Another Zombie Apocalypse Tale: Part 7

Three Weeks and Two Days Since the Apocalypse

“Camille,” Beckett whisper-yelled my name. “Damnit! Come ba—”

A gunshot blast shattered my eardrums and sent my heart slamming into my chest. Down the hall, the glass from a framed picture exploded, shards flying every which way. I slipped, arms windmilling as I fought to stay upright. Failing as my knees and hands scraped the ground, but my toes found traction, and I dove around the corner. 

Rolling onto my feet, I wacked my elbow against the wall, but I burst into a run. Vaguely, I was aware that Beckett was chewing Erik out, but they shot at me. They freaking shot at me! They wouldn’t shoot the corpses who wanted to eat them, but they’d so easily shoot at me?

“Camille!” My name, being shouted by Beckett, echoed down the hall. I sprinted away faster. 

I scanned the path ahead, following the signs for EXIT. My muscles, despite being overworked and depleted of energy, knew what to do. Fueled with adrenaline, and attuned to each racing step I took, they translated what my brain processed into swift action. I hurdled carts and trash bins, bodies that didn’t move, and bodies that did. I raced down stairs, and pivoted around corners, until I burst out an EXIT door into a solid wall of flesh.

Wheeling back, tripping over my own feet, I landed hard on my ass.

The stench of burning fuel and metal greeted me first. I squinted against the sun at the pile of cars no longer smoldering with dark smoke, but ablaze with auburn flames. 

A person stepped into my view, blocking out the sun and the burning cars. “Camille? Where’s Beckett and Erik?” Elsie crouched down beside me. Her medieval sword was unsheathed and threatening, even in her loose and casual grip.

“They’re inside,” I said as I pushed to my feet, brushing off my hands on my pants. Marianne and Amber/Kimber eyed me warily. Elsie rose to her feet, hulking over me. I considered my next words, knowing that if I wanted to continue my escape, I needed them to lower their guard. “Those guys are a special kind of stupid.”

They laughed, including stone faced Amber/Kimber. Tension eased as they all lowered their weapons. Marianne balanced the baseball bat on her shoulder, Amber/Kimber leaned against her garden rake, and Elsie cleaned the blade of her sword with a paisley print handkerchief. 

“Did you get the med—” The swordswoman started to ask but was interrupted by a pop, followed by a hiss. 

We turned to the burning vehicles. The women holding their weapons at the ready. A louder pop sounded, akin to a gunshot. A vehicle let out a moaning creak and slipped with a thud from the car it sat atop. The flames crackled and shot higher as more oxygen was consumed. 

I swiveled my gaze, searching the shadows for faces watching us. Dead or living, I wanted nothing to do with either. I plotted my route, away from the hospital, and opposite the direction of the refuge. A few abandoned cars here and there, a tipped over trash can with trash spilling out across the street. I calculated the meters and the pacing, then broke off into a sprint. 

Several noises and exclamations of surprise followed me, but I pumped my arms and followed my plotted course. I leaped over the trash bin, landing softly, and I could almost imagine I was running an urban cross-country course. That the whole world hadn’t gone to shit. That a group of morons weren’t behind me, trying to make me to enter a room full of living corpses because they were too dumb to figure it out themselves. 

My name was being shouted, but I didn’t look back. I did start to weave around vehicles in a manner that seemed unnecessary, but considering I’d already been shot at once, I wasn’t taking a chance by making myself an easy and predictable target.

I guess all the annoyances my sister and I bitched to each other about the on-screen heroes and heroines making themselves easy targets had paid off. 

This thinking led to a cardinal mistake. Not watching my footing, I slipped and crashed to the ground. The pain that spiked up my limbs was nothing compared to the humility blow to my ego. 

I could just hear my sister cackling and saying, “That’s what you get for not paying attention, dumbass.” I would add something along the same lines, as we watched the person we were supposed to be rooting for, continue to stumble and fail, all while shoving popcorn in our mouths. 

It’s definitely not as funny when it’s you.

A hungry moan snapped me out of my self-pity as a wet hand clamped down on my arm, pulling at me with nails digging into my skin. I yanked my arm away with a yelp, following it up with a hissing scream as flesh was ripped from me. I rolled to the side and held my arm to my chest, looking for the threat. 

A corpse crawled toward me. Its torso severed from its bottom half. The mess of its internal organs rotting on the ground the reason for my slip and fall. It clacked its teeth, reached a fleshy hand toward me, grabbed the ground and pulled itself forward. 

An eerie hum brought an icy chill down my spine. I peeled my gaze from the sorry corpse, and the sight before me turned my muscles to stone. Lumbering in my direction was a mass of rotting flesh. A horde of hundreds of dead, their bodies shifting and squirming as if they were maggots. The mass split in half on either side of a turned over SUV, coming back together as the first part of the horde passed the obstruction. Their moans were bored and tired.

They hadn’t noticed me yet.

The corpse on the ground gnashed its teeth at me, reaching out a hand that brushed against my shoe. I stepped back, sucking in a gasp as I connected with the mirror of a car to my lower back. 

Someone yelled from the direction I had come from. Some of the dead in the horde turned their heads to the sound, splitting off from the mass. The rest continued toward me.

I felt along the car behind me, carefully sliding my feet along the ground. The smart thing to do would be to stop staring at the horde in horror and run, but even as I scolded myself, I couldn’t. My gaze zeroed in on faces oozing brown and green viscous fluid. Their lips were either missing or in a state of sloughing off their mouths, as if they had eaten their own flesh in their effort to eat the living.

“Nice observation skills.” My sister’s voice invaded my head, her tone snarky, as if she were alive and standing next to me. A jab often directed at the dumb characters waiting too long to react. “Maybe you should observe an escape route.”

I followed with my own jab, Yeah, watch your footing this time, moron.

These comments helped pull my focus together over the fear of the horde. I glanced down at the top half of the dead. Its hand again reached out and grabbed my shoelace, only to stretch its fingers again to grasp at my ankle. I stepped back, careful, and turned away from the horde. Listening to the steady murmur of their moans.

Ahead of me, the road dipped down under a bridge. Beyond that, it seemed to lead out of this city. I made my way in a crouched position, moving from vehicle to vehicle. My heart slammed in my chest as if I was running a 5k and trying to break a personal record. 

There was a clatter, like a tin can being kicked across the street. My attention jerked up from the step I’d taken, careful to avoid a suspicious sludgy, brown pile. The clatter sounded again. Indeed, a tin can rolled across to me from across the street. I bit back my fear as I stared at the large truck it had come from. 

You need to go, I told myself. You need to run.

A shadow appeared from under the truck. Booted feet. A can dropped to the ground. I stared. The boot raised back, then kicked forward. Sending the can across the street to me.

In a heartbeat, the moans of the horde went from listless to desperate hunger. The tone rising and the shuffling of feet moving faster. I risked a glance around the car I was behind and saw the horde moving toward me, arms raised. 

I pushed up from my crouch and sprinted, passing a side street just as a few more corpses stumbled out, their heads turning to follow me, moans joining the cacophony of the mass chasing me. 

I needed to find cover, something to put between me and the mass of corpses. I started to pivot, move off my straight path toward the bridge and cut down an alley. A makeshift chain link and barbed wire fence blocked my path. A couple of corpses loitered in on the other side. Upon seeing me, they pushed against the fence with zero regard for the barbs cutting into their flesh. I gagged as rancid, clotted, brown blood squished and oozed out around their fresh cuts.

Reeling away, I redirected my energy back toward the bridge. My ankle protested from the sudden direction change. 

The bridge blotted out the sky, and the sound of my footsteps bounced off the walls. I wondered if I could climb up the embankment on the other side so I could get on the bridge. I’d have a good vantage point.

A figure dashed into my path. Their hands reached out and grabbed onto my arm. Too fast and coordinated to be the dead, but I squealed and yanked from their grip. They lunged for me. I stumbled back, groping for the machete strapped to my belt. I should have been holding it in the first place. Cue another jab from my sister: You’re in a zombie-infested world! Why would you NOT have your weapon ready at all times?

The attacker slammed me against the wall, their hood hiding their face, but their breath was as foul as the dead. I squirmed and kicked. They kneed me in the meat of my ribs, just missing my diaphragm. They tried to knee me again, but I dropped to take the brunt of the hit to my chest. 

They grabbed my backpack straps as I went down. The pack slid off one shoulder. I twisted my arm around the other strap and gripped it tight. My other hand finally removed the machete from my belt and I swung it, screaming wildly. The person still clutched the other strap of the backpack, flailing back as much as they could so stay away from the blade. 

We spun and yanked. I swung the machete. They ducked and tried twisting the pack from my grip. The straps cut into my hand, but even if I let go at this point, it was too tangled around my fingers to release from me. 

“Give it,” the person snarled, their voice low. 

They gave a solid yank just as I swung the machete, and we both fell to the ground. I knocked my chin, teeth clamping down on my tongue. I pushed to my knees and I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. My arm was stretched out from the backpack still being held onto by the attacker. They rolled over, hissing out a breath. I raised my machete. 

A car alarm blared, jarring my senses like a whack to the back of the head. I grimaced as I looked up to find where the inane noise was coming from. My body went cold at the sight.

The attacker was going to be the least of my problems. 

“Shit,” the attacker said, their voice raspy like their breath had been knocked out of them. 

I glanced at them with wide eyes. They, too, were staring at the horde. The dead’s moans a horrible opera as they descended under the bridge.