It's kinda funny how quick things can change nowadays. One minute you're walking along with your buddies and feeling pretty good about things, and the next you're running through backyards just trying to keep something solid between you and a zombie with a twenty-foot tongue.
Hopping fences, sliding over cars, and crawling under porches has adrenaline pumping through me like lightning as I pass house after house, boarded door after boarded door. I'd actually be having a pretty good time if I had any idea where I was going or where in the hell the others got off to.
Even with all the distance I feel like I'm covering, though, I can still hear the Smoker hacking up its lungs somewhere behind me… Or is it above me?
Shit.
My excitement is definitely starting to feel more like fear now that the burning in my legs is kicking up, and it's hard not to shout when the Smoker screams, since I have to assume it's at me.
I run until finally, there's a house with an open garage door. The way to it's a bit more open than I'd like, but the idea of running until my heart gives out is a lot less appealing than just biting the bullet and making a beeline for it.
My muscles are on fire and there's a knife sticking my side as I make my mad dash, slipping on the gravel beneath my feet as I nearly miss my turn. I scramble inside the garage, and I swear to God I can feel a breeze on my neck when the Smoker's tongue hits the far wall of the doorway.
Sucker couldn't have missed me by more than an inch or two.
Once I'm inside, I turn on my heels and look up and down the door and the walls beside it for a pull chain or a handle. Seems that the owners of the place were more on the fancy side and operated the door with a powered button, which unfortunately doesn't do me a lick of good now.
Trying to pull the door down myself turns out to be a waste of time since it gives maybe an inch with my best tug, and even then the door squeals like a pig on the dry track. Not looking to get myself lassoed or surrounded, the only thing I can do is turn tail.
I make my way towards the back of the garage, scooting around the big, expensive truck that's parked inside, and crouch down out of sight. The thought of finding the keys does pass through my mind, but that'll have to wait until after the Smoker's out of my hair.
Pausing to listen clears up any doubts I might've had that the gasping and coughing is getting closer, and I slide my shotgun off my shoulder. Smokers may suck at hiding and stalking with all their noise, but I'll give credit to this one in particular for being scary persistent.
There's nothing catching in my throat or burning my eyes as I top off my loaded shells, but the smell of smoke and rot is already making me wish for the millionth time that I had nose plugs. Maybe we could stop at a sporting goods place and repurpose some earplugs…
The gutter outside rattles, followed by the crunch of gravel beneath shuffling feet. I watch under the truck as the Smoker stands in the entryway, wobbling back and forth like it's had more than a few beers while the shadows of its tongues squirm like worms on the garage floor.
A raspy scream echoes off the walls of the garage as the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight on end, and I bury my nose into my arm now that the smell is bad enough to make keeping quiet a struggle.
It limps to the right, little floating flecks of God-knows-what drifting into view around the truck. It's hard not to breathe them in, especially with a tingling throat and watering eyes trying their hardest to get my attention.
By the time the Smoker's halfway around the truck, I just can't wait any longer. I leap to my feet, gun at the ready, and I hit the son of a bitch with a nice helping of buckshot as it gives me a shriek my ringing ears can't even hear.
Wet chunks of zombie matter splash across my face, but I can't help but notice being tapped with a few more pieces of drywall than I expected. I open my eyes to see a mangled arm beside a much more intact body and swear under my breath.
Looks like I aimed a little too far to the left.
The unmistakable warmth and sliminess of a tongue wraps itself around my hands and begins to snake up my arms. My innards twist and prickle and burn as green smoke fills my lungs and choking coughs tear at my throat.
I can feel myself being pulled by my shoulders as the tongue clenches down, squeezing my hands against the shotgun. My bones feel like they're about to break under the pressure as I scream and yank back, somehow managing to slip my arms out of the Smoker's hold and fall to the ground where I crawl for dear life into the space beneath the truck.
There's a loud clatter to my left as the Smoker tosses my shotgun down beside the truck, but I can also hear its footsteps shuffling to where I had snuck away.
Something grabs ahold of my leg and tries to jerk me back as I reach for my gun, and I switch targets to a piece of the undercarriage. I put every last bit of strength I have into pulling myself close enough to grab my gun, racing against the tongue climbing up my leg towards my chest.
My hand wraps around the gun just as the Smoker overpowers my grip on the truck, and I'm dragged backwards on my belly. The underside of the truck disappears as I cock the gun, and I twist myself just enough to aim for the mass of tumors beside the Smoker's head.
I pull the trigger and a blast of hot air hits my face, the effects of the awful smoke coming back in full force as the tongue around my body goes limp.
Turning over is a miserable chore and I stumble around on my hands and knees as I try to find a place where I can breathe, nearly knocking my head right into the side of the truck. I feel my way back beneath it and follow the blue light of the moon outside.
The gravel digs into my back as I flop down, but the discomfort of a few little rocks is nothing compared to the sweet taste of clean air washing the poison out of my aching body. I laugh and punch the air from the ground, pleased with yet another zombie kill to add to my mental collection.
It'll be nice to have a new story to tell when I catch up to the others.
I think this definitely came out more distinctive, but part of me fears that maybe it's a little too much (or at the very least, I'm afraid it might become too much in a larger story). Thoughts?