The Diseased

C.1

-Warning!-
Some content may be too graphic for some readers. You have been warned. Enjoy.

Chapter One

It's been two years of living in complete and total isolation, and two years since the Occurrence.
Not exactly isolation-but in a way it sort of is, it you don't include the screeching beasts the pound on the boarded up doors of the preschool I've claimed.
It's been two years since the first creature, or zombie, or whatever, first rose from the ground and decided he would come to my house, and avenge his other zombie-friends and attack my family. Or maybe they don't think, and he just felt the need to eat someone. But it doesn't matter, it's been years since he did so, and the thought of my relatives never crossed my mind anymore. Unless I'd look out the window of one of the quaint classrooms, fixing a wooden plank that needed to be boarded up due to my lack of knowledge when it came to building, and I would see a group of people in their mid-forties, some with children, even, walking together, knocking on doors, looking for a safe haven.
To be honest, if I were my old-self, I would have let the whole world into my safe haven in a heartbeat. But at the moment, the world is crap, and you can't trust anyone. Or get attached to anyone, because chances are, they'd get eaten alive the next day. It was just my luck. It's sort of a dog-eat-dog type of thing, or in this case, a zombie-eat-human scenario.
It was around this time, 6:00 PM, when they came around once again to this side of town, to find their dinner, or some sort of thing. Did they get hungry? Did they know this is when you usually eat? How funny, if they had a sense of time. I realized I was roaming around the halls, and it was sort of zombie-like, how I walked. Slow and steady. It startled me, and made me walk faster, my heart pounding in my ears. Was one of them there? How could it get in? There's no way. My hand reached for the gun I had not so securely placed between my belt and the loop of my jeans, and I turned around on my heel, aiming before me, my breath shaking.
Nothing.
I shut my eyes, trying to steady my breath. I held my hand to my chest, trying to pace my breathing, but it was pointless. I had become so used to losing my breath that it was normal for me now. In fact, it had become so much of a habit that I could be rummaging through the cafeteria and I could lose my breath in paranoia or fear of one of the diseased making its way over to me in its typical sluggish manner, and bite, and I would be nothing more. My life would fall from my fingers and I would die, I would die and I wouldn't be living and I would be ripped to shreds and be feasted on by these soulless, reanimated corpses.
I walked into the first classroom I saw, and stared at the empty seats, most broken. I wonder if they've gotten to them. I cleared my throat, making that weird scratchy noise, and decided to sit by the window ledge. I wasn't very small, not at all small enough to squeeze into a tiny chair, one a four year old would find comfortable. The window ledge was preferable.
I was lost in my thoughts, staring at my thumbs as I played various rounds of thumb war with myself, constantly cheering on my left thumb, which was on my non-dominant hand, almost as if it were the underdog.
I made it lose every time.
What would happen when I ran out of food? Maybe I'll leave? Or what if I find the harbor, and get a boat? I probably wouldn't be the best at steering or whatever, but zombies can't swim, so it'd be my best option. Can they swim? Anyway, so what if they can, I can just hit them with the anchor or something. But wait-what if all the boats are gone? People are smart, probably got that idea already. I could get a messenger-oh my god, that's brilliant. You go, Beth! They can go out and get me food and things! Ugh, I'm so smart. I grinned, mentally performing a happy dance, which led to feeling doubtful, which was typical of me. I had never been confident of myself or my ideas.
Well, first things first, stupid, zombies probably don't swim, and you can't lift an anchor if you tried. And of course all the boats are gone, it's been years since the whole world went to-you-know-what, and people probably already thought that. And your messenger friend would want something in return.
This mental conversation went on for a while-one of the disadvantages of being isolated for so many years. It was just you, and your thoughts.
I know that, but I could offer them a shelter? I mean, it's pretty well put together, aside from the windows needing to be boarded up once and while. The security system is still intact from when it was still a preschool, and-
"Hey! You there!"
My eyes widened, and I looked around the classroom, thinking someone had broken in. I fell to my knees on the cold linoleum tiles of the classroom, peeking over the ledge to see three older men, with their hands cupped over their mouths, screaming at me.
"We saw you! Don't ignore us, we'll attack!"
My breathing stopped all together. I held my hand to my chest, feeling my heart beat faster than it should.
"We have weapons. Let us in, or we'll...we'll bust in!"
I steadied my breathing, tears welling in my eyes. You could die. They can kill you. It'll be over. You could die.
I crawled underneath the teacher's desk, which was much larger and was able to conceal me.
"We have supplies! We can share with you-and we're experience with these things, we've fought 'em off with our bare hands."
Then you can fight them off again. Leave me alone. I silently prayed that they'd give up and find refuge somewhere else, but odds were that they weren't going to let up.
Then they began throwing things at the doors. First, I assumed it was themselves, hoping to bust the door in. But then, after a few endless minutes or so, they started shooting bullets at the windows.
The glass shattered, making them yell even more, making me try and squeeze into the corner tighter then I could bare.
"WE," Bang. "WILL," Bang. "COME," Bang. "IN," Bang.
Then, I heard them.
Those foul creatures that smelt of death, which would ultimately kill every other living soul and would roam the earth for the rest of life as we knew it, doing just that, roaming around.
Their low groans filled the streets, and the curses of the three men were loud and I hoped so dearly that the incoming round corpses wouldn't give them the adrenaline to somehow bust in.
"COME ON! THEY'RE GONNA KILL US! WE CAN BE USEFUL!"
"Please!"
Tears slipped down my cheeks as I held my sides, trying to block out the noise of their screams of pain and agony. The noises that came from outside were inhuman and just dreadful, and the same exact noises came to my mind when I tried to sleep at night, but constantly made me sit up in my makeshift bed with the knife I kept in my grasp while I slept, aiming it before me.
The sounds became more distant, further away and deeper into the apocalyptic city that I somehow used to call home. Home, I realized, would be somewhere far away from here.
I slipped out from under the desk, wiping my tears with the sleeve of my shirt. I walked out of the classroom, quickly, to escape the sounds in my head that deemed themselves worthy of scaring me enough to make me look back behind me after every few seconds. I skidded down the stairs, almost making me trip when I missed every few steps.
I made my way to the bottom floor, the basement. I rarely found myself down here, due to the fact that I avoided it as much as possible. But it was necessary for the most part, because it was where the safety supplies were stored in large crates. It included various items that you would typically find a safety kit: granola bars, some of those odd dinners-in-a-bag where you 'just add water!', bottles of water, whiskey (I never drank it, I was still a somewhat decent person), and then there were flashlights, batteries, radios, and medical emergency necessities that included gauze pads and hydrogen peroxide. I quickly opened a lunch box that I had snatched from one of the cubbies a child must have left behind, and I tossed a few of each of those dinners-in-a-bag into it, along with some of the water bottles. As I zipped it shut, I stood and tried to run as fast as I could up the stairs and out of the sinister basement, but something had made me freeze in my steps.
A low, gargled groan came out from the behind the crates of supplies. Eyes soulless, yet glowing made their way over to me, stalking over.
My face fell as it was feet away from me, yet I remain standing completely still.
You're going to die. You're going to die. You're going to die. You're dead.