Epidemic

Stuck Between some Zeke's and a Gun

Urghh.. How long have I been asleep for?

And what’s that weird, propane smell?

I groggily sit up, slowly opening and rubbing my eyes. I’m greeted by the sight of overturned and messy sleeping bags, and blood trails. What the fuck? I quickly unzip my sleeping bag and shoot up, reaching for my… What the- Where is my gun?! On full alert mode, I search the room I’m in for a weapon. Huzzah! I turn up a table leg.

Clutching the table leg tightly, I turn and start following the blood into the next room. I behold as Nick, my childhood best friend, is on his knees feasting on our friend Sam. My hand flies over my mouth, partly because of shock, but mostly so that Nick- No no, he isn’t Nick anymore- So that this damn monster doesn’t hear me. Taking a second to observe the situation, I discover where my gun went: Into the hands of Samantha. Considering the Zed devouring her corpse has some sizable holes in him, I’d say she was close to winning. Only close, though. Inching closer, I get ready to swing and grab the gun, when the worst possible thing happens to me:

The floorboard creaks.

The monster sharply turns towards me, and I swing in a panic. While I did make it lose a few teeth, it had extended its arm as I hit it, and inertia or some shit swung its hand harshly, ripping into my leg. The sharp pain jolts up my leg, me screaming in pain. In anger, I throw down the table leg at Nick, before snatching up the gun. Sam’s previous corpse starts convulsing, and fear fills me. How am I supposed to kill 2 of my friends?? No, not friends, but still! I panic, both of them shooting up, and dash into our old store room, slamming and locking the door shut.

God, how did I get in this mess? First Nick, then Sam, and soon.. Fuck me… How did the CDC not catch this thing sooner? Look what they’ve done! They’ve ended the entire world! Fucking pricks! I kick the nearest thing next to me, the crushed soda can being flung across the room before landing with a loud metallic clang sound on the floor. In another time, I wouldn’t have thought much of it. Hell, right now I don’t, with my current position, but nowadays, loud noises like that, or even the slight crunch of the leaves, almost means certain death.

The cut on my leg sends me reeling, the pain being unbearable. Crimson blood leaks out, staining my torn jeans. Fucking incredible. I lean against the wall, sliding down and onto my ass. Might as well just start screaming for them to come and get me at this point, they’ve already seen and now smelt me.

The agony of my wound takes a harsher turn as I adjust the torn cloth around it. Air and flesh make contact, and send a sharp, fiery pain up my limb. My eyes shut involuntarily, biting my lip to cope, the sweet, metallic taste of warm blood greeting my tongue. Fighting against the urge not to, I open my eyes and stare at the laceration. An infection is already beginning to fester in and around it, the blood mixing with a green and yellow puss. The sight alone already makes me want to vomit, but the stench makes it worse. God, the smell.. If I make it out of this, the smell will be ingrained into my head. It reeks of rot and, curiously, propane. Exactly how it smelt when…

I clench my teeth before making an attempt to stand up, coming in at a success. I hobble around the room we used to call a safe haven, or at least the smallest section of it. While finally getting my bearings, I take note of the door shaking. Soon enough, that door is gonna bust down. My time is limited, I guess.

As if the wound wasn’t proof enough.

Remembering the pistol in my hand, I realize that if I get enough ammo, I can leave here alive. Swiftly, I start searching all the drawers and cupboards around me. C’mon, there’s gotta be something… Aha! I triumphantly lift up the box of handgun ammo, before checking the caliber. .45 ACP. Fuck. I drop the box on the desk, the ammunition inside clinking around. Of course, ammo for the fucking gun I don’t have. I lift up the pistol before checking my ammo. None in the magazine, one in the chamber. Good to know if things go south, I have a way out. Knowing my luck, it’s probably my only way out.

At least I won’t be one of them. Fuck… I sit down against the wall again, holding the pistol in my right hand. My mind drifts between my friends, and what happened to them. Nick… God, if only Nick had said something! We could’ve prevented it! The fucking prick probably got bit on a scavenge mission, all for the stupid military radio that doesn’t even work, and didn’t tell us! I stare at the radio, which sits in the corner of the room. Useless junk.

I snap back to reality as the growling and scratching at the door becomes way more audible. Speaking of the devils. I sigh, before struggling to stand up again. I limp my way to the desk and start pushing it in front of the door. Don’t think that lock is gonna hold much longer. Might as well delay the inevitable. While pushing the desk, a stray piece of paper slips off. It flutters to the ground, dirt accumulating on it. Suddenly, an idea pops up in my head. After blockading the door, I bend over and grab the paper, ignoring the agonizing pain flaring up in my leg. Taking a closer examination, it’s just a flier telling everyone to be wary of the infected. Great help that did. What was I expecting anyways?

I search through the room for anything to write with, and my efforts dig up a graphite pencil that’s shorter than my will to live. I turn the paper to the blank, white side before slamming it onto the desk, beginning to write on it.

After finishing up the note, I lay against the desk, not being able to bear standing up anymore. I’m not gonna make it out of here, I know this. There’s only three ways out. One, I stay here until I turn. Turns out, you don’t need to be bitten to have to turn. Wound infections work just as good. Two, I get rid of the blockade and become a feast. Three? I hold it on me.

I grab the pistol and stare at it. I’m possibly the last human alive. Even if I try to survive, what will it be for? My injury pulsates with the growing infection, my leg beginning to go numb. I slowly raise the gun and point the barrel to my temple, my finger hovering above the trigger. My hands are shaking, and my breaths are short. My eyes start swimming with tears as memories of a better time play in my head. God, why did it have to be them? Why? I close my eyes, inhaling, then exhaling, feeling sorry for anyone left.

They shouldn’t have to live in a world like this..

Suddenly, the radio crackles. My eyes shoot open, me now staring at it. A gravely, male voice speaks through. “Hello? Hello? Is there anyone there?” He spoke. 

I shoot up and limp towards it as fast as possible. Grabbing it and putting it on the desk, I grab the microphone and start speaking in a fast, relieved voice, “Hey- Hey! I’m here! I’m alive!” The man on the other end sighs in relief. “Survivor, how many are there with you? Is it just yourself?” I pause, staring at the door, before speaking, “Yeah, just me right now.” “Do you have any wounds or any symptoms of the infection?” His voice was hopeful, hoping that I didn’t have anything. I spoke the next words with disappointment. “I have a wicked cut on my leg, and I’ll be honest, it doesn't look much better than those things.” After not getting a response, I spoke again, worried now. “That doesn’t mean I’m infected though, right?”

After another long pause, the man spoke again, “Fortunately, yes, it doesn’t mean you’re infected. Have you exhibited any other symptoms? Convulsing, nosebleeds, nausea, any of those?” “No, I haven’t,” I said, relieved. “You’re clean then, survivor.” The radio crackled as my ex-friends began banging on the door more. The man clearly heard this, as he spoke with a bit of worry, “Are you okay, sir? Were those infected?” “Zekes? Yeah, those were zekes. Hate to admit it, but I’m stuck in a room with one bullet, a window, and you.”

Another pause. All these dramatic pauses are making me more and more frustrated. The man spoke again, speaking calmly, “Where are you currently, survivor?” I racked my brain in thought, trying to remember where we buckled down. “Currently, I’m at 12900, uhh, Lincoln Road 2101.” After another long pause, the man came back. “Do you think you could make it to Oakwood Mall in 2 days time, survivor?” 2 days. I could get out of this hellhole in 2 days. “Hell yeah I can!” I couldn’t though. I could try, but making that 7 miles in my situation would suck. “Alright. You’ll be safe soon, survivor. Just don’t die.”

The connection went dead. After taking a moment to realize what just happened, I backed up a little bit. No time to kill myself now, I gotta figure out how to get out of here. I tear a bit of my shirt off, wrapping it around my wound. I put my gun in my offhand, before going over to the window, looking out to try and see if there are any Zed’s around. Of course, I can’t see shit, and am also greeted with a view of the building near me. An alleyway, fun. Seeing no way to get out without risking death or making noise, I backed up to the wall. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, then start running towards the window.