"Running away from your problems is a race you'll never win," ~ Evan Carmichael
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I wipe the tears angrily, still trying to absorb the horrific news, though my mind flickers in anxiety and I can't concentrate for longer than a few precious seconds. Zombies. The only word I can use to describe what I've just seen, the word that I've joked over countless times.
As I pull myself together I try to pick information from the sickening news report, staying inside isn't an option because I don't have enough supplies to survive any substantial length of time. I need to go and find weapons; other essential products, anything that will help me survive before all the shops have been wiped of all supplies. All I currently have is knives from the kitchen drawer, weapons that could only make a small dent in the walking nightmare outside my front door. The glass architecture of my apartment building also unsettles me; witnessing the power of those creatures I know it would only take a small incentive for them to come crashing in.
Survival instinct settles into place above me and I'm taken back by the immediate change inside me. I no longer want to earn money or buy possessions, an ideology that seems ridiculous to me now. Instead, I want to survive.
I have to start somewhere, and from my hectic mind, I realize I need to get changed into more appropriate and sturdy clothing. I run upstairs and pull on a pair of comfortable jeans, a long-sleeved black t-shirt and a thick leather jacket. I quickly rummage through the bottom of my wardrobe and find a pair of trainers, shoving my feet into them harshly.
I pull up my long brown curls and pin them neatly on my buzzing head, I don't even glance in the mirror today. I don't have the time, my priorities have changed. I stretch gently, moving my arms in a forward motion, testing the flexibility of my outfit. Self-defence has been a hobby I've followed during in my spare time, originating as part of an army training course I participated in last summer. Last summer feels like an eternity ago now but I'm increasing grateful for the experience, the learning of skills that I enjoyed then but mean the absolute difference between life and death now.
I head downstairs again and grab a large backpack from a cramped cupboard and head into the modern kitchen, my trainers squeaking on the tile floor beneath me. I grab all the sharp knives from the draws and put them into the sturdy bag, keeping one with a curved and vicious blade to have in hand.
I grab any medical supplies and the few tinned goods I have in my home to pack them as well, stacking it neatly in perfect piles. Finally, I stuff in a small tent and a blanket for the cold nights before I zip the stuffed bag up, I quickly grab a warm coat before I head towards the door- not forgetting the keys. I know it seems ridiculous but a part of me wants to cling on to the unlikely hope of returning to normal. With a hitched breath I twist the cold metal key in the lock and pull the door handle towards my jittery body, soundlessly I squeeze out the door and lock it again behind me dropping the key into my backpack pocket.
I raise my knife in front of me- the sun glinting off the steel and sending spirals sprawling across the splattered pavement. As I cautiously make my way down the street I'm careful not to make any noise and attract any unwanted attention, but to my surprise, the streets are empty. Curtains flap through broken windows, the material dancing in the sharp autumn wind, twirling over the piles of blood-soaked glass and debris.
Then, the silence is shattered.
Shuffling flutters down the deserted street, coming from around the concealed corner behind me. As the eery sound gets closer I see a gap between two houses a few meters away I sprint as quietly as possible to the hiding place, ducking into it smoothly. Even though I saw the zombies this morning on T.V. nothing can prepare me for this, maybe it's because it is right before me or maybe it's because I recognise the face of the flesh-eating zombie from my life in Cornwall. I can't be sure.
YOU ARE READING
Rise of the Dead
KorkuWe don't choose to die, we're designed too. It was just never the creator's plan for the dead to rise again. Zombies were the characters in our nightmares, the actors in our films and the taboo we'd all secretly admired. Never did we imagine they'...