Horror Fan Fiction ❯ Walking with the Dead ❯ Blind Terror ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Hello to all my faithful readers out there, to everyone who has been following the events of my life over the past few weeks with worry, anticipation, joy at my continued survival, or even just curiosity as to whether I‘ve become a snack yet. I know some of you seem to regard this as some kind of morbid entertainment, but I’ll greet you all the same. What I say to you later though may not be so nice.

I know it’s been a while since my last update, almost a week. I’ve been busy preparing, now that it is clear that rescue is never coming. My only hope now is to try and wait it out, to see if in time they may finally lay down and die.

This is going to be my last post. I have all that I need, and some of what I want. Unfortunately, that does not include a working internet connection. I will not be risking the streets again after tonight, this is my last foray into the city, and thus my last chance to speak to you all.

I have thought long and hard about what to say, and I realize that though many of you have been with me, in spirit at least, since news of the outbreak first reached your televisions and computers, I have yet to tell you the whole story. I have shared my feelings and thoughts, but little facts or details of the horror that has turned my world into hell on earth.

So here it is my faithful readers, my whole story, from the first encounter to my final post. This is how it began, this is how I survived, this is how half of the world fell into ruin. This, is how the monsters came.

My name is Kayko Watanabe. I am thirty one years old, divorced, and have no kids. I worked for a major biomedical corporation that specialized in viral and pathogenic research. In regards to the rumors that my employers might have had something to do with the crisis, all I can say is it’s possible. I can neither confirm nor deny anything, because I really don’t know what happened.

The day it all began started out promising in many ways. I remember it was a beautiful day, I had made it to work before the morning traffic had really gotten nasty, and me and my team were on the verge of an exciting breakthrough in our research.

I’m not going to get into the nature of the project, mainly because it’s wordy and dry, but also because most people who don’t have at least a major in bioengineering probably wouldn’t be able to follow it. Sorry if that seemed a bit snobbish of me, but it is the truth. That is one thing you have to accept about me or you might as well stop reading. I tend to tell it as it is, without sugar coating.

My morning was spent locked away in a clean room, covered from head to foot in sterile medical garb, breathing canned air, and wishing my seat was a proper chair rather then a glorified stool on wheels with a faux backrest that barely topped my hip. And to give proper context to that most inadequate ass-rest, I would like to point out that I am a mere five foot two and only top a hundred pounds when my hair is wet.

So you can well imagine that if I found my seat too small for comfort, how my college Robert must have felt. At six foot three and hovering around the three hundred mark, Robert looked something like a bean bag squatting on a martini glass. Sorry Rob, but it is true.

Oddly enough, my other coworker, Alan, never seemed to have an issue with the stools, even though he was nearly a million years old and looked like even I could have picked him up and tossed him over my shoulder. He sat like a bird perched on a limb, white hair sticking up like some exotic plumage, and never once uttered a complaint, even after one of our ten hour sessions bent over microscopes and twiddling knobs to make our ultra fine instruments poke one celled critters to see how they’d react. I thought old people were suppose to have back problem, my gramps sure like to complain about his “lumbago” which I’m pretty sure is located somewhere between the shoulder blades and buttocks. Not Alan though, I swear the man wouldn’t complain if he were on fire.

As it was, we were resigned to the clean room for a relatively short time that day, a mere four hours. I’m not sure if I should feel bad that our day’s work was a flop. In hindsight, it might have been worse if we had made the breakthrough we were hoping for only to have it all be rendered pointless by the ensuing collapse of all western society.

However torn I might be, Robert’s feelings on the issue were pretty clear at the time.

“ God damn it, another day right down the tubes,” he moaned. Robert was a great moaner, he could put a sea sick donkey with a broken leg and sore teeth to shame. “ And not just the regular tubes, the clogged up, shit filled ones, the kind that back up all the time and let you constantly enjoy the rank stench you created.”

I should also mention, Robert had what I always felt was an unhealthy fixation on all things toilet and ass related. He was the only guy I ever knew who could actually pull off the “pull my finger” gag at will. He was unusually proud of that fact actually. Personally, I never did get the connection between the finger and farting, it just seems so random to me.

“ Come on now Robert, it’s not nearly that bad,” Alan soothed. He did that a lot, soothing. One could not be faulted for thinking that Alan might have been Robert’s father for all he seemed to try and take care of the younger man. I don’t know why Robert put up with it from Alan, he always gave me shit if I tried. Not that he’d be nasty, he’d just say something sarcastic and blow it off like it was nothing. You know, the typical macho guy routine, like nothing could actually bother him, even if he had just been bitching up a storm about it a second ago.

“ Of course it is, you do know what this means right?” Robert asked.

“ It means another couple weeks running simulations through the computer,” I answered.

“ Bingo! It also means another couple weeks with Witman trying to crawl up our collective asses.” Like I said, very unhealthy fixation.

A word on our project manager, Mr. Witman. He was every stereotype you’ve ever heard about a bad tempered boss. He was short, squat, and had a really loud voice. I suppose he got a lot of practice with it, because he yelled a lot. I’ve never seen anyone’s face get as red as his could, he often looked like a tomato with a toupee.

Me and Alan spent the next few minutes trying to assure Robert that the world wasn’t ending, actually a rather ironic thing considering, while we stripped out of our medical scrubs. And no, that is not as intriguing as it sounds, the changing area is properly divided thank you very much. It just so happens that the wall is one of those cheap, foldable fabric versions that lets you decide if you want one big room or two small rooms, the kind that let you hear what is going on in the other half as if you were there.

“ I don’t suppose you’d be willing to join us for a run today, would you?” Alan asked as we crowded into the elevator and headed up to the ground floor. Robert gave Alan a look like he was being asked if he’d like to have his skin peeled off in strips and then roll in lemon juice.

“ Sorry, but having to report today’s failure to Witman is as much punishment as I think I can handle,” he replied. “ When we get off today, I’m going home, making myself a greasy pizza, and chugging enough coke to hype up an entire kindergarten class.”

“ A simple no would have sufficed,” I snapped at him.

“ Not really, seeing as I keep getting invited to your and Alan’s recreational torment about once a week. I’m glad you two enjoy it, but come on, look at me,” He grabbed a double handful of belly fat and jiggled it at me. “ I’m a product of good old American cooking and prime time laze-aboutery. I don’t bug you health nuts with temptations of high fat, deep fried, finger licking goodness.”

“ Alright Robert, we get the picture,” Alan put in, soothingly of course.

From the elevator we all went our own ways. We agreed that Mr. Witman didn’t need an immediate update on the current situation of the project, and that it would be better to write up our results first. Witman seemed to put a lot of faith in things on paper, even if it was the exact same as what you told him, somehow having it writing seemed to make it more real to him.

This is the part where things turned bad. Looking back, I suppose if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with considering what to put in my report, I might have noticed sooner that something was amiss. As it was though, all I noticed was Brian the intern loitering in the hallway, as usual. I don’t know when the guy ever got any work done, but he was such an ass kisser I guess it didn’t matter. Sorry Brian, but it’s true.

Giving Brian a half hearted wave and some generic and noncommittal greeting, I slipped into my office and shut the door, sitting down at my desk and for a moment just enjoying having a real chair under me. I swear, I think I was developing some kind of chronic back injury from the lab stools, the kind that was making me see my chiropractor on a more regular basis.

I was startled out of my relaxation by a sudden thundering pounding at my door. I mean serious pounding, it sounded like two large men were trying to batter the door down. I was so shocked that for a few seconds I just sat there, having one of those moments where you keep trying to make your brain re-evaluated what your senses are telling you, because you couldn’t imagine it’s really what it seems to be.

Finally though I had to accept that yes, some asshole really was wailing away at my door like some angry ex lover you never wanted to see again. Getting up, I crossed over to the door, yanking it open and getting ready to thoroughly tell off whoever was on the other side.

I was not ready for Brian to come stumbling into my office though, nearly running me over in the process and forcing me to leap back to avoid being trampled. He staggered to a halt after a couple of unsteady steps, nearly bent over double. He seemed drunk, and at first I thought that was the case, watching him lurch about as he tried to stand up straight. His face quickly changed my mind. I’ve seen my share of drunken looks, sometimes in my own mirror. Nothing about Brian’s features resembled any sort of intoxication I’d ever seen.

His whole face seemed stretched out, the skin pulled so tight I swear I could see the outline of his skull. His lips were peeled back, the corner of his mouth turned down sharply, causing him to drool on himself. His eyes were open as wide as they could go, eyebrows climbing up his forehead till they nearly rested in his hair. He almost looked like somebody trying too hard to make a scary face, and just ending up looking silly for it. Except for his eyes. His eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking, looking ready to pop right out of the sockets. His pupils were just tiny pin pricks, and there was a dull, glazed quality to his eyes, like he wasn’t really seeing what he was looking at.

Over all, it was one of the creepier things I’d ever seen, especially taken in with the unnatural way he was moving, his arms floating about as he swayed oddly, like a puppet in the hands of a rather unskilled puppeteer. Every so often a nervous tick would run through his body, making him jerk.

“ Brian, are you alright?” Yes I know, it really wasn’t a smart question to ask, in any regard. Clearly he was not alright, but the situation was starting to freak me out. He was standing in my doorway, unseeing eyes turning this way and that in a most unsettling fashion. There was an intensity to that look, like he not only wanted to find what he was looking for, but he desperately needed to find it.

Apparently what he was looking for was me, because I’d barely finished the question when his gaze snapped onto me so fiercely I took an unconscious step back. That probably saved my life, as it gave me just enough time to dodge aside as he lunged at me, snarling and yelling in a savage, animalistic way.

My own outburst was much less impressive, I shrieked like a little girl with a spider down her dress as I tumbled backwards, barely avoiding cracking my head on my desk. As I fell, I bumped my chair, sending it rolling across the floor, something else that might have saved my life.

With another bestial roar, Brian shambled right by me and started to throttle my chair, jerking it off the floor and shaking it viciously before snapping his head down to tear a large chunk out of the back rest with his teeth. How long he spent trying to eat my office furniture I don’t know, because I was out the door in the next second, nearly crashing into the other end of the hallway before I could stop myself.

I probably spent a good minute or more just standing there, gasping in shocked terror at what had just happened. Whatever was wrong with Brian was serious, extremely serious. As humorous as the idea of someone gnawing on the furnishings could be in the right light, there had been nothing even remotely funny about the brutality of his attack, especially considering that it could have easily been me those teeth had sunk into. If whatever had happened to him hadn’t apparently ruined his eyesight, I probably would have been in a very bad way right then.

My moment of reflection on my own near brush with possible death was interrupted by two figures coming around the corner into the hallway. I nearly called out to Kathy and Suresh as they shambled into view, however it was that shambling that shut my mouth before I gave myself away. Their faces were twisted just as Brian’s was, a drum tight pulling of flesh over their skulls, eyes wide and popping, yet glazed and unseeing. Their heads swiveled from side to side as they walked, searching about as if they could just barely make out what was in front of them.

I had a sudden urge to distance myself further from my office, especially seeing as Brian’s savage yelling seemed to be what was pulling Kathy and Suresh onward. My efforts however were quickly hindered by the very man I had been hoping to avoid even before everyone went crazy. Mr. Witman came stumbling down from the other end of the hallway, his normally red face ghastly white, angry, beady eyes wide and unseeing, his hairpiece hanging to one side. I was trapped, and somehow I didn’t think my luck would be good enough that they might just walk by me in the narrow hall and not see me.

I would like to say my next actions were the result of brilliant inspiration, but really it was just a matter of having no idea what else to do. So it was in pure desperation that I grabbed the fire alarm and pulled. The ear splitting wailing was quickly followed by an indoor rainstorm as the sprinkler system kicked on, quickly drenching all of us.

Witman and the others did not take it as well as I did. With a shout that was impressive even by his normal standards, Witman raised his eyes to the ceiling, and began to swing his hands violently at the falling water, fingers clenching into grabbing fists before opening and then closing again. He bellowed, whether at the alarm or the water, I can’t say, but he yelled as if he could beat back both the noise and droplets by the force of his voice alone.

On my other side, Kathy and Suresh were doing much the same, only every so often their failing limbs would collide, and they would lunge at each other. They would grapple viciously for a few seconds, then suddenly seem to realize who they had hold of, and let go to resume trying to attack the water. They would then bump again, and repeat the wrestling match.

As I said before, the hallways were narrow, so even though the path behind Kathy and Suresh was the quicker way outside, I didn’t really feel like chancing it, especially with them trying to strangle each other every few seconds. So I crept down the hall, which probably wasn’t really wasn’t necessary given the noise, and waited for a chance to slip by my monsterized boss.

Lucky for me, and I must say, I used up a lot of luck that day, Witman had taken to walking in a small circle as he wailed and beat at the spray falling on him. So once I managed to screw my courage up enough, it was actually an easy thing to slip right by him, passing behind him while his back was turned.

I don’t know if he even saw me, cause I certainly didn’t stick around to find out. I hauled ass down the halls, making my way to the break room, which had an emergency door that let right out to the parking lot. I didn’t slow down for anything, certainly not for the visions of things I didn’t really want to see, caught out of the corner of my eye. Familiar faces twisted in hideous grimaces, a body in a pool of red, hands reaching from doorways as I passed by.

I crossed the break room in three long strides, barely slowing as I hit the emergency exit and nearly fell out into the bright mid afternoon sunlight. I staggered a few steps blindly as my eyes tried to adjust to the light, and then I came up short as two terrible things came together in my mind. One was that the parking lot was full of zombies, and the other was that my keys were still in my purse, back in my office.

I tried to catch the door, but I was still several steps away when it clanged shut. The sound seemed unnaturally loud to me at the time. Turning back, I saw I wasn’t the only one who had heard it either. The people, the creatures, the zombies were coming my way.

Zombies, I finally call them that now. That was when I first let myself think of them that way. It was still unreal to me then, but the initial shock was beginning to wear off, and I really couldn’t think of any other term that better described what I seemed to be dealing with.

For a time there I was frozen, my body unwilling or unable to move despite what was an overwhelming terror growing in my mind. It’s embarrassing really, I was that person who yelled at people in horror films for just standing there while the monster slowly approached to eat them. And yet, there I was, my legs locked in place while death sauntered my way.

I finally managed to break out of my fear induced stiffness when one of the zombies walked right into a car. With an angry yell, he slammed his hands down on the roof, fingers screeching across the metal as he tried to get a hold of it. Finally he seemed to realize the car was just sitting there, and he started trying to get around it. The whole thing was so ridiculous that I nearly laughed. Zombies were one thing, but half blind, near sighted zombies, who ever heard of such a thing?

I finally started thinking somewhat straight then, and ducked down behind the nearest line of cars. Looking under the vehicles, I made my way around the zombie group, keeping out of sight while keeping track of them by their shuffling feet. I knew what I needed to do, I just really didn’t want to do it. On the other hand, I really really didn’t want to try walking home through potentially zombie infested streets.

Left with no real choice, I made my way across the parking lot and to the street. From there, I would be able to make my way back inside my work and hopefully retrieve my keys, make it back to the parking lot, and drive home, all without getting eaten if my luck held out.

My first view of the road soured my hopes a bit. 8th street was a mess, there were cars scattered all over the place, most of which looked to have come to a halt by running into something first. Thank god that whatever happened had occurred after the morning rush, or the roadways would have been grid locked for good. Still, I realized that getting home would not be a simple matter of jumping in my car and flooring it.

The drive home was a moot point if I didn’t get my keys first though, so I put the problem aside for later. I was reluctant to begin threading my way through the traffic, as just about every vehicle showed signs of moment inside, and none of it lead me to believe there were normal human beings out there. Violent, jerky motions were making the stalled vehicles sway slightly as their once human passengers slammed hands against windows, beat fists on dashboards, or gnawed at seatbelts.

A van that had crashed into the side of my work had a little girl inside, her snarling face pressed against the sliding door window as her tiny hands slapped the glass, trying to beat her way out. In the front, her mother was slumped against the steering wheel. I thought at first she must have died in the crash, perhaps before whatever had turned everyone in monsters had taken effect on her. Then I saw the seatbelt wound about her neck, the fabric cutting into her flesh. She had strangled herself to death, trying to struggle free of the belt.

Morbid as this may sound, I was pleased by that. Not that I was happy at the lose of life, but there was a comfort in knowing that these people, that the zombies could be killed. It may seem a silly thought, of course they could be killed, but when you suddenly come face to face with creatures you never believed could exist, you really don’t know what to think anymore.

Doing my best to ignore the girl, which was a very hard thing, I skirted my way around the van and to the front entrance to my work. Thankfully the lobby had a double set of doors, which muffled the sound of the alarm inside. While most of the zombies were trapped in their cars, a few had been wandering the streets, and I didn’t want the sound attracting them.

I felt better actually when I was back inside. I’m not sure why, maybe because of the familiar surroundings, maybe it was having walls around me, even if some of the zombies were inside, more of them were outside. Or maybe it was because in here the creatures were all still distracted by the siren and sprinklers.

After the first few nerve wreaking encounters, I actually started to feel rather complacent in dodging by my ex-coworkers, as all they did was shriek and try to attack the falling water, never once giving a glance at me. It was a surreal feeling, somewhere deep inside I knew I should be terrified, but the fear I felt seemed to no longer be mine. It was just too easy I think, who ever heard of monsters you could just slip on by?

I was being careless, and I knew it, but I just couldn’t help it. They really just couldn’t see me, couldn’t know I was there unless I did something truly stupid like shouting or touching one. In a way, my seeming invisibility to the zombies was even more unreal then the creatures themselves.

By the time I returned to the hallway to my office, I was just too dazed by it all to think straight. I wasn’t really afraid, how could I be, when I could sneak by the lot of them just by avoiding bumping into them? I was pretty shaken up though, having seen too many familiar faces with very unfamiliar expressions. The whole experience had left me feeling light headed, and slow witted. I just couldn’t seem to get a line of thought going, couldn’t do anything but slowly make my way through the damp halls.

I slipped by Witman, who was still dancing with himself around the same little circle in the hall, without really noticing him. It was more like walking around some everyday obstacle, like a wet floor sign or a cart someone had left behind, the kind of thing you don’t give anymore thought to then needed not to trip over it. Kathy and Suresh had moved out of the sight, their constant wrestling matches no doubt carrying them away. Walking into my office, I found Brian starring up at the ceiling, his hands raised over his head.

With barely a glance at Brian, I walked by him and grabbed up my purse, rifling through it mechanically until I found my keys. Satisfied they were safely inside, I slung the strap over my shoulder, and looked up to find Brian looking right at me. I froze, and suddenly everything seemed very, very real. I had just trapped myself in a small room with what was, for all intents and purposes, a dangerous, violent animal. I doubt a full grown grizzly bear could have been more terrifying then Brian was at that moment, the bizarre contortions of his features taking on a truly sinister aspect as my fear rose in me.

I stepped sideways slowly, trying to get a clear shot to the door. To my horror, his gaze followed me, his eyes seeming less dull and glazed then before. Despite the water running down my face, my mouth was suddenly quite dry. His pupils contracted and dilated rapidly, almost like a camera on auto focus that couldn’t quite find the right setting. However fuzzy I might have looked to him though, he finally made up his mind that I really was what he thought I was.

With an ear piercing roar he shambled forward, hands reaching out for me. I screamed, nearly tripping in panic and fled around my desk, trying to keep the furniture between us. Snatching up my stapler, I hurled it at him, hitting him right in the mouth, but he didn’t even seem to notice the teeth I knocked loose.

Lucky for me, he made no effort to block me from the door, only to try and get around the desk to reach me. Being somewhat slower then I was though, I was able to bolt to freedom as he followed me around my desk.

Out in the hall, Witman was starring at my office, his hands still raised over his head but his attention likely on Brian’s bellowing, which was clearly audible even over the alarm. He took a hesitant step in my direction, and I fled the other way. Running away, far away, was the only thought in my head.

My head start seemed to over, the zombies were starting to get their wits and senses about them, and I realized I wasn’t going to be able to get away with being careless. In that regard, I realized just barely in time that I probably couldn’t risk going out the emergency exit again, since I had no idea how close the zombies in the parking lot might be to it. I stood in the break room for, I don’t know, seconds, minutes, hand reached for the door. Certainly a peek could hurt, but what if they were still right outside? What if they caught the door before I could close it? What if they got inside?

The countless What ifs managed to break through some of my fright, I hated What ifs. All they did was paralyze you into inaction, and right then was not a time to be standing around. I needed to be moving, and I knew where. I was going to have to go back out the front and make my way through the streets again.

At first, little seemed to have changed in the few minutes I’d been inside. 8th street was still a mess, zombies were trapped in cars, and the normal buzz of noise that fills a city was gone. That silence didn’t last too long though, for I’d hardly gone a few steps when a vicious bellowing echoed down the street.

I hadn’t realized my feet had left the ground until I crashed back down, stiff kneed, and nearly fell over. Spinning around, I found the source of the sudden sound, and my heart started pounding in my ears. One of the creatures wandering free on the streets had seen me, and his shout had drawn a good deal of attention. There was probably about twenty of them, give or take a few either way. I wasn’t really of a mind to count at the moment.

They were spread out, obviously just wandering about aimless a moment ago, but they were picking paths across the roadway towards me now, easily dodging around the light scattering of vehicles without a problem. If that had been all of it, I really wouldn’t have been in much trouble. They might have been able to see clearly at last, but they were still slow, their dragging, shambling gait barely able to propel them at maybe a fast walk. With survival fear still hot in me, I could have outrun them like a rabbit before a turtle.

My luck from earlier was definitely running out then though, because as I turned to run, I saw the zombies that had been in the parking lot coming out into the street. Now things were starting to get serious. I was about to duck back into my work, the emergency exit was looking a much better choice now. Only when I glanced through the door, I saw Witman and Brian peering about the lobby. Whatever interest they had once had in the sprinklers was gone now, and I doubted I’d be able to avoid them in the tighter space inside.

Turning the only way I had left, I bolted. Yells and screams followed behind me as I darted across the street, hit the sidewalk, and passed into the alley beyond. I came up with a quick plan, and it was simple, something based off my dance with Brian. Hopefully the zombies would just follow right after me, piling into the alleyway. The alley was short, leading to another street running parallel to 8th, and there were dozens of such short paths between the buildings on the streets. I should have been able to just turn down the next street, jog a bit, and then turn down the next alley and come back out onto 8th. With the zombies following, slowly, around the building, I would have a clear shot right to the parking lot and my car long before they could catch up.

There’s some famous saying about plans, that no battle strategy survives passed the first shot, or something like that. In this case, my plan didn’t even get the chance to load up. I was halfway down the alley before I really bothered to watch where I was going, rather then looking back to see if the zombies were following like I wanted them to.

The next street over was even more packed then the one I had just left. I skidded to a halt, and I really mean skidded. My shoes slid on something wet and slimy, and I nearly fell right on my face before I got my balance under control. I must have been pretty noisy about it, because several sets of wide, popping eyes turned in my direction.

I was really trapped then, zombies pouring in from both sides of the alley. Okay, maybe not pouring so much, there were only a dozen or so on either side of me at the moment, but at the time, it felt like there might as well have been thousands.

It’s weird, but I think that was the time I was the least scared. I really don’t think my mind was willing to accept what was happening, because if it had, I would have been wetting myself in fear. I was trapped and helpless, my only two ways out blocked by the advancing hordes, and my only weapon was my purse, hardly your standard issue zombie dispatching tool. Yet for some reason, I was able to look at my certain death with calmness, with almost a completely detached from any emotion I should have been feeling. I felt more frustrated then anything, and even that seemed muted.

I rather surprised myself by getting ready to charge the group coming from 8th street. Apparently, somewhere in me is a person who’d rather go down swinging then wait for death to come. I’ve never been one to back down, but I never imagined I had it in me to launch a hopeless attack. My charge was interrupted however by a thunderous roar, and the squealing of tires. I only caught a flash, a brief glimpse of red that streaked by on the road, and then it was gone.

That passing car was enough however to make the zombies turn, the screaming rev of the engine pulling their attention off of me for the moment. A few by the entrance of the alley started to shamble after, but the rest seemed hesitant, their slow minds trying very hard to figure out what to do.

The newly risen warrior within me didn’t give them a chance to decide. I dashed at the back of the nearest zombie, smashing into it as hard as I could, an impact that make my teeth rattle painfully. I bounced back of course, as I’ve said before, I’m not a big person, and the zombie I hit had been an average sized man before his unfortunate transformation, which meant it outweighed me by a good seventy or more pounds. At least.

While I wasn’t able to run it over though, I did catch it off guard, and that proved enough to topple the creature over. It fell, hitting the zombie in front of it, and dragging it down as. That zombie in turn hit the one in front of it, and well you get the idea. Zombie dominos, I could have laughed if I hadn‘t been so surprised, if the unbelievable opening before me hadn‘t represented my only hope for survival.

My mind yelled at me to stop staring stupidly and run! And so I ran, darting around the first zombie I’d knocked down, hopping a failing arm, stepping between the wriggling legs of the next one. I got passed three of them without incident, but the forth zombie was a bit more alert. Hands seized my ankle, and I almost toppled onto the next creature in line.

Panic hit me, a good blind panic that had me shrieking and kicking at the beast holding my leg. Yet it hardly seemed to notice the toe of my shoe even as it repeatedly smashed into it’s face, knocking out teeth, tearing flesh, flattening it’s nose.

I stomped down hard on one of the arms holding me, and felt something break. And it still hung on! I kicked it in the face again, but my leg was starting to tire out, and all my efforts had seemed to do was stall the creature. Around us, the others were starting to figure out how to go about getting back to their feet, and the other group was only a few steps sway.

Frantically, I tried to wrench and jerk my leg free, but the hands gripping me were like a steel trap for all my efforts to loose them. I screamed and kicked and stomped, I wailed at it with my purse and even struck the top of it’s head with my fist, which rather hurt.

I was nearly out of time, in just a few seconds I was going to be completely surrounded, the zombies on the ground would be up, the second group would arrive, and they would drag me down by strength of numbers. My foot ached, my fist was throbbing, and every breath seared as I gulped down air.

Giving my trapped leg a hard yank that felt like I had pulled the limb out of the socket, I managed to open a slight gap between me and my captor. Lining up, I swung back my free leg and kicked at it’s skull like it was a soccer ball, putting everything I had left into it.

There was a loud cracking sound, and at first I thought I’d broken my toes, they hurt so badly. Then I felt the grip on my ankle slacken, and saw the zombie’s head twisted back at a sharp angle, it’s neck broken. I was free!

Pulling loose, I turned and jumped on the next zombie, which was just starting to push itself up with it’s arms. Small I may be, but I was enough to flatten it back out on the cement. I gave the back of it’s head a stomping just for good measure, and jumped on the back of the next one.

In a gruesome little game of hopscotch, I made my way out of the alley, stumbling as I went. My foot and leg really hurt, and jumping on the zombies had only made it worse. The area right around the alley entrance was empty, the zombies that had gone after the car were still shambling down the road.

Nearly tripping with every step, I fled towards the parking lot, needing to catch myself every few dozen feet on a vehicle for support. Every time I did, the passengers inside would howl and beat their hands on the glass, trying to reach me. I ignored them, or tried to anyway. That stumbling flight down 8th street would be the basis for many nightmares to follow.

The parking lot itself was blessedly empty when I finally arrived, actually falling down as I tripped over the curb. I was too tired to get back up, so I crawled, on my hands and knees, ignoring the grit, cigarette butts, and occasional bit of glass that bit into my skin. I crawled up to my car, falling against it as I dug my keys out. Thank god for remote locks, because my hands were shaking so badly right then I never would have been able to fit the key in the door.

I had to drag myself into the seat, using the steering wheel to pull myself in. I swung the door shut, hit the locks, and sagged back into the driver’s seat as if my bones had just melted. I really could not say how long I just sat there, staring out the windshield at the brickwork of the wall before me.

I think I was trying to cry, because my eyes kept watering up, but nothing came out. My body was shaking, and I couldn’t slow my breathing down. I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but sit there and wait. I was dead to the world, the only thing I was aware of outside of my own body were the bricks beyond my windshield.

I got up to three hundred and forty seven before I really noticed I was counting the bricks. Something about the simple, repetitive task had helped calm me though, because my hands were the only thing still shaking, and it had faded to just a slight tremor. I still hurt, especially my toes from kicking that zombie, but it was somewhat distant. I could handle it.

With a tremor induced jingling, I managed to fit the keys into the ignition, start up my car, and after a few tries, get it into reverse and back out of my spot. As I swung around towards the exit, I found myself staring into Witman’s glaring eyes. He was in the middle of parking lot, unsteady steps bringing him closer and closer.

I didn’t even hesitate. I was too close, my way out was right before me and I would be damned if I let anything stop me now. Slamming my car into drive, I floored the gas, and ran my former boss right over, not even flinching as I heard him slam against the underside of my car. Turning out into the street, I headed for home, leaving work for the last time.