I grunt as Ipull this man onto my back. Fuck, he’s way heavier than I thought he would be. Thank Christ I’m strong enough to carry him. There’s no way I’m leaving him behind. Now that we’re out of that fucking camp, there’s no turning back.
I look behind us once, just making sure there’s no one trying to follow us. They’re too busy dealing with the zombie outbreak in their camp. I turn and start jogging, trying to move as quickly as I can while still making sure not to jostle the werewolf on my back too much. I have him over my shoulders in a fireman's hold, the only way I know to carry him that I can handle for a long while.
Doing my best to keep my head on a swivel, I move. I start with a jog but when my lungs start to ache, I slow down to a brisk walk. I never stop moving. The more distance between us and that camp, the better.
The dogtags around my neck jingle and I carefully slide them back into my shirt, keeping them quiet. The jingle reminds me of how important it is to keep going. No one is getting left behind, not this time. Not ever again.
Sweat drips down my face and I do my best to wipe it against my shoulder. The last thing I need is sweat in my eyes if a zombie suddenly pops out from behind a tree.
Normally, I would be hiding up in a tree when the sun is down like this, but there’s no way in hell I’m getting this guy up into a tree while he’s passed out like this. As the night stretches on, I just keep walking. Any time I think I hear something, I make sure to turn away from the sound, keeping us away from anything I might need to fight.
For once in my life, luck seems to be on our side. As I break out of the tree filled area, I find a little town. On the outskirts is a little farm house that seems abandoned. There’s no signs of zombies out here but I have a feeling that’s because they’re all crowded inside the town.
I get closer, finding a cellar door. I listen for a moment, waiting to hear any sort of shuffling or groaning. When I don’t hear anything, I pull the cellar door open. It’s silent down here. I’m guessing this used to be a storm shelter which makes sense as before the whole ‘end of the world’ bullshit, I’m pretty sure this used to be tornado alley. Weirdly, we don’t really get storms as much. If I had to guess, it’s because humans aren’t emitting pollution like they used to.
I carefully crawl down into the storm cellar, closing the door behind me. If someone intelligent showed up, we’d be sitting ducks but there’s no chance a zombie will be breaking in. For now, I think we’re relatively safe.
Laying the dude on the ground, I step back, trying to get my bearings. Jesus fucking Christ, I’m tired. All of the adrenaline that was keeping me going fades away all at once, leaving me more exhausted than I’ve ever felt before. My hands begin to shake.
I quickly get my backpack off, pulling out a bottle of water and a sleeve of crackers. I munch on them, trying to keep my bloodsugar from plummeting. I need to check this guy over and make sure he doesn’t have any other wounds but first, I need to take care of myself. There’s a reason flight attendants used to remind you to put your mask on first before helping the people around you.
I feel around my backpack until I find a candle. Then I find my box of matches. I light the candle and set it down. This place is small enough I can see the entire area we’re in. There’s a wall with shelves on it, filled with emergency supplies. There’s only enough room for about four people to lie down side by side which is plenty for sharing with just this werewolf without feeling too crowded. This truly was a lucky find.
Now that I don’t feel like I’m about to pass out, I crawl over to this guy. I can’t wait until he wakes up so I can stop calling him guy in my head. Maybe I should give him a nickname. Sleepy Head? SH? Good enough.
I look over SH’s face. This is the first time he’s looked peaceful since I first saw him a few days ago. His face has no worry lines or wrinkles. This close, I can see he’s quite handsome. Tanned skin, full lips, a sharp jaw. He’s bigger than me. I have a feeling if he was able to actually properly eat, he’d be quite stocky as well.
“Okay,” I murmur to myself. “Let’s check things out.”
I look over his arms, making sure there are no bites or scratches. What I see shocks me to my core. Covering his arms are bites and scratches and wounds that have scarred over. He looks like he’s been a chew toy until now.
My stomach sours as I look over his legs, finding the same exact thing. Worse than that, there’s a fresh bite on his ankle from our fight earlier. It’s still sluggishly bleeding. I look at my shoulder and sure enough, there’s blood all over my shirt from his ankle and his thigh bleeding all over me.
I really don’t want to have to kill SH. I only just saved him, but the sight of a fresh bite makes bile rise up in my throat. No oneshould have to go through the process of turning. I could kill him in his sleep and he’d be none the wiser.
The scars make me pause.
He’s been bitten before and hasn’t turned. What the fuck does that mean? Is he somehow immune to the zombie virus? I know that werewolves can be turned, so what is it about SH that keeps him from becoming undead?
With shaky hands that have nothing to do with my blood sugar, I clean the bite on his ankle before wrapping it up to keep it clean. Then I cut his pants open, exposing the bullet wound. I give the bullet wound on his thigh the same treatment. My heart is in my throat as I finish up and move away, putting my supplies back into my bag.
I move to the other side of the shelter, going through everything on the shelf. There are canned goods and medical supplies I shove into my bag. Then I sit down on the ground facing SH.
“Okay, Sleepy Head. Please don’t make me regret saving you.”
As much as I’d like to stay awake and keep an eye on SH, my eyes have other plans. I try to fight sleep but before I know it, my eyes are closing and I’m passing out, every last bit of my strength used up and gone.
I’m not sure how long I sleep but when I wake up, I can feel eyes on me. My heart skips a beat, wondering if I’m going to wake up to SH or if there’s a zombie in the room with me. Surely, if he had turned, I wouldn’t be waking up at all, right?
“I know you’re awake,” Sleepy Head says, his voice gravelly and deep. “I can hear your heart rate spike.”
Huh. I guess being a werewolf means having advanced hearing. I assumed as much but hearing the confirmation is interesting.
Slowly, I sit up, turning and facing the man I saved. The candle is somehow still burning, on the very last bit of its wick. The man looks good, especially considering everything that’s happened.
He pulls the bandage off his ankle and instead of a fresh bite, there’s a mostly healed bite. Jesus, it must be nice to have such quick healing! Although, that only adds to the tragedy of his story. What the hell did that camp put him through that he just healed from over and over and over again.
I do my best to always keep a level head but in that moment, I’m filled with rage I’ve never felt before. Fuck that camp. Fuck those humans. Fuck them all. In that moment, I can’t help but feel relieved that they’re all dead.
