1 | I Am a Survivor of the Zombie Apocalypse | ✅

Chapter 2 - Escape [republish]

Shaggy closes the door behind him. Completely ignoring me, he starts untying his left boot. I stare at him from my place against the wall, the Glock held out in front of me, aimed at his head. I can barely see him in the darkness. He continues to untie his boot, until he pulls a pocket knife from his sock.

My eyes widen, and I grip the Glock tighter. "I will shoot you." I manage to whisper.

He acknowledges me for the first time since entering my hiding place. "There's no need for that," he whispers back, "We both want the same thing."

I don't answer, just keep staring at him, wishing I was back in my shack in the woods.

"We both wanna get outta here alive," he says, opening the pocket knife, "You will shoot them?"

Who is he to think he can just come in here and instantly earn my trust? "I don't know you." Duh. I'm so stupid. He doesn't know me either! But then again, I haven't had a conversation with anyone but myself for eight months, so...saying dumb things is fine, I guess.

"But you do need me," He says, turning back to the door. He reaches up to the knob and cracks the door, just barely.

"There're six 'em," He whispers to me after he closes the door again.

"I know," my reply is barely audible, "So we have no chance. We will die."

He looks at me for a moment before saying, "You're alone, aren't you?"

I tighten my grip further still on the Glock. "So?"

"You may be able to die without any consequences, but I can't. I have to get out of here."

We stare at each other.

"I'm gonna at least try," he says determinedly.

Well, I don't really have anything to lose. Except my life. But I'm going to die eventually anyway, one way or another. But this is not the way I wanted to.

I hear the group's voices rising again, loud footsteps coming toward our door. Shaggy raises his finger to his lips, and slowly he rises to his feet. The doorknob turns, the door opens, the light from the big room spills in, onto me.

"Hey, look a –" Greasy is cut off by a knife to the neck. I gasp as he falls forward, into the bathroom, blood spewing from the wound. Shaggy yells at me to get up, and I run over to him, the Glock still clutched in my hands.

"Start shooting," he says, daring to peer around the door. I peep around and see Gross-Beard holding his pistol high, the rest of the scum standing around, their guns aimed at us as well.

"But I...." I desperately think of an excuse, "I'm a terrible shot."

Shaggy takes the Glock from me and shoves the knife into my hands, "Fine."

He pulls the magazine out of the grip, "How many bullets?"

"Four," I say, now ashamed at how many I wasted on dead things that were trapped and couldn't have attacked anyone.

"Damn," he mutters as he pushes the magazine back in. He pulls back the slide, and I hear the bullet click into place. "Look, I'll keep 'em occupied, and you run. Stab if necessary."

I nod, fear gnawing at me. I could die. He could die. The last live human on earth could die, and the world would just belong to the dead things. Maybe I'll be reincarnated as a dragonfly. Or a cat.

Without another word, he steps into the light, aims, and shoots once. Three bullets left. The scum all yell and duck, and while they're not shooting, I run for the door, to freedom. Eye-Patch lays on the ground, his head in a puddle of blood. Shaggy shoots again. Two bullets. I'm almost outside.

Lots of gunshots ring out. I scream and fling myself closer to the door. Shaggy's probably dead. The goons will be after me in no time. Someone grabs my shoulder. They pull me around. Baldy is practically drooling in my face. I stab his hand, and he yells. I run. And keep running until I reach the woods on the other side of the road.

And there I wait, listening to the gunshots, my face buried in my hands, not knowing why I don't just run some more. But I guess a part of me has to know if Shaggy gets out alive. And he also has my gun, so if he is alive, I kind of need it back.

+++++

Shaggy comes crashing into the woods, right toward me, screaming at me to run. I jump up from my knees and run, further into the woods with no idea of where I'm going. I can hear Shaggy running behind me. His breaths are coming fast and shallow. I'm crying, branches are slapping my face, scratching my cheeks, narrowly missing my eyes. Why am I crying? Well, I was almost killed, so...yeah.

Eventually I have to stop. It isn't until I do that I realize Shaggy isn't right behind me anymore. Oh God, have the foul-mouthed scum-suckers caught up with us? Did they kill him? Will I die after all?

I hear running, am prepared to stab whoever is coming after me. I don't breathe. Shaggy appears, panting. I let my arm drop to my side. But what if Shaggy is crazy, too? I hold the knife tightly, and stay ready to stab if necessary. He was probably just using me for his own benefit, and now he'll try to kill me and take my supplies.

He sinks down onto a stump, breathing heavily. He's coughing, covering his mouth with the inside of his elbow. He's still got my Glock. Before I even have to ask for it back, he holds it out toward me in the palm of his hand. I quickly snatch it from him and shove it in the waistband of my jeans.

"No....bullets...." he tells me, still coughing, trying to catch his breath.

Great. Now I have to go try to find some more. I've already had to a few times, of course. He stops coughing and spits on the ground, starts wiping his mouth vigorously. He spits again.

Finally he looks at me. I'm still holding his knife. I fold the blade back in. Should I give it to him? Or will he be insane and try to stab me with it? I stare at it as it rests in the blood-covered palm of my hand.

"Got food?" He asks me, standing.

Should I answer? He's probably going to kill me now and take all my stuff. Great.

"Could you spare some?" He comes and takes his knife out of my hand. Oh God, please don't kill me! But he just slides it into the back pocket of his jeans.

"My sister needs it," He says, while I stare at his arm, which is covered in blood. I don't know if it's his blood, or one of the scum's.

"Just enough for her?" he pleads. Look man, I barely have enough for myself, let alone your sister!

"No," I say, though I feel awful.

"She's starving."

"Well so am I," I snap, "And what's so special about your sister, anyway?"

He runs a hand through his hair, "She's only ten years old. And she's sick."

I feel like a monster now. But he's probably lying, and I have to remember that.

"So can you please just – "

I shake my head. "No, I'm sorry. Goodbye." I start to walk away. And he doesn't stop me. I keep walking. And I don't look back, though guilt is practically eating me alive.