Chapter 15

Sleep came and went, no dreams, just the quiet blackness of unconsciousness.

We packed everything up and loaded into the truck, the pain in my ribs just a slight pang here and there. Alyx and I sat in the bed of the truck and watched the trees and scenery fly by.

"Really makes you think, doesn't it?" She asked.

"Huh?" I said, her question snapping me from my mindless journey.

"What the world is going to become. Seeing it now, like this, green and luscious makes me think what it'll look like in a couple years -- if this plague doesn't let up."

I noticed she called it plague instead of virus, but I didn't let it show on my face.

"It'll definitely be more overgrown," I say, stating the obvious. She grunts and I fall back into my subconscious, sitting by the fire with the warrior, who sat idly, sharpening his blades for the next battle.

As night approached on the ride my eyelids began to get heavy. And soon the darkness of sleep consumed me. The sound of the engine lulls me away.

When I open my eyes the truck is parked on the side of the road. Terry must have gotten tired, I thought to myself. I hope over the edge of the bed of the truck and take my AR with me.

     My stomach rumbled at its emptiness, and I'm sure everyone else was just as hungry as me. I needed to catch something, anything would do, really. The sun just barely creeping over the horizon gave me enough light to see.

I search through the woods for what seems like hours, but come up empty handed. I take a few sips of water from a river and sit down by the root of an old, weathered oak. A zephyr blows strands of my hair in my face and rattles the leaves.

Sun light beamed through the tops of the trees. I let the light kiss my face as I closed my eyes and took in the serenity.

     A rustling comes from my right. In seconds I'm in a kneeling shooters position with the rifle aimed at the direction of the noise.

     The bushes wave, but not from the wind. My heart hammers my ribs, shooting pain throughout my chest. I keep the rifle trained on that spot though.

     I switch the select fire to single shot.

     A doe bursts from the bushes, frantically kicking at something. It hits the ground and sprints. I rotate, training the sights over its heart and fire.

     The deer stiffens and its front legs falter, it falls on its head and slides a few feet before coming to a complete stop. I walk over to the deer and more rustling comes from the bushes.

I spin and shoulder the rifle, whatever was chasing this deer is still coming. A gunshot would have scared off any animal predator. A hand darts out of the bushes. A hand missing three fingers and all the tissue on its palm.

     A moan escapes its throat expressing  its hunger for flesh. The rest of its body comes from behind the bush. It's entire abdomen is missing. No internal organs, just the bones and muscle hanging in strings.

     I pull out my knife and walk to the zombie. It lunges for me but I step in, under its arms, and out and sweep it. It falls to the ground and bones crack. I sink my knife into the base of its skull and its undead life ceases.

     I part the bush to look behind but one of the undead lunges from behind the bush, one that runs and screeches. In the split second it took for the zombie to jump at me, I thought of a name, Screecher.

     I brought the knife up but it was too late, the blade dug into its chest cavity, and not under the jaw like I wanted.

     The zombie pushed us both back out of the bush. I used its moment against it. The zombie pushed and I twisted my hips and swung myself to the left and out of its grip. The thing kept pushing, so I got behind it, back to back. I flung my arms over my right shoulder and wrapped my hands around its neck, interlacing my fingers.

     I bent down and pulled the zombie with me. If my back was to the zombies front it would've just flown over my shoulder and landed on its back. But if you're back to back with your opponent the neck will snap.

    I jerked down with all I had in me. The vertebrae in the zombies neck separated, crunching under the immense pressure. It flew over my shoulder and landed lifelessly on its face.

I retrieve my knife from the things chest and walk back to the bush, using the barrel of my rifle to separate it. Nothing jumps at me, or try's to tear my throat out. I step through the flora and after a few minutes of walking I come across a small town.

A sign nearby says 'Rosenwood, Population: 173.'

Yeah, 173 of the undead, I thought to myself. I walk through the town. The town has one road that runs straight through it, small mom and pop stores line the side. Further down the road I can see the shapes of houses with farm land.

An eerie silence flows through the dead town. There's a thing that I like to call 'A Soldiers Itch.' It's like an itch on your back, but instead of an itch, it's a laser that an enemy has trained on you. Call it instinct.

    I walked down the middle of the road, looking through the storefronts. Most of them were furniture stores or restaurants. But there was one store that was slightly bigger then the rest. The sign above the door read, 'ARKETPLACE'. The M lay shattered on the ground to the left of the door.

    I turned the nob on the door and walked inside. The smell of lavender and vanilla was almost overwhelming. A fan spun above the cash register, squeaking quiet loudly. I walked the the store, the AR against my shoulder just in case.

    Cans of food sat on the shelves, untouched. A thin layer of dust had even begin to settle on the tops of them.

    The itch became stronger, something definitely wasn't right. I continued through the store, the sights of the gun following my line of sight. My senses in overdrive, my ears struggled to hear something, anything.

     My eyes played tricks on me, out of the corner of my eye I thought I seen shadows bolt away. Every time I looked though, there was nothing there.

     I made it to the back of the store. There was two big doors at the far end for loading stock into the store and a window on the other side that looked out to a park.

    I lowered the gun, but the itch stayed planted in the center of my back. Somewhere in the distance it sounded like someone was laughing. I shouldered the rifle. Slowly moving down the isles again.

     The search turned nothing up, I ended up at the back of the store again, right next to the big double doors. The laughter came again, this time it sounded like it was right in my ear.

     In seconds I spun 180 degrees, thrown my rifle behind my back, and unsheathed my knife, all in one motion. Years of training removed all kinks from that move.

     Nothing was there, the store was empty.

     What the hell?

     I sheathed the knife and brought the rifle back to the front. That's when I heard him. That's when it all went to hell. That's when hundreds of the undead tore through the windows began beating on the double doors.

     "This, Captain Jack Stanley, is where you die." Said the Russian. The same laugh following his statement. I shouldered the rifle and fired, fired, and fired.