Love on the Run (From Zombies)

Chapter 23

The moon spilled in through the window. It was full, its milky light bathing the room. I had given up trying to sleep. I sat on the windowsill watching the shadows of trees move, the wind shaking the glass in the old panes. The dark didn’t frighten me so much now, but I still hated it. It was when solitude was the most painful, when you should be wrapped in your lover’s arms, warm and safe, nothing but your dreams to fear. I hadn’t slept more than a few hours since I had been parted from Jack.

I hummed moonlight sonata to break the silence, I could see why the piece was so melancholy, it was depressing me and if I wasn’t careful, I would give in to it.

Laura and baby Jack were safe and well, all I had to think of now was what I had lost.

I was utterly alone and that was more frightening than the dark, more frightening than the ‘people’ who seemed to be lurking around every corner, even more frightening than the slow painful death I knew was waiting for me.

I could feel it coming, like a physical presence at the edge of my vision, hiding in the shadows of this room and every room, just waiting patiently; I doubted it would be long now.

I could just lie down and die. I could give in. That was what I did, that was who I was. Who I WAS. Something in me had changed. Sometimes fighting worked. Sometimes hope was enough to fuel you.

I felt weak, physically and mentally. If I could just sleep….I might never wake up again.

It was that easy.

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Morning came and it was so glorious it hurt. If this was the last day I saw, I was glad I had seen the sun rise. Every colour imaginable was on display, with exception of the green of Jack’s eyes.

That was the only colour I wanted to see. Everything else was monotone without it.

I was filled with regret of things I hadn’t said and should have, things I hadn’t asked and should have, things I hadn’t seen, I hadn’t experienced….but it was too late now.

And I would never know what the Latin around Jack’s neck meant. It was trivial, but suddenly vitally important to me.

I pulled my tired body to its feet. Everything took too much effort now, just thinking was tiring.

I ate. More out of habit than need. It wasn’t going to help.

I took handfuls of painkillers to keep me on my feet, washed down with caffeine tablets, picked up my axe, which was twice as heavy as yesterday, and left.

My biggest concern was not running into my ‘friends’ but that I would be confused with them. I was sure my eyes must be blank and glassy, I was stumbling over my own feet and the axe was dragging behind me. I was the cliché zombie.

I couldn’t see anything around me; it was hazy and blurring at the edges. Blood loss was bliss. I felt light headed and could think of nothing but my Jack. My Jack. It was unlikely that I’d see him again and that was sad. Sadder still was that no one would know of him, he could be just another corpse at the side of the road, another statistic of this…..whatever it was.

My eyes were leaking. I couldn’t call it crying, it was so far beyond that, it was like my soul was bleeding. I just wanted this to end. I just wanted peace. Maybe I would see him again in the afterlife?

Please, just once more. Just one more time.

I fell down and couldn’t get up again.

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Morning. I had been lying in the road all night. I was distressed that I wasn’t dead. Why couldn’t I just die?

Something moved in my peripheral vision. One of ‘them.’ I tried not to move, I wanted to die, but not by their hands. I played dead, so weak I was barely pretending. It stepped over me, seeing me as another corpse.

A body moved- one of the ‘dead’ twitched. The ‘person’ ran over to investigate. The corpse was alive, but probably not for much longer.

The ‘person’ grabbed its ankle and began dragging it. As soon as it was out of sight, I slowly got to my feet (I was unable to move any other way now) and followed it. Were they not killing everything on sight? I had to know what was going on, even if I was the only one to know, I’d write it in my blood on the road if I had to, I was consumed with a need follow.

The ‘chase’ continued down several streets, the ‘corpse’ was unconscious again or really dead this time, but still it was dragged. I followed as best as I could, I didn’t need to worry about being spotted, I couldn’t get close enough to be seen if my life had depended upon it (which it kinda did)

The whole thing was hilarious to my oxygen starved mind. I could hear myself giggling, but couldn’t stop it happening, at least it was quiet.

I was on the verge of oblivion, chasing a zombie who was dragging a corpse. It was like something from a comedy skit.

I lost them after a couple of streets, but found they had left a trail. The scraping of the ‘corpse’s’ head against the asphalt had left a trail of skin, blood and gore. Poor bastard. The giggling bubbled up in my chest again. I was feeling schizophrenic; part of me was dying and was finding it hilarious. Part of me was very much alive, getting pissed off with the other part. Maybe I wasn’t dying; maybe I was just losing my mind. It didn’t sound so bad, as long as I could lose ALL of my mind, not this argument that was making my head ache.

I followed the trail, trying not to think of what it was made of, it was better than my lipstick arrows as it was continuous and organic, so good for the earth. I giggled again. Fuck. I was really losing it.

The trail lead up to a large house, three stories, the trail stopping at the door where a pool of blood had gathered when the ‘creature/zombie/thing’ opened the door.

I had underestimated them. They were smarter than I had thought. I heard a commotion inside the house. Its occupants were leaving.

I hid (fell) in a bush. The door opened, several figures emerged and left their eyes vacant, searching. One of them looked right at me, but ran in the opposite direction. I heaved a sigh of relief.

I got my animated corpse to its feet and walked towards the front door. It wasn’t locked.

I pushed it open and stepped inside. I had expected to find corpses hanging from meat hooks, but it was perfectly civilised with the exception of the gore trail. It lead upstairs. I followed slowly. I was amazed my body was still following my commands; it didn’t feel like it belonged to me anymore.

At the top, the trail led to one of the rooms. All the doors were closed. Anything could be behind them. Anything. I said a silent prayer and slowly inched the first door open.

It must have been the larder. The smell was horrific, bodies and limbs were everywhere. Sunlight poured in through the window illuminating the scene. I retched; again relieved my stomach was empty. I closed the door and fell to my knees.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The second door held the same scene. Almost identical in the placement of limbs and bodies. I shut the door quickly, slamming it by mistake.

Something moved behind the third door. I froze. It came again, muffled movements and moaning.

            “Hello?” I hissed.

Something hit the floor, a furious banging.

I edged closer, probably signing my own death warrant. My hand shook violently as it clasped the handle and pulled it down.