Writing used to come naturally to me, but now I feel like I have to try too hard to write my thoughts down. If you feel like it, point out anything that should or could be changed. Thanks in advance. Also, suggestions for future chapters are welcome although the story is panning out for me. I plan on having René document everything that happens to her over these three years in what I have come to think of as a nice, thick autobiography. Chapter two!
Days passed in my new house. My head was swimming in death, making my life a distorted dream. Fantasmal thoughts kept me going while I adjusted to the new quiet, lonely life. I pretended that I was just waiting out a storm or having a lazy weekend, which would be accurate in a way.
A few dogs barked from around the neighborhood and I built off of that. Maybe I'm not the only person alive. Maybe I'll be okay. Maybe I'm missing something; this can't be right.
It just came so fast, especially because we were so laid back about it. Eventually I scolded myself for being so stupid until I just couldn't take it anymore. Nothing could fix this anyway. So then I thought about what I should do. I should find food and a bed, or blankets at least; visit the library to get some books.
I thought hard about how long I had been there to find out what day it was. I lit candles and made a sandwich on Thursday night. I got carpet burn the next morning, Friday morning, on my face. The looters came again one night. Was it Friday or Saturday night? Those days blended together because they were the darkest. The dogs stopped barking one day, after the looters came again, so it must have been Friday. I slept through the night and then laid half asleep on the floor through the next day, Sunday. Through that night I dozed, sleeping for less than an hour at a time. Today must be Monday then.
I thought, I should probably go get some of my stuff from the apartment, but then I remembered Garland and decided not to. I thought about Garland for a while in a position that had become very familiar. I was in a corner sitting against one wall in the living room. I leaned forward onto my knees and held my ankles.
It was there that I thought that the scarves had something to do with her changing. She made those in a room full of busy people who might have been infected. We put the scarves over our mouths and noses to protect ourselves from it and now... now she's dead and I'm still here. I must be immune to it. How many others are there? To believe, even for a second, that I was the only one was absolutely crazy.
So first of all I had to look for other survivors. The horn in my car should be loud enough to catch someone's attention. I left the house for the first time in days to see a neighborhood that looked largely undisturbed. I wanted the dogs to keep barking and I wanted to see what had happened to them, but with this virus floating around I also didn't want to waste time when other people might be dying.
A tall oak tree stood near my car and another younger tree was growing on the other side of the yard, tied to metal supports. As I checked the rearview mirror I noticed something startling. The front door of the house across the street was wide open. The interior was dark and cavernous looking. I immediately pulled the keys out of the ignition and put the emergency brake on. Leaving the keys on the console, I went to investigate.
A murmuring sound came from inside and then I heard tearing. It sounded kind of like wet packing tape coming off of a box in short bursts. My entrance was silent and whatever or whoever was inside didn't notice me. I peered into the living room and saw two people squatting next to someone else, indirectly illuminated by sunlight coming through drawn curtains.
A spark of hope ignited inside me until I realized what they were doing. One of them was facing me, trying to peel a thick layer of flesh off of the body's back. He pulled at underlying flesh in a dark and bloody wound while the other munched on its hand. I moved like The Flash, back around the corner and out the door.
My legs felt numbed and I almost tripped over myself as I jogged back across the street. I fumbled with the keys and tried very hard to push the image of the two Infected away. The blood streaked body was seared into my memory like a brand from this new life; it wouldn't go away, it just hovered in front of me. Blinking made it worse, like I was again in that dark house.
Desperation drove me on for over three hours. I drove through other neighborhoods and apartment complexes honking the car horn with a knife at the ready. I drove to hospitals, a few hotels, the airport, parked outside, and honked incessantly. I saw the face of a snarling Infected in one of the windows more than once.
As I drove through downtown Dallas a white truck crossed an overpass ahead of me. With no one else on the streets I drove after it like a jittery stunt driver. The effort eventually awarded me with human contact. We parked bumper to bumper beside a parking garage, waving at each other through the glass.
A man in his upper thirties got out of the truck and we each did a cute little speed walk towards each other. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder and he was wearing a black jacket with his last name stitched onto it.
"Where have you been?" He asked.
"Searching all of Dallas for you." I shot back excitedly.
"I've been looking for other people since about noon. Yesterday too."
"I just came out of my house. First time in days. It's been... rough. For a little while I thought I'd never see another person again."
"Did you try to just wait it out?"
I told him about how careless I was in an unsteady spill. I told him about Garland, but only briefly. And he listened patiently through it all.
"Sorry about your friend." He said with sincerity. "The evacuations were crazy and I really think staying put was the safer thing to do, though. I saw a few people get trampled by healthy people and people who turned. They even flipped some cars and pulled down a helicopter."
I was momentarily stunned into silence.
"My name's Nate. What's yours?"
"I'm René." I answered. "René Taylor. Art student."
"Uh, Nate Cormack. I'm a security gaurd. Do you, uh... Do you want to go back to my place, or yours? What might be safer?"
"Yours." I said instantly. "My" house was completely empty and unprotected; right across the street from two of Them.
"You can just follow me then." He said, gesturing awkwardly and hastily toward my car.
We got back into our vehicles and drove off towards his apartment. At the time I didn't know much about him at all but I immediatley trusted him. He was human, certainly, and one of the last ones in Dallas.
I really really hope that I will have the next chapter up next Saturday and I'll try to make it longer. Thanks for reading my story.