The Book of a Few (3 page)

Suddenly, he bolted toward me. While nearly tripping twice over his own khaki pants that had sunk below his hips, he rapidly tore across both yards and, in the span of a few seconds, was upon me. Surprised and not knowing what else to do, I held my shovel up to hold him back if he were to tackle me. The look in his eyes and the animal-like grunts from his mouth led me to believe that this man had lost his mind. In a knee-deep hole, I braced for his weight.

He fell onto me with his arms outstretched to grab me. He pushed me to the ground flat on my back with my knees bent and feet still in the hole. I managed to keep him off me for the most part, and just after I hit the ground, I pushed with all my strength and rolled him off me. I knew I needed to stand up as soon as possible and not get under him again. Despite the amount of exertion from moving the dirt and pushing this man off me, I pulled myself out of the hole.

My mind raced; I didn’t know what to do. The aggression and savagery in his face, and his seemingly horrible motor skills, sparked a thought in my head and the question thereafter escaped my lips:

“
Is this a zombie?”

The man couldn’t seem to decide what to do. One second, he would be pushing up with his arms to try to stand, and the next, he would be reaching out to grab me and fall back on his stomach. Each time, I took a few quick steps back, and he would try again.

In these few moments, I noticed more details about the man. He had large scratch marks all down his neck that, at one point, had drawn blood. Small bits of flesh were missing all along one of his arms and his eyes were beyond bloodshot. Dried and crusted blood was present on his upper lip as if he’d had a bloody nose lately, too.

“
Hey, stop,” I said as I back-stepped away from him again.

The man didn’t.

“
Sir, please stop this. I’m warning you.”

Nothing, absolutely nothing changed. My words went unheeded, and the man showed no signs of stopping his assault.

When I found peace and a feeling of assurance that what I was about to do was all right, I ended him. With the shovel still in hand, I clubbed the back of his head. The first few blows seemed to have no effect on him other than smashing his face into the dirt. By the time he stopped moving, I had already struck him at least ten or more times and the back of his skull had broken inward.

When all was said and done, I double-checked to make sure he was gone, and dragged him out to the ditch.

As I was pulling him back, I said aloud, “For a zombie, you don’t really smell.”

It was true; he didn’t. There was no rotting flesh and flies, guts hanging from his torso, or broken bones other than his skull. He looked like a regular guy who just got attacked by a raccoon. Bat shit crazy, yes, but if he hadn’t rushed me and I hadn’t seen what I’d already seen, I wouldn’t have even thought of the walking dead.

I proceeded to finish what I had started, burying my family, after pulling the man away from the graves I tended to. While I was dragging corpses from the house, thoughts of my family flooded in and I noticed the emotional barriers thinning. I could feel a lump forming in my throat and a returning pain in my chest. I ignored it as best as I could, but by the time I was done, I had started sobbing.

Enough about all the heartache and sadness. I’ll tell you what I did after, because that matters more. With a plan in my head, I returned to my apartment and grabbed my only other rifle, the Type 53. It’s an old gun, made in 1955, but the caliber is good for longer-range shots that could kill a bear. On the muzzle, it also has a sleek folding bayonet. I figured this would be a good choice considering, with this gun, I would have long- and close-range defensive capabilities.

I grabbed what was left of my food and my car keys and left. I did not see a single other person while driving my car and passing home after home. I stopped at Miranda’s, and nothing had changed. There were no signs of anyone entering the house. Her car was not parked in the driveway, and I became determined not to lose her, too. I looked down to see I had a quarter tank left and decided to press my luck. I headed toward Hawkeye Community College, the last place I knew she was headed to.

By the time I left, the sun was already under the horizon and the only thing separating the sheet of darkness was the occasional streetlight. The highway drive only took ten minutes. I might have been going thirty over the legal speed limit, yet it still gave me plenty of time to fret and worry about Miranda. That panic did make the time go by slowly.

Upon my arrival, the parking lot was lit. In this dim illumination, I managed to spot Miranda’s car from a distance. I also became aware of a very disarrayed pack of zombies. They weaved their own paths through the numerous cars like they were lost. In the short time I had, I speculated anywhere from five to ten were out in the parking lot, and there had to be more inside. On the positive side, most of the infected were off to one side of the parking lot, leaving a set of doors to one of the campus buildings somewhat unguarded.

I leaned forward in my seat, trying to plan a way inside the building but lost concentration and jumped when a zombie crashed itself into my driver’s side window. It was a woman, and she had cracked the glass trying to get to me. I drove off as slowly as possible, but fast enough to get away from the woman. I had figured that firing a weapon would attract another one, but it didn’t matter when a few other heads popped up from behind parked vehicles and turned my way. I decided to try to rush in and out in that split moment, which was stupid because I found myself speeding up toward the building, adding a couple more of the damned ghouls to my getaway.

At this point, I started to panic and considered turning back. But I was too far in and possibly too close to Miranda to give up. I knew I should have parked a safe distance away and went in by foot a little quieter. And to make things worse, I made another rash decision and slammed on the accelerator to buy myself time to get out of the car once I reached the doors. Of course this attracted the infected from the far side of the parking lot. Dare I say, all of them?

I pulled up onto the curb and grabbed my gun and my backpack that was stuffed with all the essentials. I will say this: at least I was smart enough to realize that I might not make it back to my car. Slamming the car door shut, I looked around for a brief second to see the dead closing in. Without a moment to lose, I bolted up the steps to the door, pulled it open, and got inside.

Only a few steps beyond the threshold, I heard the infected behind me run into the door I’d just passed through. I quickly spun around to look. On the other side of the frosted glass doors, the dead were relentlessly pounding and pushing, trying to get in. I quietly laughed. I had just then realized, which was funny at the time, that zombies can’t pull doors open.

I stood there, smiling at their stupidity for a moment or two, then came to realize my own. Hands bashed through the glass and within seconds arms and upper bodies pushed through. They quickly broke their way in, determined to get at me. The crazed people pressed themselves and one another into the broken glass. The woman in the front of the mob almost gave an expression of horror as she was shoved onto a piece of glass that impaled her throat at an angle. Blood poured from under her chin, coating the glass as she howled. I thought of myself as a fool; I was going to get myself killed if I wasted more time. I turned and headed further into the college’s halls.

Most classroom doors were locked, and looking inside didn’t reveal any signs of life. Not a single soul could be found, dead or alive. I was astonished at the lack of flesh eaters inside. The silence and lack of activity seemed eerie, like something just
had
to be right around the corner when I didn’t expect it. I started feeling that the more time I spent in here, the more likely I was going to die. It wouldn’t be long before the dead that followed me would be completely through the glass doors and inside the building searching for me, if they hadn’t already.

Within a few minutes and another dozen rooms checked, I decided to make my way to the cafeteria. I followed signs down the unfamiliar corridors and began to hear some disturbing sounds. Being no stranger to horror entertainment, I immediately felt that I might have heard this noise before. Sounds of mumbling, and I’m not sure how else to describe it other than
squishy
noises came from the cafeteria just down the hall.

Staying crouched, I snuck up behind a set of padded chairs tucked under a table just along the outer edge of the circular cafeteria. By peeking over them, my suspicions were confirmed. Amid tables, chairs, and books scattered across the floor, seven infected rested their knees in a puddle of blood. Even with all the gruesome things you may have seen on television, absolutely nothing could’ve prepared me for what I witnessed. Intestines were pulled from the stomachs of two young girls and were strewn out around them. Their bodies, completely ravaged, left little evidence that they were once beautiful people.

Maybe this is all history to you, and you’re reading this some hundreds of years past my time and you have yet to experience death firsthand. But believe me when I say death has a power stronger than its smell. While it does have the most rancid and putrid odor, it has an unbelievable ability to sink into your chest and kill your soul if you let it. Take yourself and change every single mentality you have to one of ruthlessness and selfishness. It can make you fight harder than you ever have before to satisfy your primal instinct to survive and turn off the switch inside you that signifies that you value human life. It lets you know that this is a serious and intense world you live in. If you aren’t careful, if you screw up at the wrong time, it’s over.

As I went to cover my mouth, I gagged as a sourness rose from my stomach. Before I could even try to keep it in, I upchucked on my arm and hand. My heart froze, and noises of the dead feeding just across the room stopped. I shook as much as I could off my arm and looked up to see an infected. It saw me, too.

My heart pounded as I pointed my rifle up, pulling the trigger before I even had it up to my shoulder. It fired with such volume my ears deafened and the sound of the shot echoed throughout the building. My target twisted to the side as it fell, suggesting I had maybe only shot its hip. Not being fully prepared to shoot, the gun jumped out of my hand and hit the floor. It was time to get out.

I grabbed my gun from the floor, stepped over the infected I had just brought down, and dashed down another passageway. More of them gave chase directly behind me. While cycling the bolt, I reminded myself I only had four shots left, and there were six more of the monsters. Despite my sprint, they kept pace with me. I ran down any hall I thought there might be an exit. But unfortunately, I hit a dead end. I turned and tried to open a classroom door. The first was locked, but as the threat of personal butchery came closer, the second opened.

Of course, though, in my standard way, I left the door to the room open. If I had closed it, I might have had time to catch my breath at the least. With the diseased less than twenty feet behind me and little time to think, I ran up to the window and bashed it with the butt of the gun. I climbed my way out of the building, creating gashes in my hands, arms, and legs.

Running around the building, I found my car alone and undisturbed. I looked back to see that the glass doors of the building were completely shattered. The infected had likely followed me inside and were currently searching for the source of the gunshot.

I got in the vehicle and drove off with my chest heaving for more air. Consciously, I slowed myself, and began to search for a quiet gravel road outside of town. It didn’t take long, and once satisfied that I was far enough away from civilization, I pulled my first aid kit from my bag and took as best care of my wounds as I could. Purely by luck, I didn't have any glass embedded in my skin. When finished, I sat there in thought and relaxed as best I could.

I’m not sure if I really want to know if Miranda is alive. Logic and chance would say that she is either already dead. But if anything is going to keep me fighting through this living hell, I need the motivation that maybe she is alive. Maybe she is just out of reach and all I need to do is wait, and I’ll see her again.

I spent the night in my car. It was quiet, but I had a hard time sleeping due to both the uncomfortable seat and my restless mind. I found little to no respite. Today started with a stiff back and the sun shining in my face sooner than I had expected. I rubbed my eyes, thinking about how horribly exhausted I was and how great it would be to have an energy drink.