The Infection

Chapter 13

Bending over and panting, John tried to grasp his mind around what just happened. Not just today, but a week ago. A week before he was home from school sick. A week ago! What would've happened if he went to school that day? Would he be dead now? Would his family have gone looking for him at school and be dead now because of it? Are his friends from school alive right now? 'Blase certainly isn't,' John thought glumly. 'But...Ashlynn!' John had completely forgot about her. Being on the run, the mess at the military base, and now this. Ashlynn was John's ex. The prettiest girl in high school according to most guys. But she was smart, unlike the typical archetype of a popular girl. He still had feelings for her, but she became a drug addict and went to jail for a few days before being bailed out by her parents. John told her to stop, but she kept at it. He left her because of it, and as a result she started in on alcohol on top of the drugs, which made John feel even worse. It was a dick move on his part, but she never listened to him. But still, he left her when she needed him the most. And he meant to make it up the next day by trying to get her back, but he was sick. Then everything started to fall apart in the city, and within minutes John's family was on the run from the dead. John suddenly felt a pang of sadness. It was unlikely she was alive. But there was a small bit of hope she was still out there. John survived. Maybe she did to. Striker let out a low growl. John heard the snap of twigs close by. He immediately pulled out his machete and held it in front of him, looking around. John spotted the walker a few feet away from him. He thrust the blade into its skull. But when he tried to take it out, it got stuck. Striker suddenly burst into a serious of aggressive barks, but he was staying back. Almost like he was afraid of something. "What is it?" John asked him looking back, but still struggling with the machete. Then he heard it. Not just a couple of branches and twigs snapping, but a bunch of them. It sounded like hundreds of them. "Dammit!" John shouted, he was still trying to pull the machete out of the skull. Right as he shouted, the horde of walkers burst into the open from behind a row of secluded bushes. Unable to pull the weapon out, John abandoned the machete and bolted for an opening in the trees, Striker right behind him. 'How did the horde catch up to us?' John thought angrily. He was sure he had gotten far enough ahead so they couldn't catch up to him for a while. They're slow moving brainless corpses, there's no way they caught up already. 'Unless it's another horde,' John thought. He didn't want to think about the idea, but it was the harsh reality. It had to be. There was no other logical explanation. But two of those hordes makes a mega horde......in other words, a complete nightmare. John had to figure out how to get out of their way. He needed a hiding spot. But where? He was still in the middle of nowhere, and he couldn't risk going back to Ed's house. What could he do? As John and Striker continued to run, they finally burst through the opening in the trees and emerged into a wide, open field. The sight was horrific. There was a farm that looked about half a mile away and dead animals littered all over the field. It probably was a nice, peaceful area before the virus infected the state. Whoever owned the farm had a huge territory to tend to. But now, all John could see besides the dead animals was the broken down farmhouse and rows upon rows of dead, brown crops. The worst part of it all were the hundreds, maybe thousands of walkers across the land, feasting on the decaying bodies of the farm animals. With a horde behind them, John and Striker were trapped. The only way out was through the horde, but there was no way John and Striker could make it out alive. How in the hell are we gunna get through all this?" John asked himself. There was nowhere to go, but still he took out his knife. The smaller group of walkers that were chasing them through the woods emerged into the open, staggering after John and Striker. It was hopeless. There was no way he could take on all of them at once. He had trouble killing one back in the woods. There were 12, maybe 13 in front of him now, about 100 yards away, getting closer every second. John backed up slowly, with Striker drooping his head and whimpering. John's last thought was 'Where the hell did all these walkers come from?'