It’s amazing how much life can change in such a short amount of time. The sirens still resonate, echoing off of the walls of the inside of my skull. Two years ago to this day was the last time that I saw my family and friends. Everyone is gone now; well at least they aren’t who they used to be. My name is Clyde Bain and I am the only survivor.
Back when things were normal, life was easy. It was near the end of March when the first signs of an outbreak started. A hell of a lot of people were coming down with this mysterious flu that couldn’t be contained. Everybody and their mother were out here trying to find an antidote. Flu shots had no effect and penicillin was just as useless. The city called in FEMA, famous scientists like Adam Smartbrainy, and even declared Marshall Law. All efforts were useless.
April 1st was a different day for me. I woke up as usual, kissed my wife goodbye and got into my car to drive to work. I started my car and backed out of the driveway and that’s when I noticed that nobody else was going to work. Everyone was either sick, or spooked of the mysterious sickness. I on the other hand, couldn’t afford to miss a day of work. My wife and I were on the fence about filing for bankruptcy, I guess that’s what happens when you live beyond your means. I reached the end of the road and drove out of the gated community and told Frank, the security guard, to have a nice day. I continued down the road and took the ramp onto the highway towards 6th street. I got about halfway to work when I saw a car speeding out of control in my rear view mirror. That blue Dodge Ram cut me off about mile later and that’s the last thing I remember before waking up in a hospital to this hell that I am living in.
Now, I live by myself in a cabin that sits on about an acre of land; most of the land is my front yard. There is a row of thick spruces that provide good cover from the road and the piney smell calms me at night. During the day when I don’t travel into the city for supplies, I sit on the porch in a brown wicker chair with a book in one hand and the cold metal of a 9mm in the other. The cabin is small, it used to be a vacation spot of a friend of mine, unfortunately he’s dead and it’s my home away from home now. To the left of my cabin is a small garage that I built last summer. It’s big and red, just like the barn my dad built when I was a boy. I was going to make it into a safe house with large doors made of cement, shatter proof glass, and electric fences surrounding the property. I wanted to make a safe refuge for others who were like me, alone. After a while I ran out of supplies, hope and motivation.
After the first year of searching for other survivors I hadn’t found a single person. Everyone is one of those things. Their eyes are all black and sunken into their skull and their flesh is grey and rotting. Most of them have exposed teeth usually covered in blood and flesh. The smell of rotten flesh protrudes from their every pore. The people on the news said that it was a “zombie outbreak.” Of course I didn’t believe them, nobody did. After all, the first sighting was on April fool’s day, it was all just a big joke. Every day I regret laughing at the live footage on channel eight. The image of a man biting into another man’s neck, ripping the skin away from his body and exposing the innards of the man’s throat, is burned into my memory. I’ve seen much worse than that since then. I saw a little girl get mutilated by those things. Her screams haunt me. These things don’t even care, it’s like their ability to make rational decisions is non-existent. Their actions are simply driven by their hunger, not a single thought crosses their minds before digging into the next meal. Seeing shit like that makes me a horrible human being. I kill everything I see, I show no compassion or mercy unless there is an answer to my question. Before pulling the trigger, I always ask for a name or reason for why I shouldn’t blow their brains out. I’ve yet to get an answer.
I guess it’s safe to say that I am a bitter person now, with not much to believe in and nobody to share the weight of the world with, who can blame me? Today, I look at the calendar that is stuck on the wall with a thumb tack, it’s my birthday. I know it’s wrong, but I have the craving for cake. I am sick of eating shit in a can, and drinking vomit in a bottle. It’s time I face my own worst enemy, my fear. I get up out of my wicker chair, every joint in my body screams at me for doing that. I walk towards the driveway and walk down the five steps of my front porch. Each one creaks quietly, but the silence around me amplifies the sound, mocking me and reminding me that I am alone. The gravel driveways crunches beneath my feet before I hop into my 4×4 Ford Ranger and turn the key. It starts with a loud roar of the engine and smoke pours out of the tail pipe. It’s been a while since I took Ol’ Betsy out. This red rust bucket has been with me since before the outbreak. Shit this car has been with me since before I got married and started a life. There are a lot of memories in this truck. I start to drive. I get to the end of my long driveway and take a right turn. Not even 100 yards down the road is a group of “walkers.” The slowest of the zombie race, they aren’t worth my time to stop so I drive past them and hit one on my way past them. A loud thud against the hood followed by a slight bump in the road tells me I got him good. Further on down the road is a brand new road block. One that I know was not there last month on my last visit. Can the zombies be learning how to function as a race, or are there others like me? That’s not important; I need to get past this road block before trouble shows up.
I reach the road block and stop the truck, but leave it running. I look around but nobody is here. My adrenaline is shooting through the roof; my body is filled with excitement to end a longing for the company of others. I walk around the row of cars that blocks my path and all the keys are resting in the ignitions. One by one I move the cars out of the way so that I can continue into town. I hop into a gold Honda Civic and move it to the left off of the side of the road. It was the last car. I get out and start to walk towards my truck only to see the group of walkers that I underestimated earlier is about 100 feet behind my truck. I panic and I sprint truck. I couldn’t leave it behind it is all I have left of my life before this. 50 yards… 40… 30… 10… 5… I finally make it but they are right there. One surprises me from behind and brings me to the ground. While he’s on top of my pinning me down I get a good look at him. It’s a larger man, surprisingly his muscles remain intact. His eyes are black and I stare into them feeling nothing but emptiness. Skin dangles from his cheeks and some of his jaw is missing. I struggle to overpower this thing that is supposed to already be dead. Luckily my adrenaline kicks in and I push the 250 pounds of dead weight off of me. I pull out my gun, aim between the temples and fire. Three shots later, he is dead, his brains splattered on the road. The others are trying to follow in his footsteps but I am fast enough to get away from them and dive into my driver’s seat. I get in, shut the door and floor the pedal. I look down and see that my arm is bleeding. That damn thing bit me right above my elbow on the back of my arm. I don’t want to think about that right now. I throw in a CD and listen to some Mayday Parade to calm my nerves. It’s nice to hear another voice.
After about 20 minutes of driving I pass the sign that reads, “Welcome to Pleasantville.” I can’t help but think that the sign needs an update being that the town is filled with the walking dead. I reach the Giant Eagle in the center of town with ease. I didn’t question the lack of walkers, but I didn’t like not seeing any. Where are they? I park in front of the entrance and shut off my truck. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement. I get out of the car with my hand resting on the butt of my gun that is holstered on my right hip. Then I hear it. “Who are you, what do you want?” I can tell that it was a woman’s voice, she sounds scared, her voice shaky. I didn’t care if I was being welcomed or not, I’ve been waiting two years to hear another voice. It is music to my ears. “I’m Clyde” I reply quickly so I wouldn’t be shot on sight. “I just want some supplies, boy am I glad to hear another person’s voice, how long have yo…” Before I can even finish she cut me off. “Hurry inside” she proclaims. I looked behind me and all the walkers showed up out of nowhere. I ran towards the door and opened the gate. She’s taller, thin with sandy blonde hair and deep blue eyes. I don’t know if it’s because my hormones are jacked up from not seeing another woman in years, but all I do know she is gorgeous to me right now. I squeezed between the gate and wall and I instantly felt safe.
I guess I do still have a heart, because this is the first time in a long time that I felt its beat. She asked me what exactly I “It’s my birthday, so I thought I would look for a cake to celebrate.” “You came to the wrong place,” she declares. “We haven’t had anything like that in at least a year and we sure as hell don’t trust making it from scratch.” That’s the thing that still scares me too, the origin of the disease was never determined. We don’t know how it is spread or how to cure it. There’s rumors that if your bitten or come in contact with their blood it is spread. I don’t know if I believe that, I guess I’ll find out soon. She sees the bite on my arm and takes me towards the back of the store to clean it out and wrap it up.
I ask her if there are any others and she just nods. In the back of the store I could see a shimmer of light. As we get closer I can smell fire wood burning. We get to the last isle and I look over the rack. There has to be at least ten people huddling around a small fire for warmth. It is a sight that sends shivers down my spine. I turn to ask the woman a question but she is gone. It’s like she disappeared. Oh well, I’ll catch up with her later. I forget how to interact with people it’s been so long. I ask them their names and if they have seen any of their families since the outbreak started. I didn’t get an answer, they all seem very delusional. I don’t blame them, but I expect to at least talk a little bit. Something about all of them seems odd. Not to mention the store smells like year old dead bodies.
No answers to any questions, whatever. “I’m going to clean out this bite” I said expecting an answer. I get into the bathroom and the walls and floors are covered in blood. There is a body to the left of a stall covered in blood and bite marks. I ignore it, must be where the smell is coming from. I turn on the hot water and dab a wet paper towel on my fresh wound. It hurts, and I need to rest up. All I could think is finally I found more people like me. I’m not alone after all. I wish my wife was here, I was breaking out in a fever and I sure can use some of her homemade soup. With her and the others on my mind, I got the best night’s sleep since before this all happened.
I close my eyes and drift away into a coma that only ends once I feel the gnawing on my flesh and the crushing of my bones. I can feel myself being ripped apart; the sight of my own innards put me into shock. The pain is excruciating and the screams from the others is enough to deafen any man, or were they my own screams? My friends that I just met are now tearing me apart. I lead the zombies there; they would have been fine if I had never shown up. It was selfish of me, but I meant no harm. Then it hits me. They were never like me, all the signs were there. I was hallucinating from the bite and fever. I was turning, that’s why they didn’t attack me at first, they thought I was one of them. I fucked up, I should have stayed at the cabin. Then the sight of my wife is enough to make it all go away, and we’re together again. The pain isn’t there anymore all I can feel is the warmth of her body against mine as we lay in bed in each other’s arms. I hold her so tight and I whisper “I’m sorry for leaving; I’ll never leave your side again.” “It’s okay Clyde, you’re with me now, everything is going to be fine.” she whispers back softly. A reply. Things were finally back to normal.
Nick Mock