Through the Storm

Rounding the corner at a speed that brought the Red Candy to a light skid, Jack was instantly repulsed by the sheer quantity of walking corpses on the street ahead. A human river of former neighbors was condensing towards a space he couldn't see in the front of the house, likely all trying to push themselves into the empty frame of the shattered door.

He saw bathrobes, business attire, children, and elderly. Even a few people who had been sleeping in the nude (which wasn't fun, as even when alive 80% of humanity looked terrible naked). Some people he knew. Many he didn't.

All of that information entered Jack's head in an instant as he twisted forward on the accelerator, scooter threatening to whip in the damp grass as he steered with his sole free hand. He wouldn't even have to work to repress this one, as he wasn't given enough time to process anything. He had to break free before they noticed him enough to treat him like that door.

The space between the backyard fence and edge of the house was narrow, but opened up in the latter half of the distance to the front of the house. Luckily, any undead which wandered into this gap had their attention drawn to the commotion at the front door. Unluckily, there was a middle-aged man hobbling right at the edge of fence, where he needed veer left to avoid the densest part of the growing crowd.

No time to think, he was almost on the hobbling man and couldn't afford to show him his back. Jack lifted up the shotgun carried by his right hand, briefly releasing the steering handle with his left to brace the gun before firing into the thing's upper back. It was just twisting around at the noise of his approach, drool dripping from its mouth. BAM!!

F@X! that kicked. Blood and wood splintered everywhere. Jack ignored the growing soreness in his arm to manically control the now bucking Candy with his left. The middle-aged man was definitely no longer a threat. Neither was the fence. There were even a few wounded zombies behind it, which gave Jack a significant opening to speed past them. The hoard, however, was now universally giving him its full attention. Jack had a few seconds to plan a path. If he failed, they'd circle him, stop him, and rip him to pieces.

Somehow, the pressure of the situation combined with copious amounts of adrenaline to allow Jack to assess his situation in an instant. A sort of natural bullet-time. Seeing their placement from his new angle, the shape of the crowd was that of a teardrop. There were a few coming down from the direction of his home, but most were funneling in from the main street due west. This formed the top of the tear, which blocked the whole of that road and coalesced into a large ball in front of the house he was escaping.

This presented an issue. The safest route would be to drive up his home street. He could pick off the few zombies in his way as he lead the horde through. But he couldn't do that. What if they caught wind of Lily? How would she react to a bloody horde of former humans passing a few feet away from her hiding place as they chased him? The tens of corpses in the street afterwards? There were too many things that could go wrong.

These considerations led to one inevitable conclusion. Jack started guiding his machine into a smooth right curve. He'd skim the side of the teardrop and push through the top, aiming for the less populated right side of the main road (Ron's house had been in from the curve a bit, so they had funneled in from the left). From there he would lead the horde through other side roads once he got to them. It would be rough, but if he made it past this group he'd have a decent chance. Besides, hitting the main road first meant that the zombies in the cul-de-sac were more likely to follow him in one large clump (as opposed to splitting up and surrounding him via different side road intersection).

Jack's path was set by the time he hit the street curb. He braced the steering handle with his right wrist to maintain control, as this time he had to make the 'heroic' ramp over the coming ledge. The Red Candy HATED it. Her wheels thumped unhealthily on takeoff and the whole frame wobbled dangerously on landing. But she held together and kept going at a breakneck pace, seemingly promising to get Jack through this.

In turn, Jack focused on weaving her into the rapidly approaching crowd. Even if he was orbiting the main cluster of the undead, there were still scattered groups of them around it. These things weren't fast on the uptake, but he was erratically driving a cherry-red mobility scooter. Those that saw Jack honed in on him, but only those within line of sight.

Due to the Cherry's limited degree of noise pollution, the ones that couldn't see him were just as likely to go towards the noise of the undead in the spaces he left behind. Additionally, while they were quick in a straight line, they weren't great at turning. It seemed like they didn't have the intelligence needed to aim for where he would be, in comparison to where he was. This was useful, because those behind him or who he passed were significantly slower than the Cherry. Therefore, Jack only had to worry about the tens of zombies blocking his path forward.

As such, Jack charted a narrowing course through which to reach his goal. In his vision, it was writhing like a snake as his enemies, in turn, began their pursuit of him. His sight became blocked by hundreds of hands reaching out towards him, each capable of pulling him, or potentially his ride, apart.

He made it about a fifth of the distance to his destination before having to zig and zag through the tightening horde. He was starting to curve right towards the top portion of the teardrop, but his path to salvation was already thinning. Thinking about this made Jack's heart beat with a growing panic he fought to repress. Human faces surrounded him, eyes totally vacant, reaching for him as if he was their last hope to save them from damnation. Hands kept swiping closer and closer as he pushed in. Reaching for his body and face, like snow in a storm.

Multiple times, the only thing that saved him was the lack of handholds on the Candy's smooth front surface. Inquisitive arms smacked at her, leaving scratches and dents on her red coat in exchange for his life.

This couldn't last. It was apparent that he couldn't break through like this. But it was too late to pull away. Jack was in too deep. He wanted to use the shotgun, blast and blast and blast them away until the clip was empty. But if he started firing this far from his goal, it would only attract more of them, the noise giving them something to orient towards. Once they locked in on him, it didn't matter how many shots he had. They would sweep him away.

It wasn't time yet. He had to hold on. He could still get further in, had to push deeper. He couldn't afford to use his trump card. He wanted to quit. It wasn't time yet. He couldn't afford to waste their lack of direction. He still had the element of surprise. He was scared.

It wasn't time yet.

Seconds started to feel like minutes, then hours. Each moment a puzzle he had to risk his life to solve. Even his fear was eventually pushed to the background, every ounce of Jack's mind dedicated to solving the situation with a forceful combination of instinct and logic.

He was swerving in and out, right and left erratically. Every time it seemed like he had been surrounded, he found a gap and pushed his way through.

He eventually lost all sense of time, each moment becoming the whole of his perception.

He was a third of the way up the teardrop. He had to pull through a loose crowd and felt one caress his back like a lover checking in on him, telling him to come to bed. He had to smack away another hand reaching for the Candy's controls, looking to commandeer it.

He was halfway to the top. He had to smack one away with the butt of his gun. In that moment, another grabbed his arm, but he was able to rip it away using the momentum of his flight. It had been so close to a bite.

Two thirds of the way there. He was forced to hit one with the Candy herself. Again, she wobbled on two wheels, threatening to fall, stranding him in a sea of teeth. For a moment, she made a grinding noise which made his heart lurch. She had a one more large, ugly dent as the former child bounced away, but she eventually landed on all four wheels and decided to cease her complaints. She was a machine at the peak of quality and refused to fall here.

Not yet. Not yet. Not. Yet. They could still make it just a bit further in. Just a meter, no, a foot more. Every inch bettered their chance to live.

Not yet.

It happened about four-fifths of the way to the top of the tear.

He was surrounded. No solutions available. They had blocked off his every path forward, and would have him in seconds.

Now.

Jack once again released the handles of his machine, braced the shotgun with both hands, and fired in the direction of his escape. BAM!!

The gun lurched in his arms as he fired, knocking a swath of the blockade backwards. He had killed some but wounded many more.

Jack almost dropped the gun and swerved the Candy into the outstretched hands of a nearby crowd, but held everything together by yanking the controls.

He saw an old, naked woman weakly collapse, blocking a preteen girl's advance. A man in bicycle shorts fell to the ground and struggled to rise, clinging to the walking corpse of a woman still wearing a face mask and pajamas. A very short, round man started rolling around, one functioning arm waiving helplessly in the air. Black blood was everywhere, making the asphalt alternately slippery and sticky, complicating the footing of his uncoordinated pursuers.

He aimed the machine slightly to the left of where he had fired.

Jack needed walls. His heart and mind were screaming for some sort of safe-haven, barrier, anything to keep these things off of him. Even if all he had were monsters... Jack would build walls out of the monsters themselves. Their wounded worked well for that.

So he did it again. This time aiming to the less chaotic region to the left of his current path. BAM!!

Two walls built.

Jack was better situated this time, so was able to quickly maintain control of his machine and gun. He was in the thickest section at the core of the tear, but felt hope, as he could see his path forward widening. For safety, he decided to fire one last round, aiming directly forward, ensuring that the stragglers in front wouldn't block him, giving others time to circle around his front. BAM!!

As Jack saw victory in the falling figures before him, relief exploding into his body. However, in the moment he relaxed, something had exploded at him from the center of the crowd.

A woman in jogging attire? Why was she so fast? She shouldn't be able to be that fast! It was still the first day, God damn it!! Why was there some sort of freak already?

She was barely held back by the wounded young man in front of her as she burst forward in a sprint. By the time Jack reacted she was mere feet from him, claw-like hands reaching for him.

Jack was panicking. Having lost focus in the heat of coming victory, this caught him off guard. She'd be on him in a moment. Additionally, the Candy was beginning to veer, as she was still unguided. His world was wobbling as death closed in.

With a speed only allowed by fear, Jack reflexively slammed his left hand into the scooter's handlebar, sacrificing his limited stability but veering away from the coming attack. Simultaneously, he flailed out with the shotgun, smacking into her nearing face. It was a weak hit, doing little to stop her, but luckily, covered her vision.

The combination of backward motion from the Candy and loss of sight from his gun was barely enough to save him. She missed his neck with her lunge. Instead, Jack felt her fingers begin to dig into the cheap plastic of his mask. Her hand had wandered upward blindly, and clasped on whatever she could grab with startling speed.

Cracking noises sounded out as she blankly squeezed down, intending to pull him to her by his face. Jack pulled back, more out of fear and the momentum of his vehicle than anything else, and the repurposed costume shattered into her hands. She blankly looked down at her prize, clearly not grasping the concept of a break-away face. Giving Jack just enough time to aim at her center and fire. BLAM!!

The shotgun lurched out of his hands as the woman crumpled back, a swath of those behind her also falling. He felt the strap of the gun falling from his extended arm but had to give it up as the Candy became even more unstable. Lurching forward (having had to lean back to fire) he grasped the her controls two hands.

After a few heart wrenching moments, Jack was able to bring her back under control. However, he was now unable lean on the trump card of his shotgun, which was now being trampled by the pursuing crowd of enemies. The path he had made would keep him safe for a few moments, enough to pass through the rest of the teardrop. However, he still had to pass through the main street, where the rest of the undead were surely filing in towards him.

Jack's face was bleeding slightly. He felt it running down his forehead and cheek, barely distinguishable from the sweat which coated him. He couldn't dwell on that now. He needed to prepare for phase 2. Panting, but refusing to drop his awareness (this time), Jack shakily reached back and caressed the rifle... Before thinking better and stuffing his hand further into the basket. He needed something close-quarters, and only his trusty pot lid could get him through.

Pulling it out, he hurriedly switched it across hands (now wielding it in his left and driving with his right), as he sloped left up the main road. He had slowed down slightly, taking advantage of the chaos on all sides to collect himself, but sped up again and roared.

He had breached the storm, and now was the time to be one.