We emerged from my walk-in closet for the first time in two days. My brother Carl and my neighbor from across the hall, Ellen, hid out with me while we waited for the creatures to disappear.
We hardly dared to speak, except in whispers, since we could hear the zombies in the apartment. Despite the close confinement, the hunger and our dirty bodies, hearing them was the worst. The low moans, the growls and the occasional shrieks sent shivers down my spine every time. By early this morning, though, about 4am, all became silent.
Carl peeked outside at first light and saw only rotting bodies on my bedroom floor. Ellen and I followed. The stench was nearly unbearable, and the smell of putrid flesh was mixed with a smoky haze and a deep sour smell.
The zombie corpses lay haphazardly about. We could not determine how they died. Some looked as if they were killed by other zombies. We had witnessed--and heard--odd intramural battles between zombies. Others just seemed to have fallen over, as if their batteries had run out of juice.
Carl led us out toward the hall. He was careful to avoid the kitchen...I'm not ready to write about the kitchen yet.
Ellen wanted to go into her apartment, to see her husband's body for one last time. We tried to dissuade her since he would have looked just like the rest of the infected. She didn't need to see his rotting zombie flesh. But she started to shake and cry, and Carl agreed to go in with her.
I don't know what she saw in there, but when Ellen came out, she wore a thousand yard stare and a clenched jaw. It was a woman I didn't recognize. Carl just looked at me and shook his head, as if to say, "Don't ask."
We took our weapons, such as they were, and headed to the stairwell. Carl had brought a 12-gauge shotgun with some ammunition. I found a shovel in the super's apartment, and we gathered up a couple of chef's knives. Ellen carries a table leg. We aren't exactly loaded for bear, but our crude weapons do give us some sense of security.
There was no power in the building, so we made our way down the stairs. Everything was absolutely quiet outside--no cars, no pedestrians, no pigeons. But at least there were no zombies, either. We wandered down 34th street for several blocks, hoping to find some clue about other survivors. The sun felt wonderful after two days in the dark.
We were so dazed back at the apartment that we forgot to grab any food. Plus, there was no way I was going back in my kitchen. Fortunately, we found a few boxes of stale crackers in Mario's Market. Carl opened up a couple of cans of pork and beans with the shovel. There wasn't much to take with us, but we did grab some old apples and rolls of bandages.
After several hours of wandering, still with no sign of anything either living or undead, Ellen saw that someone had painted the words "safe house" on a wall. We followed the arrow, but didn't find any other clues.
As we approached an alley by the Sunscape Theater, we could hear a shuffling and a series of rhythmic grunts: "hunh, hunh, hunh, hunh." Carl peeked around the corner, the barrel of his shotgun at the ready. He turned to us and waved us forward, putting a finger to his lips to keep us quiet.
A zombie was stuck in a corner between a dumpster and the brick wall. He was walking, but not moving, grunting as he went. I had to stifle a chuckle, but not Ellen. She let out a terrible scream and raced towards the creature. Somehow it turned just as she reached it.
In a flash, Ellen smashed the table leg into the zombie's head. She struck again and again, and the undead body convulsed and finally dropped to the ground. Ellen didn't stop. She continued to strike the dead zombie. Its thick, red-black blood spattered everywhere, including all over Ellen.
By the time Carl and I reached her, she was on her knees, sobbing. Carl ignored the blood and cradled her like a child. I found some newspaper and began to wipe the blood away from her hair and face. After a few minutes, she stopped crying, and that distant look came over her face again.
We left the alley and continued on. We were all tired and discouraged. It was late afternoon by the time that we decided we had better find a place to hide out for the night. We didn't want to be outside in the dark when the strange crying that invaded our dreams started up again.
We slipped into an old toy store and found the manager's office. We closed the door and pushed a desk up against it. Ellen fell asleep almost immediately. She had not spoken much since we left our building. Carl is just sitting there with his face in his hands as I write this. I don't know if he ever slept during those two days in my closet.
And for the record, if anyone ever finds this diary, my name is Mike Walker. My wife Janine and my daughter Frances are gone...may they rest in peace. My brother is Carl Walker. He is unmarried. My neighbor is Ellen Radovic. Her husband John is also dead.
We're trying to get out of here.
No comments:
Post a Comment