My laughter didn't stop the zombie from coming. As it got closer, I stared at the hole in its face. Bone and crusty, bloody sinew were in the hollow left by the missing nose. It looked like part of the skin on its upper cheek had been ripped clean off as well.
When its arms stretched out for me, I felt the first of my tears warm my face even as my giggles continued to slip past my lips. Its boney hand got a grip on my sleeve and I was immediately surprised by its strength. I tried to tug myself free, but it wouldn't let go.
I glanced up into its milky-eyed gaze and the last of my laughter died in my throat. Void of all emotion, it opened its mouth wide and leaned towards my face.
My heart jolted and I grabbed its cold hand, trying to pry it off my arm. I scratched and tugged, but it was of no use. The thing held me in a literal death grip and it was doing its best to pull me close.
Before its other arm could take hold, I let my weight drop, making myself fall to the ground. It refused to release me and my arm was nearly wrenched out of its socket as it hit the ground at an odd angle beside me. My saving grace was that I was able to recover faster.
Scrambling up onto my knees, I ignored the searing pain in my side and pulled at my arm with all my might. I heard the fabric rip and I twisted out of its reach before it could grab me again. Its arms swung wildly for my face and I suddenly got the impression of a beetle on its back, but I was underestimating the thing before me.
It got itself onto its belly and began to crawl through the snow after me. I hurried to get out of its reach, scurrying backwards as it made another move for my arm.
I tried to get to my feet, but I was hampered by the snow and the thing's persistence. More tears fell as I met its eyes to see that they were still completely fixated on me. The thing had a single purpose – until it didn't.
As though drawn away from me by a magnet, its head dipped towards the snow and began to lick and chew in a frenzy. Taking the chance, I got myself up and towered over it on wobbly legs.
I swayed precariously as a rush of dizziness hit me like a freight train. Blinking to clear my eyes, I looked down at the thing in the snow and gagged, immediately clutching my side.
Its pursuit of me had only stopped because it was gorging itself on the blood trail I'd left in the snow.
Kill it.
Swallowing the bile in my throat, I glared at the thing.
Kill it.
The thing didn't raise its head. It just kept on eating and eating, licking up every drop of my blood it could find.
Kill it.
I moved closer and raised my booted foot off of the ground.
This is what all of the death was for, right?
The thing turned its head as if it was about to look up when I stomped. I heard the crack and gazed down to see its jaw had shifted out of place. Stomping again, I felt my heel slip and heard crunching as I took out some of its teeth.
I moved to stomp again when it caught me by my pant leg. Toppling backwards, I hit the snow hard, losing all the air in my lungs. My side felt as though it was torn in two, making my vision go white.
Through my agony, I still tried to struggle back as the thing started to crawl up my legs. I heard the moment it chomped down. It bit into my booted calf, but its broken teeth slid across the fabric, doing little more than scratching at it.
Not giving it another chance, I used my free leg to kick it in the shoulder. It lost its grip and I kicked again as hard as I could right where its nose should have been. Its head snapped back and I wiggled away from it.
Getting to my feet for a second time, I didn't give the thing another chance to attack me. I drove my heel down into the back of its skull. I stomped on its head over and over again until I made visible dents. On what had to have been the twelfth blow, my boot got stuck in a deep crevice by the base of its skull.
Wiggling my foot, I tried to free my boot, but it only managed to make the thing's head dance on its neck. Only after a minute of struggle did my boot finally come free with a wet suction as the thing's head fell limp into the snow.
I stood over it panting, waiting for it to move again, but it never did. By that point, I could feel my blood saturating the waistband of my pants. I knew I was in trouble. My vision was spotty at best and I was getting progressively more light-headed. I didn't know if I had internal damage, but I knew I needed to stop the bleeding. I needed to stop it fast.
With one last look at the zombie, I wiped at the tears on my cheeks and began to walk again. I followed the road on clumsy feet, falling into the snow twice before I came across a building. It looked like a dentist's office.
The place had clearly been broken into with its shattered front windows, but I didn't plan on staying longer than necessary. With drops of my blood still making a trail in the snow, I made my way to the nearest broken window and climbed through it.
Broken glass ripped at my jacket but I didn't care. My feet hit the ground inside the building and I paused, listening for any sounds of life or danger. The silence was heavy and gave me no relief. It only served to remind me of how dire everything was.
Nearly slipping on a shard of glass, I made my way farther into the office. As I poked my head into some of the exam rooms, it became evident that whoever had picked over the place had likely taken all the medicine and drugs they could find. All of the cabinets and drawers had been emptied with much of the contents thrown haphazardly on the floor.
I began to pick up paper as I went, creating a stack in my arms as I stumbled from room to room. My teeth were chattering by the time I made it to the third small room. It was nearly pitch black without any windows, but I could make out that it was an office.
A desk held an untouched computer with a printer full of paper beside it. I went for the paper and ran out of energy part way through, ending up in the desk chair. Slumping deeply into it, I held my side as I closed my eyes and took a breath. One breath turned into ten and I could feel my body beg for sleep.
A little rest won't hurt.
My side didn't hurt as badly when I was fighting to move it. Resting was far nicer than pushing on.
It's okay to rest.
Misty and Hayden were resting, too.
I pictured their mangled bodies and recoiled. Tears built up in my eyes and I could no longer hold them back. They burned against my skin, reminding me I was alive and that made me cry all that much harder.
The sobs felt as though they were being torn from the core of my being. I was drowning in them and I deserved it.
It's my fault.
It was my choices – my mistakes – that had led to everything that had happened. I opened my eyes and looked down to where my hands were squeezing my side. With a cuff still around one wrist, my hands were stained with blood, but it no longer felt like it was my own. It was Misty's blood. It was Hayden's.
It was Paula's.
It was Lindsay's.
Mark's.
Owen's
Abby's.
Chris's.
It was the blood of everyone I'd failed, hurt, and killed. I began to wipe my hands on my pant legs, trying to get it off, but it only spread the stain across me.
My sobs became more frantic as in the dark, I could picture the red all over me. I was covered in it and it was suffocating me.
The dark made my worst fears come alive and I was suddenly sure the ghosts of everyone I'd harmed were hiding in the corners and spaces just out of my vision. They were mocking me – sneering at me. They hated me. I felt it.
Take a breath.
I heard Ian's voice in my ears and I clung to it like a lifeline.
Inhale. Release.
I followed his instructions, breathing through the worst of my pain as my tears slowed.
It's okay.
It wasn't. It never would be again.
I had failed again and the consequences were too much to bear. I couldn't shy away from any of them anymore. I couldn't pretend I wasn't guilty – not with the blood so fresh on my hands.
It seemed like all of my failures were accumulating in front of my eyes until it was no longer even about my failures – it was about me. It was about who I was, what I'd become, and what I had done. My failures were no longer a separate entity from myself. They had shaped me, twisted me so out of shape that I no longer even recognized my own thoughts and actions.
I was lost and unsure how to go on... or even if I should.
You have to.
Squeezing my hands into fists, I sat up in the chair. I wasn't sure if it was true, but I did know I had to at least warn my group. They deserved that much.
With shaky hands, I grabbed the paper out of the printer, but as I made a move to stand up, I knocked a small trash can over. Its contents spilled to the floor and I caught a glint of shine on an aluminum foil wrapper as it tumbled out.
An idea suddenly popped into my head. It was better than anything I'd hoped for. I might not have been able to save Misty, but it seemed Jamie was about to save my life.
Searching the desk, I found the mouse, flipped it over, and took out its battery. Next, I riffled through the drawers until I found a pair of scissors. Only once I had both items did I scoop up the rest of the paper and the aluminum foil.
It took me another ten minutes, but I'd managed to clear a spot in the reception area and had built a good-sized pile of broken chair legs, paper, and tissues. I had my jacket and shirt off and was ripping the foil into thin strips, doing my best to ignore the hole in my body.
I had found a couple of missed disinfecting wipes on the floor and had used them on my wound. The pain had taken my breath away, but it had also kept me focused.
When my strips were done, I wrapped my shirt around my right hand as many times as I could, remembering what Jamie had taught me. I then took one of the foil strips and made one end of it connect to the top of the battery and the other to the bottom. Almost instantly, the foil became hot. Working fast, I pressed a tissue to the foil. I spark formed, but the foil broke before a fire could start.
I tried again with a new strip of foil, moving even faster and the fire caught. I dropped the tissue into the pile I'd made and watched the flames grow. Taking a deep breath, I picked up the scissors and stuck the metal in the fire.
A drop of blood rolled down my side, reminding me I needed to hurry. The fire could attract people or zombies or it could consume the whole building. Every second counted.
Pulling the scissors out of the fire, I let out a single breath before touching the searing hot blades to my side.
---
I woke up to a smoldering fire. It hadn't spread, but it hadn't gone out either. Dizzy, I looked down to my side and examined my burned flesh. The wound had been cauterized, but the very tip of the scissors was still stuck to my skin. I pulled at it a little and realized my skin was fused to the metal.
Turning away so I wouldn't have to watch, I yanked the scissors, tearing a tiny bit of my wound back open in the process. The pain had me seeing stars and, for a few seconds, I was sure I was going to pass out again.
Focusing on my breathing, I waited until I found my center of gravity again before grabbing my shirt and pulling it on. The slightest brush of fabric against my burn had me clenching my teeth, but I had to get moving.
Rattling from my wrist reminded me I still had the cuff on as I dragged a sleeve over it. Letting out a sigh, I began to search my pockets for the key and then froze.
Where is it?
The cuff had been the last thing on my mind once I'd freed my hands from behind my back. However, I now wanted it gone, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what had happened. The zombie flashed into my mind and I had a sinking feeling the key was lost.
Deal with it later.
I put on my jacket, ignoring the torn sleeve, and picked up the scissors. Daylight was going to break soon and I needed to keep making distance between myself and the courthouse. I had to find my bearings and make my way back to my group.
Climbing out of the dentist's window, I left the fire to burn and looked to the snow to see my tracks. There were a few other tracks in the snow, reminding me that I had to be extra careful.
I looked in every direction, but nothing looked familiar, so I made myself head in the direction away from the courthouse. Keeping to the darkest shadows, I stayed alert, constantly looking for any signs of movement as I went.
The cold bit at my exposed skin, making me huddle into myself. It was the single distraction that caused me to almost miss two zombies huddled outside of a house. They were faced in my direction but didn't seem to even notice me until I got close. I watched their heads twitch and swivel with every crunching step I took in the snow. As soon as they made a move in my direction, I began to run.
I sprinted, ducking between buildings until I hit a main street. That was when I saw my first real glance of hope – a road sign.
I recognized the name. If it was the road I had seen on the map, then I was only a few miles from the house with Ray's art. I wanted to be excited by my revelation, but it was tempered with guilt and dread.
Go. Just go.
And I did. I took off running again until my side hurt too much to breathe and I finally stopped when I saw blood in the snow. The sun had come up, making the red patches stand out vividly against the pure white powder.
The trail veered off behind a nearby shop and I began to feel pricks over uneasiness. Glancing at the ground, I half expected the story of what had happened to be told in the tracks, and, to a small degree, it was.
Someone had met a violent end.
I tried to find where the different tracks led, but they all seemed to bleed together. Except mine. Backtracking a few steps, I noticed that my treads stood out, but I wasn't sure why.
I examined them and then gasped when it all clicked. Looking left and right, I staggered as if to escape from my own footprints. Each step I made left a freshly carved 'J' right in the sole of my tread.
They hadn't let me go. They'd sent me out.
I had gotten less than a mile away from the area where my group was supposed to be hiding and had made a perfect trail to them.
They had made a big production of my friends' deaths all to get me here – to get me to lead them to the rest. I'd played right into their game. They'd made me believe that I'd had a chance at freedom. But they weren't done with me yet. Their show wasn't over. I was still right in the middle of it.