has real meaning. I refuse to live as a decomposing contagious cannibal hell bent on ingesting all those still fighting to live… That possibility terrifies my soul… If I were bit, I don't even know if I would be able to do the right thing and pull the trigger… It's all too much to process at one time… I gotta stop thinking so negatively… At least while I'm running down a street with dozens of infected around us…
We make a box perimeter around the girls, Henry and I in the front, Spencer and Kevin guarding the rear. The bodies at our feet are ominous, leaving me slightly more discouraged to move forward. What if they aren't dead? They could grab one of us, make them scream, and that would be it, nobody left alive. I kick one of the closer bodies and it shifts on its back, showing us the reality of most of the bodies on the street and why they were left there. The body was as Brian's was, but more mutilated. The front of the skull was gone, bits of grey gelatinous matter still stuck on the inside of the dirty white bone. The chest and everything below was gone except the bones and joints, indented from the canines of the dead. I kick over another by it and it's the same fate for the dead. All the dead left in the open are truly dead unless walking.
"What're we doin'? We gotta go man," Henry whispers and I nod. They're scared, and it looks like we don't have much time before the sun goes down. Taking out those infected at the school and getting out of the music building was more time consuming that I could've imagined. Forgot that I have to be precise with everything, as well as time efficient. Investigating while moving is what will have to cut it.
"Don't step too close to the bodies. I think they're all dead, like dead dead, but I can't tell," I warn in a hushed voice, creeping around the bodies as I lead the group.
We move down the side of the school, hugging the wall as we tread down Allston St. The majority of infected are up by Shattuck Ave. and on University Ave., not too close to where we are, keeping us from immediate danger, yet we need to leave here fast. Suddenly we hear a siren, though if it was from a fire truck or ambulance I'm unsure. All I know is that it was extremely loud over the dead city, echoing through Downtown. The siren was coming from the west Oakland direction and soon was on top of us. We searched for it but couldn't see it, hearing the siren continue along what sounded like Shattuck, finally crashing somewhere along the line, most likely near Hearst St.
"What the hell is that?" Spencer whispers a little too loud. I look back at him and purse my lips in a "shh" manner, then slowly move the group completely against the wall. I press against Georgia and Jen, thinking that if something does happen, they could have a chance to get somewhere so that at least somebody would live on.
The siren continues howling through the silent city after the crash, drawing most of the infected in the downtown area toward it and away from us. We patiently wait for them to pass, standing perfectly still aside from the constant shivering and hard breathing. The small wave continues past, trudging at a slow pace, as if just curious to what the sound might be, not running at full speed like when they know food is around. Strange. It's like they really do conserve their energy for the chase only.
"Ok, good, come on," I whisper, ungluing us from the wall and picking up our pace. Luck is clinging to us as we jog over to Addison Ave., avoiding the puddles to prevent more unwanted attention and passing the police station.
"Should we try to get weapons from inside?" Spencer asks quietly, anticipation straining in his voice. We pause for a second, pondering if it's really worth it, then an infected gets close to me and I slash her head off right below the eyes and keep walking.
"There's too many, inside and out. I can see them through the glass. Let's just focus on gettin' the fuck outta here. Weapons come later," I answer, eyes peeled for any hiding infected.
We start making our way down Addison, the trees shadowing over us in a deathly embrace the further we go, the rain growing increasingly colder. The once peaceful street is filled with destruction, from burned down houses, exploded cars, and a fallen telephone pole that had crushed some bodies along the way, electricity still erupting on from the loose wires, shocking the ground and puddles on the street, leaving only the right handed sidewalk open for safe travel. Avoiding the infected we encounter as best as possible, only having to act when they're within arm's reach, which is still rather often. I study the side streets, noting groups of infected crowding on University. The farther we get from the immediate downtown area, the thinner the crowds become, but not with much significance.
"How exactly're we gonna get down to the marina? It's all the way across town!" Angela whispers angrily, her expression no longer full of gratitude, but frustration. "Look, we just needa get away from here. The infected are swarmin' in this area so we needa get indoors so we don't get stuck here while it's still night. I really don't have time to argue right now, you're just gonna have to trust 'n follow me. Come on… the sun's already setting, and us talking is attracting them… It'll be harder to see them coming now," I say sternly, checking all the infected heads slowly turning in our direction.
"What street should we go down? Addison won't be safe when we get to Sacramento," Henry notes after he splits a creature's head in half. He's not wrong, Sacramento, San Pablo, University; all these streets will be difficult to cross unnoticed. No, I think unnoticed is a bit of a stretch. We'll be caught in some way or another, either from our scent or sound waves. It's more that we need to be prepared for that when the time comes.
"We needa go through the University overpass to get past the highway, but it seems like University is kinda fucked, like our chances of going that way… We're probably gonna needa take the Gilman underpass instead and take the back streets to the marina. So either down Virginia or another small street going that way would suffice," I suggest, slicking my hair back to get it out of my eyes.
"Should we try to get across University now then?" Georgia asks after she smacks an infected over his head with a steel baseball bat they found at the school.
"Yeah, at this next street turn right and don't talk. Hopefully they won't be able to smell us if they're not as close to us, and the rain should still mask some of our scent," I tell them as I lead the way down the deserted street, eyes unable to focus on a single thing, worry causing me to take everything in at once, searching for something to go wrong.
It's freaking me out. How is this street so empty right now? All the others had at least one or two of the diseased. Not even 20 minutes ago the streets were overrun, and now there's none to be found? I know that the siren distracted a few up by the school, but it couldn't get all of them to follow the sound from way down here… could it? Maybe they moved to the busier main streets where bodies still litter the gutters. Decomposing corpses, it's what's for dinner.
But what worried me most is that the closer we get to University, the stronger that undistinguishable stench circles with the wind, wafting up our unwelcoming noses, making our eyes water. The wind blows again, hinting of moldy corroded blood and burned hair…
We shuffle across University, catching sight of the bodies lying all over the streets. Many are of adolescents and toddlers, limbs ripped apart so severely that they weren't even able to come back as the infected. A car was pinning a woman under its front left tire, destroying her legs and abdomen, yet she still couldn't wriggle her way free, only able to swing her arms feebly in the attempt to grab a bite to eat. About 15 feet away from her is an overturned baby carriage, the infant inside still buckled in, writhing in discomfort as just his mother was, still pinned beneath the vehicle, both despising their unfortunate births as infected. I shake my head and continue forward, pushing the image of the baby with white eyes and a broken neck reaching for me as we step around them, trying not to disturb the tortured souls of the dead. I guess it's not quite as bad down here, the bodies still somewhat intact, not completely devoured yet.
"Hold up, my shoe fell off..." Spencer whispers in a harsh tone so we can all hear. He walks back a step and picks it up next to the parked red SUV with the woman underneath. We wait impatiently for him while he struggles to slip his shoe back on, standing on one foot and hopping around on the wet cement. With one big push, he finally gets his big drenched foot inside the soaked shoe, and also loses his footing… We watch in horror as he falls backward and slams into the SUV, setting the alarm off. Screams erupt from all around us, shattering the nerve-racking silence like the hammering of brittle metal. The infected woman grabs for Spencer, but he kicks her away and jumps up in a panic.
"GO!! Run! Everyone head for that parking lot!" Henry yells in a low voice and we all fall in line behind him, sprinting towards a five story parking lot, the tallest building around.
"They're right behind us!" Angela says hysterically.
"NO FUCKIN' SHIT BITCH, JUST KEEP RUNNIN'!!" Henry replies without even glancing back. I risk a peek and sure enough, there they are, galloping toward us with such angry, savage, bestial faces it sends chills through my body. They're piling out of buildings, emerging from the shadows, coming at us in growing numbers, like a dead city becoming alive once more, just for us. I let the others run ahead of me and bring up the rear, keeping everyone running with a dozen infected nipping at my heels.
"Why? Why did I move all the way to the back? That was retarded… now I'm finna be the first fucker to die…" I shake my head at my own stupidity for caring about others instead of myself. "Maybe I'm not the asshole I thought I was…" I think immediately before peeping that the gates to enter the garage are down, and the metal door is shut, no doubt locked… We have no wher—
BOOM!
Henry shoulders into the door and it crumples beneath his power, caving enough for one person to squeeze through at a time. I usher everyone forward to maneuver in through the opening and continue running while I hold off the few infected already upon us. I stun one with the butt of the axe, sending him tumbling into a garbage can and tripping over it. I slash at another's head and miss, slicing its chest open to where I can see its heart beating, the blood spurting out seeming very thick with weird black chunks churned with the blood. But it doesn't slow down. It speeds up instead.
"Hurry up!!" Henry shouts, holding the door so I can simply sprint through. I dash inside before they grab hold, turning to the right as we run up to the next level.
"Where the fuck're we going?!" Kevin shouts from the middle of the group, his voice echoing through all the levels of the structure.
"Top floor!! It's where the security booth is. It's our best hope for hidin' from the hoard," Henry huffs from the front, rounding the railing and continuing up the ramp, holding the shoulder he'd used to burst inside. It doesn't look like it hurts too severely, so at least it isn't broken, but definitely bruised.
"There! Staircase!" Georgia shouts, pointing toward a stairwell as we reach the 2nd floor.
"SkreAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!" I hear something bellow behind us, followed by the rapid pounding of what sounds like the gate for cars to enter the garage being completely broken down. The thundering of pavement is what comes next, following the body of an infected hurtled in our direction, smashing into a car to our left and demolishing it. I peek over my shoulder to see a nightmare. An infected, standing at about 10' tall, huge squared off shoulders, thick, overly muscular thighs pushing it forward at an alarming pace. Expanded muscles and enlarged jagged teeth make the infected seem unworldly, impossible. How, THE FUCK, could that have happened?
"All of you get in there! Henry! Trade!" I yell and switch weapons so that I have the spear now.
"What're y'doin'!?!" Henry questions from the stairwell, pausing with the door open as I continue to run up the ramp leading to the next level of parking.
"You get them to the top floor NOW!!!" I scream. The brute runs straight for the door the others are behind, beating it so hard that it starts to unhinge itself from the concrete wall. I can't have it letting the infected go after the others. None are following me. They only stick with the brute like infected for some strange reason, like it's their leader or something.
"HEEEEEYYYY!!!!" I screech, bashing in the window of a Nissan sedan, a howling blare erupting through the garage. I wait while the beast turns my way, searching for the noise and stopping on me, its eyes seeming to focus on me with a particular glare of intrigue.
There's a small moment of time when I feel a chill shake me so hard that I think I'm bound to collapse, to shrivel up into a ball and just let the infected take me, end this suffering. And as soon as it comes, it is gone with the wind, billowing away with my negativity. The clouds part in my mind, and in a split second, I realize that my whole time of bickering about the end and dying is finally here… and I want nothing to do with it.
I want to live.
The beast takes off, closing in so fast it frightens me, each step it takes at least a meter and a half long. I freeze my body down to gemstone, lock onto the beast's head, and sling the spear as hard as I can. It pierces the towering brute through his chest and protrudes out of his back, stabbing another infected behind it through the mouth. Should've aimed just a little higher it seems. The brute barely falters at the attack, slowing for but a moment as the body of the diseased slides off the back of the pole. Then it resumes thundering up the path for me; the pole, loosely hanging through the beast's diaphragm, easily shakes out after four humongous steps…
My mother used to tell me, "Shaun, when you get older and become a great man, I want you to understand that life is never the way you want it to be. You must work hard for what you want, especially when it comes to women. If it's easy, then it isn't worth it…" I guess that means that all of their lives must be worth protecting because it's been hard as fuck staying alive and keeping everyone else safe… This had better be fucking worth it…
Dashing to the 3rd floor, I've put enough distance between me and the infected to try and hide from them. Hopefully I can meet back up with the others on the 5th floor, the roof. I can't keep this running bullshit up much longer, not while I myself am running on fumes. It's becoming hard to breathe, like my lungs are being constricted, not taking in enough air to run comfortably or easily. I thought I was just getting fat, but I think it's the fear and exhaustion that's squeezing what's left from my lungs now. Not to mention how badly I shat my pants after seeing that goddamn Frankenstein monster. Either way, not good… keep pace, just focus on that.
I flit past the staircase entrance and hop over the side of the railing, clasping onto to the railing, clinging to the side of the wall; waiting for the infected to pass me by so I can pull my ass back over. I have no footholds to step on so my arms begin to tire from the strain of my entire body weight, my bi and triceps slowly setting ablaze.
I hear the majority of them pass me as I hang there, hoping they can't hear my rough breathing and occasional low grunts of stress as I glance downward. Infected are all around this side of the building, pouring into the small entrance which has expanded incredibly due to that fucking brute. Translation: if I fall I'll die like Brian.
Nope, not today, fuck that shit, not dying today.
I shift my weight to the shoulders and upper back, maneuvering my hands for a better grip, and breathe in relief as the burning subsides for a while. I hear them shuffling to the next floor, so they must be gone right? I'm about to pull myself up when ground shaking footsteps approach the railing, leaving me more puzzled than worried. Is their sense of smell that good? Before I have second doubts, something grabs my arm and I instinctually release my clutch on the railing. Honestly, I'd rather fall to my death than be pulled up and feasted upon, so hopefully the fall will kill m-
YANK!!
The brute clings onto me, saving me for itself; its eyes staring over the edge to watch me struggle. I kick and punch at the hand, yet even though I'm fighting my hardest to get away, it keeps pulling me higher up.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck off, fuck off, FUCK!! OFF!!!!" I bellow and force my knife out of my jeans, ripping the back pocket slightly. Flicking it open, I stab its hand and wrist vigorously, scared I might puncture through to my own skin, but more afraid of the beast's smiling teeth at the moment. It pokes its head all the way over the side of the rail, leaning downward to grab me with its other hand and haul me over the rail; its mouth happily waiting, snapping with scary anticipation. It's close enough to where I can reach its thickened head and smell the rancid musk escaping its mouth.
One last chance.
My arm strains when it hoists me toward its welcoming face, signaling my go. I thrust the knife right between its eyes, yanking it out and stabbing it down a 2nd time through the top of its head, moving my face to the left as the blood sprays my jacket and sprinkles on my neck, leaving me feeling tainted. I tug the blade from its cranium with much struggle and the body releases all motor functions, the grip on my arm loosening so rapidly all I can do is mutter, "Fuck."
And I fall…
As I fall, I extend my hands toward the wall, waiting until I feel something I can actually hold and grab the railing of the 3rd floor. POP! I feel my right arm rip out of its socket and stifle a cry, managing to cling onto the rail somehow. I scramble with my left hand, clawing to the edge while my arm throbs so profoundly, it's damn near all I can think of at the moment besides not letting go, the pain and survival. I peer downward and shiver at the squirming bodies smelling of putrid rotting fish. I inch my left hand farther along, the soles of my shoes finding all the tiniest footholds available as I push my way up. I feel my wound opening wide again, blood soaking through the rag and slicking my grip, reducing most of the progress I'd made so far.
After five minutes and a shit-ton of effort and willpower, I quietly slide myself over the rail and flop to the floor softly, my arm just dangling next to me. I know I must look like a fucking mess. Definitely feel like one. I peek from where I'm laying, studying my surroundings from glancing under the vehicles. They're everywhere, seemingly active, as if alarmed. I guess I couldn't subdue my shout enough when my arm gave out, some even trailing back down the road from the 4th floor. I slide my wallet out of my back pocket with difficulty, blood now smeared over the back of my pants and staining the wallet with blood, making it heavier, about the weight of a baseball now. I toss it hard at an infected about 30 feet away to make them move away from the stairwell, glaring hatefully at death's eaters. It hits the infected and splatters fresh-ish (untainted) blood on the back of its head. The others close in on their brethren and growl, sniffing the strange sensation, unsure what to make of the anomaly. It must smell good and bad at the same time. It distracts the others enough for them to move.
I limp my crippled ass over to the stairwell, gently closing the door so they don't hear it and try to break it down to get me. I brace against the wall and sigh, regretting what I'm about to try already. I grab my arm by the elbow, slowly maneuvering it into the correct position. Once it's in the right place, I quickly shove up then inwards, forcing it back into its socket… and hundreds of red tipped needles sear the flesh of my shoulder. I let out a long, slow groan, and slide down to the floor, grinding my teeth and clenching my eyes from the immense pain. I hate putting my arm back into its socket myself; I'm not as good at it as a doctor, so it hurts much, much worse. Like the difference of drilling a cavity with a shot of Novocain to numb the tooth/pain, and just drilling a cavity without it. The pain is significantly different.
I sit on the floor and catch my breath, melting into the wall, letting the pain simmer to a burning warmth. After a few minutes of rest I trek up the stairs to the roof and push the door open, cautiously sticking my head out to scan the situation. There're only two lights up here, so it's very difficult to see things clearly, especially with the sunlight fading as dusk combs over the bay. Fuck you twilight.
It's weird. I don't understand how the day slipped from us so quickly. I guess in our midst, whilst running and sneaking around the more crowded parts of downtown, we hadn't been keeping track of time, just of our immediate surroundings. Time passes hastily when you're in constant danger I guess. I scan the area and finally find the security booth Henry had mentioned, about 18' from the staircase. It's more gratifying than finding a cold spring during a drought. I stumble towards the booth with a scowl on my face, head throbbing as the pain in my arm starts acting up again. It's only been two days since the infection started… Just how crazy is this gonna keep getting?
Bam! Bam! Bam!
"Let me in!" I call, kicking the door. There're no infected up here yet, but I'm sure that'll change within seconds. I wait impatiently for a few seconds with no answer from inside, so I kick again, not so angrily this time. I hear the screams of the infected, advancing to the top level after hearing my voice, giving them new direction. Their cries crawl into my ears, shaking my nerves, arm and leg hairs on end, clenching my jaw to stop it from quivering.
What the fuck? Are they really gonna leave me out here to die after I just risked my life so that they'd get away safely? I feel my heart sink all five levels of the building and flatten against the ground, stomped out by the infected and so-called friends I'd saved. How fucked up is this? I mean… really…? The fuck…
This is why I don't help people… no matter how much you may want people to act and think the way you expect them to, they'll never turn out to be that genuine in the end… Setting up expectations is just setting yourself up for disappointment…
"Shaun!" I hear Georgia shout from somewhere far off, my name echoing through the ambient skies. I search for her and find that there are actually two security booths, each on opposite sides of the roof. The one I'm at is near the stairwell. The one they're at is all the way across the parking lot, by the fire escape. I begin trudging over with a sigh of relief, glad they hadn't abandoned me. Then the first of the infected lumber out from the 4th floor ramp, and more trail behind as if playing follow-the-dead-fucking-leader or something. They start after Georgia, following her voice, so I glance at the car next to me, pull my left arm back, and bust the window open with my elbow. It hurt like a motherfucker, but more importantly it halts the advancing infected for a moment, confused as to where the food really is.
"Get inside and stay there! I'll come to you!" I scream and she closes the door, her little heart shaped face appearing through the window by the door, Henry watching with her. I jog back over to the 1st security booth and lean against the door. Peeking around the corner, I scout ten infected striding in my direction and more appearing from the lower levels. I try the handle. No good, locked. If I break it down, they'll hear it and I'll have no cover against them, meaning me=dead. Same if I break through the window. I check around the corner to see how far they are from me. Oh great… only about 20 feet left, at most. I search yet find no escape. Fuck. Fuck.. Fuck! Where the fuck can I go? I can't fight off a small army! Think… where the fuck is safe on the roof? Looking up at the moon for an answer, trying to figure out how to elude death yet again, I catch the glint of the metal roofing for the booth.
The roof! That'll at least keep me alive a few more hours so I can reconnect with the others. I leap and grab hold of the roof, sharp pain exploding through my right shoulder while I struggle to pull myself to safety, an excruciating expression on my face. I lob my feet over the edge as they round the corner of the booth, growling like rabid dogs. I scoot away from the edge carefully to not make any noise and lay down for a while, trying to catch my breath quietly.
I let my heartbeat calm so I don't have a heart attack and close my eyes. I try yet sleep doesn't come. It's like trying to sleep on a wooden door with sharks prowling beneath you, minus the swaying of the waves. Serene's moonlight envelopes me, brighter than Apollo's true form, refusing me any luck with sleep. Dismally grunting and slapping my hands down in frustration, I feel the thud of cold sleek glass or porcelain. I shift my head, glancing next to me and now realizing that the booth has one of those black skylight windows that block out the UV rays replacing a roof panel. The clouds were blocking the moonlight when I first jumped up so I couldn't see it there, but it looks inviting to me, the promise of sleep improving immensely.
I unfold my knife and dig at the edges until a corner gives way, popping the window open enough for me to get my fingers under it. I heft it open and carefully set it aside, poking my head inside to search for possible surprises. None, luckily. That's a good sign at least. With a small sigh of relief I hop inside, noting how tiny the inside truly is. It's dark, close to pitch black. I take out my phone and use the screen light to gather my surroundings, finding the light switch and flicking it on. There's nothing special in the room that I can see. There's a computer monitor with four sections of different feeds of the first four levels, capturing the stairs and elevators. The screens then do a timed switch to other areas of the parking garages, switching again after 30 seconds to a different angle of the same floors, showing the same disturbing images repetitively, and repeating the cycle.
The infected are everywhere, including the stairwell now. The first floor is the emptiest of them all, nothing but a small trickle residing. The second and third floors are packed like sardines, impossibly full and still making their way up here. The roof isn't too bad, the majority of infected are around my booth, veering from the others. I have no idea how the fuck we're gonna get out of this tomb. Hopefully the fire escape isn't all fucked up and rusted so we can use that. Fingers crossed.
The room also has a shelf, a filing cabinet, a desk, and a small closet. I open the closet to find a thick padded black motorcycle jacket with a green cross on the back, along with a fireproof blanket, and a crowbar. I study the jacket thoroughly, examining the words that were inscribed on the jacket, glowing red letters embedded in the green of the cross.
"The Blessed Lack No Conviction."
Hmm. Not a bad saying at all. I continue searching, through the filing cabinet now, and find a Smith & Wesson police issued M&P45 without a safety. Stainless steel with a black finish, white dot sight, only about 8", ten round capacity with an extra round ready in the chamber. I wonder if the guard at this station had this legally… I don't believe security guards are issued police firearms. Maybe he was an ex-cop or something. I rummage around that drawer more thoroughly and find a box of 150 rounds with eight empty clips to be loaded. That's definitely going to come in handy.
I lay the pistol, empty clips, and cartridge of rounds in front of me on the jacket to not make a racket on the tile floors. I empty the clip from inside of the handgun. Fucking empty, of course… I lay it with the other clips and continue to dismantle the pistol. I don't have the materials to clean fully, but I use a makeshift rag to at least wipe it down. I reassemble the pistol; confident it'll fire properly and probably won't jam. I then load the nine empty clips, leaving only 59 free rounds left. I insert a clip into the gun, put the extra clips onto the table, roll up the jacket into a makeshift pillow, and slowly ease my painfully sore body onto the cool floor. Sleep gradually comes once I adjust to the pain and disdainful cries and moans of haunted dead bodies. And even in my sleep, I find myself thinking once more of all the fears I attempt to hideaway.
Death was always easy for me to understand and deal with because those people always stayed in my heart. I always had them imprinted on my soul, no matter how hard or how much I wish to forget. But since this goddamn epidemic started, I don't know if that's enough anymore… My emotions feel as if they're becoming non-existent beside fear, anger, and panic. I'm still reverting. And it's becoming obvious that I can't stop the process. It's like an addiction. No matter what I try, what I do, I can't stop myself from becoming hollow. Empty emotions that I wish would cease. I'm becoming how I was before. I know it, but I can't bring myself to come to terms with the fact.
It all started with those faggots, the rapists. I let the anger take hold. I snapped, and the chain that bound the bestial demon inside of me is running rampant inside my brain. And what's worse is that I'm happy I set it free. I can finally be myself again, finally act out the deeds that I should've committed ten years ago. I CAN FINALLY DO SOMETHING! So I won't be angry at the fact that I let the rage out. And I'm not. I'm not angry. I'm terrified. I'm terrified that if I let my demons show to everyone so often, they will fear me, or find me insane. I'm terrified that if I continue this way, I will find myself resented and alone all over again.
But it's so hard. Sorrow has become a rarity for me now… Everything is making me wonder if life is worth living if we're not even living anymore, just surviving… Staying alive, running, never at rest… Always a continuous cycle of fighting for a continued existence…
It's fucking bullshit!
The world hasn't changed, it never really does. But people are ever-changing. People have been killing each other for centuries, using each other, raping each other. The only difference now is that we're no longer shielded from the violence… We've degraded. Civilization has fallen. And we're left to resort to a more primal stage. Kill or be killed… Hunter gatherers once more…
And I remember; that's what it means to be human… Your entire life is filled with pain, but being able to comprehend that pain, learn from it, and feel it in your soul, that's what makes us people instead of Zombies… And what makes us humans instead of fucking monsters is being able to handle that pain, and grow stronger from it, instead of just adjusting to it, and letting it change you… change you in the worst way imaginable, into a despised being, beyond salvation. I must mourn the dead to ascend from this hollow state, instead of simply accepting that they're gone now. I must keep my morality, all of it that still remains; otherwise I'll become no better than the rapists I'd killed.
I CAN'T lose my morality. I refuse to become like that bastard…
I Will Not Sink To Damnation.
I Am Not My Father.
And what followed were nightmares…
Angela is standing before me, her hand extending toward my eyes. I'm not sure why, but I want to run, yet my body won't move. I can't place it; I feel such a great amount of fear the closer she becomes, and I cringe with each daunting footstep. She stops before me and her lips tug into a painful grin. It would be beautiful if she wasn't forcing herself to do it. Her fingers caress the side of my face, and I feel at peace, calm to a sense of disbelief considering how I was cowering before her seconds before. I'm still frightened, but it's not her I'm afraid of. Her hand moves to the back of my head and grips hold moving my vision down to her neck where the skin is torn off, ripped away by hands and teeth. I force my eyes to gaze back up at Angela, horrified to see that she's now turned into an infected, eyes cloudy white… My group is peering over her shoulder, all undead, all licking their lips. Angela's grip becomes painful, her nails pushing through skin. She then pulls me in, as if for a kiss, and bites off my nose.
I start howling, and everything goes black…
I forget where I am for a little while, thinking I'm back in my shitty apartment having another nightmare about my mother. Then I remember the dream, remember the living nightmare, and I groan. I hate when this happens…
It's time to get out of here. I slowly wake up, yawning and blinking away the remaining sleep that's clouding my eyes and mind, rubbing the crust from my eyes. My shoulder is worse today, catching up with me scornfully to make up for the shit I made my body endure yesterday. I force my torso up and hurtfully gasp. Worse. I'm much worse than I even thought possible. If this is how my day is going to pan out, I don't have much of a chance of living throughout the day. I peer out the window, looking between the blinds at the weather.
It's still dark outside, but the sun's starting to rise on the horizon, baby blue light dominating the navy blue tinge left from Nyx's lingering hue as Apollo rides his chariot slowly into view, mixing into a shade of light pink or purple, I can't quite tell which. I stand and ogle the beautiful portrait painted before me of the Berkeley hills and Kensington. There are no fires or even damage up that way from what I can see, though I know that's only one vantage point. It's still nice, seeing that maybe not everything is gone, a glimmer of the past still standing untouched. But once I stop focusing on the hills and gaze upon the devastation smeared as far as the eye can see; I know that if it's untouched, it will soon be decimated by the dead, infected just as the rest of our world. Everywhere is gone, no place is safe anymore.
BAM! BANGBANGBANG! BAM! BAM!
The infected scratch against the door, alarmed from when I yelled myself awake. I stand and maneuver to the side of the window to see how many are outside, moving the blinds aside cautiously. One, two… five… okay, at least 15… I need to get out of here, but how am I gonna get all the way across the parking lot with all those crazy fuckers around?
I get up and sit on the chair, my foot hitting something underneath the desk. I check to see what it was and spot a hiker backpack. It had a yellow tag attached, with a nicely hand written confiscated drawn across the cardboard like parchment. I snatch it up and unzip it, unlocking the treasures waiting inside. There's a bundle of clothes in the biggest section, seemingly clean. I grab a plain white v-neck shirt and pull it on to get the blood stained shirt off of me, grunting as both my shoulder and hand now flash with pain. There's a very extensive first aid kit with extra medical tape, gauze, and a Zippo lighter in the medium section.
A pill bottle containing 200 pills of 10MG of methadone is found in the smallest compartment, along with what looks like 60 800mg pills of ibuprofen, and some unlabelled shit I don't even wanna think about dabbling with. I take out one of the methadone pills and examine the pill in my hands, trying to tell if it's expired or not. The bottle doesn't have a date, just the prescription and name. Josh Peiken.
"Thanks Josh," I mutter before swallowing the pill and forcing it down my throat.
I take one of the ibuprofen for my swollen shoulder, then put the gun and rounds in the biggest part with the clothes, along with the blanket, and grab the kit out. The gun would be too loud, drawing them towards me and the others. The infected outside are banging against the door, not too hard, but enough to know they wanna get in, and are going to sooner than later. I guess I'm making too much noise… I have to hurry.
I unwrap the bandage on my hand and sigh. I grab out two alcohol wipes, the surgical needle and medical thread, loop the thread, and burn the tip of the needle before wiping it with a small alcohol pad to sterilize the equipment. I bite down on my shirt to keep from screaming, and wipe a large alcohol pad over the open wound. The searing stinging stays even after I'm done wiping, mimicking an intense Urtica Dioica, the stinging nettle plant. I blow on it to keep it from stinging too profusely, bite down again, and start the procedure. I knit the wound closed with the best butterfly stitch impersonation I could produce, tie it sealed, and wipe it with a third alcohol pad, taking away the excess blood and possible bacteria. I then take a large bandage and stick it to my left palm after smearing antibacterial gel over the stitch job. Once the bandage is on securely, I tightly roll some medical wrappings over my left hand a couple of times, ensuring no possibility of infected blood soaking through to the wound. Good as new compared to earlier.
The dead are now bashing against the door, soon to break it down, even slapping and chipping at the parts of the window they can reach. I gotta get them to come here so I can somehow get away. Hmm… noise. That gives me an idea… I slide the motorcycle jacket on, grab the crowbar, put the kit in the pack, zip it up, and move the table directly below the skylight, climbing onto it. The glass is still off from the night before, so all I have to do is climb out after I prepare everything. I take my phone out of my pocket and turn "Renegade" by Styx on full blast, singing along with it at the top of my lungs as I set it on the desk.
"Oh mama, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law. Law man has put an end to my running and I'm so far from my home. Oh mama I can hear you cryin', you're so scared and all alone. Hangman is comin' down from the gallows and I don't very long", I chant loudly for them to hear, stomping on the table hard in every intermission along with the song, hearing the crowd getting more excited on the other side of the door. I stop singing and let the song play on its own.
"The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me, the renegade who had it made retrieved for a bounty. Nevermore to go astray, this'll be the end today of the wanted man. Oh mama I've been years on the lamb and I had a high price on my head. Lawman said 'Get him dead or alive' and it's for sure he'll see me dead. Dear mama I can hear you cryin', you're so scared and all alone. Hangman is comin' down from the gallows and I don't have very long," it plays as I climb up to the roof.
I stand there, watching the mass of infected scattered in the parking lot gathering by the door now, and once again more crowd up from the 4th floor. I wait until the majority makes it to the front of the booth, then tighten the grip on my backpack, and buckle the backpack onto me. I grip the crowbar tight, and as they break through the door I leap off the back of the building, roll, and take off sprinting after a second of stumbling. I run fast, toward the other end of the parking garage, hoping none are more interested in my footsteps.
I was never an adrenalin junky. I hated the way my adrenaline made me feel. I never got off on that type of shit like everybody else. I hated it with a passion. It used to scare me honestly. My adrenalin only kicked in when I was fighting… And every time that happened I would hurt someone too bad from lack of self-control… But now that I've learned to control it, it's more like a blessing with what I'm gonna be dealing with on a daily basis…
I'm running for the 2nd booth when something clutches my ankle by a white van, causing me to jump and fall from being startled, smacking my forehead on the concrete. An infected with no legs beyond its knees has captured me, crawling over me to get a bite. I crush the bar against its skull before it reaches my shoes and it crumples like a falling drape, blood projecting in a straight line out of its eye sockets. I pick myself off the floor and peep another coming from behind me. I swing the bar backwards and the bend catches behind its ear, sinking into its skull. I yank it down to the floor and pull the bar out, ripping brains and a chunk of skull out with it. I jog to the booth and lightly knock on the door, the music still playing surprisingly.
"Ey! Lemme in!" I whisper hoarsely. I hear the locks turning inside and the door swings open, leaving me to duck inside. "We should leave now while they're still distracted," I note while I close the door, rubbing my aching shoulder. Georgia rushes forward and hugs me tightly, squeezing until it hurts, which isn't too hard. Everything hurts… I squeeze her back and look at the others. They look about as bad as I feel. Not the best feeling with how that we'll be on the street in a matter of minutes.
"How're you still alive?" asks an astonished Kevin.
"I'll fill you in when we aren't wasting time, now let's go," I scowl angrily, my eyebrows knitting together, thinking of how this next escape will work. My expression lets him know it isn't up for discussion.
"What happened to your head?" Angela questions as she pushes back my hair to get a better view of the gash on my upper forehead near my hairline from when I fell.
"Smacked my head when one of 'em grabbed me," I answer her, reaching up and touching the new wound I hadn't noticed until mentioned. That's not good. Now I gotta check every time I run into one of those things if I've been bitten… Fantastic…
Georgia forcefully nudges Angela out of the way, ripping some of her sleeve off. She licks the bit of cloth and gingerly wipes away the worst of the blood, then reaches up and puts her hand on my face, adding with a smile, "We can't have the zombies smelling your blood, now can we? I'm glad nothing happened to you, we were all worried."
"We're all ready," Henry announces, looking me in the eye.
"Everyone has a weapon right?" I ask while grasping the handle, peeking back to check.
"Yeah," Jen answers, double checking to make sure.
"Who knows how to shoot a gun and actually hit the target?" I question lastly.
"Me," Georgia answers first, and I hand her the gun.
"Use it only when we're surrounded," I remind her, and we pile out of the small crowded room toward the fire escape, having no infected following us, my plan successfully working.
I head down first, checking the streets below us for a head count of infected. When I reach the bottom I check the alley once more for infect and spot none. I jump down, then motion for the others to move forward. I catch Angela, Jen, and Georgia as they jump to the ground so they don't hurt themselves, easing them with my good shoulder; helping Kevin and Spencer down as well, Henry hoping down on his own. We move down to the end of the alley and step out into the street. The infected are all still in the building and on the other side of the street near the broken entrance, only about two on the street in front of us.
"My car is down Berkeley St. on this block," Jen says, pointing the way to her car. I bash a homeless infected's brains in that stumbled out of the window of an abandoned shop.
"Lead the way, I'll cover you," I insist, and we move down the block cautiously yet briskly, keeping very close to each other.
"Nnnaahaak!" two diseased grunt, charging out a house with the front door busted open, tackling Kevin to the bloodstained grass. He stabs one through the mouth, narrowly avoiding a bite to the neck, then knees the other in the chest, pushing it away long enough to yank out the blade and sink it into the 2nd infected's ear with ferocity I'd never seen before. It seems to have sunk in clearly that we need to survive, and to do that, everyone is finally ready to kill. Good.
I turn back around, finding two other infected have started running toward us. I crack the 1st one on the side of its head, its eyeball shooting out and bouncing against my chest before squishing on the ground. I make a disgusted face and swing upward, the bend yanking out the 2nd's lower jaw. It still comes after me, blood pouring from its jaw with its head outstretched, wanting lurking in its demented glare, tongue limply plastered to its pasty neck. I break it's skull with a second blow to the head and it collapses, falling on the side of its face, blood flowing fast like water. He must've just recently turned.
"You ok?" Henry asks, worried Kevin had been bitten or infected from the blood.
"I'm good, let's keep goin'," he confides, urging us to continue walking toward what I thought was going to be a Minivan, until Jen points to the Hummer directly in front of it. Another gets close to Angela and she clubs it over the head with a metal bat she'd found in their security booth.
"Really? A Hummer?" Spencer smirks, sideways glancing at Jen.
"My dad took my car to work that morning so I had to use his Hummer. Maybe it was a good thing after all… Now do you wanna walk, or are you gonna shut the fuck up and get in the car?" she retorts with a sly smile. He holds up his hands in submission, a smile still lingering on his face. We all happily climb into the car before more infected come out of nowhere.
"Now we can put all this bullshit behind us," I sigh as Jen speeds down the street, leaving what I hope to be the worst of the nightmares to wander the empty cold streets behind us…
~*~