A World Alone - A Zombie Novel

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Logan P.O.V

If someone had shot me in the head last night, I wouldn't be surprised. My limbs ache, sore from sitting still on the cement floor all night. My eyes graze over the dark and empty cellar, my mind groggily trying to remember how I ended up here. I groan as merely thinking causes a set of drums to ricochet in the depths of my skull. Straining, I lift a hand and clasp it over my forehead, pressing down in an attempt to neutralize the drummer.

It doesn't work.

Instead it causes a round of queasiness that quickly has me slumped over and vomiting.  Not something I've had to endure in a while. The bile burns in my throat, quickly leaving my swollen tongue to sit dry in my mouth.

I look towards the stairs, my eyes traveling up their small steps towards the filtered light pouring through the opened hatch. With no recollection of last night, I'm surprised I didn't die. Although it's probably too soon to tell. I could always have a bite on me somewhere. Albeit it's still commendable that I didn't end up walking into a den of infected. Instead I found myself a relatively safe place to recover.

Good on you drunk Logan. Hungover Logan appreciates the effort.

Although he doesn't appreciate the hangover.

I stay slumped against the wall for a while longer. A time, that in sickness, feels like an eternity. Eventually the nausea subsides enough for me to move, but the drums continue to blare, a harsh strike retaliating against every small motion. Pulling my knees up to my chest I push myself off the ground, almost falling back down half way.

I stand still, hugging the wall as I await the new round of nausea to pass. I groan once it does, stretching my arms up in the air. I stumble a little, catching myself  against the wall as my sore body registers an absence.

There's no gun in my back pocket.

I look down at my jeans, digging my hands into their pockets. My limbs freeze, muscles becoming rigid as I pull them out empty.

My car keys are missing too.

I drop to the floor, my hands sweeping over the dusty cement, patting its hard surface in an earnest attempt to find the two. My hands come to a stop on a place of warmth. The area I had been occupying for the night. As my palms press against the warm concrete, a wavering memory returns.

You can't save everyone.

Son of a bitch.

I pull back and stand up from the floor, dusting my hands off on my pants. That goddamn kid robbed me. I huff out a breath of amusement, smiling into the darkness. I try to remember her face, but the image distorts in my mind, muddling itself into nothing but her eyes, green.

I wave the thought away. She was the same girl from the gas station, that part I'm pretty sure of.

"God damn it," I curse, turning towards the small set of stairs. My hands clench at my sides as I climb up them, my boots stomping harshly with every step. Climbing out of the cellar I look around at the trashed bar, vaguely remembering sitting at its counter, pouring myself a drink.

I step around the bar and towards the door. Another huff of tempered amusement leaves my lips as I hear the faint sound of an ignition from outside. My face grows hot as I open the door and find her sitting in my car, trying but failing to start its engine. I take a step forward, allowing the door of the bar to close softly behind me. It shuts with a small click, a sound too small to attract her attention.