It felt like I hadn't moved for hours. I couldn't remember a time I'd been more miserable, starving, and terrified. All the noise had drawn what seemed like every walker in the neighborhood to the door of this house. Stuck upstairs, unsure if I had an escape, the unsettling feeling of accepting death began to pool in my stomach again.
From the upstairs window, I could tell it was still daytime, but that only made it worse—time was crawling. All I could hear was the groaning, banging, and moaning chorus of walkers outside, mixed with the racing pulse pounding in my ears. No calming thought came to mind. Come on, Majesty, think.
I just needed to clear my head long enough to brainstorm an escape route. Jumping out the window on this leg was out of the question, going out the front door was impossible, and staying here definitely wasn't an option. My earlier tussle had left my mouth dry as sandpaper, and the dry Georgia heat made the upstairs feel like a sauna. Could I even get my bag? I wasn't sure.
If Glenn were here, he would've had a plan by now. Just like when we found Rick. God, that felt like ages ago. Would I even be in this situation if we hadn't found Rick? Maybe we'd still be back at the quarry. That horde had to have been drawn by the guns, the car alarm... I guess, technically, that was all Rick's fault. But I liked Rick; I wasn't trying to blame him as a way of coping. If Rick were here, he'd have saved himself a thousand times over.
I had to be like Glenn and Rick. I had to save myself. For a moment, I focused on my breathing, timing steady inhales and exhales. With my eyes closed, I drowned out the sounds of the dead and took one final breath, trying to relax my body and clear my mind.
The boot had to go. There was no way I could hobble around with that heavy thing weighing me down. As soon as I started messing with the straps, pain flared up my thigh, nausea settling in my stomach. I held still, determined not to let the little fluids I had in me come up. I had to rush through this or I'd be here forever. Irritated, I ripped through the Velcro and shimmied the boot off, ignoring the flaring discomfort.
Next step was tossing it out the window. That was my only option for leaving. I wasn't about to open the bedroom door I'd locked myself in. The moment I stood, I felt the instability of my ankle, the sickening, floppy feeling making me stumble. Relax.
I hopped as lightly as I could to the window facing the back of the house, unlocking it and sliding it open. The screen was next. The soft sounds of nature filtered in as I stuck my head out, feeling a bit of relief when I saw the back porch with its small awning. Was it going to hurt? Absolutely. But less than jumping straight to the ground.
I tossed the boot out the window, watching it roll off the porch and onto the dying grass in the fenced backyard. I gulped, knowing my weak body would have the same fate in just a few minutes. After another dry swallow and a few more seconds of staring—trying to prepare myself—I stuck the first half of my body out of the window, flattening my palms on the roof tiles and shimmying through. At least now I didn't feel like I was in immediate danger of being eaten alive, so it was easier to move without panicking.
One more deep breath, and I braced myself to pull my whole weight through the window, careful not to hit my ankle on the sill. Every movement made my body ache from the soreness that had accumulated over the past few days, but I had no choice but to ignore it. I crab-walked to the edge of the roof, turning over so I wouldn't fall feet first. There wasn't a free thought in my head besides knowing this was fucking crazy.
I let myself roll off, my stomach dropping the instant the surface disappeared from under me. The fall was fast, and when I hit the rough terrain, blinding pain shot through my entire body, clouding my brain. I resisted the urge to scream, biting hard into my lip and refusing to open my eyes as I lay there, writhing in agony, letting my body cool down. It was even hotter lying there with my blood boiling and the sun beaming down on me.
Finally, I opened my eyes, staring at the dirt near my face, dry weeds clouding my view of the backyard. I didn't want to move at all. Would it be crazy to just lie here and die? Annoyed at my own thoughts, I forced myself to remember that I couldn't give up. Not after everything I'd been through. I wondered how many other people had been in this same mindset since the world ended. Some of them might be the same ones trying to get through the front of the house right now.
Thankfully, the thud my body made didn't seem to draw anything my way. But I had no idea what was waiting on the other side of that tall, brown wooden fence. I groaned when I realized there was more climbing in store for me. Fuck.
Fueled by self-annoyance, I turned myself over and pushed into a sitting position. I glanced at my ankle—a big, swollen, red ball looking back at me. It was starting to annoy me more than it hurt. With a sigh, I reached for the boot I'd tossed out, snatching it up and tucking it under my arm. Bracing myself again, I used my arms for leverage, letting my injured leg dangle as I shimmied around until I could stand. Once up, I hobbled to the edge of the fence, lifting wobbly on my tiptoes to see what was on the other side. Another backyard. I felt like I was going to pass out before I even had the chance to scale this thing.
A sigh escaped my lips as I tossed the boot over the fence and gripped the edges, fighting through the feeling of being hot, weak, and dehydrated. I could only be proud of how resilient I felt. It's just a fence. I couldn't silence the groans of struggle as I kicked up the fence with one foot and scrambled to pull myself over, pausing at the top to catch my breath. My good foot went over the side, and I lowered myself gently to the ground, easing the rest of my weight onto my weak legs, doing my best to keep the injured foot from bearing too much weight.
After my last incident, I didn't even feel safe attempting to enter the house. But as I stared at the large, old-timey farmhouse, a small sense of relief replaced the dread I'd felt before. I couldn't believe I'd managed to conquer such a daunting task. The entire playback of what I'd been through in such a short time brought a stinging to my eyes, fighting the urge to break down into tears right then and there. Through all the memories, I focused on Glenn. His smile, his youthful, round, and chubby face, his jet-black hair with that slight wave to it. I could almost feel how silky and soft it was if I focused on the memory of running my hands through it—my hand flexed a little at the thought. But mostly, I thought about his deep, kind brown eyes, the way they lit up around me, his high cheekbones turning into a squint every time he smiled. God, I'd give anything to be with him.
That's all I had to think about—getting back to him. I had nothing without him. I was nothing without him. Nobody else would care about me if it weren't for Glenn. The thought brought me back to reality. But I had to be honest with myself: I didn't want to go any further. Glancing around the backyard, I observed a small playset for kids, a grill, a picnic table, and a homemade-looking red doghouse. I blocked out all the grim thoughts about what had happened to the family and their dog. They could still be in that house, for all I knew.
I hobbled closer to the house, considering peeking inside when a small green knob on the back wall caught my eye. A hose. My fingers gripped it desperately, turning the rusty knob until I heard the pipes creak. I expected a rush of water to bless me, but as I kept turning, I realized my luck had dried up—literally. Being in this town meant fewer wells and less running water. I let the delusion grow, turning and turning the knob.
A few droplets finally fell out, and I hunched over, opening my mouth wide to catch the cool water on my dry tongue. It was barely better than nothing. There was no way I was trekking through this town again in this heat. I didn't even want to stand out in the open anymore. Slowly, I turned to the doghouse, my best option for shade from the beaming southern sun. I sighed in frustration but gave in to the idea.
At the foot of the doghouse, I removed my shirt and placed it on the hot ground, ignoring the dank smell under my arms. So much for that shower. Bare-chested, I almost considered stripping completely until I thought about creepy crawlies. No thanks. I forced my body into the humid but not baking-hot space, sighing in relief at being shielded from the sun.
As soon as I felt a little comfort, exhaustion hit me like a truck, my entire body feeling heavy and my head drowsy. I wasn't even comfortable, but I wanted to sleep so badly. I thought about climbing back out to put the boot on my ankle since I wasn't planning to go anywhere, but I was too lazy. I closed my eyes, letting the images of Glenn's face soothe me into a slumber.
The night sky greeted me when I woke. I lay still, slowing my breathing and listening to my surroundings before making a move. There were a few soft moans in the air, almost drowned out by the sound of cicadas and the southern ambiance. When I remembered where I was—in a doghouse, bare-chested on the hard ground—I couldn't help but chuckle. At least I could find some humor in my situation.
I hummed my own variation of "On the Road Again," trying to ignore the aches and growls of my empty stomach. Boredom, loneliness, hunger, pain—it was all enough to drive someone crazy. It was getting to me, slowly.
When all this began, Glenn and I stayed locked up in our shitty Atlanta apartment. We'd heard about the outbreak on the news, and he was frantically trying to find a way back to Michigan to get word from his family. My family lived in Georgia; my brother was about to finish his second year of university. I talked to my parents on the phone, sharing stories from the news about cannibal attacks, evacuations, quarantines—pandemic stuff. We played video games and waited. T-Dog was our neighbor. The day Atlanta flipped, he banged on our door, asking for help to get some seniors to the evac zones. If we hadn't helped, we'd have had those firebombs dropped right on us. We met everyone else on that highway.
Amy saw me first, said I was pretty. We talked for a while before Andrea pulled her away. I thought Dale and Andrea knew each other before, the way he watched over her and Amy. Then we met Shane, Lori, Carl, Carol, Sophia, Ed... The others just bonded with us like glue. Even Daryl and Merle showed up, outsiders who pulled their weight and provided conversation—well, Daryl, anyway.
All that just to end up here. Alone. In a doghouse. Starving.
With a sigh, I crawled out of the doghouse and peeked around. The coast was clear. I strapped my boot back on, feeling relief as it stabilized my ankle, then put my shirt back on, yawning as I limped to the back door. I gave it a gentle tug. It was unlocked. That honestly caused more stress than relief. I guess I hadn't learned my lesson about unlocked houses.
The house was pitch black and dead silent inside. The last thing I needed was another jump scare. I banged on the walls, squinting to make out the kitchen in the dim moonlight. After waiting a moment, I tiptoed inside, leaving the door open for some light. I stayed alert, continuing to tap the walls lightly. On the first floor, I felt safe enough. The air wasn't as stiff or smelly as usual, so I relaxed, taking in a deep breath of musty air and heading to the kitchen. The fridge was rancid, filled with rotting food, gnats, and maggots. I gagged and slammed it shut, stumbling to the cabinets next.
The first can I grabbed was pumpkin pie filling. Something I'd never touch if it weren't the end times. But here I was. I tried to bang it open, but it wouldn't budge. I found a can opener in the drawer, quickly popped the top, and devoured the sweet puree.
I grabbed another can—beans. Beans and pumpkin. One hell of a dinner. I popped the top and slurped down the disgusting bean juice. There were more cans, but I didn't want to waste it all in one night. I found a knife, gripped it tight, and explored the house, my hand on the wall as I made my way upstairs. The stench of death grew potent as I climbed. My heart pounded in my ears.
I followed the smell to a slightly cracked door. I dared not breathe too heavily as I approached. My throat went dry as I banged on the door. No moan, snarl, or sign of life.
Cautiously, I turned the knob, holding my breath as I pushed the door open. More flies buzzed around my face as I made out the dead body slumped in an armchair. I took baby steps closer, observing the silhouette. He was dead, a bullet hole right in the middle of his forehead. Ignoring the insects, I got low, feeling around for the gun. My fingers brushed cold metal, and I shakily picked it up, my mind reeling. My hands wouldn't stop trembling.
A few images flashed of me using the same gun to give myself the same fate. I blinked, shaking my head, trying to focus on securing the gun. The other ways out... I just couldn't fathom. But this? This was easy. I shuffled away, reminding myself for the hundredth time why I was here—why I was fighting. These thoughts were ones I hadn't struggled with since I was a teenager. Back then, I had drugs and outlets. God, I was tired of going through this. No matter what I did, the idea of giving up was always fresh in my mind.
Finally, I got away from the body, fumbling with the gun until I found the safety. I clicked it on and tucked it into the boot as a makeshift holster. I strained my eyes to see more of the room, spotting the reflection of a glass bottle. I grabbed it from the floor, not caring what it said. I left the room, shutting the door behind me, mentally thanking the man for his contributions. Across the hall was another room. I opened the door, glanced around, and found nothing but furniture.
I locked the door behind me, shuffled over to the bed, and hoisted myself onto it. After drawing the curtains open slightly, I stretched out, enjoying the comfort I hadn't felt in a while. The bottle called my name, and I used the bit of light to read the label. Good ol' whiskey. Not my thing, but it could be now. I unscrewed the top, leaned back, and poured the warm liquor down my throat, cringing at the burn. I collapsed back onto the soft pillows, feeling the alcohol warm my belly. Once I got a taste, I couldn't stop. Swig after swig, I drank, desperate to drown out the torment.