When I was younger— and I mean a lot younger, like, six years old— my mom took me to the beach. We waded out pretty deep, considering my full height only barely made it to her waist. I felt the water push me up and bring me down, pulling me out. I was having the time of my life, but I didn’t notice how far I had drifted— and how deep.
My mother didn’t notice either. The waves kept getting bigger and rougher, jostling me more than I was comfortable with. The briny, stinging water sloshed in my face and down my throat as the waves became massive. Suddenly, without warning, a gigantic wave appeared out of nowhere— a gray, frothy wall. It sweeps little me into itself, carrying my mom with it, and drags us under.
My mom popped up easily enough, though she had swallowed a good deal of water. As she coughed and tried to orient herself, she scanned the surface for me. The rough chop made it difficult to see. She looked, and I was nowhere.
I had been pulled farther out, and was suspended in salty blackness. I felt the water churn around me, and had no idea which way was up or down until my hand slid across the sandy bottom. The odd thing is, it wasn’t like I was drowning. I didn’t thrash around, fighting for air. A strange feeling came over me, and it felt like I didn’t need to breathe. I held my breath, but I remember just floating along, feeling completely fine. Listening to the distorted mumble of churning waves, the cool water tugging at me, I felt completely calm.
I was under for almost a minute, and when I finally popped back up I found my mom a distance away crying out for me. I remember just paddling back over and asking if she wanted to build a sandcastle like nothing had happened.
You see, I have been like that all my life. Near death disasters, accidents, injuries— these things never really fazed me. And I think it’s because I never truly believed I would die like that.
All my life I’ve had people there to save me, or have had medicine at the ready, or been able to, by luck alone, get myself out of trouble. But as I stood in the cramped Victoria's Secret looking at the strangers ahead and aware of the dead hordes amassing behind, a shiver of my own mortality went through me, and I, not for the first time since this journey, felt the icy tongue of death caressing my neck.
This time my will was broken— I could die, I knew it, and no one was around to save me. My mom wasn’t a couple yards away calling my name. I was still under that gurgling blackness.
I was so tired.
I shook my head, casting off that wall of doubt that was just like that grey wave coming at me all those years ago. I could do this, I could pull it off. I could lead us through it. I’d just have to put on the best-damned poker face ever. And I was a horrible, shitty actor.
There were seven of them— large, physically fit men wearing army fatigues, smoking up the place with fat brown cigars. They all carried heavy-duty looking guns slung over their shoulders, but the guy my eyes were drawn to was the man who wore a bandolier and had already drawn and readied his weapon faster than you could say “chimichanga”. He pointed the thing at each of us as we raised our hands, motioning us to the back of the store.
We filed past a rack of ugly clothes labeled “pink” that were of every color but and sat when he told us to sit. My eyes followed the pile of guns as we passed them, moving out of sight as the man told us to turn to the wall and stay there.
Okay Sam, you can do this. Just stay calm. You’re under the water and it’s dark. You don’t know where you’re at, but your hand has brushed the bottom. You know which way’s up. Kick.
They’d ignored my greeting for the most part, commanding me to shut up, their grinning faces quickly turning serious. After a few moments of hastily barked orders they spoke.
“So it looks like going out here and waiting was a good idea. Who knew the only survivors we’d see in a while were going to be teenage chicas,” the guy who said this was a dark-haired, modestly attractive guy— except for some missing teeth. He also had an open, ragged wound on his neck which looked in desperate need of medical treatment.
“What about them other people?” asked another— I couldn’t tell who, it was hard to see while facing the wall. All I could gather was that he may have had a bad case of the stupids.
“They were—”
Madison gasped as a large hand wrapped around her arm and yanked her upward. I watched as the rest of my friends screamed for him to stop.
“Leave her alone!” yelled Amanda, who started to get up when a skinny looking prick dashed forward and punched her in the small of her back. She fell forward with a pitiful gasp and collapsed on the ground.
Madison screeched and I turned from the wall just in time to see the guy missing a couple of teeth— his neck wound leaking— jam a rifle to the side of her head. That shut her up instantly and moments later the guy with the bandolier sidled up beside them.
He turned to us curtly and said, “Was this one bit?”, quickly shooting his narrow eyes at her wounded leg. He sounded angry, but his eyes kept darting to our exposed flesh, as hungry as any zombie. I didn’t like it one bit.
“Uh, no,” Rachael began with a bite of defiance, the kind of attitude she’d give my dad if he asked her any sort of incriminating question. “Did you spill that paint on the carpet?” “Uh, no. That was Sam.”
Her tone apparently pissed someone off.
“Girl,” a hulking black man shot, “I’ll give you five fucking seconds to lose the attitude and tell us the truth or she’ll bite the big one— regardless if she’s infected or not.”
Madison’s eyes grew wide and Rachael, who had opened her mouth to retort, frowned and looked away. “I said she wasn’t… uh, sir.”
“She cut herself on glass. That’s not from a bite!” Savannah cried, and couldn’t stop herself from bursting into tears. “Don’t kill her! Please don’t kill my sister!”
“Shut the hell up,” said the asshole who’d punched Amanda, a redhead with an overbite who was working on a uni-brow. “We’re not gonna kill her. Yet.”
Missing teeth man lowered his weapon and pushed a shocked Madison to the ground.
“We can’t risk another, man,” the black guy warned, gesturing to missing-teeth man, who cringed and put pressure on his neck wound.
“Whoa,” Amanda cried out suddenly, lifting herself up off of the ground,” you’re telling me that he’s been bitten by a zombie? What the fuck are you doing with him around? Shoot him before he turns and kills—”
Her sentence was cut short. Probably because bandolier dude had shoved his gun into her open mouth. It’s hard to talk while a cold steel barrel is scraping your throat lining, so I don’t blame her, really.
“We’re doing the fucking talking here, bitch, so I suggest you shut your pie-hole or else you’ll be just another bucket of zombie chum. Got it?” She shook her head, the gun barrel wobbling as she did so. “Good.”
He turned to the guy with missing teeth, “George, it’s okay. We’re gonna get you back to HQ and get you patched up. We ain’t leaving you behind like Andy. He died and came back right away. You haven’t turned yet, so I reckon maybe you’re not infected.”
George nodded and pulled his hand away from the wound. A sticky, bright-red pus pulled away with it, clinging to his fingers. He looked at it stupidly and wiped it on his pant leg. I cringed.
The storefront rattled. The zombies had gathered and were now pummeling the windows with swollen fists, and I was surprised to see one struggling to grip the door handle. The objects stacked up at the front would only be a temporary barrier.
“You,” bandolier man wheeled on me and tromped over, pulling me up by my wrist, yanking me away from my thoughts.
“What?”
“You’re gonna hold that door closed.”
“Like hell I am. Give me a gun and then we’ll talk.”
“Hear this? The puta wants a gun,” George laughed, “like we’re gonna do that. How ‘bout you do what we say or I’ll blow your fucking head off?”
“Sure. Hold the door closed. Right.”
George escorted me to the front, his gun trained on my back the entire way.
I grabbed hold of the door handles and stood there, looking at him with a brow raised. “So, what do you think this is going to do? You think I can hold this door against a swarm of zombies?”
He smiled at me, an evil, horrid smile, like a jack-o-lantern. Then he winked and kicked the barricade down, sending the mannequin and other objects toppling to the floor. Now the only thing between me and the zombies was a glass door.
The door rattled even more in my hands, forcing me to tighten my grip and strain just to keep them closed. George cackled.
“Well it looks like you’re gonna have to try or get eaten, right?” he lowered his gun. “I don’t think we’ll be needing a gun, now. You let them handles go and you’ll be the first to die. Have fun.”
Then the bastard left me.
I struggled, sweat breaking out in small droplets on my upper lip and forehead. The zombies were aware that I was just in front of them and were riled into a frenzy.
The doors rattled, shook, and I fought to keep them together. But, suddenly and surprisingly, I saw a rotted hand shoot out and grab the handle on the other side and yank, forcefully. The doors parted for a hair-raising second, and I gazed in rapt horror as, inches away, a jellified eye and a gaping mouth filled my vision. I screamed and pulled my hardest, finally— thankfully— bringing the doors back together. My heart raced and my hands had turned white, my fingers aching. I wouldn’t be able to hold on for too long. Not like this, with the lone zombie hand tugging at the grip. To make matters worse, now fists were raining down on the glass, harder than ever, sending shockwaves up my arm.
And that’s when Rachael screamed.
I craned my neck and saw that the black guy had given her an open-palmed smack, right on the face, and she had collapsed. She cradled her cheek, a stinging red, tears streaming down her face. Bandolier man tore into the black guy, saying some things that I couldn’t make out over the moans of the zombies, and I had to turn my head back and focus once more on the door.
Because if the zombies came in there was no hope at all.
The one clothing store in the entire area. The place is full with stores, but the one fucking store you choose to go to is the one with a group of assholes in it. Good job.
That voice in my head was getting louder.
I’d been holding the handles for a few minutes when something caught my attention, the voices of the men becoming agitated.
I could hear shuffling behind me and some shouts. It sounded like something was going on— as the voices of all my friends grew louder and more frantic, the deep voices of the men intermingling became more hostile. I heard someone say, “Leave me alone, asshat,” which— if I were to hazard a guess— was most likely Madison. I heard more screams from my sister, but they sounded enraged instead of painful. I heard the commanding voice of Bandolier man, followed by the shouts of George, all in Spanish. Then someone shot a gun.
It scared the shit out of me. I jumped as fragments of the ceiling rained down behind— right above my head. My sweaty hands nearly lost their grip as I craned my neck to see what the hell was going on. I didn’t get but a glimpse before I was forced to turn back— another sound had followed the deafening roar of the gunshot, one that sent more terror through me than the sound of any gun.
The cracking of glass.
“Oh, shit!” I screamed, but I’m sure no one heard me. The shouts of my friends behind me grew, drowning my cries out completely. “Oh, shit! The door is cracking!”
If anyone heard this, they didn’t acknowledge it. I watched in abject horror as a small crack formed in the glass where dead fists had smeared grease and sludge, a sick film forming. I watched as that crack snaked upward, widening, spider-webbing outward. A low groan formed in my throat, caught there, and soon I was screaming. I screamed along with everyone else, the sound mingling with the groans of the undead about to devour my body.
What I hadn’t witnessed during the brief time span when I was holding the door was that a mutiny was afoot. My plan when we first entered was to try to distract these guys somehow and have someone sneak a gun. Apparently Madison and Rachael had similar plans, but they didn’t know how to begin them. Until George walked over.
He was looking at Madison, smirking. And he kept on walking over until he’d grabbed her. And then he’d pressed that jack-o-lantern smile up against her mouth, and she’d screamed. Savannah had rushed forward to tear him off of her, but the other guys pried her away.
Apparently this wasn’t something Bandolier man had in mind. He got really pissed that George was kissing Madison, and smacked him upside the head, telling him it wasn’t the time or the place. A fight ensued between the two, both insulting one another until it got really heated.
George had told Bandolier Man to fuck off and a host of other things in angry Spanish. That didn’t sit too well with the head honcho, who punched him in the face.
George didn’t care. He grabbed Madison and said he was leaving, that if anyone wanted to get out of this shithole, to follow. That’s when Madison had yelled, “Let go of me, asshat.”
Apparently one of the guys— a man with a crew cut— had decided to follow George, and grabbed Rachael.
Something you must know about my sister is that she can get very mad very easily. And after the black guy smacked her, she’d had enough. When the gentleman with the crew cut grabbed her like that, she just got pissed off. A trigger flipped, maybe some kind of defense mechanism that had overridden all sense. She had transitioned from “flight” straight to “fight”.
She screamed and punched the guy right in the stomach. It didn’t make the guy topple over or anything— in fact, it probably didn’t hurt much— but the punch had stunned him.
“You little shit!” He screamed, snapping out of it, and launched himself at Rachael with a snarl, pinning her to the ground. She kneed his groin and he slid off quickly, cupping his manhood and groaning, his face flushed red in anger. The other guys were still trying to restrain Bandolier Man from ripping out George’s throat and didn’t seem to notice that their friend was disabled on the ground, next to tears.
What no one noticed in during the confusion was that Amanda had crept around the fight and grabbed a gun. We didn’t need to create a distraction— these idiots had done it for us. And she’d taken this little opportunity.
That’s when, without any sort of prior knowledge about how to handle a gun, Amanda took aim at George and squeezed the trigger. And missed horribly.
The kick had jerked her arm upward and she shot the ceiling, narrowly missing me struggling to keep a swarm of deadites from feasting on us. This stopped the fight for a few moments as everyone— including the rest of my friends— looked at her incredulously. They looked from her, to the ceiling, to me— and then their eyes rested on the crack that had formed up the length of the door.
Suddenly George shrieked and collapsed, letting go of Madison and gripping his neck in agony, drawing all confused attention to him. Blood oozed out of his wound in ribbons, and his face had drained of blood in seconds. Thick veins stuck out of his forehead, his eyes gone wide, almost popping out of his face. His mouth was open in a noiseless scream as he gurgled and thrashed.
Suddenly a darkness, like a flood of ash, began to spread over his skin, a cold, dusky pall. The skin on his fingers split open and cracked. He let out an earsplitting roar before becoming absolutely silent, sprawling limply on the floor.
“What the fuck?!” Amanda shrieked, and everyone— including the rest of the men— backed away.
By this time I had had enough of not knowing what was going on and risked a look. I saw this guy on the ground and knew—just knew— what load of shit we were in now. Before I could ask for a little assistance, George had risen once again.
That sent everyone into hysteria. Forgetting the infighting and prisoners, the men grabbed their guns and began shooting at George.
A bullet tore through his midsection and went straight through the other side, lodging into a wall. Three more missed their mark as the guys fled to the back of the store, not bothering to aim. George gurgled and advanced as my friends bunched up and backed away, weaponless. Defenseless.
But not more prone than I was.
My arms ached, had grown hot from the strain. My pits were sweaty and I was panting— loud enough to draw the attention of zombie George. He slowly wheeled around and loped towards me.
Savannah yelped a warning and told me to run, my sister crying out the same, my friends shrieking but ultimately powerless. Amanda had dropped her gun after she’d missed, and there was nothing they could do.
I closed my eyes tight, fought against my racing heart and the ringing in my ears, fought against the violent urge to get the hell out. If I let go of this door, there was no escape. None at all. I couldn’t do that to them.
I heard George’s footsteps behind me. He was mere feet away. I imagined his mouth open, the last traces of heat— and with it humanity— draining from his body.
“Find a way out,” I called, my eyes closed shut. “I won’t be able to hang on much longer. There’s got to be a way—”
“Amanda no!”
I didn’t have time to register who’d screamed that before I heard the three shots, rapid fire— pop pop pop— and the resulting cry of anguish. My eyes popped open and I heard two thuds.
Two thuds?
I forgot about the pain in my arms and twisted to see George’s head had exploded, his body slumping to the ground, bits of skull and brain splattering the window. And then I saw Amanda.
Two rounds had ripped through her chest and shoulder— her eyes had grown wide, pupils mere pinpricks, filled with tears, a surprised and painful expression on her face.
She dropped to the ground and twitched, coughed, sputtered. My friends cried out and rushed to her.
“Oh shit man, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” one of the guys called from the end of the room. It was the skinny redhead. “She got in the way, man. She should've waited. Aw, fuck.”
It dawned on me that Amanda had broken from the group to stop George from getting to me. She’d run over to fight it, and at the very same instant that asshole had squeezed his trigger.
“Amanda,” I whispered, though it came out breathy, like a whistle.
“Oh my God, you motherfuckers!” Madison fell to her knees and cradled Amanda’s head as a pool of blood began to spread around her, soaking into her pants.
“Amanda, you’re gonna be alright,” I heard Savannah say flatly, her voice quivering slightly. But she wasn’t fooling anyone— the worry in her voice revealed the truth. Amanda was as good as dead.
I bristled, tears threatening to spill out of my eyes. I steeled myself, numb inside, rage like I’d never felt before building within me.Clenching the handles, I let out a long, slow breath.
Amanda started to gasp, was trying to say something. But she couldn’t form the words, and instead ended up whimpering, babbling gibberish.
“Oh no. Oh, no, no no,” I heard my sister cry, over and over again.
From the back of the room, “It was an accident!” I heard Bandolier man tell him to shut the fuck up.
But I didn’t care what they said now— they were all going to die, even if I had to die as well to get it done. They were going to pay for taking her away from me, so quickly after Cassandra had died. Two within a couple hours. How messed up is that? It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right. They couldn't make it out with their lives after this injustice.
I closed my eyes and called out, “Amanda, you’re one of my—” At first the words caught and I couldn't speak. I swallowed the lump in my throat and said, louder, stronger, “— you're one of my best friends. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Madison said solemly, followed by Savannah and Rachael.
“I…” Amanda coughed and shivered, licked her lips, and rolled her eyes to look at Madison, “… love you too. It was…” she trailed off before the end of her sentence, like a dying flame, just petering out to nothing. She wilted in Madison’s arms, her once sparkling eyes now turned glassy and distant. Madison let out a howl and had to look away berfore laying her on the floor. A final shudder wracked her body before she went totally limp. She was gone.
“Jesus, man,” the guy with the crew cut said. “We gotta get the fuck outta here.”
“You guys,” I whispered, hanging my head, fighting back tears. They didn’t hear me as they sobbed, so I said a little louder, “You guys.”
“Do you need help, Sam?” Rachael called, her voice filled with worry now that she saw the state of the window. It was going to burst any moment.
“Ha, no,” I laughed bitterly, my arms feeling like limp spaghetti noodles. “No, I don’t need shit. But you guys need to find a way out. Right now.”
“But what about you? What about Amanda?” whispered Savannah.
“Don’t worry about me,” I said patiently. Eerily calm. “And Amanda’s gone. She doesn’t have to worry anymore. Just find a way out, go to the back of the store. Find a window or an air duct or something. Just make sure you’re not by those guys when I—”
“But what—”
“DO IT!”
They got up, slowly at first, but then retreated in silence to the back of the room.
I breathed deeply, steeling myself, and let my sweaty palms slip off of the handles, my arms flopping wearily to my sides.
The doors burst open in a spray of glass, raining down upon me. I jumped out of the way right as the horde spilled in, their hunger ravenous. I rolled on the bloody, glass-covered ground and sprang up, stumbled, and forced myself to the side of the store, taking shelter behind a clothing rack.
They poured in, rushed forward. My friends had distanced themselves from the group of assholes who stood petrified at the other end of the room, right in the line of sight of the zombies. Madison rushed to a window and began pounding on it.
The zombies took notice of the men first. They rushed forward in a wave, grey and dark, sweeping over everything, spreading out. It reminded me of the ocean, of the giant grey wave that had overtaken me that day at the beach.
Shots rang out, much too loud in the small space. Every man fired, and bullets ricocheted left and right, a glass case by the register shattering in a shower of shards. The bullets didn’t make a dent in the wall of zombies, however, and they tore forward.
I pushed past the clothing rack and made my way to my friends, darting around zombies and narrowly escaping the swiping paw of a horribly decayed woman, her nails long and jagged.
I had a hard time breathing, my hair plastered to my forehead, but I continued on, past the point of thinking and pain, now in full survival mode. Soon I was with them again, but we were cornered, zombies on all sides, the only hope out through the window. Which wasn’t budging.
A few feet away, someone screamed.
They had overwhelmed the men and were already tearing into them by the time I had crossed the room. I could see that the black man’s face had been shorn off by claws and teeth, and he had fallen to the ground shrieking. Crew cut man had four zombies on him, and he bellowed a roar as his eye was gouged out and his nose bitten off.
Bandolier man fought valiantly but to no avail— he was buried under at least ten bodies, his screams rising in pitch and then stopping suddenly. Blood was splattering everywhere, a gorefest.
“We need to get out,” I cried over the cacophony, “find something to bash that window.”
But Rachael was a few steps ahead of me— she’d grabbed the mannequin and held it like a battering ram. Running full tilt at the window and putting her weight behind it, the mannequin hit the glass and shattered it into a million pieces.
We scrambled out of the window before all of the shards were even cleared away. A piece of glass scraped against my shin as I slid over, but I felt nothing. Savannah yelped when a zombie briefly grabbed hold of her but she tore free and was instantly out of that deathtrap.
We ran down the street, zombies everywhere. They poured out of the window and doors of the Victoria’s Secret, following us with inhuman persistence. We dodged through the large throng still milling about outside, weaving in and out of the crowd.
We never even got a change of clothes, I thought oddly, and felt the sting of the cold air against my bruised and wounded body.
I followed Madison through the mob, hearing Rachael and Savannah screaming behind. We broke through the thick of it in seconds, tearing through the streets. We looped around and headed south, I think, towards the edge of the city. Zombies spilled from every building, and it was evident that we were more than outnumbered. There was nowhere to go.
“Do you see anywhere we can hide?” I called to Madison, my chest hitching as I ran, my sides in stitches, my feet sore. I felt I would buckle at any moment.
“No,” she screamed, but kept running anyway.
“We’re so dead, man." Savannah passed me as I slowed from exhaustion. “There’s nowhere we can go. Dead end. Game over.”
“Look over there!” Rachael pointed a few yards ahead of us, sprinting faster toward it.
A manhole. The lid sitting a few inches away from it, on the pavement. A ladder leading down into the darkness.
“I am not going in there,” I screamed, skidding to a halt. Rachael whizzed past me, making a beeline for the manhole.
“It’s the only way. Don’t be a baby now, Sam,” Rachael commanded. “We’ve made it this far.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to be stuck in a sewer with zombies blocking our only way out.”
“Suit yourself,” called Madison, who stopped, dipped the lower half of her body into the hole, and disappeared. Rachael and Savannah followed suit.
I glimpsed around, heart racing. I didn’t want to go into that darkness, afraid of what I may find lurking in it. But it had to be a better alternative to being up here, surrounded on all sides.
I noticed that the way ahead had been closed off— zombies were advancing from all directions. No gap in the line of bodies, no other option of escape in sight.
“Aw, shit,” I said, tears coming to my eyes once again. “Fuck me.”
(It’sforyoursisterjustdoityoubaby)
I squeezed my eyes closed and jumped into the hole.
The darkness swallowed up my body, the sound of rushing water and the stressed out voices of my friends echoing up from far below me. I glanced above and saw that the only source of light— the opening— had been blotted out as zombies swarmed above it.
As I descended, all I could think about was Amanda’s face, Cassandra’s face, both of them dead. They hadn’t even died from zombies— they’d just been unfortunate.
However, hearing the zombies clamber over each other, fighting to get in, I began to think that maybe they were actually the lucky ones after all. Because this was going to be hell.
The darkness engulfed me, and I found myself lost beyond all hope.