Taylor is a college student home alone when the outbreak hits her small town. One minute she is working on a project, the next she is hiding away from the monsters outside. Taylor will have to find it in her to survive until her parents can -hopeful...
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A sob rips through me as I bring the knife down again. Slumping forward, my pink hair falls around me, the ends just missing the bloody mess under my hands. One hand is braced on Randy's stomach, the other still clutching the hilt of my knife. He gurgles, blood pouring from the side of his mouth. He had slapped me hard across the face to get me away from him, but I had hit something vital in that first stab. He fell almost instantly, I followed it up, again and again and again. I lost count of how many times I stabbed him, I just know now my arms were sore. Randy's chest and stomach are minced with chunks of his clothes, meat, and deep red blood pooling around the deepest of the cuts.
He finally stops making any noise, and I sob again. I hadn't ever thought I'd kill a living person, I was still struggling to kill zombies. I hear a moaning and shuffling noise coming from outside, it snaps me out of my sobbing. Looking down I see Randy's bleak eyes and wonder. Are these zombies like the walking dead? Do they reanimate if they die, even though they weren't bitten? Or do they have to be bitten? I'm not sure I want to find out. So I take my knife out of his gut, and with one final stab to his temple, I push myself up, getting even more blood on my hands.
Now feeling more numb than sad, I move over to the door of the store, open it, and look around to find a zombie to the left. It either hears me or smells me when I start walking toward it. It picks up its speed a little, still limping as it walks, its moans and groans getting a little more excited as I get closer to it. I put my hand up to the once woman's chest, bumping her back a step as her hands grab at my arm. My other arm strikes out with the knife, coming down onto her temple, a little harder to do with her gnashing her teeth at me.
Somehow I manage to sink the knife into her, pulling it out just as quickly as I hit her and she falls like a sack of potatoes. Going back into the store I move over to the bags, normally used to store hunting gear. I grab one then move over to the wall of arrows. Randy wouldn't be needing any of this. I spent the next hour or so, I couldn't tell, taking everything I managed to fit into the car. It was only when I got into the driver's seat that I had handled everything while I was covered in blood. There would be bloody hand prints on everything but I couldn't seem to care enough. It could be washed off, maybe. The blood on my skin was almost completely dry, not thick and sticky anymore.
I ignore it, start my car and return to town.
When I return, instead of heading south to the fire station, I head north, then around the town back to the east side. I don't go as far as my neighborhood, I go to one near it. Down a familiar road, to a familiar two-story baby blue house. The large front bay window is shattered and I feel my stomach souring with the bad feeling I get. I park the car in the street, ready to jump in and start it up in an emergency. I get out of my car and start up the walkway to the house. Memories of coming here after school multiple times a week race in my mind, memories of playing in the front yard with our other friends.
Getting to the front door a bitter acidic taste fills the back of my mouth as I try to hold onto the contents of my stomach.
The front door looms before me, and I almost walk away. I had to know. I had pushed away the idea of looking for my friends, but I couldn't anymore. I needed her, after what I just went through with Randy, I needed someone close to me.
Reaching out I grab the door handle and find it unlocked. I push open the door and take a deep breath in before I step through the threshold. The dead silence makes me tense as I walk into the house, my footsteps seem impossibly loud. My heartbeat seems fast in my chest as I round the living room, a living room once and airy with plush carpets and light brown furniture, splattered with deep red and black. Dry blood.
I move to the dining room, then the kitchen. The whole bottom of the house is a mess, some of the chairs are flat-out broken into kindling, and the kitchen looked like someone decided to splatter paint reddish brown in there. Moving to the stairs I rush up them, not wanting to wait. I had waited too long already.
The first door on the left is open, a bloody handprint on the door and I turn into the room. Walls painted black, white carpet floor with blood and dried mud. The large queen-sized bed in the middle of the room with black sheets and multiple fluffy pillows and goth themed stuffed animals is in disarray, a few had fallen to the floor.
What is on the bed makes my eyes water as I try not to cry.
"Cici." I breathe out as I move to her bedside. Sierra lay on her side, arm outstretched above her, legs hanging over the bottom. Her short black hair is a mess, a lot different from the straight bob she normally kept it in. The deep black makeup she always wore is smeared across her pale skin, skin that is taking on a grayish hue.
I kneel on her bed, grabbing her around the shoulders to pull her to me. She's so cold. I try to ignore looking down at her body, ignore the chunks of flesh missing from her arms and legs, the pool of red on the bed around her stomach. Pulling her up to me I ignore the little voice in the back of my head screaming at me to do something, to remember something. I ignore it because the pain in my heart and the knot in my throat is too great. My best friend had been eaten, and I should have come to look for her sooner. It was my fault.
I don't sob, I don't make a noise, I just rock back and forth holding my best friend while tears run down my face.
