Zomb-Pocalypse 5

Chapter Ten

I start to climb, but I don't make it very far before the weight of my backpack starts to slowly pull me backwards. My fingers can't find good enough grip to avoid it and I allow gravity to work its course and jump down. I once mocked Silas for the rope that he carried around in his backpack, unnecessary weight, I think I called it, but it really has come in handy these last couple of days.

I pull out a coil of rope and tie one end around the strap of my backpack and the other end, I tie around the leather holster at my waist, just so I won't drop it while I'm using both hands to climb. I could have put it in my mouth I guess, but I've never been a fan of fabric touching my teeth, and who knows what kind of zombie gore has touched this rope in the past. The thought makes a shiver run down my spine just thinking about it.

I start climbing again with more determination and feel a small bloom of excitement as I pass the rung that previously made me fall off. I'm terrified I'm going to fall, especially once I get up high enough to cause injury, but I'm just being a chicken, the climb isn't bad. I reach the top, just as I start to feel the rope going tight. The resistance pulling at my hip has me gripping the ladder so hard my knuckles turn white.

It's one of those tree houses that you come up through a hole in the floor and once my head and shoulders get through, I feel comfortable enough to let go of the ladder and rest my back against the wood as I start tugging the backpack up- the rope isn't going to let me get any higher without dragging it up.

It's a struggle to fit the backpack through the opening while I'm still halfway through, but I don't want to risk it falling to the ground and the pressure on the rope tugging me down with it. I'm sweaty by the time I finally pull myself up onto the floor, a mixture of exertion and fear, and I lay on my belly with my cheek resting on the cold, damp wood for a few minutes giving myself a breather.

I start to feel foolish and pull myself to my feet, just because I know a zombie can't be up here, and it's literally just a one room tree house, doesn't mean I should be so lax with my safety. I pull my gun out, just to be on the safe side, even though I feel like, if anyone was in here, they would have already made their presence known while I was helpless and sprawled out on the floor.

The tree house doesn't have a door, just a crooked frame with some rusty hinges clinging to the edge that looks like it had a door at some point. I poke my head inside cautiously and then relax. A two second glance, and I can see it's empty. It's a little bit grim looking with the weathered wood and dried up leaves dusting the floor, but it is probably the safest place I can be right now. I wince at my own bravado and then swiftly reach out to knock on wood- there's an abundance of the stuff around here, and better safe than sorry, even though I'm not usually superstitious -I can use all the luck I can get these days.

I drop my backpack in the corner and bend down to examine a small, weather damaged stack of comic books. It forms a heavy pit in the bottom of my stomach, and I try very hard not to think about what happened to the boy that used to play up here. I'm not hungry, but I know I need to keep up my strength and there's really nothing else to do anyway, so I dig in my bag and pull out a handful of fruit snacks. Then a protein granola bar when I start to feel a little guilty about all the empty calories and sugar. Not that I'm worried about gaining weight anymore, I could probably use a good twenty pounds added to my frame, but I'm feeling guilty about Silas and I really want to leave some to share with him when I rescue him.

I fiddle with the binoculars a bit, and get them all adjusted in for my eyesight, but there isn't anything to look at here but trees. I give it up after a short time and study the map instead. I have no idea where I am though, so it's not really doing me any good to look at it. I try and guesstimate how far I walked today, but I don't think I could have covered more than two or three miles before I was forced to stop.

I'm feeling restless after I sit for another hour, so I decide to go poke around a bit below. I need to map my route out of these trees before it's pitch-black and I don't dare turn on my flashlight. I leave the backpack in the tree house but toss my axe down to the ground below before I start to descend the ladder. It's becoming my weapon of choice when I can't risk the noise of firing my gun, but I don't want to try carrying it down the ladder with me in case I fall and impale myself.

I make it to the ground and pick up my axe, then start walking in a straight line towards where I think the house should be, I can't see the peak of the roof anymore from inside the trees. It's a five-minute walk, in which every crunch of leaves and twigs has me spinning in all directions nervously, but then I reach the edge of the trees finally without incident. I stay back in the shadows as my eyes scan the yard. It's a small, white house that doesn't look occupied and it has an unattached garage sitting beside it. My eyes take in the deck furniture and the fire pit, and all the colorful planters that must have been full of blooms in the summer. It makes me a little wistful- none of us will probably ever have another summer like that again.

Then I see the bike leaning up against the side of the garage. It's a dark colored mountain bike and I stare at it for a long moment considering. Riding a bike in the dark is probably not the best idea, but it will be a hell of a lot faster than walking and a bike could outdistance a zombie much more quickly than I could run. I also would have a lot more stamina peddling than I would have running.

If I take the bike, I will have to stick to the road, but even if the scouts are out at night, the vehicles will have headlights that will show up well before they can see me, and I can get off the road. Walking through the fields in the dark has its own dangers, I could twist my ankle on a piece of uneven ground, a hole, or even trip and fall on a rock, and it's not like the field is safe from the zombies either- that mental image helps me to decide and solidify my new plan.

I scan the yard for a full ten minutes, wishing I had brought the binoculars with me, and not left them sitting uselessly on top of the backpack. "Just do it." I urge myself under my breath, and I find talking to myself helps. Finally, I dart out of the trees and march right across the yard towards the bike. No one takes a shot at me, or rushes out and tries to bite me, but I still keep a wary eye out as I near the bike and reach out to test each of the tires. The tires are thankfully still firm, I have no idea how I would have filled them up if they had been flat.

I wheel the bike back towards the trees and it's not an easy task with all the random branches laying around and the roots that are poking out through the dirt floor. I don't take it very far anyway. I want to leave it, out of sight of the farm yard, but not so close that if someone starts walking through the trees its going to stick out like a sore thumb and raise suspicion being leaned up against the ladder of my tree house.

I leave the bike just a few feet into the treeline and push it underneath a small Christmas tree looking tree that still has all it's lush green branches to hide it. I stare at it assessing before giving up. It will either still be there later when I need it, or it wont. This is the best I can do. I make my way back to the treehouse easily enough and climb up the ladder without half the trouble this time.

I eat another granola bar and then boredom starts to set in again. I really should sleep but knowing what I have coming up as soon as the sun sets, I don't think I could sleep a wink. I reach into my bag and pull out a book that I've been keeping from that pharmacy where we almost died, and then got separated and I ended up meeting Silas. There never really seems to be enough time to sit down and enjoy a good book in the zombie apocalypse; I snicker at the thought. I actually haven't ready anything in months though. It's a little startling because I used to read a couple novels a week, but not really that surprising considering everything that's been going on.

I pop the book open, and at first its difficult to get into the story. I have too much swirling around in my brain, but I persistently keep reading the words and turning the pages and it doesn't take long before I'm transformed from this crappy tree house to Regency era London, and the romance between a duke and a young miss from the country, in town for her first season.

I don't even notice the time passing until the light begins to dim, and I have to squint harder at the words on the page. Finally, I give it up and close my book with regret. It's show time, and the thought fills me with dread. I tuck the book carefully inside my bag and send up a silent prayer that I actually live long enough to finish reading it.