Whilst Mom and Dad slept, and Beth hid in her room from heartache and loss, I stole away. That's right. I'm outside again. I'm looking for Scott. I can't let him do this. She's already dead, and he . . . well. I have a feeling he wants to be dead, too.
I left a note. It went somewhat like:
I'm going to find Scott. I love you, and will return in one . . . fleshy pink, breathing, smiling, talking piece. Speaking of piece, please enjoy the peace while I am gone. I know I've been horrible lately.
Forgive me.
Martin
Then I set out, leaving by the backdoor as always, into the bright sunshine of mid-day. It hurt for just a minute. I had a gallon of water, and a 40 oz bottle. A personal First Aid kit like they taught you to make in Scouts. My nine. Plenty of ammo (I think), food enough for three days, a sleeping bag, bedroll, and tight clothes. I am not wanting for a hat thanks to my plentiful ginger curls.
A pair of sunglasses would be nice.
I tried my best to crinkle and crunch my way through the dead lawn to the backlot. My plan was to find someplace inconspicuous and high because I honestly had no idea where I might even begin to find those two. Heaven knew how long Daisy had left of life. Scotty has his own weapon, though whether he'd be able to kill her after she turned is debatable.
Or at least those were the thoughts meandering through my all-too-busy mind.
When I reached the backlot that crept precariously down into my little grove of trees I spotted footprints, and breaks in the foliage. They were probably mine, but I followed them anyway. One trail branched off to the North, and judging by the condition of the trail - one clueless teenage boy, and one petit teenage girl, walking side by side with . . . Daisy on the right. I jogged after them, following the trail as best I could.
Rock. Lost them on this rock. I marked where I was so I could find my way back to it, and circled outward from there. I picked up their trail 20 yards out, and moved on.
It was hot. It smelled like death and desert. I began to walk again. After a few more yards I was trudging. A boulder ahead provided some shade. I took out my gun, and sat.
Hot. Just hot. It makes me wonder how they're coping. We hadn't rummaged through the supplies to see if anything was missing. Didn't have time to do it myself. Scott took all he had left from his house when he moved in, so I know he wasn't headed back there.
I swallowed some water, and thought. I thought how much I missed cold water.
Must have been thinking too deeply. The coolness of the shade, a slight breeze, hydrated, and cozy all sent me off on a bit of sleep. I only woke because a half-Zed was grasping at me over the rock, the sway of his hand casting an irregular shadow over my eyes.
I grabbed the arm, which snapped, and slammed the beast onto the hard desert pan. I wasted no time caving in its skull with my foot. Some zombie juice leaked into my shoe. I grimaced, disgusted. I turned back to the North. I was on a little rise above the valley. Down on I-15 I saw a row of vehicles heading south toward Cedar City, the sunlight glinting off their windshields. I got up on the rock and watched.
Big trucks. A couple of semis. Troop carriers. Military. The cavalry is coming back to town. I felt no relief. In fact, it scared me to see them coming back. We were more scared without them, yes, but we were also free. Dad and I salvaged some really good stuff from the neighborhood and surrounding areas without having to worry about martial law shoving a gun in our faces. That swarm really cleared us out, cleared out the scavengers, cleared out the military. I felt for those Marines that disappeared. We still don't know what happened to them, whether they had survived or died. I shivered when I thought of them turning and joining that swarm. Ridiculous. There had to be a million Zed in that group.
I suddenly remembered what I was doing. I jumped off the rock and gained the trail again.
"Where are you guys going?" I asked. The trail meandered through the foothills, north. I made a plan while I walked. I couldn't have been doing more than three miles an hour. Scotty and Daisy had to be going slower. I mean, I've never been bit, so I don't know how it feels to be infected. If it's like the flu, or something, it has to be slowing her down.
I'm thinking I'll cover as much ground as possible while the sun is up, find a hole to hide in for the night, and start again at dawn. The sun won't be up for long. A couple more hours.
At this point I am grateful I decided to go on foot. If I had taken the car (if it would have started after all this time) I would have missed the trail, got involved with the caravan, and either been shot or detained.
I was getting too hot. I started hunting for my hole in the ground. I decided higher was better. I went up, and found a good vantage point. I was able to wedge myself between two boulders. I watched the sun set, feeling more free than I have felt in a long time. Nature was sucking the stress out of me, the bad feelings, the worry, the mental weariness. I could feel it seeping into the rocks, and the dirt, and the sagebrush. The wind was taking it away.
Zed could have been crawling up the hill toward me, gaping maw, ragged teeth, hungrier than they had ever been, and I still would have slept like a stone. I was gone. Dreamless sleep.
I woke in the darkness, smelling the desert sand, breathing the warmth of the rocks. I was tightly wedged, a little too tightly. The rocks must have shrunk. I was stuck! I felt something brushing at my ankle.
Heart rate - explodes. I started wiggling, kicking . . . I think I may have been squealing, too. Something groped at my ankle. I started getting myself out of there fast. I exploded out of the hole, slammed my head off of something - that turned the darkness white, I went to my knees.
I woke up on the ground. For a minute, I thought I had dreamed of Zed attacking me while I was stuck in a crack in the rock, but then I remembered I went to sleep in a crack in the rock, and I was no longer in that crack in the rock, and my head hurt. I went to my feet, looked around.
No zombie.
I started feeling my ankles, legs, head . . . which was stupid because it was dark. I couldn't have seen anything anyway. I went to my knees, and listened, trying not to breathe, my heart thundering in my ears. I was scared. I was beyond scared. It was dark, it was quiet.
After a few moments, there was nothing.
I laid back down on the open ground, and pulled my sleeping bag over me. I was out again in no time.
Dreams. Nothing but dreams. Restless, endless dreams.
When I woke up I was rubbing wounds. The sky overhead was light. It was beautiful. But as I looked to the west the sky was still black and full of stars. I quit rubbing my wounds, and gaped like an idiot. It was so beautiful. I swear I watched the blue sky crawl to the horizon and hide the stars. Amazing.
I bandaged some good scrapes, packed my stuff, and took one last look between the boulders. On the other side of the hole, I'm not joking you, was a Zed arm. Just the arm. One stiff, mummified, hand in a claw zombie arm. I shuddered, and for a minute I was incredulous. A couple months ago if I had found an arm in the wilderness, I would have run away from it, called the police, and locked my doors for fear of the mutilating murderer on the loose.
Stupid, these paradigm shifts. Perceptions changing.
The thing that really crawled up my spine, and caused the hairs to rise on the back of my neck as I headed north again was the possibility that, late last night, that arm was in possession of a hungry Zed, and I was that much more lucky to be alive.
No comments:
Post a Comment