The Undead

Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

I glance one last time in the mirror, laid upon my father's wall. I pull my arms through the sleeves of my leather jacket, preparing myself. But, it seems I'll never be fully prepared for the demons I am about to face.

The light coming from the doorway dims, my vision becoming cloudy. I snap my head in the direction of the door to find Shane casually leaning against it. I walk over towards Shane's overbearing stature, his muscular arms folded tightly across his chest. I lift my head to look directly into his now, black eyes.

"Ready to go?" he asks, averting his eyes from mine. I know the reason, too. It pains me that he can't look into my eyes. To know the hurt of leaving a place, such as this one. The agony of not seeing it ever again.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I reply, pushing my way past him. I walk outside, passing his motorcycle and to my dad's truck. I yank the passenger door open. Leaning across the seat I slide my hand between the seat, fishing for my father's six shooter. I clasp my hand around the hilt, drawing it from its current position.

I turn, looking at the dangerous weapon, that holds many memories in my hand. I slide my fingers across the engraved barrel. Slowly, I glide the gun into its holster at my side.

I snap my head up, near to running into Shane. Hurriedly, he outstretches his arms, bracing me from falling. I meet his stare, underneath my long, mascara coated lashes.

We stand for a couple of moment just like that, staring at each other. I don't budge, which is unusual for me. Finally, I'm knocked out of my haze realizing the reality of our pressing matter.

"We've got to go," I implore, knowing that the day is short, but our trip too long.

I watch as it takes Shane a minute to register what I have said, slowly, he removes his hands from my shoulders. Without a word he walks away, mounting his bike. I follow, checking what little we've decided to bring, making sure it is secure.

I swing my leg over the bike, sliding onto the leather seat. I don't wrap my arms around Shane's chest, instead I clutch onto the strap laid in front of me.

 He snaps his head back towards me, giving me a quizzical expression. I glance at him, slowly dragging my eyes to meet his. Quickly, he turns back around, starting the bike.

We turn right out of the hulking, white gate. I clasp my eyes shut, desperately fighting back tears. I glance over my shoulder, catching the last moments of my ranch, before disappearing into the distance. Only to return in my memories.

 I swallow, hard, trying to push down the nausea. Tears slide down my cheeks, meeting my chin, then falling into my lap. I silently cry, hoping Shane won't notice. Finally, I grasp myself, coming back to reality.

Steadily, I move my shaky hands to my face, clearing it of any remnants of my pain. I gaze ahead at the straight endless pathway towards what little security we have. I snap my head to the right on the edge of the road, catching a glimpse of how many miles we left before entering El Paso.

Shane's bike steadily decelerates as we make our way into the outskirts of the town. Or what's left of it. I take in a sharp breath, but pause as the thickness of flesh burned smoke enters my nostrils. I stop the intake of air, trying to push the collected smoke out of my lungs.

We hit the edge of the demolished town. The crackling of fire enters my ears, never will I think of fire as the same. A beautiful light that warms, closeness of friends at the lake. Now it's gone to hell, like everything left in this world, destroying anything in its path.

Finally, I give in to the fear that has been bubbling up inside. All in one motion I wrap my arms around Shane's torso, pulling myself closer to him. I don't care if he's upset at me still. I just need a sense of security, and he's the only thing I have to grab onto.

He turns to me giving me a look. A look I know well. One that says, 'Be prepared, Hell is in the midst of breaking loose.' I'm thankful for the look, although it worries me more. But I'd rather know the truth of the matter, than being guarded from it.

As if sensing my present feelings, Shane places a sturdy hand over mine. It calms the shaking, letting me regain some of my focus. He lets go controlling the bike once more.

He fumbles with something on the front of the motorcycle. It doesn't register what it is until he is jabbing it into my side. I release my hands from their grasp on his chest. With unstable, clammy hands I take the gun in my hold. I know now is the time to focus. Mind over matter. I have to put what is to happen out of my thoughts, that is if I want to survive.

I take the brass bullets attached to my side, loading the gun. I cock it back ready to fire. I place the AK in the correct position. I'm ready to kill no matter what the circumstances.

The only grip I have on the bike is in my legs. I tighten the hold, hoping that we will be out of the forsaken territory with a clean break. But only in a perfect world would that happen. Perfection is inevitable.

I'm ready for the worst at all cost. Well, ready as I'll ever be. But one can never be fully prepared. The words that Shane has burned in my mind, from previous times talking about the non-existent matter that we are now facing, ring through my mind.

'Whatever you do, don't get bitten!'

Still caught in the advice that Shane has given, I fail to notice the things that are near. My eyes come into focus. I jump, hastily, I pull the gun into range. I don't aim directly, just enough to get the job done. Slowly, I squeeze the trigger, releasing the bullet.

The creature shrieks before finally falling to its death. I have to keep in mind that it's not a human, well not anymore. The slowness of its gait. All of these qualities taking over what once used to be human. After one is bitten, all that is left, is to become one of the Walking Dead.

Apart of the Zombie Apocalypse.

More deceased souls crawl toward me. Moans escape their blood stained lips. Their arms outstretch for me. To take my body into their rotting hands, pulling me under with them.

I aim the gun towards the nearest ones, firing the bullets into their heads. Killing them instantly. I continue to fire as fast as my hands will let me. My precision is off, as I become overwhelmed.

The Walking Dead come closer and closer. My heart starts pounding in my chest as we become surrounded. I want to scream bloody murder, but I have to keep my wits about me.

"Go, Shane!" I yell, hoping he has heard me over the moans.

But we continue moving at the same speed. I begin to think I only thought the words that I yelled at Shane.

One of their hands has latched around my ankle. Hopelessly, I try to break free. Suddenly, the bike is shifted into motion. The change of speed and worry of the zombie on my leg, causes me to become off balance.

Within a second, I'm airborne. The gun flies from my hands as I'm dragged through the air. I feel the sudden change in speed as the grip on my ankle is tightened then released. I skid across the asphalt of the road. My head begins to throb and I become dizzy. The coolness of what I can only assume to be blood runs down my face, clouding the vision of my right eye.

"Shane!" I scream at the top of my lungs as the Dead begin to surround me. I struggle to move, frozen in fear. White spots blind what little vision I have left as cold dead hands are placed upon me.

Abruptly, my world turns black.