June 13, 2011 by Mark Lidstone

Zombies I – Chapter 3

This is the second chapter in my Vote Your Own Adventure series. Your vote will determine the next step and could end up winning you a prize. To read more about the series, click here. To read the previous chapter, click here.

VOTING FOR THIS CHAPTER IS NOW CLOSED

 Black Friday

You don’t trust those gunshots. You have no idea who’s over there and you are in no condition to fight if things get out of hand. For all you know, the gunmen could be completely crazy, dropping anyone who got close – infected or not. Your best bet is to go towards the hunting store and pray it’s still there.

You keep to the middle of the street, walking the yellow line – cautious of what might be waiting if you get too close to an alley or side street. You hear moans all around and the sounds of crows cawing at you from the power lines. The sounds of the gun shots slowly fade in the distance as you move further away.

You eventually approach a middle-aged woman who is crawling towards you in the middle of the street. Her legs are missing and her entrails drag along the pavement behind. Low moans escape her cracked lips and her eyes are cloudy with a tint of yellow. You step around her as she moves closer to you. As you pass her, she struggles to turn her body, her hand outstretched and reaching for you. You turn your head away and keep your eyes fixed on the path in front of you.

As you walk, you pass dozens of stragglers. Each one is alone and easily avoidable. The closer you get to the hunting store, though, the more you encounter. Some of them are in small groups of three or four but once you get around them, you quickly leave them behind. You begin to feel very nervous and your eyes dart back and forth across the street.

The sun has dropped low in the sky and shadows stretch across the road. You know you need to get off the streets before dark.

You stop as you see a large group of swaying silhouettes in front of you. There are dozens of them and they are shuffling towards you. You look to the side streets and alleyways hoping to find a way to avoid them but glowing white eyes stare back at you from every side. You can only go back now. You turn around and face nearly three dozen zombies that you had passed on your way there. You’re completely surrounded and they’re closing in.

You face the direction of the store and catch a glimpse of a familiar red sign behind the horde. The roughly painted white letters read “Dale’s Hunting Equipment.” The store is less than a block away. You frantically look around, trying to find a way through the crowd. Desperate moans fill your ears, growing louder and drowning everything else out. Outstretched fingers reach for you, getting closer. You barely hear the crash from your left. You look towards the sound and see a toppled garbage can near a group of moaning teenagers. The large, metal lid rolls on its side towards you.

You pick up the lid by its handle and take a deep breath as you stare down the crowd. You look for the thinnest point and sprint towards it as fast as your wounded leg would allow.

You push into the bodies, forcing yourself through any openings you can find – deflecting the reaching arms and toppling bodies with your makeshift shield. Hands snag your shirt and jacket as you run but you break their hold. Your heart threatens to push through your chest and the moans surrounding you are deafening. Your foot gets caught in something soft and time slows as your body tumbles through the air.

You hit the ground hard and skin your elbows against the pavement. You wince at the pain and kick your feet wildly, untangling them from the severed lower half that had tripped you. Everything gets dark as the bodies surround you. You quickly raise your metal shield over your face, pressing it firmly against the mouths closing in. Your legs thrash wildly, striking faces and breaking away from the hands that grasp at your pants. You try to scream but fingers push their way past your lips and into your mouth. You gag as you taste the blood and dirt.

Your shirt is torn open and you feel teeth tear into the flesh of your exposed side, just below your ribs. The pain forces you to bite down, breaking the thin skin of the fingers in your mouth. Thick blood gushes between your teeth like molasses. The zombies gather around your fresh wound, pushing against each other – fighting for your exposed muscle as blood drips down your side. You groan as you push the shield away from you. The monsters tumble backwards and fall to the ground. You kick your legs wildly, breaking the hold of the remaining hands before you roll to your side and push yourself to your feet.

You drop the lid to the ground with a loud crash and limp towards the store as fast as you can, avoiding the outstretched arms of those who had come to join the mob.

As you reach the shop’s door, you nearly cry from relief when you see it opened slightly. You push against the glass door and bells ring overhead. You slam it shut behind you and turn the lock.

Vomit creeps up your throat and you drop to your knees. You heave and cover the floor in blood and chunks of sausage from breakfast that morning. When your stomach settles, you lean your back against the wall and sob uncontrollably. Each breath you take sends surges of pain through your side. You try to touch the wound with your hand but the pain is too severe. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and look around the shop.

The room is destroyed. The shelves are broken and ripped from the walls and the display cases are shattered and empty. The floor is littered with empty ammo boxes and fluorescent hunting jackets. You slowly push yourself up and begin searching through the mess on the floor, trying your best to ignore the faces and hands pressed against the windows watching you. You push aside the small empty cardboard boxes with your foot, hoping to find something you could use. Some kind of weapon.

Pushing aside an orange hunting jacket, you find a black flashlight in plastic packaging. You pick it up, nearly howling in pain as you bend over. You rip open the package and hold the cool steel in your hand. It’s about 12 inches long and quite heavy. You flip the switch on the side of the handle but nothing happens. Like a disappointed kid at Christmas, you remember batteries aren’t included.

You notice a door behind the counter in the back of the room. On it hangs a sign that reads “EMPLOYEES ONLY”. Probably a bathroom. With your flashlight in hand, you maneuver your way through the cluttered floor and to the door, ignoring the moans muffled by the glass windows. You rest your hand on the door handle and hesitate a moment. You raise the flashlight over your head and push the door open.

Your stomach tightens in fear and you jump backwards. In front of you, sitting on the floor, is the body of a man. His mouth hangs open as he stares at you, unmoving. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see the pupils of his eyes. There are no signs of bites or scratches but his “Dale’s Hunting Equipment” uniform is riddled with bullet holes. This man’s death had nothing to do with the zombies outside.

You notice a leather wallet on the floor near the body. You wince as you bend over to pick it up. It’s been completely stripped of cash and credit cards. The only thing left behind is a small piece of paper. You pull it out. It’s a library card with the name Daniel Caldwell written on it in blue ink. You place the card back into the wallet and toss it onto the floor next to Daniel.

You sigh and step into the room, cautious of the body. There’s a small window to the right of you. Its blinds are drawn giving you a clear view of the world outside. To your left is an old sink with a mirror above it. You position yourself in front of the sink and turn the water on, letting it run. You rest the flashlight on the edge and stare into the mirror in front of you. You can barely recognize the face staring back. Your eyes are bloodshot and your face is covered in dirt and blood. You soap up your hands and wash the dirt from your fingers and face. You cup your hands and fill them with water before taking a drink.

You realize the mirror is part of a medicine cabinet. There’s a small, white box inside. You open it up and look through its contents. You find a bottle of rubbing alcohol, bandages, a bottle of painkillers and a pack of D-cell batteries. You laugh out loud in excitement. Finally, a break.

Grabbing the painkillers, you twist off the top. You immediately force four down your throat. The pain nearly cripples you as you slide off your jacket and shirt. You grab the bottle of rubbing alcohol and breathe deeply before pouring it over the wound on your side. You howl and drop to the floor as the clear liquid bubbles and burns the bite wound clean.

You remove the blood-soaked denim from your leg wound and clean it thoroughly before bandaging it. You wrap the rest of the bandages around your waist, covering the wound on your side. You carefully slide your shirt on before loading the flashlight with batteries. You make sure it works before closing the mirror and facing your reflection again.

Your chest tightens as you notice a second face in the mirror. It’s the face of a man with short, brown hair and bright, white eyes. You grab your flashlight and grip it tightly as you spin around. The window separates you from the monster staring back at you.

There’s something different about this one. His mouth doesn’t hang open and he isn’t moaning. His eyes are white like the others but they stare at you with a hint of comprehension, watching your every move. He tilts his head forward, starring at the bandages around your waist. His cracked lips stretch into a wide grin revealing darkened teeth. Your veins ice over as you watch him in horror. He slowly looks back at you before walking away. He doesn’t limp. He doesn’t sway.

He moves out of sight and you notice a large house next door. The entire top floor is lit up and you see silhouettes of people moving passed the windows. You’re sure they aren’t zombies. They appear to be two adults and two children.

VOTING FOR THIS CHAPTER IS NOW CLOSED

Do You

A: Armed with your flashlight, run for the house to ask for help
B: Hold up in the shop for the night and figure something out in the morning

Be sure to check out Jen Kirchner’s Vote Your Own Adventure story: The Relic