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Food has been harder to find in recent months. After so many years have gone by, most of the stored food is now expired or already consumed. Within the city, the Flash killed most of the livestock, leaving only a few stray cats and dogs running around. Outside of the city, larger game, like deer and bear survived, sheltered by the thick forest. Soon, the food will become scarcer, and the only way to continue living is to hunt.
Luckily for me, one of my foster parents had taught me a thing or two about hunting. We’ll do fine enough on our own. For tonight though, finding shelter out of the rain is my key priority.
Chapter 2
The evening finally arrives. My finger-to-the-wind weather report predicts another warm, summery night. I smile, continuing my prep work for the night, delighting over the fact that I’m finally on my own. I still can’t believe I pulled off running away and rebuilding a life with a false age. I lied to my employer, the manager of a drive-in movie theater, telling him I’m sixteen instead of fifteen. He didn’t even check into it, and they hired me that day. Now I had a job, money for a place, and even a little extra for spending. Of course, my apartment is nothing to brag about, but it’s plenty enough for me.
Now, two months later, my life is finally beginning, and it’s withoutnew foster parents.
I’m standing at the counter, watching the parking lot while the cars drive slowly by, perusing for the best spot to park and watch the show. My co-workers clock in and shuffle to their places behind me, as a feeling of déjà vu ascended within.
I turn my head from left to right, looking around slowly. The movements of people and objects are humming at a fluid pace; sluggish, as if they’re fighting against a current of molasses.
That’s when I realize I’m in my fifteen-year-old body, not my adult one. Something isn’t right. I’m dreaming again.
People say… well, they used to say, that it’s extremely hard to realize when you’re dreaming and even harder to control your dream. I, unfortunately, am what people call a lucid dreamer. I can only understand that I’m dreaming, but I can never control or change the outcome of the dream. This particular dream will never have a happy ending.
I release the breath that I’m holding and close my eyes, as a glaring light flashes across my vision. The light is so intense that it blinds me through my eyelids, but I refuse to raise my hand to shield them. It’s my form of punishment for surviving when so many that deserved it more, died.
The luminosity snaps off as quickly as it came, leaving the concessions eerily dark. My eyes slowly regain their focus as I glance around. Some cars outside crash together, while others are rolling to a slow stop. People have collapsed everywhere, like garbage blown sporadically on the ground. My co-workers have fallen where they stood, spread out like mannequins, their lifeless limbs twisted in all directions.
The shock creates an eerie and silent undertone; an eternity passes while I stand, gazing at everyone. I pray for someone, anyone, to move or breathe until a sudden thought resonates.
Zombies.
That theory has me sprinting for my apartment. Now, I hope for those who are lying on the ground to remain there and not breathe, because if they did, that would mean the zombie apocalypse has begun.
I try not to acknowledge anything or anyone as I hurtle myself through the parking lot and out to the street where I find other survivors. Survivors who are pleading for loved ones, while others scream to the heavens, looking for some kind of answer to the insanity surrounding us.
By the time I reach my apartment, I’d seen enough dead people to last me a hundred lifetimes. The air sawing in and out of my lungs burns like fire, and my heartbeat pounds against my sternum, as I slam my apartment door closed behind me. I quickly lock the door and lean against the wood, as if the action performs as another barrier. My eyes close and I try to regain a normal breathing rhythm.
Finally, my breathing slows, but my heart is still beating as fast as hummingbird wings. The screaming is quieting down and I can imagine why… others are dying.
My heartbeat slows to its normal pace, as I try to block out the pandemonium beyond my living room door. The imaginary world I create around me is pleasant, and my body relaxes as my brain slows to a functioning speed. I convince myself that everything is okay—that I’m okay.
BAM!
Something hits the outside of the door so hard that it bounces me forward off the wood. The noise startles me so much that I yelp, notifying whoever’s out there that yes, there is definitely someone inside. There’s a moment where everything’s too quiet, and then rapid beating of double fists thunders against the door. The entire frame rattles and vibrates as if it’ll fall off its hinges at any moment.
I turn around and back away from the door while holding my hands out in front of me, as if I can hold the door from five feet away using an invisible force field. The assault continues until there’s a loud crack. A fraction of a second passes in silence before the banging continued twice as loud, twice as hard, until the door splits down the middle, cutting out a large V.
A half-burned face peers through the ruined door. His skin is a crispy charcoal black, oozing blood and puss. He’s missing an eye, leaving a vacant hole remaining. But that doesn’t stop him from using his good eye to search the room until he finds me. Even after what has happened to him, his features are murderous, as if he’s looking to settle a score. I dart toward the kitchen as the sound of cracking wood chases after me. The disfigured man follows, destroying everything in his path to get to me. I reach the kitchen a few seconds before him and grab a knife from the counter. A blow from behind thrusts me forward, throwing the knife from my hand. Instead, I settle for the toaster, a glass, a vase of flowers; anything I can get my hands on.
The shower of items I throw slows his progress, but only enough for him to dodge or slap them out of his way. He’s relentless and only a few feet away now. I have nowhere to run. The kitchen only has one door, and we just came through it. The only other way out is through a cutout in the wall?a serving counter between the kitchen and the dining room.
In seconds, he’s on me, pulling at my hair, my clothes, smelling and licking my skin. I can’t tell if he wants to violate me or eat me. The look in his eyes tells me it might be both. There’s no more 911, and if there is, they can’t help me. There’s probably no police or ambulances to run to my rescue. Saving myself is the only option, so I don’t waste any time. I kick and punch as hard as I can to get away.
He’s leaning me backward over the countertop in the kitchen, fumbling with the waistband of his pants, licking up my exposed upper chest and neck, confirming one of my suspicions as he continues the assault.
Frantically, I scour the area for anything I can use as a weapon, but there’s nothing in sight. The only thing close is a pile of papers. When I look closer, yesterday’s newspaper is poking up at an odd angle, like a tent. Of all the odd things that someone would have in their home, I see that it’s my receipt holder. I bought it at a yard sale last month and have been using it to keep the bills I pay organized.
My hand whips out, desperately reaching, but it’s too far. I stretch as far as I can while the man on top of me continues to fondle and squeeze whatever areas he pleases. I’m thankful he doesn’t notice what I’m reaching for. My fingertips are finally gaining purchase, as I put all my remaining strength into the stretch. Finally, I’m able to wrap my fingers around the round metal base of the ticket holder. I use its sharp pointed end like a dagger, stabbing the crazed man repeatedly in the neck, afraid that if I stop, he’ll continue his attack.
He gasps and immediately stumbles back, grasping his neck. A strangled, ‘Thank you,’ leaves his lips before falling to his knees and toppling over, still gasping for breath that’s becoming shallower by the second.
Dropping to my knees, I cry at the same time the man takes his last breath. After gauging the scene before me, my aim was true, stabbing him in the neck and head several times. A cold calm settles in my bones as I watch the deep crimson ooze from his body, solidifying that my world will never be the same.
Chapter 3
