Dead Outside (Book 1) (9 page)
12:00
PM, July 2
I
woke up to the sun shining directly into my eyes. I shook my head and sat up. My
clothes were still damp, sticking to me. It wasn’t just the heat, even though
it was at least ninety degrees, this was from the rain the night before. I took
off my clothes and hung them on the railing overlooking the bottom floor, which
had several zombies staring up at me, reaching and clawing the walls and collapsed
staircase. I felt a slight pain and tenderness on the soles of my feet whenever
I put pressure on them.
I
untied my boots, and peeled the socks off my feet, they were still completely
soaked. I was so exhausted last night I must have just passed out on the floor
without taking the time to get my wet clothes off. The bottoms of both my feet
were soggy and wrinkled. If I didn’t keep them dry they could easily turn into
blisters, so I decided to take it easy here for at least a day or two just to
make sure. I hung my socks up with the rest of my clothes, and patted my feet
dry with a towel.
“Fuck,”
I cursed out loud. I didn’t want to sit here and wait, and every day I was
stuck here was another day Sarah could be killed, or worse. But if I walked on
my feet like this, they would blister and I’d have to wait even longer. The
less time I wasted the better.
I
tried to use my time to the best of my advantage, so I started to take an
inventory of my remaining supplies just in case Wade or one of his goons took
anything out. There was enough food for a day or two, maybe three if I
stretched it. My bat was pretty beat up, missing a splinter or two, but still
in one piece.
I
couldn’t find my machete. It must have still been at the warehouse, but that
wasn’t a big deal, I could always find another one. My 9mm on the other hand
was still in there, though the clip in it was only half full, with a full spare
clip. The flashlight’s battery was dead, so I put my extra one in it and tossed
the other downstairs, hopefully whacking a zombie on the head. I smirked at the
thought. There were also a few wrappers from candy bars I ate a few days ago. I
tossed those too.
There
was still one can of Dr Soda left. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to raise
my spirits a little. I tried to drink it slow, but that was a hopeless cause. I
finished it in about ten minutes. My supply of shotgun shells was pretty low,
with only five left in the shotgun, and five left in my backpack. Hopefully,
I’d be able to find a supermarket or maybe a gun store soon, if they hadn’t
already been looted of all the ammo that is.
My
map was sticking out of one of the pockets, so I pulled it out and unfolded it.
According to my calculations I was close to the Florida border. I wasn’t
exactly sure where I was, but I had a pretty good idea, and it looked like it
was going to take at least three, maybe even four more days of walking. If I
found another car, I would be able to shave it down to one day or even less,
depending on how much gas I could find.
I
couldn’t help but smile a little bit. I was damn close to finding her, closer
than I thought I was. Unfortunately I couldn’t get going yet, so I needed to
find something to occupy my mind for the time being.
Luckily
I had grabbed a simple gun cleaning kit before I left. It consisted of three
metal tubes, a handle, and scrub brush that you screw together, oil, and a
towel to wipe it down with. I hadn’t cleaned it since before I left my
grandmother’s house.
In
retrospect, that was probably a stupid idea to wait so long to clean it after
the number of shots I’d fired and elements it had been through over the last
few days. The pads I placed on the scrub brush end were filthy, almost
completely blackened from all the powder and gunk inside the barrel.
I
took my time and wiped all the rust and blood splotches from the outside of the
barrel, from all the rain over the last few days. I could have just done a
quick cleaning, just to keep it nice enough to fire, but I had to kill time so
I made sure to give it a nice and thorough cleaning.
The
smooth clean metal glistened in the light slightly, much better than it was an
hour ago. I loaded the shells back into it, pumped one into the chamber, and
then loaded another to replace the one I’d just chambered. I placed the remaining
four shells in my pocket for quick access. I had a feeling that I’d need them
sooner rather then later.
I
tried to relax for a few hours after cleaning the gun, but it was about three
in the afternoon and I was bored out of my mind. My feet were dry now, but
still a little tender. There were only about four hours of decent light left in
the day, so it wouldn’t be worth it to try and travel now. By the time I got on
the road, and because of my feet, I wouldn’t be able to travel very quickly.
I’d just get stuck in the middle of nowhere with no light, practically no ammo
left, and what must be at least a hundred of those things downstairs by now.
Eventually
I managed to take a small nap, but it was still light when I woke up. The noise
from downstairs was just too much to get a good restful sleep, and this time
the only thing I dreamed about was those fearful green eyes staring into my
soul, almost begging for a chance.
My
feet were still a little wrinkly, but they were dry. My socks and boots that I
had hung up earlier were also dry, but I wanted to keep my feet exposed to the
air so I kept them off. I put the rest of my clothes on. It was going to be
getting dark soon. I checked the time and saw there was only about an hour
until sunset.
My
bag was still leaning against the wall where I left it. My shotgun and pistol
were lying right at my side, all packed and ready to go.
Moans
were still echoing up from the Infected ranks below. Their skin was oddly
discolored, leathery grey in appearance. The untreated wounds on their bodies
oozed a deep maroon colored liquid. It couldn’t even be described as a liquid
anymore, since it was almost corn syrup like in its viscosity.
I
took my pistol and fired into the chest of one looking me in the eyes. Well,
they were all looking me in the eyes, but this one seemed to stick out a bit.
He was wearing what must have been a pink polo shirt. His unnaturally blond
hair was sticking up for the most part, except on one side where it looked like
he’d slept on it, though, it was probably where he died on it.
The
shot didn’t do anything to his facial expression. His jaws just gaped open in a
moan, then snapped shut biting at the air in front of him. The wound was in his
heart, and the small quantity of syrupy blood that did come out, only oozed out
slowly, not like what would normally happen. Roxie had been going to school
part time to be a nurse since high school, but had wanted to be one for as long
as I could remember. She’d told me what happened to people when they received
such wounds, especially when she saw what happened in most movies and said that
such things were normally portrayed unrealistically.
Granted,
I wouldn’t claim to have any knowledge on the subject other than what I’d heard
from Roxie or seen on some television special, but the heart is what pumps the
blood. If that is ruptured, it should pour out a lot more than it was, even if
it was thicker than usual. That is, unless the heart
wasn’t
pumping
blood anymore. But if it wasn’t, then how were these creatures alive?
Maybe
Roxie was right, maybe they were zombies. I’d thought she was just being funny
over the phone, not wanting to call them by what I assumed was the
scientifically accurate name of “Infected.” She must have understood the
actuality of the situation from the beginning, or at least once she saw one for
herself in person.
I
shivered at the thought of her bumping into one in a dark alley. It didn’t last
too long though. Nick wouldn’t be very far behind her if he had even an inkling
that something bad was going on.
Then
my mind drifted back to worrying about Sarah again. I wasn’t there to stop
whatever was in that dark alley. I was stuck in some abandoned, infested,
structurally unstable farm house hundreds of miles away, for at least another
day. I closed my eyes and imagined what she must be doing right now, hoping
that my thoughts would be one of those cheesy “looking at the same moon” kind
of moments, but instead all I could picture was her being chased by Rodger,
running on an enormous treadmill, not able to get far enough away.
“Fuck,”
I exclaimed out loud. I hadn’t thought about Rodger. As much as I hated the son
of a bitch, he was resourceful enough to probably be able to survive this. And
with nothing stopping him from just taking what he wants, he would go after
Sarah. I punched a wall in anger. The old and already crumbling drywall
shattered upon impact. Luckily I missed the stud, but not by much.
If
my feet weren’t still tender I would probably have been pacing around the room.
Instead, I was just sitting there, arms crossed, moving my foot in a tapping
motion, but never actually touching the ground with the bottom of my feet, just
swinging up and down.
I’d
always kind of enjoyed privacy. If I had a day home alone, it was a nice time
to just relax, not have to spend the whole time trying to please someone or do
chores for my parents. But this was different, in those situations other people
where only a text or phone call away but now? Just sitting here with absolutely
nothing to do, productive or otherwise, I realized how easily someone could
lose their mind in situations like this.
Probably
the only reason I wasn’t losing it myself was that I had a long term goal,
something to keep my mind off the present. I couldn’t just go bonkers here and
leave Sarah to fend for herself. I had to stay sane for her, no matter how much
noise the undead downstairs were making, I’d have to endure.
If
I had some alcohol, I could have had a few drinks and then fall asleep easier.
Though, I didn’t want to be impaired in any way if something were to go wrong,
like if the floor I was lying on suddenly collapsed or something. I shifted my
weight a little bit, making the floorboards below me creak and groan, and
decided that that was a distinct possibility.
I
decided that it was safe enough for me to drown out their moans with my mp3
player. They couldn’t reach the top of the stairs, and I needed to hear
something other then those god damned moans for a while. I put on my headphones
and cranked some classic rock
I
felt my eyelids getting a little heavy as I rocked out for a while and rested
my head against my bag, using it as a pillow. Eventually, I fell asleep again.
The music helped, but I was still worried. Even though I was as safe as I could
be right now there was something bothering me. The music may have drowned out
the sounds of the undead, but their presence, their memory, that was a constant
that I could never avoid, never escape.
5:00
AM, July 3
I
awoke to a subtle beep. My headphones were still on my ears, but were no longer
emitting music. I looked down at the mp3 player and saw a little flashing
battery symbol on the screen before it went black completely.
They
were still downstairs, reaching and swatting at the air. It must have stopped
raining sometime in the night. It was probably still wet outside, though it
would probably dry out as the day progressed.
My
feet were good. My socks and boots were dry now, so I put them on, strapped my
backpack on, slid my shotgun’s strap over my shoulder, and holstered the pistol.
The windows were all broken, and a few were covered in plastic. I tore the
plastic off of one on the opposite side of the house from the front door.
There
was one of those crisscross vine fences up the siding. The vines on it were
thick from lack of maintenance, and I hoped that if it could hold the weight of
all those vines, it would be able to support me as well. I reached over and
shook the boards, testing their strength, they seemed strong enough, and so I
started climbing down.
The
vines were wet, and quite slippery. So I took my time so I wouldn’t slip and
fall all the way down. The ground was just as wet as the vines. My boots sank
about an inch into the muddy grass, so I kept on the move, not standing in the
same place for too long for fear of my foot sinking too deep and losing a boot,
or falling over and getting completely covered in mud.
The
driveway, or at least what used to be the driveway, wasn’t paved. It used to be
completely covered in gravel, but now there were only a few patches packed well
enough to keep from sinking into the mud. I tried my best to hop through these
little islands of stone. Behind me the horde must have heard the squishing and
smacking of mud, because they were working their way toward me. Luckily, they
didn’t have the common sense I had to watch my footing. Several of them fell
forward face first into the muck, and all the squirming they did trying to get
out just made them get stuck worse, burying their limbs into the mud.
When
I finally reached the paved road, I wiped as much mud off my boots as I could.
I glanced back in the direction of the Warehouse. The fires must have been put
out by the rain. I could just make out a faint humming, hundreds of moans
radiating from the numerous corpses gathered in one place. I adjusted my
baseball cap, and took off at a jogging pace, and left it all behind me.
I
passed more and more cars as I reached civilization again. Most were abandoned.
Some still had its occupants, either dead or, otherwise. There were no other
survivors, even though it would be retarded for someone to stay in their car in
the middle of a road with those things, but not seeing anyone else alive, at
least, not anyone friendly was beginning to discourage me. Then again, in a
world like this, who would be friendly? No more law, no more order, everyone
would do anything to protect the things keeping themselves, and those they love
alive.