Chapter Ten

I'm not sure why, but I expected it to be cold outside. Apocalypses are always cold, aren't they? Is it just my nervousness that made me assume that? Or do I just watch too many movies? I suppose the term 'nuclear winter', what we all thought was the most likely candidate for the how the world would end, has me presupposing ideas.

Of course, I can't feel the temperature. I hadn't thought of it beforehand, but once I noticed that I had absolutely no idea if it was freezing or a furnace outside, I really wished I had regained that human sense along with the ability and need to eat and sleep. Oh well.

I left through the back door of my house by habit. Behind my mother's house is one more block, then the middle school I attended long ago. I still hold quite a childish grudge against that place. Behind the middle school is a number of lots that were being developed into middle to high class houses before the plague struck. On the other side of that is my old high school, and across the street from that is the Holiday Manor shopping center, where the Kroger grocery store sits. It's really not a shopping center, but rather a sizeable handful of businesses and apartments all crammed together in the same block.

The air is deathly quiet. The lack of the background noise of the suburbs, cars off in the distance, was something I never really noticed until now, when it has completely disappeared. The sound of wildlife has been erased as well; there are no dogs barking, birds chirping or insects buzzing. Even the wind is absent. It's as if I and the world I used to know have been pulled into a vacuum. It all makes me terribly nervous, but I summon what little courage I can and press forward.

I'm about to hop over the fence to the yard behind ours when I get a better idea. Holding the gun in one hand, I slash with my hand across the chain link fence. For the first time I feel a little resistance cutting something up. It still does not take much effort to turn it into little bite-size metal chunks, however. What a wonderful stress reliever that is.

I walk to a house across the street from the middle school. Quietly, I scramble up to a bush and crouch behind it, my rifle at the ready. It's daytime, so any survivors who may be out there won't have much trouble spotting me, but my hypothesis is this: I'm well covered enough that if someone sees me from a distance, they'll see a silhouette of a figure holding a gun and moving at least with some sense of tactics or whatever, and won't think me infected. Maybe if I'm lucky I can hide first and actually speak with someone.

This is of course assuming there will be anyone left to speak with. Peering out from behind the bush onto the school grounds, I can't see a single person in sight, infected or not. Where has everyone gone? There are plenty of corpses sure, but nothing still living. Did that group of people that found me a week ago slaughter anyone left standing? My god, how can one have the stomach for such a thing? I shake the idea out of my head. The way is clear, and that's all that matters. I move from hiding spot to hiding spot, bush to bus stop to tree to car to another tree, until I'm in the area left half developed. There are several corpses of infected in construction uniforms. I trod carefully. I'm no expert in the least, but it seems like these infected were killed recently. Just because it seems safe, I tell myself, doesn't mean there isn't anyone waiting in ambush for infected wandering through, for me. My breathing becomes heavy. I can't tell if it's from fear or excitement. I can't really tell what any of my emotions are at the moment; I only know I'm flooded with them.

I walk around Ballard High School instead of through it. Reminded myself that my sister was in school when the infection came, I try not to think what about happened to her, and I certainly don't want to find out. Coming up upon the intersection of Brownsboro Road and Herr Lane, where Holiday Manor sits opposite my old high school, I remember vaguely what it looked like when I walked through here just days after I was infected. I can see the effect of time. The bodies have begun to decay in grotesque manner. Both infected and uninfected will turn into the same unidentifiable goop eventually, it seems. I was in a great deal of pain when I last walked down this street, but I can still see the destruction as it was, fresh and recent. All that pain I underwent must have been this second stage of the infection. It seems so long ago, like this last month or so has taken years. I can barely even begin to remember the frame of mind I once inhabited, when life was normal, and danger was a foreign word. Things made so much more sense then.

I enter the Kroger store through the back entrance, where the trucks pull in to unload their stuff. Less chance of bumping into anyone that way, and it's less walking distance. I used to work in a Kroger when I was in high school; though it wasn't this one, I still recognize the layout of the store. A rancid smell punctures my nose as I enter the hallway where the large freezer rooms are located. The food they kept frozen back here must be spoiled and rotten by now. Ignoring the stench, I sneak through to the store proper.

The place looks like a warzone. Bodies are flung about everywhere. Displays are knocked over. Cans, bottles, and containers of all sorts litter the floors. Light fixtures have broken, leaving broken glass spewed here and there like little minefields. I can't help but let out a whispery "Jeez…" upon the sight of it all. The grocery store was the sanctuary of the suburbs, the bastion of modernity. I remember when I was little, say 8 or 9, and I would act like I was a spy or a robber, hiding from the mom police, whenever we came to the grocery store. I would duck behind stands, sneak from aisle to aisle. How ironic that now I'm acting the exact same way, but from a real danger instead of a false one.

I stop at the cereal and candy aisle. I always hated how devious of a trick that was on the stores' part to put those two items together. Setting my rifle down, I open up my backpack and pull out the plastic bags. The swishing noise they make makes me paranoid as hell. Normally I wouldn't even hear it, but in this silence it's deafening. I fill up a couple bags with various foods, whatever is still sealed and looks like it won't go bad for some time. When they're filled I stick my arm through the holes in the bags and drape them from my shoulders. I'm not going to be able to grab much more and still be able to hold my gun, I realize. I make a mental list of things I need to get, and make my way through the store for them. Bottled water, though heavy, is a must. I grab a couple of canned veggies, because I can't live off of nothing but sugar, wheat, and corn products I tell myself. I'm screwed if I get a cavity, so I grab a thing of toothpaste. Some soap is taken for similar reasons.

I've lost some upper body strength. I would've been able to carry a little more than this before. Oh well. Holding my rifle with bags on my arms is awkward, but I manage. I leave the store through the front door this time, out of habit.

I decide to take a different route home this time. Instead of passing through the schools, I'll run past the McDonalds to the large field of grass and weeds, and then into the subdivision through an entrance a bit farther from my home than that from the schools. Even though I've lived around here for fifteen years and know the entire area by heart, it's closer to how I used to drive home almost every day, so it's more familiar to me.

The McDonalds is a sad sight. The drive-thru is still filled with vehicles, mostly SUVs and minivans. An infected employee is hanging out the drive-thru window, with a bag of rotting McDonalds food nearby. It's almost as if the oncoming plague was no worry to the people here, or perhaps its fright drove people here to get one last Big Mac. I walk up to the drive-thru window, just to marvel at the oddity of the scene. Then, I notice it: he's not dead. He grunts, and looks up at me.

I laugh. This scene has gotten old: the infected looking up at me, then not noticing any-

He screams.

"Wait, what?" I stutter. This was not a scream of terror, or of surprise. This was a scream of anger. The infected employee scrambles to his feet, babbling angry nonsense. What is this? What is going on? He smashes his head against the drive thru window, breaking it off its hinges, but is not fazed by it. Why the hell is he…? What the fuck is going on? I back up, away from the window and the line of dead cars near it.

He breaks free, and climbs on top of the stationwagon parked at the window. I am filled with fear. He's… he's going to kill me…

Bang.

I shoot him. The sound echoes for a moment. In that moment, time seems to have frozen, slowed to the speed of a glacier. The shot was a reflex; I can't remember the thought that made me do it. The bullet is buried in his brain. I don't know how I shot him so accurately. He falls to the ground.

The echoing stops. The infected man is lifeless, blood oozing from the bullet hole on his forehead. Did I…? I did that… didn't I? A million questions race through my head. Why did he…? How did I do that?

Another scream awakens me from my stupor, from far off somewhere. I drop my gun and grocery bags in shock. The distant hum of multiple voices follows it. I think… oh god… they're coming for me!