Resistance

Chapter Eight

            When he bites me, I scream.

            I use my other leg to kick him in the face, trying to pry him off me as adrenaline fills my veins. Survival instinct is all I have to go by so I keep kicking as hard as I can, trying to get him to let go; to let me live.

            It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt. It’s not like a dog bite, where there may only be a small bit of blood and it stings. It’s a human actually tearing my flesh apart, trying to get through the layers of skin to the insides underneath.

            Pulling my leg back, I give the hardest kick I can muster and get him right in the nose. There’s a cracking sound, telling me it’s broken and it doesn’t faze the zombie. He can’t feel pain but it still gets him off me, pushing him away.

            I cry as I tear him from my skin and push myself to my feet, grabbing the shotgun in the process. Bullet whimpers for me as I start to run, not able to put much weight on my right ankle as I escape. In the street there are only a few zombies who notice me while all the others are staggering away towards the noise, not yet aware that I’m here. Word probably has spread of my blood in the alley and they’re heading towards that to lick it off the pavement.

            I don’t chance a look at my ankle, knowing that if I do, there’s a chance I might pass out. Instead, I push myself farther and pretend the throbbing pain isn’t there. Underneath all the thoughts of finding safety, there’s a line of fear, telling me that I’m already dead. I got bitten; I’m going to die.

            Bullet sprints beside me, leading me down the sides of streets and around places that are infested. I don’t know where’s he’s taking me or if we’re heading towards the group but I know him well enough to trust him no matter what.

            I could cut off my leg. As soon as the thought surfaces, I shake it away. That’s the only way the infection wouldn’t spread but I can’t bear to do it. Not only am I alone, without tools, and a wimp, I don’t think it would heal anyways. Besides, what good is having one leg in a zombie apocalypse when you need to run all the time?

            Bullet barks and I turn my head to the right, moving my direction towards the sidewalk he’s standing on. He looks at the door of an optometrist’s office, wanting me to open the door. Confused, I look around to see that we’re alone and grip the cold, metal handle with my fingers.

            “You want me to go in here?” He barks quietly and I shrug. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. You should stay out here though; go find the others. You shouldn’t be with me when I…” I shake my head, not wanting to say it. “When I die.”

            He growls as I open the door and darts in before I can stop him. Grumbling, I follow him inside and look around. The place is creepy; filled with mirrors and glasses that distort my vision wherever I look.

            Slumping on a beige sofa with no arm rests, I let my head fall into my hands. With my eyes closed, everything seems normal. Or, at least what my brain registers at normal since I still can’t remember anything.