Another Zombie Apocalypse Tale: Part 15

Three Weeks and Two Days Since the Apocalypse

Present Day.

My body ached but it was nothing compared to the ache in my heart. It had to of been Allen who threw the javelin and gave me an opening to escape. He was an expert; he could have made it to the Olympics and won gold.

It was his voice, “Go, Kamikaze! Run!”

I did just that. I ran. Just before the escape route Allen made for me began to close. I didn’t waste energy swinging my machete. My shoulder throbbed with the bruise from shooting the shotgun. I shoved past some slow, rotten dead. In my peripheral, they wheeled to follow me. Their arms raised and moans pitched high in desperation.

“Hey, this way!” A voice harshly whispered at me. I almost didn’t pay attention to it.

A figure stood shrouded in shadows, their hood pulled up to hide their face, but I recognized that hood and automatically ran the opposite direction. They cussed at me, and I kept running away from them; my attacker from under the bridge.

What the hell were they doing out here anyway? Last I saw of the jerk was when they were running away from the other half of the group—Marianne, Amber/Kimber, and Erik.

I reached the edge of the city, the buildings no longer towering and ominous, and I dropped down off the road and crawled into a culvert. It smelled of dirt and decaying plant life, and I was here for it as I took deep breaths to calm my hammering heart. The dark plume of smoke marked the hospital parking lot, and I watched it until my racing heart calmed.

Allen was alive. Maybe. After saving my life, who knew what would happen to him. Not to mention what that group would do to Myra, Beckett, and Elsie. I needed to meet up with the others—Amber/Kimber, Marianne, and Erik—but I had no idea where they were. I didn’t know how to get back to the vehicle.

I knew where the hospital was. I knew my way back to the apartment complex that Beckett, Myra, and Elsie had been forced into. Could I go back and break them out?

Yes, Camille, of course you can. My inner sarcastic voice sounded a lot like my sister. You are the action hero. Who doesn’t even know how to use a gun.

The gun.

I slipped off my backpack and found the handgun. I stared at it for a long minute, trying to recall what the people in the movies do. There’s got to be a button to push to release the…the thing that holds the bullets? The clip?

“Just don’t point it at yourself, don’t touch the trigger, and you’ll be fine,” I murmured to myself.

The handgun had letters and numbers etched into one side of the metal barrel, and along the other side of the barrel was the word AUSTRIA, the numbers 17 and 9x19, and a weird G symbol followed by the letters OCK. Flipping it over, I felt a little dumb. Stamped at the top of the handle read the words: MADE IN AUSTRIA. GLOCK, INC. SMYRNA, GA.

So, this is a Glock. Huh. Even non-gun people knew what a Glock was. One of the more mainstream types of guns, along with James Bond’s Walter PPK, but I wouldn’t be able to distinguish one from the other without reading what’s stamped on the gun. For me, knowing the name of a gun wasn’t helpful in knowing how to use it.

I swept my fingers over the gun, finding what I presumed to be the button to release the clip. My heart hit hard as I braced myself and pressed it. The bottom of the handle jutted out. I smiled to myself a little as I removed the clip, only to frown in defeat. Even a non-gun person can see when a clip was empty.

It’s not like you would have been successful in saving the others even if you did have an abundance of ammo.

While my inner voice was rude and a downer, it made a valid point. Even if I had ammo to trade for the group’s lives, I wouldn’t trust that Grinning Man to hold up his end of the deal. Plus, I did shoot at him, which was why I’m here… Which may not be a bad thing. Maybe. I had the opportunity I’d been waiting for. There was no one— no Beckett—to stop me from running. I could find shelter and make my way…

…make my way where, exactly?

I returned the clip to its rightful place, feeling it click in. I rested my head back against the wall of the culvert and tried to hold back my tears. Crying wouldn’t help—

—but it sure as hell wouldn’t hurt either.

“Hey.” The voice was soft, but it was sudden and unexpected.

I jumped. My fingers wrapped around the handle of the gun, and I raised it as I faced the attacker from under the bridge.

“Sorry, sorry.” They held their hands up to ward me off, taking a step back.

I tilted my head, trying to see their face, but they had their hood pulled up. “What are you doing here? Following me?”

“Sorry, I just didn’t realize it was you,” he said. “I was told you were dead, and you don’t look like how I remember.”

I squinted at him. “What?”

He removed his hood, revealing his dark curls and bronze complexion. Mario Milton. I stared at him for what felt like an eternity. Like Allen, I presumed he’d died. Last I saw of him, he fell out of sight within the stampede of panicked people and homicidal mob.

“What the hell, Mario?” I lunged toward him. I didn’t know if I wanted to hit him or hug him. I didn’t know him that well. Surprising the both of us, I hugged him. “What the hell?” I pulled away and punched his shoulder, not hard enough to hurt but he rubbed it like it did.

“Sorry, I just…” He offered a sheepish smile, his eyes glistened. “It’s been a really long couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, no shit.” I gestured for him to follow me into the culvert. “I can’t believe you freaking attacked me, dude.” I nudged him with an elbow to his ribs once we were settled.

He apologized again. I remembered that about him. Always apologizing.

“Like I said.” He ducked his head to avoid my gaze. “It’s been a long couple of weeks.”

I nudged him again, more gentle this time. “Here.” I dug through my pack and gave him a granola bar and a half full bottle of water.

“Thank you.” He took a long gulp before tearing into the nut and oat granola bar. “I used to hate these.” He smoothed the wrapper.

“Me too.”

I picked at the ground. The sun was almost down. “So…Do you know anything about this group Allen is with?”

Mario snorted. “He’s not really with them. He’s just trying to stay alive, like me. It’s where all the shitty people in the world decided to gather.”

I almost didn’t hear what he said beyond Allen not being with them, because that meant Allen was alive, and I hadn’t been imagining it. We sat in silence while I tried to gather my thoughts.

“Some of this group I was with, they were taken by them.” I risked a look at Mario. “What will they do to them? One is a little girl and she’s got a broken leg.”

“They’re not good people, Cam. I had to get out of there.” His voice tremored, which he seemed to try and hide as he crumpled the granola bar wrapper. “Are the people you’re with good? I’m a little confused on that part because it seemed like you were trying to get away from them.”

“It’s complicated.” I hugged my knees to my chest. “Some of them seem good.” I thought of Beckett, Marianne, Elsie, and Amber/Kimber. “Yeah, some of them are good. You wouldn’t happen to know how to get to the highway, would you?”