1 | I Am a Survivor of the Zombie Apocalypse | ✅

Chapter 10 - A Little Bit of Everything

I would say "That ended well", but it didn't. Kind of obvious it wouldn't. But I guess desperation, panic, and stupidity can lead people to do all kinds of irrational things. People being me.

So here's basically what happened: I yelled, everyone jumped, a fight erupted, Seth got punched in the eye and shot Sammy in the foot, one guy ran off, Lisa put up a good fight until she just left, and we got our food back. And Doyle's pictures. And the rest of our stuff.

We decided to leave the church in case the idiots decided to come back. Before we left, though, Doyle dug through his pack and pulled out a first aid kit, complete with stitches so I could sew him up.

I cleaned the cut/gash thingy, sewed him up (it was pretty horrible, sewing somebody's skin together, ick), and we were gone.

It's almost dark now. We're still on this mountain back road, walking. And walking. And the wind is blowing. And it's cold. And I'm tired. And Seth is crying. And Doyle...well, he's Doyle. Not a good conversationalist.

We stop for the night in an old shack that could fall down on us at any minute. Literally, when the wind hits it, it shakes and rattles and threatens to crumble right then and there.

Seth settles down by the Doyle's pack, wrapped in a blanket. He seems to be a bit more aware of his surroundings now. I think shooting that Sammy guy in the foot jolted him back to reality. Doyle and I tried to get him to eat, but he refused.

I'm sitting against the wall, trying to rip open a pack of crackers, when Doyle drops down beside me.

"Want some?" I ask after finally getting the stupid plastic to come open.

His reply is snatching some crackers and stuffing one in his mouth.

"So," I think I'll try to have a conversation, "What did you like to do before all this started?"

He lets out a quiet scoff. "Dumb stuff."

"I liked listening to music," I tell him, "And eating good food."

"The food thing," He says, his mouth full of crackers. It takes him a second to chew enough to speak again, "I liked that, too."

Seth is watching us, and I guess he feels lonely or something, because he gets up and comes over to sit beside me.

"What about you, Seth?" I ask.

He just shrugs. "A little bit of everything, I guess."

"Back to food," I say, starting to daydream about cheeseburgers and French fries, "What's your favorite thing to eat?" I want to know about their families, but I'll just talk about things like food so I won't make anybody cry.

Seth says, "I don't know."

Doyle, however, surprises me by launching into a whole story.

"My mom used to cook a turkey every Thanksgiving, and she had this special sauce or something she'd put on it," he sighs, his eyes lighting up with happiness, or at least I think it's happiness. I've never seen him happy before. "It was delicious. One time she was making it, and I took a spoon and just started practically drinking it. Until she caught me, of course, and chased me out of the kitchen. She wouldn't ever tell us how she made it, said it was a secret recipe. I would kill for some of it right now. Seriously. If I saw somebody with a bowl of her sauce, I'd fight them for it, even if I had to kill them to get it."

"Sounds like a good plan," Seth says.

"I miss Chick-Fil-A," I tell them.

"They had the best milkshakes," Doyle replies.