--Chapter 4: Noah—
Author's note: If you have no idea who Noah is, I suggest you go back and re-read this story from chapter 1.
Chapter 3 recap: Max began to lose his humanity as the infection took over his body.
Noah's POV
Why me? I fired another round into the zombie's head with my shotgun. Seriously, why me? I heard the thump of the nearby feet of a horde, and grabbed the banister to run upstairs. As if an abusive father wasn't enough, as if a cancerous tumor in my throat wasn't enough, no, life had to throw at me… I reached the top of the stairs and slammed the door shut behind me. A zombie invasion.
I slumped down behind the door to catch my breath as I heard the zombie's fists pound to no avail at the iron door. I coughed violently and fumbled for my water canteen. I held it up to the light and looked inside. Only a few drops left. I greedily poured them down my throat. I looked around the dimly lit safe house CEDA has made after the infection hit. I had laughed at the time. They were saying not to panic, that it was only a common sickness long forgotten, and at the same time they were handing out guns and setting up safe houses. Really, did the government think we were that stupid?
I stumbled across the room and looked at the clock. The glowing red hands read four in the morning. I guess I get to go to sleep early tonight I thought with a chuckle. I barely had time to shut my eyes before my head hit the dirty pillow and I fell asleep.
That night, I dreamed. I dreamed that I was walking through the streets of the city, looking at the long dead buildings and the smashed cars. I stepped over a dead body and continued on. I wasn't scared; I was more interested than anything else. I glanced up, and saw that the sky was a dirty grey. I saw a flash of black in the corner of my eye, and whirled around to face it. But it was gone, the only thing moving there a magazine page swirling in the wind. I turned back around and took a few steps forward, never letting my guard down. I knew I had seen something. It happened again, this time much closer and in front of me. I began to panic, I had no weapon. What if this thing was hostile? I didn't have much time to ponder this, because it flashed up in front of me and wrestled me to the ground. I tried to scream, but it had an iron grip on my mouth. I looked up and saw a hooded figure in a black sweatshirt. I focused on the face though, dead and gray and red eyed. I looked into those eyes and I saw the forest, I saw us sitting together by the brick wall, I saw… my brother. "Max?" I managed to squeak the word out. He put a finger to my lip to shush me. "It will soon be your time too." He jumped off and pounced away towards an unknown place. "Max!" I tried to run after him, but my legs wouldn't work, and I watched helplessly as he bounded away farther and farther. I screamed out in frustration, and watched as the earth buckled and the ground beneath me turned red, as windows shattered and arms came up from the fissures in the earth and grabbed on to my legs trying to pull me down…
I awoke with a start, my itchy trigger finger nearly firing my gun. I looked around before realizing where I was. I slightly relaxed and looked at the clock. It said in red computerized letters 10:00 A.M. I jumped up, I slept too late. I grabbed a water bottle in the room as well as a handful of shells and a can of corn. I shuddered. I hate corn, who's the idiot who stockpiled this place anyway? I kicked open the door while looking at the map. I had to travel five miles east to the city before I could get to an evacuation site. I pumped my shotgun as I sprinted down the stairs and out the double doors into the sun, now high in the sky. I saw a few rotted heads spin around at me and hiss, but I gave them something to chew on keep them quiet- my bullets. I sprinted out of the old mansion and towards the freeway. Speed was key in escaping. It was a simple game of stamina to get away from the undead, as they never needed to sleep, never needed water, never needed to stop running. In fact, it seemed the only thing they needed was to hurt me.
I ran out of the neighborhood and on to a main road. It had obviously been a fair or something before the infection hit, stands labeled 'cotton candy' and 'face painting' still visible. The place seemed empty of infected but that one guy standing far away… I squinted and put my binoculars to my eye. What I saw was the only thing that scared me. I had been beaten half to death by my own father, I had fallen fifty feet and lived, I had undergone four treatments of chemotherapy, and nothing scared me anymore. Except this thing, a voice in the back of my head said. I was never very often scared, but now I was wide eyed, knees buckling, wetting my pants scared. And the cause was a mime. It was a simple infected, its eyes long rotted away and its mouth open in a frozen scream. Through its white face paint and striped clothes, there was only an infection. It was just another zombie. Yet my mouth felt dry, my arms as heavy as lead. The only thing that had scared me… I did a few brain calisthenics when the mime sniffed the air, looked in my direction, and growled. I wanted Max to be here, I wanted to grab on to his arm and ask him to tell that mime to go away. But he wasn't here. The zombie was closing the distance fast, flailing its limbs in an awkward running stance. One second it was so close I could feel its breath, and another it was gone. I blinked, and realized that a slimy tongue had closed around its waist and dragged it away to a popcorn kiosk. I heard some sickening crunching sounds and for a few precious moments thought that that Smoker may have just helped me. But as it poked its head out, one thing was clear: it only wanted me as prey.
This Smoker would not be giving up easily; that much was clear. I had been running and shooting at it for the past twenty minutes, yet it only seemed to get faster and angrier. I looked behind my shoulder and saw the Smoker in steady pursuit, its tumor like flesh jiggling as it ran. I picked up the pace, and saw on a big tan building a heating duct. A small one, one that I could barely squeeze through, but it would work. I dove for it, slamming the grate shut just as the tongue slammed against it.
This was not good. This was definitely not good. The Smoker had somehow broken the grate with its tongue- just clear snapped it off WITH ITS TONGUE. I scrambled madly on all fours through the heating duct system. I heard the clanging of metal behind me and knew it was getting closer. I was giving up all hope when I heard a familiar whoosh and saw a big fan. It was the only way out, a huge industrial size fan at the end of the grate. I studied it and found that the only possible way to escape would be to squeeze through the bottom left corner where the blades never touched. I took a deep breath. The clanging was getting louder. I looked at the blades, swinging in the sunlight. I heard the whooshing as I jumped through and- got splattered by blood. For one hugely desperate moment I thought that maybe I had gotten splattered by my own blood, that the blades had perforated me like hamburger meat. But I looked up from the ledge I was sitting on and saw the Smoker's face, twisted in one last grimace, looking straight at me. It was slowly dripping dark blood from its mouth, dead at last. Take that, I thought. I swung my pack over my shoulder and headed down the building.
Author's note: This was only part 1 of the Noah series. We'll be seeing more of him soon, don't worry…
