The gravel bites into the skin on Aaron's arm. To think, he only rolled up his sleeves because of the heat, and now he has to deal with this shit.
The zombie hovers above him, its rotted face barely three inches away from his own. Its maniacal jaw clatters together, trying to reach him, completely devoid of flesh. It wants him. It hungers for him. In a strange way, he's flattered.
Struggling to hold the creature back with his left arm, his right hand scrambles around, trying to grab a hold of the knife he keeps tucked in his belt. The zombie groans, a sound that's not only creepy as all hell, but extremely dangerous. The hungry growls from one of them can signal others nearby, and the last thing he needs are more shambling over while he's still in this compromising position, unable to defend himself.
Finally his hand brushes the hilt of the blade, and he draws it, not hesitating before reaching up and jamming it into the creature's skull. It slices through the rotted flesh, pierces the softened bone, and straight into whatever's left of the brain. The zombie slumps forward, lifeless.
Grunting, Aaron heaves the corpse onto the ground beside him.
Blackened blood stains his knife. He rubs it along his pant leg, trying to clean it as best he can, before slipping it back into place.
And so he moves on, continuing down the gravel path that he had been walking down before that thing got the jump on him. Usually he's so good at keeping an eye on his surroundings, but he let himself get distracted. He was thinking about his mum, which is not a good thing for him. He can get lost in that subject entirely should he open the door.
He can still remember the window shattering that morning, the both of them tiptoeing down the stairs, him with a bat in hand, thinking someone broke into the pub. What they found when coming through to the bar, however…
No, he can't get sucked back in. Not now. Not ever.
He only now notices that the sun is setting, which means he'll have to find somewhere to settle in for the night. The nights are the worst part of this wholeglobal apocalypse thing. At least during the day he can press on, walking toward whatever will cross his path next, but at nighttime? He has to rest, to sleep, and hope that he won't wake up to his insides being chomped on by the undead.
Of course he takes precautions, but all it'd take is for him to sleep too deeply, enough to miss the noise, and that'd be it for him. Game over.
He finishes stringing up the last of the cans a good while later. Cans, with holes poked through them with a rusty screwdriver, then strung together and put up in nearby bushes and trees, in a complete circle around whichever small area he plans to sleep that night. He doesn't light fires, it's too risky. He just strings up his cans and nestles in under a tree or beside a bush, somewhere that he can't be spotted easily, and risks sleeping. He's only had a few undead stumble across him at night, and he usually takes them out right away. All in all, in a world where everything's dead, he considers that especially lucky.
The tree he picks to sleep under tonight is especially comfy, for a tree. He falls asleep really fast, and dreams more vividly than he has in ages.
"Aaron, let's just call the police. Come on!" His mum urges, tugging his arm. "Put the bat down before you get yourself hurt!"
"Oh quiet, mum," he whispers back, reaching the bottom of the stairs. "It's them that's going to be getting hurt."
She clearly wants to protest further, but before she has the chance, he moves down the hall and out into the bar. The first thing he sees is the front window, shattered, glass strewn about the floor. He doesn't see anyone, though, not a soul. The car alarm blaring somewhere off in the distance should've been his first sign that something was wrong, something way more serious than a simple robbery.
"There's no one here," he whispers, looking around. The bogs are locked at night, and the doors seem to be intact, at least from where he's standing. "Mum, there's no one here!" He calls back.
She steps out from the hallway, her eyes locking in on the mess. "Ah hell. They couldn't just pick the lock like anyone else, could they? It's going to cost a fortune to get that window fixed."
Aaron watches as she walks around the bar. Something moves off to the side of his vision, a shadow slinking up from that side of the counter. He doesn't think, he just reacts. He lets out a muffled fuck as he jumps forward and swings the bat, hitting the intruder square in the head. Not hard, but enough to send them right back down on their ass. Like they'd get away with trying to hide!
"Oi!" He shouts, throwing one leg over the bar and hoisting himself over. "Did ya really think that'd work? You—" His sentence cuts off as he sees the person sprawled out on the floor. They twitch for a few seconds before slowly moving, climbing to their feet, their movements jerky and… wrong. But what really sends Aaron for a loop is seeing the man's neck, bent to the side at an unnatural angle.
And then the man's standing, looking right at him, with glassy, empty eyes.
"What the—"
"Aaron…" He feels his mum grab his arm, trying to pull him back, but he can't move. He's frozen in place. The sight before him is so jarring that it's sent him into some form of shock. He doesn't even notice the gash in the man's shoulder, with dried blood staining his shirtsleeve.
"Aaron!" His mum shouts this time.
The man steps forward, his entire upper body swinging from the movement, as if he barely has any control of what his muscles are doing. Seeing that is the kick Aaron finally needs to snap back to life.
"Mum!" He grabs her arm and together they move back around the bar and through the door. They run straight into the back room, slamming the door behind them.
Aaron leans against it, breathing hard.
"What wasthat… that… thing?" He breathes, clearly shaken.
His mum is busy dialing 999. He can see her silhouette because of the pale morning light coming through the curtain. Other than that, the room is dark.
"The line's busy," she mutters, hanging up and dialing again.
Suddenly, Aaron hears something. The sound of something clanking together. It's faint, but slowly getting louder.
He glances around in confusion. "Mum, do you hear that?"
But his mum doesn't look up. It's like he hasn't even spoken. Instead, she just keeps dialing, shaking her head in frustration and trying again, all while that clanking noise is getting louder, and drowning out the sounds of his mum on the phone.
"Mum—"
His eyes fly open. The clanking sound is really loud now. He jerks up, reaching for his knife. It's the cans. Something's trying to walk through the cans.
With his back to the tree, he plants his feet in the dirt and pushes, hauling himself completely up with one swift motion, his knife in hand and ready to attack the first dead thing that moves.
What he sees instead is a bunny, its leg caught up in the strings that tie the cans together.
"You've gotta be fucking kiddin' me…" He mumbles, stepping forward. All it takes is one cut from the knife to set the bunny free, and the cans slump back into place, silent.
At least it didn't seem to draw any zombies here with all that racket, he thinks to himself bitterly. The sun is coming up on the horizon, the sky turning green above him. He might as well eat a little bit and then pack everything up so he can set out.
The backpack he carries around with him is olive green. He got it as a "present" from his best friend, Adam. His oldbest friend. He has to be dead now, which warrants past tense in Aaron's book. It's sad, but just another thing he refuses to think about, like that dream last night. If he pretends it didn't happen, and that his subconscious clearly isn't out to get him, then everything will be fine. He has no choice but to hold himself together. He can't let his grief shake him up.
By the time the sun is fully up, he's back on the road, or rather, the same gravel path he was on yesterday. It's long, clearly some kind of biking or hiking trail. He doesn't really know where he's going. After his hometown was overrun, he had no choice but to leg it. Everyone had either driven off or been killed. There was nothing to stay for.
He took one of the cars from his uncle's garage—having to step over said uncle's mangled corpse to get to it, which was fun—and drove. He drove and drove and drove, listening to the radio. According to the stations that were still actually on air, this was happening everywhere, and nowhere was safe, especially not the cities. He'd seen enough movies to know as much anyway.
Not that those movies really prepared anyone for this. The world had seen hundreds of zombie movies and yet everything still went to hell almost instantly.
Eventually, the car crapped out and he had to make a go of it on foot. It's been a few weeks now, with him wandering the wilderness, basically taking care of himself. He's only passed through a few towns on his travels. The first one he came across was only a couple days after leaving the car behind, and there was a big group of people holed out there. They offered for him to stay, and he did for a while, but left when things got too intense for him. That group argued too much over things to ever last this out.
The next town he stumbled across was completely deserted. There weren't even that many zombies about either, but in the end he'd left there too.
The third town had too manyzombies, so he split from there pretty quick.
It's just been him and this path for a couple days now, and other than the random zombie here and there, it's been pretty clear.
Of course, all that changes the second he rounds the next bend and spots the path in front of him open up, the tree line effectively ending. Beyond that, he notices as he draws closer, are houses. A town. It doesn't appear that big from here, but that means nothing. Who knows how many roads there are over the hill. This place could potentially be a death trap.
It helps that there aren't any undead in sight though. Maybe, if he's quick, he can sneak into a couple of the closest houses, look about for some food and supplies, and then loop around the whole town through the woods as to avoid any hordes.
It seemslike a solid plan.
It could also get him killed.
Then again it's not like he's got much left in the way of rations. A can of beans and half a carrot is really the bulk of his remaining supply. He's been working in leaves from bushes and trees too just to space out the actual food. It's really disgusting.
So yeah, going into this town might get him killed, but if he runs of food he'll definitely die, so it's the lesser of two evils. At least this way he'll have a chance at surviving a little longer.
To be honest, he has no real idea what he's surviving for. Is he hoping for rescue? Not really. Does he think the world will somehow recover from the zombie plague? Probably not. In fact, he really doesn't have any hope of things going back to normal ever. He's kind of just surviving for the sake of surviving. He doesn't know what else to do.
Nothing jumps out at him as he makes his way along the path. It comes out from the forest and down between two houses, ending at the road.
He decides to hit up the house on the left first, for no reason other than its painted blue, and he likes that color a lot. He hops over the fence into the backyard and sneaks up the back porch, carefully pushing open the sliding back door. It's not locked.
The inside of the house is dark and quiet. A quick scan of the kitchen and the rooms that immediately surround it proves that there aren't any zombies around. If there are any upstairs, he'll hear them before they make it down to him.
Aaron immediately opens the fridge. A big mistake, seeing as everything in there is covered in mold. Shutting it just as quick, he moves to the cupboards, finding boxes of stale cereal and a few cans of peaches. He shoves the cans in his pack and empties the cereal into a plastic bag he finds in a drawer.
It's as he's deciding whether or not he wants to take a box of crackers with him that he hears something: A creak. It's faint, but it's loud enough for him to pause his search. He reaches for his knife and draws it, setting down the crackers and quietly moving towards the kitchen door.
The next room is a small dining area, which was clearly used more for storage than for family meals. The table is covered in boxes that are in turn coated in dust.
Another creak, this time closer. It's not him, because he's standing perfectly still, but he's not sure if it's a zombie of not. If it was, surely it'd be making more noise? It could be an animal, but that's just as dangerous, because it might knock over something and draw attention to the house.
The living room is pretty dark, but there's enough light coming in through the curtains to see what he's doing. He creeps toward the window and peaks out, and what he sees sends a shiver down his spine.
Zombies. A lot of them. Maybe fifteen or twenty, all out on the street. They're spread out, just standing around mindlessly, but he knows that they can come together quickly enough to be a major threat. And those are just the ones he cansee. There are probably a lot more in the neighboring houses.
Okay, I'll just grab the crackers and go. Screw the other house, I'm gone. All he has to do is go back out the kitchen door and then straight into the forest, and it'll be like he was never here.
Aaron turns around, and his stomach promptly collides with someone's fist.
He stumbles back, landing on the floor, the air knocked out of his lungs. He struggles for breath while reaching for his knife, which slipped out of his hand during the fall and skittered across the floor. Before he can reach it, a foot steps down on his hand. Not hard, but enough to stop him from trying again.
He glances up, the light from outside providing just enough to see the end of a gun pointed right at his face.
"Give me the bag," a voice says.
"W-What?" He chokes out, but it's getting easier to breathe again. "Sod off."
"Give me the fuckingbag!" The guy's voice is getting louder now.
Aaron stares at the gun for a long moment. The angle he's at mixed with the light coming in from the window prevents him from seeing the guy's face, but the gun is clear.
Glaring, he slowly leans forward, and shrugs his backpack off his shoulder, tossing it onto the floor between them. He stares into the darkness where he imagines the other man's eyes are the entire time, refusing to look away.
"If you shoot that," he says as the man leans down and reaches for the bag, "then those fuckers outside will be on this place in a second. You won't get out of here alive."
Aaron watches as his bag is snatched away into the darkness, and for a split second, he can make out blonde hair.
"Then I'll just have to be fast, won't I?" The man replies, and Aaron can practically feel the superior smirk leaking into his tone.
The man steps back, and the gun vanishes. It's now or never. It's stupid and impulsive, but what's the apocalypse for if not risking it all?
Aaron jumps up and lunges forward into the darkness. There's so much potential for error here, but none of that matters, because if he doesn't get that bag back, then he's dead anyway. Luckily for him, he manages to grab the guy, and the two go tumbling onto the floor.
Aaron slugs the man in the face, but this guy's just as quick and jerks his knee up straight into Aaron's crotch. He groans and nearly doubles over, but the adrenaline rush he's getting from this fight helps him push through it. He punches the guy again and grabs his stupid blonde hair, lifting his head up and smashing it back down onto the floor.
The man spits and it gets in Aaron's eye, disorienting him for a split second, but it's long enough for the guy to shove Aaron off him. He lands on the floor and scrambles to his feet, but the other guy's done the same.
Aaron sees the silver color of the gun flash for a split second before it fires. He tenses, waiting for the pain, but it doesn't come. Instead, the man dives out the door and runs down the hall. Aaron looks around, stunned, and sees a bullet hole in the wall behind him.
A bunch of shadowy hands begin hitting against the window across the room. Undead groans fill the air. It seems that he was right. Firing that gun did tip off the creatures outside.
He breaks into a run. He's only been standing there maybe five seconds, but it's given that prick enough of a head start. Aaron bolts through the dining room, the kitchen, and then into the backyard again, just in time to see the guy's blonde head disappear over the fence.
He continues running, hopping over the fence as fast as he can, and stops once he's over. He can't see the man at all. He might've run into the forest, but it seems a bit far away, and there's no way he'd have gotten far enough into the bush that Aaron wouldn't be able to see him now.
Which means he probably doubled back around the fences and is sneaking through another house to avoid the horde that he so gracefully alerted.
Life is about choices. Aaron made the choice to drive in his car until it ran out of fuel, and decided to go into nature after it did. He made the decision to leave that group in that one town and keep going on, nomad-style. He chose to enter this town and loot for food.
Now, he can either choose to go back into the forest and loop around this god forsaken hell hole town like he originally planned, hoping that maybe he'll be able to search another house on the other side, orhe can go chasing after that asshole who just robbed him blind.
He thinks about Adam, his old friend, and how he ended up with that backpack after a mix up at some concert. Adam was drunk, brought it home by accident, and once he figured out it wasn't his, emptied it out and threw it at Aaron, telling him to keep it "as a present." They'd laughed, and Aaron made some quip about it being cheap, and then threw it in his bedroom, where it sat for, god, years, until the day the world ended.
And just like that, Aaron makes his decision, because now he's certain of one thing.
He can't—he won't—lose that backpack.