I had nearly forgotten the sound of death, the screaming and choking and - finally - the low, gurgling silence.
The writhing figure beneath me soon stilled, kicking occasionally, and I growled, rolling from the corpse to stand and view my handiwork. The uninfected thing was a mess of raw muscle, skinned from the elbows down and nearly decapitated, chest collapsed into a pit of gore. It had been days since I'd made a kill, especially one that wasn't a brother or sister, and I was growing restless. These claws needed to fight and tear muscle, these teeth needed to twist and pull skin from flesh in bloody curtains. I was itching for the blood, and one wasn't enough.
Ears hungry for signs of life, I began to walk again.
I had realized days ago that I should have stayed in the city. The forest was calm, too calm, and while there was the occasional animal unlucky enough to find itself in my grasp, there wasn't the same sense of urgency and frenzy that permeated the streets of the city. The only human I'd seen had died way too quickly, and now lay mutilated behind me. That stone-cold bloodlust that drove me had begun to fade and I'd become complacent, almost tired, a feeling I hadn't had since...
I couldn't quite remember. Part of me knew there'd been a time, been a place, when it hadn't all been this, but hard as I tried I couldn't remember anything other than waking up screaming, driven to kill. How long had I been alive? I didn't know, and I didn't care. My instincts and I were all that mattered now. That, and killing.
I walked for hours, losing myself in the game of identifying sounds, spotting animals, finding brothers and sisters. My siblings were a riot to chase, to catch, but not to kill. I hardly enjoyed killing them anymore, so I left them in groaning heaps on the ground, incapacitated. The joy of bothering them was enough to keep me from going insane in these godforsaken woods. At least for now.
Finally, as the sun rose, I came across a long and winding road. I knew that one direction would lead me back to the city, and the other, well, who knew. But as for now, I would need to take shelter. I began to search.
What woke me was an extremely unpleasant noise, and one I preferred to hear at a further distance - gunfire.
Jolting up, I slammed my head off the metal belly of the truck I'd taken shelter under, then rolled out into the street, groaning. Again, a shot sounded. Not as close as I'd originally thought. Approaching, though. I clambered to my feet and peered over the hood of the truck, squinting into the afternoon sun.
There seemed to be a small number of my siblings - crawling from the cars they'd been laying in - stumbling toward tight cluster of figures, maybe thirty or forty yards down the road. Another shot, and a sister collapsed with a high wail. I barely cringed at the sight. These mongrels were too stupid to fight like I did, and they got what they deserved.
Either way, I was excited to finally see some real action. I hadn't seen many survivors in the last few weeks, and most of them had been stragglers - loners left behind by their groups, too weak and helpless to make it to evac sites on their own. But here was a group of maybe five or six, and functioning well. They stood back to back, an effective system going between them where two would shoot while the others reloaded, and so on. Soon, my brothers and sisters were picked off.
I licked my lips and crawled back under the truck, watching quietly. When they ventured close enough, I'd take out the pretty little blonde one who stood, shaking, with his arms around an axe. Obviously the weakest link. He was young, maybe 12, and absolutely terrified. Probably herded around by the rest of the group like a lost sheep. Besides, he had no ranged weapon. An axe? Easy prey.
They bided their time, scavenging through the pockets and clothes of my slain siblings, taking what they could. Shoes, strings, pocket knives, lighters, even rings and bracelets were lifted and tucked away into one of their many backpacks, bulging with looted goods. I had no doubt they'd come from the same direction I had, where the stores were still full.
Eventually they started off again. As they passed, I listened carefully, watched carefully, and waited.
"If we can just make it to Detroit, there's bound to be an evac site." said a young woman, voice rough. Her shoes, torn-up flats, scuffed the pavement as she walked.
"You think too big, hun." said another. This one was older, male, possibly fifty or sixty. "Next city for now, alright? Andrew needs to rest for a while."
"Thanks pa." muttered the kid.
"Your damn kid needs to rest all the time. He's almost as bad as Aponi."
The footsteps stopped. "Carol, you shut your fucking mouth."
"Whatever."
They resumed again.
The other two survivors, tall and dark-skinned, said nothing, though they walked hand-in-hand and stayed close together. They looked formidable at least, each clutching a shotgun in their free hand.
Finally, they passed. I waited until they were a few cars ahead, then crawled into the daylight and crept forward.
I growled and leapt.