Authors note: hey! im kind of new to this whole writin thin so bare with me.
The cold wall sends images of rotten corpses into my brain as its stench fills my noise. There is no noise other than the shuffling of a walker and the breaths that hitch in my throat. My fingers curl around the knife in my pocket. Any minute that thing will turn the corner, and I will have to kill it; before it kills me. I can only hope it doesn't smell me. The walker blood that slathers my body from head to toe should disguise my humanity from it but I can't be sure- I just mustn't make too much noise. Noise= bad where the walkers are concerned; they swarm to it like flies to road kill.
I've never been much for brute strength, stealth and cunning are the tactics that have taught me to survive on my own for all these months. Speed is also an asset but I rarely run away from a fight; I never give up. That doesn't mean that I'm stupid: if I'm stuck in a situation that demands me too flee (say 50 walkers to the one of me) I will- but I will probably hunt them down in groups and kill them then. I am smarter than they are; I am faster than they are; they will not get me.
The walkers' shuffles stop and I strain to hear any indication of where it might be. The hole in the piece of wood that I am hiding behind reveals nothing of its whereabouts, so I can deduce that it hasn't passed me and is still on my right. I shift my weight a little and peer out from my hiding place. The walking corpse at the end of the hallway is looking straight at me- oh bugger. With a strangled cry that barely leaves its decrepit lips, it launches its self at me. Even running full pelt it is still slow but this particular walker used to be a fully grown man and is double the size of me. Its hair has all fallen out and the yellowing skin on its scalp hangs in strips as if it had torn at himself, trying to destroy the monster it had become. The ghost of clothes hangs loosely in bloodied clumps upon its decaying frame. I could tell that it had once been human ( obviously) -but the way it moved suggests that of an insect: the scurries and shuffles mimic that of a clumsy spider.
Calculating my next moves, I can tell that the only way to defeat the vile thing is to use its own great weight against it. So, as it charges at me, I charge at it. A look of confusion crosses its face and it falters for a fatal second. Before the thing can get a bite at me, I step out the way and stick my blade out sideways. Because of the momentum caused by its sprint towards me, the thing cannot slow down and runs into my outstretched knife, cutting itself in half. I smile as i take another dagger from the halter and stab the walker in the temple. I look at the monster crumble as I sigh disappointedly and say: "that was not as fun as I thought it would be." Turning on my heels I leave the dead behind.
Sun beams leak through a shattered window and I stop for a second to watch the fragments of dust dance in the illuminating light. What would happen if I just stayed here? Trapped in the sunlight forever- peaceful and alone. The thought of peace almost makes me want to cry, but I do not allow myself that luxury. This building is not clear yet- there are walkers to kill before I can even start to think about peace.
People will tell you that it is impossible to survive an apocalypse, that children definitely cannot, that going out is a death wish. People are wrong. New York is a massive concrete jungle; canyons of broken glass and rusting steel, skeletal giants chocked by vines, rot and corrosion. I am old enough to remember what it looked like before; how it stood tall and mighty, skyscrapers so tall they seemed to challenge the gods. Now the mighty buildings look diseased, hollow and perilously close to collapse. The city is falling apart. It has been for almost 10 years now, but you can't think about that. No use worrying about what you can't change; no one can turn back time.
What I was worried about, more than anything, was avoiding the walkers, not getting bit, and scavenging enough to eat to survive one more day.
Scavenging the ruins was tricky. There used to be massive stores that had rows and rows of food, clothes and all kinds of other things. That was so long ago it almost seems to be a myth, like my whole life before this was a lie. Most of the stores are picked clean nowadays. People stole all the food in the first couple of days of outbreak, in a panic to leave the city. Some people didn't make it out alive, which is why going into supermarkets is a bad idea. They're always more work than their worth.
But the normal residences, the rows of rotting dilapidated houses along the crumbling streets were a different story. Because here's something interesting I've learnt about the human race: we like to hoard. The houses were much more likely to have food stashed away in cellars or buried deep in closets. You just have to ferret them out.
The floorboards creak as I ease myself into the third or fourth house. The first and second houses were stripped clean. Their owners had clearly packed their bags and taken everything they had as quickly as possible. In the third house, however, the people had not been so lucky. As soon as I walked in I could smell the dead. There was a suitcase on the floor of the stairs that had clothes crawling out of its open mouth. Whoever had tried to escape hadn't made it very far. Picking through the house I found two walkers in the kitchen. They were easy to dispose of- a quick arrow between the eyes and they shall walk no more. I didn't stay in the kitchen too long before I worked out there was nothing to find. Upstairs seemed promising though so I picked my way through broken glass and abandoned clothing items and up the stairs.
The stench that I had originally figured belonged to the walkers hit me full blow and nearly sent me falling back down the stairs I had climbed. In front of me a bedroom door was open. I pushed past it and into the room. It was average looking, nothing too special about it; nothing apart from the decayed bodies lying side by side on the bed. Despite their body's decay they were clearly a man and a woman. A photograph on the bedside table showed them happy and alive on their wedding day. Tears filled my eyes and I wasn't sure if it was the vile stench or the unfairness of this couples death. Their skeletal hands were woven into one another and the man held a gun in the other. They had been trying to escape, found themselves trapped so ran upstairs and shot themselves. I couldn't decide whether it was noble to die together, on their own terms, or stupid to give up. I left that house as soon as possible.
A two story house surrounded by a ring of trees and nearly warped by ivy, windows broken, porch strangled under vines and weeds. The roof and upper floor have partly fallen in, and faint rays of light filter through the rotten beams. The air is thick with the smell of mould, dust and vegetation, and the house seems to hold its breath as I step inside.
I search the kitchen first. Nothing. A few rusty forks, an empty tin can, a broken mug. All things I'd seen before. In one bedroom the, the closets were empty, the dresser was overturned, a large oval mirror shattered on the floor. The blankets and sheets had been stripped and a suspicious dark blot stained one side of the mattress. I don't thin
k about what it could be.
There is nothing in the other bedrooms either. Just as I am starting to head home I hear a light tapping noise that makes me freeze. I slip my hand into my pocket, grip my knife and slowly turn. Shadows move through the sickly light coming from the living room, and the faint, tapping steps echo just outside the doorway. I grip my knife tighter in my grasp and press myself against the wall. A dark shadow is thrown against the rotting floor as something stands in the doorway. I can hear its breaths.
Just as I am about to spring, the intruder gasps and steps out of the light. He is a boy; just a boy- but that doesn't mean he is not infected. I can hear the shakiness of his breaths and think that perhaps he hasn't seen me; I could just sneak away without having to kill him. I am aware that it is a monster but it embodies a child- after all I've seen and done, I still don't think I can kill a child.
I am starting to creep away when a breaking floorboard crackles, makes its last sigh, and collapses bringing my foot with it. As I've said before: walkers are attracted by noise; not only would the creature below me have heard my squeal, but all the others around.
I try to yank my foot out of the floor but it's wedged between the wood and won't budge. I tell myself not to panic but I can hear the boys shuffling advancing up the stairs, and looking over my shoulder I can see the top of its head. I pull and pull on my leg until my arms ache and my ankle is screaming in pain but it is no use. I am stuck.
The walker ( I am certain it is a walker now) is close enough that I can smell its skin starting to go off. It is newly bitten but far enough in the process for its skin to go grey and its eyes to lose all colour. That was one off the things I thought was strangest about walkers, their eyes having no colour. Not blue or brown or green. In the earliest stages of infection they get red rings around the very edges and it's hard to tell at first but after a while you start to notice that the red grows in colour- starting from a pink and heading to a brilliant blood red. It's as if the red sucks away the colour from the iris for its own selfish needs.
This walker is close enough for me to touch it and with my leg trapped I can't escape or dodge its advances. I throw my knife at the creature and it buries itself in its chest. The walker doesn't even stagger. It just continues it pursued towards me.
"Hey, ugly! The only thing uglier than you is your mum!" a voice calls from the bottom of the staircase. The walker seems to forget about me momentarily which gives me enough time to wrench my knife from its chest. It turns toward the voice which is still taunting it. When it shuffles to the top of the stairs I take my aim and launch the knife at its head. My knife finds its target just as an arrow from the voice hits its temple. With an arrow and a knife buried deep into its skull, the monster crumples and plummets down the stairs.
"Nice shot" the voice calls up to me. With the immediate danger gone I take a minute to evaluate my ankle. It's not broken (thankfully), but it sure as hell hurts like it could be. Trying to move it only buries the piece of wood further into my skin. I need help.
"Help me" I call out.
"You're not injured are you? Did it bite you?" the male voice goes from concerning to angry in a couple of seconds as I realise what he must be thinking. He thinks I got bit and he won't help me.
"My ankle, its stuck in the floorboard" I say, trying to keep my voice even but waves off pain cause it too warble.
I can hear someone coming up the stairs. I turn my head. Only I don't see anything because something has catapulted at full speed into my head. I disintegrate, and fall unconscious.
"You didn't have to smack her quite so hard Alec! She'll never wake up at this rate, which would be an awful shame for her- never to gaze upon the heavenly face of her saviour." Said the boy from the bottom of the stairs.
"Oh shut up Jace, the girl could have been bitten; we needed to knock her out." A cold female voice sharply reply's.
"Isabelle's right. We needed to check and this was the only way. You're the only reason that we didn't just leave her there." Another boy, a different one- who I presume is Alec, agrees with Isabelle.
"You could have just asked" I croak out, still keeping my eyes shut. I hear a chuckle and Alec's muffled voice as he walks away.
