And they’re looking at me.
I’ll never get used to how fucking creepy their eyes are as they gleam with that alien hunger. It’s even worse when there’s half a dozen of them looking at you at the same time. Now I understand how an antelope feels when they’re being eyed by a pride of lions. Every part of my body is screaming at me to turn tail and run, but I can’t. The sun’s setting and Ineedto find shelter, which means taking down these zombies.
Harlow bares her teeth and growls as the hair between her shoulder blades stands on end. As terrifying as she looks, I can’t risk her being injured, even if the zombies aren’t interested in eating her. “Harlow,stay.” She glances over at me with a look of betrayal, but does as she’s told.
Sucking in a breath, I grab an arrow from my quiver and nock it. I sight the nearest target and aim my bow as I draw back the string. I centre myself, keeping the bow drawn for a second before exhaling as I let the arrow fly. It hits its target; the arrow embedding itself into the zombie’s skull and causing it to collapse to the ground.
One down; five more to go.
I ride Bean through the street, weaving between abandoned cars and let more arrows fly. More zombies fall to the ground, truly dead. I allow muscle memory to take over as I separate myself from what I’m doing and instead think of the zombies as targets. It’s the only way I can do this without succumbing to the panic that’s lingering in my chest. Or puking all over Bean. She’d never forgive me if I did that.
I don’t stop shooting until they’re all on the ground, unmoving. Blowing out a long breath, I shake my head and swallow around the lump in my throat. It’s almost sickening how easy that was. I didn’t even hesitate once and I’m not sure how I feel about that, especially after my hysterical laughing fit yesterday. Am I becoming numb to killing already?
I shudder at the thought and shove it aside. Now isn’t the time to fall apart, so I focus on the list of things I need to do.
I slide off Bean and collect the arrows from the fallen zombies while keeping my mind carefully blank. As long as I don’t acknowledge what they are, I can keep going. Once collected, I clean and inspect the tips for any major damage before putting them back into my quiver. Arrows retrieved, I mount Bean again and nudge her forward.
The village is tiny, just a road that winds through the middle with houses and shops lining it. While most of the houses appear untouched,the shops are in awful condition. Windows are smashed, doors hang on by a hinge and debris litters the pavement outside. It makes sense since most survivors would look for food and supplies, so shops and other businesses are the first things ransacked. I keep my gaze away from the church; the place where my life changed forever.
I steer Bean away from most of the broken glass and bodies of the zombies while keeping my eyes open for any more walking corpses. Although, it seems I’ve dispatched all the ones in the village. Where the hell did everyone else go? Did they make it out to a safer location? Or were they bitten and moved to a different location? A more populated area with more… food?
The thought makes my stomach turn. I urge Bean into a trot down the road that bisects the village and eye the houses until I choose one near the outskirts of the village. Halting, I slide off Bean and lead her down the narrow alleyway between two houses, happy to find a fenced back garden that’s perfect for Bean for the night.
I leave Bean in the garden still with her tack on and head into the house, the knife Andy gifted me drawn and ready.
I step into the kitchen and wrinkle my nose. When’s the last time the owners updated the place? The fridge and the oven look to be decades old and the cabinets are an awful burnt orange colour that makes me think of the seventies. The living room isn’t much better, with a worn velvet sofa, a box TV and a coffee table that looks as if a breeze could knock it over. Upstairs, the bedrooms are much the same, but the bathroom is the worst, decorated in the ugliest mint green I’ve ever seen. I don’t think toilets and sinks even come in that colour any more.
Although, I doubt anyone is selling sinks and toilets inanycolour with the dead currently refusing to die.
Relieved that the house is empty, I go back outside to pull the saddle and bridle off Bean and set them aside. The mare wanders away from me and happily munches on the overgrown grass. The only issue is the lack of water for her and while it’s not ideal, she’ll be fine overnight. I’ll just have to find a water source first thing tomorrow.
As I pick up Bean’s saddle and bridle, I spot Ketchup sitting on the fence, digging into a snail she has clutched in her talons. I expected her to fly back home, but apparently she’s sticking with me for now.
My stomach chooses that moment to growl, alerting me to the fact that I haven’t eaten since this morning. I’m surprised I even have an appetite after killing those zombies earlier, but I don’t dare delve into that line of thinking.
I head into the house with Harlow hot on my heels. After feeding both of us, I move into the living room and settle down for the night. The sofa is surprisingly comfortable considering how old it looks and with Harlow cuddled up next to me, I’m warm despite the chilly February air.
But no matter how cosy I am, I can’t fall asleep. Every sound has my heart jumping into my throat and panic fluttering in my chest. I keep jerking awake from my half-asleep state, prompting Harlow to huff and move to sleep on the end of the sofa.
Reassured that Harlow doesn’t seem at all worried about the noises, I settle back down. She’d tell me if there’s a problem. My body finally relaxes into the sofa enough for me to float to sleep.
I’m finding that Iboth love and hate life on the road.
There’s a sense of freedom I never had before the world fell. I don’t have to worry about what other people think of me if they see large bags under my eyes, the scars on my stomach and lower back, or watch me freak out over having to get into a car.
It’s just me and my furry—and feathered—family.
And while that’s a heartless thing to enjoy, especially with how much death I constantly come across with the walking and not-so-walking corpses, I can’t help it. For so long, people judged and pitied me for something I couldn’t control, and it was exhausting to have this niggling anxiety in the background whenever I left the house.
But damn, do I miss modern conveniences.
I never thought of myself as some who’s spoiled, but after two nights on the road, I miss my lukewarm shower and my bed. Washing in icy streams and rivers and peeing behind bushes is getting old, fast. Not to mention the loneliness. Sure, I was lonely before I left, but this is something deeper. A yearning to interact with at least one human being, even if it’s just a quick greeting.
It makes sense since humans are social creatures, but it’s more than that. I crave comfort and, most of all, touch. It’s sad to think that I don’t remember the last time someone hugged me. Tobias, maybe? He’s never been much of a hugger with me like he is with his wife, which is to be expected. But damn, does it suck.
There’s nothing I can do about it but keep moving forward and remember the entire reason I’m out here; to save my brother.
It’s late afternoon on the third day of my time on the road and, after a day of successfully scavenging for food, I need to find a place to sleep. I’m skirting around the outskirts of a small town to lessen my chancesof coming across anymore zombies or people. I’ve already had to avoid several villages because I’ve spotted signs of people being there. While I’m sure not every person out in the world is a monster, I’m taking Andy’s warning to heart and not risking it.
