Hope Is Not Lost
The heat is unbearable and the air thick with the putrid smell of rotting flesh. I couldn't bring myself to take one more step onto the hardened concrete floor, the warmth generated on the ground, seeping through the sole of my boot. It had been two days of travelling after being overrun by biters, we had to get away as quick as possible otherwise we would have all been dead. Did we all die? Am I the only one left?
I find myself subconsciously reach towards my neck, wrapping a bloody hand around it, as if it would help quench the insatiable thirst I had. The slick, salty sweat that runs down my neck, mixes with the dried blood on my hand and leaves a streak of crimson in its path. A larger hand reaches out and gently pulls it away from my neck.
"Here..." He croaks, as he slowly caresses the red into my skin, carefully placing a small canteen in my hand, using his fingers over mine he forcefully grips the flask.
"You must drink... The last bit is for you." He smiles sympathetically, blinks once and turns on his boot to move away from me. Who is this guy? Can I trust him? What if he wants to kill me? What if he's leading me somewhere? What if he wants... Millions of questions race through my mind, too much to handle, blood, blood, death, question.
I stare down at the canteen longingly, as if the answer to all of these questions I had would be resolved. I low sob escapes my lips as I find myself falling, the concrete making contact with my knees and leaving a searing pain rush up my thighs.
"I can't... I can't..." I stutter, it hurts to speak, my mouth is so dry.
I lean over, gripping the stone beneath me, holding on for dear life so the ground doesn't swallow and consume me. My chest begins to tighten "They're all...", I feel my breath quickening, the sound of my heart thumping through my head, it's so loud, I have to be quiet.
"They're all dead." A louder sob escapes my mouth as my vision begins to blur, drops of liquid falling from my face and onto the floor, leaving dark patches.
There is a thumping sound of rubber hitting concrete from behind me, beating in the same rhythm of my heart. Louder and louder as it draws closer.
"Are you okay?" He gasps, dropping besides me, the scraping sound of metal and plastic hit the floor as he drops his AR-15.
"Breath, breath." He repeats, as he places a hand softly between my shoulder blades, rubbing in a repetitive circular motion
"You, need, to, breath." He says, a little more forcefully this time, pausing between each word as if I would understand him better. I shake my head, over and over, reach up with my free hand and desperately try to push him from me, my hand weakly beating at his chest.
"Just go, leave me, you'll die with me too."
A frustrated groan rumbles in his throat as his grasps the wrist of my free hand firmly, moving his face closer towards mine. I can feel the warmth of his breath against my ear.
"Do you hear that?" He frowns, looking out behind me, "Well? Do you fucking hear that?" He tugs my arm softly, pulling me from my trance. All my senses stop and aside from the rush of blood I hear running through my body, I do hear it. I hear the sounds he's getting so aggravated about, so on edge. I understand now.
In the distance the lonely empty moans of biters inch towards us. It is such a sad sound, a longing sound of pity and hatred. Why had God done this to us? I could hear them screaming in the their desperate moans. I'm so sorry, I hear myself repeating in my head, so, so, sorry.
I look towards the man's face, the stranger that has cared for me since the incident with my old camp. Middle-aged and worn, he looks tired, his brown hair covered with sweat and pushed back out of his eyes, his jawline is well defined and I can see him clenching it tightly, relaxing, clenching as he frowns back down the road. His brow softens as he catches my gaze, the piercing blue color of his eyes desperately searching my face for some sign that I'm still aware and human. He's sweating heavily now, each drop running down his unshaven cheeks and jaw as he awaits my answer.
"Yes…" I breath "Yes I hear it." I nod slowly at him as he reaches down and grabs his semi-automatic rifle from the floor, throwing it under his arm. He takes this as a sign that we should be moving quickly.
"Can you walk okay?" He asks, scanning my body for any sign of injury. I nod hastily, as he pulls me up towards him with ease. I frantically look around, dusting my knees off and wincing slightly as I graze them.
"We need to move, grab your things." I nod again, putting sudden trust into this man as the panic of possible death sinks in. He extends an arm and points towards a large RV located on the opposite side of this once busy highway. Clothing, suitcases, bodies and entrails scattered around the huge recreational vehicle, which probably cost a lot of money and provided a typical, american family with a break from the real world. Well, now this is the real world.
I scrunch up my face in agony as I move one foot across the road, the pain becomes real now that my body is producing adrenaline, urging me to move fast. Without thinking, the stranger wraps a strong arm firmly around my waist, shifting my weight onto him so that he can support me whilst we rush towards the vehicle, the moans are getting closer and there is no time to lose.
It feels like an eternity until we finally appear in front of the 6 foot opening to the RV. He reaches out, tugging furiously at the handle of the door, "Fuck." he mutters, aggravated under his breath as he props me up against the side of vehicle, gently sliding his arm from around my waist with determination on his face.
Looking past me, he scans the horizon, checking how close the biters are. Already you can see the disfigured heads of the dead, bobbing up and down behind cars, ominously dragging themselves towards us. I look up at him with panicked eyes, which he must have noticed as he glances back at me, clenching his jaw, the crows feet at the edge of his eyes creasing with concern.
The man throws the gun around his shoulder, so it rests against his back, preparing himself to use any remaining energy in him, getting us to safety.
He reaches down to his hip, producing what looks like a standard combat knife. Using the sharp edge of the knife, he begins repeatedly slamming the point into the tiny gap between door and metal. He continues to smack his fist into the butt of the knife, growling with pain, frustration, determination. Finally, after a loud clink of the metal handle popping off and dropping to the floor, he swings open the door with relief. I move my body towards the steps but he immediately throws up the palm of his hand in my direction, causing me to come to a halt.
Clenching his fist repeatedly, to remove any unwanted pain in his hand, he grips the knife tightly, shifting any stray strands of sweat soaked hair from his eyes. He knocks on one of the cabinets attached to the RV wall with the butt of his knife, and standing, waiting, he carefully listens for any sign of movement inside the vehicle. Satisfied, he extends out a hand for me to grab and pulls me inside, shutting the door immediately behind us. It loosely slaps against the hinges, having been roughly handled to allow us access.
The air is ten times thicker inside the RV, clothes and people's belongings are scattered all over the place, I gasp, gulping deeply as I notice a small baby carrier resting on the dining table, an overwhelming amount of sadness floods me and I clench my eyes shut. I feel a hand rest on my shoulder for reassurance and begin guiding me deeper down the narrow passageway of the vehicle. The smell of decaying food mixed with the everlasting scent of rotting bodies and innards seep in through the windows. I feel my stomach turn, slapping a hand over my mouth and nose in hopes that this will ward off the smell.
"They're very close, we need to hide, stay quiet and let them pass…" He whispers as he pulls me down underneath dining table "Do you understand?" He persists, as I rest my back against the hard wooden backing to the dining area seats. He crawls under the table besides me, barely able to fit due to his robust build, he shifts uncomfortably before setting the AR-15 on his knee, aiming it down the narrow walkway towards the RV door.
"You okay?..." He sounds out of breath, trying to speak as quietly as he can. He produces another flask from his small backpack, shakes it unimpressed before moving it towards his slightly parted mouth, drinking a shot worthy amount of water. Without looking at me, he holds the flask out to me.
"You didn't-"
"Drink for fuck sake." He says in an exasperated tone, running a hand through his drenched hair to keep it in place. I nod slowly, drinking any remnants of water that is left in desperation, I stick my tongue out, trying to catch any last beads that may fall from the canteen, no luck. I hold out my hand, embarrassed of the scene earlier, waiting for him to take it back.
"You didn't have to help me last night." I murmur as he takes the canteen from me. He looks at me confused, almost offended as the rapid breathing movement of his chest begins to slow down.
"What? Did you expect me to leave you there." He scoffs, focusing his concentration back onto the RV door.
"N-No, but I just don't understand. We were completely overrun, you practically risked your life for someone else's. That is not how it works now."
He breathes through his nose quickly, smirking slightly. Is he laughing at me?
"So you are actually capable of saying a full sentence?"
I look down at my hands, fidgeting nervously on my lap. He notices this and tries to change the subject.
"You never told me your name."
"You never told me yours…"
"I thought you were a mute." He looks surprised, then smiles trying to make fun of the situation. I sigh heavily, giving in to his playfulness as I scratch at some specs of blood from my hand.
"Grace… My name is-" I pause, thinking about this moment, thinking about the idea of creating small talk in a situation like this, nobody does that now. It is a strange sensation, it makes me feel like a human being again, "-Grace." I finish relieved, glancing up at this man.
He nods slowly, taking in this information.
"Grace. Grace?" He says slowly, testing this fact, empathizing the sss sound in my name. He nods approvingly.
"It's a nice name. I'm Chris." He extends his hand, smiling slightly expecting me to take this invitation of common courtesy.
I too extend my hand, accepting the invitation, coming to a halt as the tips of our fingers meet noticing his reassuring smile soon turning into a worried frown as the low, dull, groans of hunger creep and consume the RV. I snatch back my hand, wrapping it around my body for consolation. The palpitations begin as panic sets in, I suck in air attempting to slow the heavy beating of my heart, cupping a hand over my mouth.
Chris looks over to me, bringing an index finger to his lips and motioning for me to be quiet. I nod slowly, feeling the tears swamp in the corner of my eyes.
Outside, the resounding sound of feet and bone scraping on the ground echo around the RV. As if a stone in the center of a large river, the dead flood around the vehicle, making themselves known by nudging and scratching at the windows.
"We're so hungry, help usss..." You could hear them thinking, as they clawed helplessly through the waves of their fellow dead. The RV gently sways back and forth as the sea of biters force their way past it, determined to get to their destination of cannibalistic gluttony.
Chris looks tense, he frowns so heavily that his eyes are hooded in darkness from his brows, I can't see what he's thinking. He gently caresses the trigger of his gun with his index finger, readying himself for any form of movement near the door. I pull my legs towards my chest, hugging myself, any form of comfort during this time as the rest of my bodies freezes. One wrong move and everything could go terribly wrong for us.
It felt like hours before they had finally passed us, the occasional straggler lurking past the vehicle, stopping to remember what it was doing before pulling itself in the correct direction again. What was the correct direction? Did they know where they were going?
I can see the shadows inauspiciously grow along the walls and cabinets of the RV, as the sun slowly begins its descent, leaving us cold and frightened.
I feel skin touch mine as Chris reaches out to make sure I'm still with him.
"I'm going to bar the door…" He whispers in the lowest tone he can conjure. "Do not move from here." I stiffly move my fingers and wrap them around his, replying to his mental question, unable to see much in the embracing darkness that is slowly consuming us inside the vehicle.
"B-be careful." I manage to stutter out, my body still frozen into the same position since the whole ordeal. I hear a soft sigh escape his lips as he cautiously moves from under the table.
I can hear him fumbling around, the gentle jangle of metal on metal coming from his pockets before a vivid light appears from whatever it is he produced from his clothing.
He gives me a little flash of that optimistic smile, before placing the torch into his mouth, gripping it with his teeth. He throws his gun over his shoulder as he warily makes his way towards the door, stepping lightly across the floor of the RV.
My body relaxes as I unwrap my arms from my legs, peering out from underneath the dining table, I watch the silhouette of his body against the torch light.
It all happens in slow motion as another silhouette barges its way through the RV door, making heavy contact with the the dark figure which is Chris. I hear the clunk of his gun hit the floor, along with the combat knife he keeps so closely to him, the flashlight rolling back and forth along the ground. The bright light from the torch beams onto the scene in front of me, I draw in a large amount of my breath, gasping, eyes widening "Chris!" I yelp, helplessly as I try to scramble to my feet.
On top of Chris is a disfigured body, flesh melting from the skin, snapping at his face. He has his left hand gripping the throat of the biter, digging his fingers forcefully into the flesh, as thick blood and pus ooze from the wounds of it's discolored skin. Chris' other hand, desperately reaches to the side of him, straining to reach the knife which is inches away from his fingers. I stand, watching the incident horrifically unfold before me, I can feel the cold sweat running down my neck, my hands shaking as I lean down and grip the knife.
"Kill… It!" He growls, moving his left arm up to grip the jaw of this creature. It begins to snap at his face more furiously now, moving it's one healthy arm towards Chris' head. The skin on the tips of its fingers have been scraped away from endless clawing and sharp bone is protruding from the wounds. The biters other arm looks as though it had been completely torn off, leaving nothing but strands of dried bloody flesh, dangling down, as it flaps disturbingly against the floor, attempting to use this ghost limb to get closer to its fighting prey.
"Grace!" Chris shouts towards me, keeping his focus on the deformed body rolling around on top of him. I snap out of my trance, the adrenaline pumping through my body as I rapidly move towards the biter. Chris lets out a cry of pain, as the protruding bone from its fingers, lacerate the side of his cheek, causing the biter to wildly crash its teeth together, violently flailing its boney body against his.
I bring the knife up, looming over the pair of them before driving the blade down into the top of its skull. The force of the blow causes blood to spurt up from the wound, spattering across my face and chest, as I drive it in again and again, more blood gushing from the large opening in its head. Bone, brain and skin turn to mush as I let out a sigh of relief and sadness, the once hungry creature lets out a few defeated spasms before lying lifelessly on Chris. I drop the gore covered combat knife to the floor, reaching up to wipe the sweat and blood from my forehead which leaves a deep red streak across it. Chris pushes the dismembered body from his, brings up his hand to grip the deep wound on his face as the blood seeps from gaps between his fingers. He scrunches his face up in pain, focusing his eyes on the body of the biter and then me.
"Took your fucking time…" He gasps, out of breath from the ordeal.
"You're hurt." I kneel besides him, reaching for his small backpack and begin hunting for some form of antiseptic or bandage. I feel the cold glass touch my finger tips and on inspection, notice it is a small bottle of whiskey that has been half drunk. I glance at him judgingly, lightly shaking the bottle towards his face before producing a small amount of bandage.
He smiles slightly, shrugging at me before clenching his eyes shut in pain as I dose the bit of fabric with whiskey.
"This is going to hurt, Chris." I say to him, trying to emphasize the realization of pain this will inflict on him. I watch him compose himself, take in a deep breath and remove the blood covered hand from his face.
"Do it…" He croaks, before I quickly press the alcohol covered cloth to his face, the bandage immediately turning crimson. He slams his fist to the ground as a low guttural growl rumbles deep in his throat. I quickly grab another piece of bandage, and remove the blood soaked one, pressing the fresh one to the wound before taping it carefully against the skin.
"We're even…" I sigh, a small but promising smile forces its way onto my lips.
To be continued...