July 4, 2011 by Mark Lidstone

Zombies I – Chapter 5

VOTING FOR THIS CHAPTER IS CLOSED

First off, I apologize again for missing last week. Things got a little rough but I’m back into the swing of things now. Thanks for your patience.

This is the Fifth 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.

So We Meet

Bodies press against the glass door and the windows around you. Getting out will not be easy. You look down at the heavy revolver in your hand and slide open the chamber. The bottoms of six bullets stare back at you, ready for battle. You shut the chamber again and take a deep breath before reaching for the handle. You don’t allow yourself to hesitate before pulling it open.

Moaning corpses tumble into the room, landing on the floor in front of you. You step away from them and raise the gun, holding it in front of you with your right hand. The zombies that were waiting near the back of the mob push themselves into the store, climbing over the ones that had fallen to the floor. There are more than you initially thought.

Your hand trembles as you aim your gun. A young man with wavy blond hair frees himself from the group and stumbles towards you. You squeeze the trigger and the sound echoes through the room. The bullet whizzes through the young man’s shoulder and barely slows him down.

The sound of the gunshot drives the monsters outside the windows mad. They slam their hands against the glass and moan loudly as you search for your next target. You grip the handle tightly and pull the trigger. The bullet pierces the young zombie’s forehead and he drops to the floor with a thump. You find the nearest moving target and drop him too. Feeling a little more comfortable, you pull the trigger – emptying the chamber into the crowd. With each pull of the trigger, the windows rattle as excited palms slam against them.

The bodies that had initially fallen to the floor have pushed themselves to their feet now and hobble towards you. You reach into your bag and pull out six more bullets. You slide the chamber open as you back away from the mob. The smoking shells fall to the floor and you quickly replace them. You pull the trigger four more times but only manage to kill one of them. The mob gets closer to you, forcing you towards the back of the store. You shoot at any that get close but realize it’s hopeless. There are way too many of them and you are quickly running out of ammo.

You reach into your bag and grab the last four bullets. As you load them into your gun, the window to your right finally breaks with a loud crash. The glass falls to the floor and arms reach into the room. The other windows also shatter and bodies pull themselves through. The room fills and they all quickly begin to surround you. Their numbers are overwhelming and their moans are deafening. You have to find another way out.

You drop the gun and its four remaining bullets into your bag and run back to the bathroom. The window is broken like the others and four bodies are huddled over Daniel, tearing at his flesh with their teeth. They feed hungrily and pay you no attention. The area outside the window looks clear and you rush towards it, your bag swinging from your shoulder. You step onto the back of the hunched monster closest to the wall and push yourself up and through the window. You try to avoid the broken glass protruding from the wooden frame and drop to the grass below but the bag around your shoulder jerks away as it snags on a piece of the broken window.

You grab the strap dangling from the frame and pull on it but the bag doesn’t budge. You stand on your toes and look through the window into the bathroom. The room is filled with bodies and you can see the material from the bag, torn and caught on the glass. You hear feet shuffling in the grass behind you and quickly turn around. Six bodies are slowly moving towards you, their arms outstretched. You turn your attention back to your bag and struggle to pull it free. You reach up and try to untangle the material from the glass but hands from inside the room grab your wrists and pull their mouths towards you. You shake off their grip and pull your hands away.

Grabbing the strap, you pull with all your strength until you finally hear it tear free. The sudden release sends you through the air, landing hard on the ground as the hands reach for you. You roll across the soft grass, avoiding their reach and ignoring the excruciating pain in your side. You push yourself to your feet before stumbling away from the store and running into the street.

The area is mostly empty. You stare at the store from a safe distance. Your legs grow weak as you see more than one hundred bodies crowded around the entrance and walls. They climb through the windows and struggle to push their way into the building in hopes of finding you inside. A few stragglers catch sight of you and move towards you but pose no real threat.

You check your bag. There is a tear near the handle but it shouldn’t cause any problems. You scan the streets to figure out where you are. The radio broadcast was further away but it was your best bet. If something was broadcasting then there had to be someone there to man it. You walk South.

—

The scorching sun burns your skin and sweat trickles down your forehead. Your nose fills with the smell of death as you pass bodies baking in the sun. Some of them reach desperately for you but most just lay there, their eyes following you.

You walk for over an hour before coming across an abandoned gas station. Your throat is dry and your lips are cracked so you decide to go inside to search for water. The bells chime as you push the door open. You aren’t surprised when you find the station looted. The shelves are mostly empty and toppled over. You scan the aisles but find nothing of value.

At the back of the room is a closed door. The sign on it reads “WASHROOM”. As you push the door open, a strong smell creeps into your nose and you smile. It’s a smell you’re familiar with – and it’s not the smell of death. It’s the smell of a gas station bathroom. The floors are filthy and the toilet is broken. Dark water spills onto the floor from the bowl – carrying pieces of toilet paper with it. Next to the toilet, soaked in water, is a yellow paperback novel called “Lesson One: Revolution” by Stuart Whitmore. Even when the world falls apart, you can count on a gas station bathroom to still be disgusting. For the first time in days you’ve encountered something that feels normal.

You turn on the sink and let it run as you slide off your shirt. You wince from the pain in your side and swallow three more painkillers, washing them down with a mouthful of water from the tap. You remove the dirty bandages from your side and leg. Your leg is healing fine and the wound on your side has stopped bleeding but the flesh around it has changed to a deep purple.

Your stomach rumbles loudly. You reach into your bag and grab the remaining three cookies that you had taken from the hunting store. You’d eaten the others during your walk. It doesn’t matter how many of them you eat; your hunger isn’t satisfied. You shove the last one into your mouth and chew. Like the others, it tastes of ash and you have to force it down.

You pull the plaid shirt from your bag and put it on, leaving your old one on the floor. You then grab the bottle of scotch and take a sip before emptying its contents into the sink.

“Excuse me, Mate.”

You nearly drop the bottle at the sound of the voice behind you. You turn around to see a man with short brown hair standing near you, staring down the sights of a rifle pointed at your chest.

“Are you pouring scotch down the sink?”

His voice is deep with a British accent. You try to stay calm, the last thing you needed now was a bullet in your back.

“I was going to fill the bottle with water,” you say. “Scotch isn’t exactly going to keep me from dehydrating.”

Two more men come up behind him. One is carrying a matching rifle and the other a shotgun. You turn around to face them and they raise their weapons.

“Don’t fucking move,” says the bearded man with the shotgun.

“I don’t want any trouble,” you say.

“That’s a nasty looking wound you’ve got there,” says the man with the accent. You panic at first but realize he’s looking at the wound on your leg and hasn’t noticed the one on your side.

“Just a scratch,” you say. “Got it while climbing through a window.”

“Brian, take a look at that for me,” he says. The other man with the rifle moves close to you while the others keep their weapons pointed. Brian unwraps the bandage on your leg and gives the wound a quick look before wrapping it up again.

“Yeah, looks like it’s just a scratch,” he says.

“No infection?” asks the man with the accent.

“The skin isn’t purple so I’m pretty sure it’s clear.”

The thought of the purple skin around the wound on your side fills you with fear but you try to push it out of your head. The men in front of you lower their guns and the man with the accent reaches out his hand.

“I’m Will,” he says. “That’s Brian and the man with the shotgun is Geoffrey.” You shake his hand and give him your name. “Where you headed?” he asks.

“There’s a radio signal coming from down South,” you tell him. “It’s supposed to be a safe zone. I’m trying to get there.”

“What a coincidence,” says Will. “So are we. We have a truck out front, you’re welcome to join us.”

VOTING FOR THIS CHAPTER IS CLOSED

Do You

A: Accept their offer and join them in the truck
B: Turn them down and continue on your own