I look to the forests lining the highway. I’ve always felt comfortable in the woods and look at them as my friend. They provide cover and concealment in addition to just being great places to be. Being in their midst has always provided a sense of security and lifted me. Now, for one of the first times ever in my life, the trees look foreboding. They are packed tightly together and light only penetrates a few feet into the thick, wooded mass, turning the interior into a dark unknown. The woods take on an appearance much as I would imagine the look and feel of the Mirkwood Forest in The Hobbit would be.
“Well, they aren’t bloody night runners. I don’t know what they are, but at least I’m not dealing with that,” I whisper to myself, looking once again at the body and feeling a little relieved.
The relieved feeling is short-lived. Even if these aren’t night runners, they are much faster than the first creature I encountered. And, even more importantly, they are not seeking my friendship, but to do harm.
Running dead people wanting to see me join their ranks… fucking wonderful!
Even more delightful is the fact that the once distant screams and moans are increasing in volume. Changing my half empty mag with a fresh one, I turn toward the sound.
In the distance, I see movement amongst the jammed cars. Being far away, it’s more of something shifting than anything I can actually see, but there is definitely something. Whatever it is, it’s causing the sounds drifting in the air. Climbing onto one of the hoods, I look through my optics on its 4x setting in order to get a better idea of what I am dealing with.
At the limit of my vision, I see heads bobbing above the roofs of the distant vehicles. The bodies stretch from one side of the highway to the other. If there was ever a definition of a horde, it is this that I’m looking at. Wherever there is space among the packed cars, the zombie-like creatures fill it. They aren’t speeding this way like the ones who emerged from the woods, but they are undeniably heading in my direction. I don’t have a limitless supply of ammo — it’s definitely time to go. If I didn’t have a certain direction in mind before, the horde behind me, coupled with the fact that runners appeared from the woods beside me, limits my options.
I’m about to lower my carbine when movement from the mass catches my eye. Several figures break away and begin running toward me. Even from this distance, I can tell that I’m their goal. There’s no time to lose. If I stay here and wait for them, the horde will be close when they arrive. My best option is to create some distance so there will be space between the runners and the mass behind.
God, I hope they aren’t all runners, I think, counting approximately twenty creatures racing away from the main group. The intervening vehicles prevent a true tally of their numbers.
Hopping off the hood, I begin jogging, keeping an eye behind to watch the closure rate. When the runners get within range, I’ll stop to take a couple out, move on for a ways, and attempt to take a few more down. With luck, I’ll be able to whittle down their numbers as I don’t really want to tackle twenty at once. That is not how I want to spend this already fantastic morning.
My pace is to conserve energy while creating distance. I’m not sure of their endurance but, with my experience from the night runners, I don’t really want to test it. If I was to take off at a run, they may still catch me, and I’d rather not engage them winded. It appears as though energy is something I’ll need for the remainder of the day — if not longer. I’m fairly sure I’ll be able to keep ahead of the rest as long as they continue their slow shuffle. What I’ll do later is another question, but right now, I just to take out the track stars on my tail and keep ahead of the multitude following. Yeah, this is shaping up to be a marvelous day.
Michael Talbot — Journal Entry 2
At sporadic intervals I would awaken during the night, hearing far off cries; sometimes there were shots, but nothing overly close. I had just started to doze off again when something made me sit up. It was difficult to hear anything over John’s light snoring, but there was something going on. It was the damned sniffing again. I was fully awake as a burst of adrenaline slammed through my system. I gently put a hand over John’s mouth, a whistling sound began to come from his nose. I was convinced if I covered his nose he would start farting.
“John,” I said softly, shaking him slightly.
If he awoke with a start and yelled out, we would definitely be found out. The whistling thankfully ceased as I strained to listen for what was looking for us. I pulled my hand back quickly, John had licked it. And then I was blinded as his lighter flicked on.
“You’re not my wife,” he said as he peered at me.
“What? No, I’m not your wife.” I vigorously wiped my hand on my pants. Then I had to wonder; did she often place her hand over his mouth? Was this some strange mating ritual between them?
“Why would you put your hand over my mouth, then?” he asked.
“We’ll talk about that later…or maybe never I hope. Be quiet for a second, there’s something outside.”
“Where are we?”
“Same place we were when you went to sleep.”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have asked,” he grumbled a little peevishly.
“Sorry, man, we’re in a Phrito truck.”
I had to cover his mouth quickly when he began to shout out happily. “PHRIT—!”
“Shhh, man. I just told you there’s something outside.”
“Right, right, I heard you. It’s just that I love Phrito’s. They’re my favorite, I think. Maybe it’s cheese puffs, but I definitely love Phrito’s.”
“John, please.”
“Alright, I’ll get you a bag.” He stood up, but even he stopped when he heard something drag against the side of the truck.
Trip was certifiable for sure, but then who amongst us didn’t have some sort of hang-ups? Some more than others, I suppose, thinking back on my laundry list of issues. The howling started. He, she, or it, was calling for reinforcements; we’d been found out.
“You ready for this?” I asked Trip as I pulled him further back into the truck, moving boxes aside as I did so. The noise of that was not a problem at the moment.
“Good idea!” John shouted, “Now we’ll have Phrito’s all around us. Won’t have to ever move far to get some.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too. You should get your marble shooter out,” I said to him as I heard the rapid approach of many footfalls.
“You mean my slingshot? Why wouldn’t you just call it that?”
“You give me a headache sometimes.”
“I’ve got something for that.”
I knew what he was reaching for before he ever got to that pocket. “I don’t need any leafy aspirins.”
It took him a few moments to think on my words. “I get it, man!” he laughed.
The truck began to shake as something(s) outside began to look for a weakness, a way in. Then slams began as they started hammering away. I turned on my rifle’s tactical light, pretty much wishing I hadn’t as I watched the thin metal of the truck siding begin to dent inwards from the heavy ministrations outside.
“Why don’t they just use the door?” John asked.
“You’re really not giving them ideas, are you?”
“Are they vacuum cleaner salesmen? They can be pretty pushy. I’ve already bought three of them and they still keep coming.”
“Yeah, well we’re not going to buy a fourth. You need to be really convincing this time. You ready, buddy?”