When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. At least that's the saying. To think the first couple of days of me being free from the slammer would line up with this nightmare. Should've just not taken the plea deal. But well, nothing to do with it now. I was lucky enough to be sleeping at home when it all started. I just remember waking up with a start with the screams outside. I ran to the windows, split the blinds and saw it. Rivers of blood streaming down the pavement as the elderly man who lived across from me was wrestling with someone on the ground. Whoever it was was clearly stronger, and his head leaned down to the elderly man's neck. It happened fast. Scarily fast. Blood flowed from the elderly man's neck, staining his white shirt. I remember just staring. I guess I was never one to jump into conflict. Either way, another resident noticed all of this and ran to intervene. Ripped the attacker off of the old guy before having to deal with the attacker lunging at him.
One thing led to another, and that's how we got here. Quiet streets, dark homes. I stuck mostly to myself after getting out, so I don't know what everyone else was up to. All I know is I hunkered down for the past week. Nothing much changed. Sometimes, if I was feeling daring or dumb, I could spot shambling people outside past my blinds. I was fine with hunkering down, watching some tv on half volume or reading a book. For the short while at least. But food was quickly running out. Food and electricity honestly. Eventually water would run out too. I was down to some leftovers and canned goods, and I'm not proud to say it, but the idea of breaking into someone's home here and getting something close to dinner was getting appealing.
So, with that, I got some gear together. Long sleeves, jeans, and an old bass I played once in a while. I had a spare, so I wasn't too worried about wrecking one up a bit. When the sun was high in sky, I checked through the window for any signs of life before deciding to bite the bullet. I headed out with nothing but a backpack and a vague idea of a plan.
The trip itself was mostly fine. I did bump into one of the zombies. It was just standing outside of the house, wabbling slightly on its rotten shoes and staring dead ahead at the window. Of course, it heard me approaching. I was out of practise of bulgery at this point and honestly, I was shaking at even being outside my house. Now, I'd like to say how much of a badass I was, taking it out with a bass and all, but I mostly just panicked. In the end, I managed to bash in the damn thing's skull. Chunks of bone and indescribable redish yellow mush were splattered all over my old bass, and my shirt, and I am certain some ended up rather close to my eyes and mouth, but it was dead. The next means of planning was to break into the actual house. I sadly didn't get around to getting new lockpicks since my arrest, which left the windows. The first felt stuck, but the next suffered enough neglect to just pop open.
Other than the musty smell and thin layer of dust, the house was clean and neatly organised. The fridge was well stocked, much more well stocked than mine. I stuffed as much food as I could into my backpack before looking around a bit more. One thing I learnt was that having food and water wasn't nearly as important as entertainment. So, I perused the elderly man's old bookshelves. There wasn't much eye-catching, so I just grabbed whatever would fit before booking it back.
I spent the rest of the day cooking up some salmon, reading and exercising. Not much to talk about there. I do suppose they say that the world would fizz out. Quietly dying on the eve of humanity.
The next day was similarly busy. The most notable thing was finding a truck in one of the yards. It was a black pick-up truck. The hood was banged up, caked in dry blood, but the engine seemed fine. The major problems? It had no keys and no gas. One was an easy fix; I knew how to hot wire cars, but I could not magically fuel the pick-up truck. I left that problem for another day and focused on getting some more resources, one of which was a baseball bat.
The day afterwards, I decided to look around for fuel or another car. If I had a car, I could leave the suburban area and hopefully run into other survivors or at least find a better place to hunker down. And so, I walked the neighbourhood. There was a few good options, a taxi cab, a blue sadan, but none had keys or gas. So I walked back over to my house and was half prepared to take off the rest of the day. But, well, I gave up rather fast on that quest. At least for the day. I instead opting into looting the house to the left of mine. It had some lucky loot. Clothing mostly, but the fridge is what held the real motherload. A whole watermelon. Finally, something more than just old canned food and snacks.
The next day, was where I was getting too antsy. I was getting stuff done the last three days, but that was not even close to enough for me. Food was limited, water was just whatever came out of the taps, and the house was far from secure. I just had to start getting more offensive with my planning. So, I grabbed the baseball bat and wandered over to the block across from mine. If my immediate neighbourhood didn't have what I needed, I was going to start expanding my reach.
The first house I encountered was mostly safe. A few zombies milling about, but I managed just fine. Better than fine, honestly. The house was locked tight, so I decided to double back for it. The next place was quiet. Very quiet. The window was left unlocked, so I just hopped in and crouched down. The fridge had some good food in it, things more tasty than just eating canned food and leftover watermelon. The bookcase was mostly empty, but it had some manuals, which I snagged. The bathroom had some bandages. It was going well. Was. I got rather cocky, to be honest. I thought that since the house was quiet, I could just wander about in it. The door to the bedroom was closed. Not locked per say but firmly wedged shut. As I walked over to it, my ears caught the soft sound of nails on the wood. I thought it might be fine. It sounded like one, and I was feeling confident.
The door handle turned under my hand before one zombie fell through. Than another. Than another. Before I could fully react, five undead lunged towards me. Icy cold hands gripped onto my shirt, my hands, my shoulder. I swung my bat, the wood splintering against one of their skulls. Another snagged my hand, and a fiery pain shot up my arm. Than another. With a scream I staggered backwards, swinging the bat at the hoard. The grip of the bat was getting slick, but I quickly turned tail and booked it through the window. My hand was dripping with blood, and my forearm was in a similar state. A pair of teeth marks dug into my skin. The zombies didn't stop. Quickly dragging themselves through the open window. I swung at them. Again and again. My muslces where burning. My hands are shaking. My lungs are weak. I had managed to defeat them. Just barely and not without a new mark. Three bite marks covered my pale skin. One on my hand, one on my forearm and one on my shoulder.
I knew I was gone. It was too late. What little information that got out before everything went quiet was that there was no cure. My legs shakily gave out under me, and I slumped down onto the ground. The clothing came in handy. With gritted teeth, I ripped the spare clothing into thick strips before wrapping my wounds. The cloth quickly turned a dark crimson. I was ready to just lie down right there, but I couldn't. I just got a new lease on life here, and this is how it turned out? This is how shit decided to fuck me over again?
With a groan, I forced myself to stand up. My grip tightened on the wooden bat before I turned to face the road and started walking. One step in front of one shaky step. If I was going down, I was taking as many of these fuckers down with me!