To Whoevers Listening

Seventeen : Treasure Hunt

I wake on Tuesday morning alone in the tent.

I crawl out and into the icy air of the Hardware, immediately pausing to listen to the sounds of the zombies outside. I can hear their moaning and teeth snapping, but it sees that most of the gang outside the door has drifted away, only leaving a few stragglers behind.

“Morning,” David greets when he comes around the corner of an aisle.

I'm wrapped up in my sleeping bag, looking like a human burrito, while he's obviously been awake and dressed for awhile more than me.

“I found a map of Goldview,” he says and goes over to the front counter to lay it out beside the cash register. “Show me where your house is.”

I shuffle over and study the map from beside him.

“There.” I say and jab my finger on a house six streets over from where we are now.

“Okay.” David says, but it sounds disappointed, like he had hoped it would be closer.

“Can we make it?” I ask him.

“Hopefully.” he replies. “A few of the biters outside have dispersed but there's still going to be quite a few in and around these streets.” David drags his finger along a path leading from the hardware to my house.

“It's not going to be easy.” he says.

“Nothing ever is.” I mutter.

David finds a door in the back of the Hardware leading into the alley and together we slip out of the shop and into the real world again.

In David's hands, carried tightly in fear of dropping it, is a paint tin full of nails, screws and bolts that will make an awful sound if all were dropped at once.

That's kind of the point, though.

We creep up the alley behind the back doors of the other shops facing out onto the street and kill one Biter who stumbles down the alley towards us. David lowers the mans still body to the ground so it doesn't make any noise when it crumples to the pavement.

When we reach the mouth of the ally leading onto another road adjacent to the main street, David gestures for me to stay back. He leans forward and peers around the edge of the building beside him, scanning the street. He looks back at me he nods, lifts up the paint can, and runs out into the street. He stops in the middle, just in front of the white line dividing the road, faces a nearby car and swings the paint can up into the air. When he lets it go, it tumbles over itself but the contents stays inside until it comes crashing down on the roof of the car across the street.

A collection of nails, screws and bolts come spilling out of the can, tinkling and ringing against the metal as they fall to the asphalt.

“Go! Go!” David stage-whispers as he runs back to the mouth of the alley.

I turn and bolt down the alley knowing he's right behind me. We run until we're back at the Warehouse and stop to catch our breath for a moment.

“Are you sure that'll get their attention?” I ask him.

He stops and listens, so I do, too.

The sound of feet shuffling, shoes slapping, and people moaning fills the world around us as all the biters migrate to the same place. They were attracted to sound, exactly like David said they would be.

“Positive.” David says. “Come on.”

With the living dead throwing themselves against the car behind us, we slip past the buildings and step out onto the now practically empty main street of Goldview. There's two or three stragglers still making their way towards the main group, but besides that we're in the clear.

"On three." David says. "One... two ... three!"

When he shouts, I run.

I bolt across the street without a second thought, without looking, without seeing anything but the path in front of me. I get across the street and I keep running; keep running past the bookstore, keep running towards the next building and the next street, keep running even when my legs start to hurt.

"In there!" David shouts from beside me, pointing ahead at a petrol station.

"No!" I protest. "Let's just keep going!"

"There are too many!" he shouts back to me. "We'll get tired. They won't!"

I spare a glance over my shoulder and spot the 'they' he's talking about.

There's at least eight biters chasing us.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Fine!” I shout and veer towards the petrol station.

I cross the street, jump between two pumps, and bolt towards the glass door. I can hear the guttural moans and cries of the biters behind me, as well as David's own footfalls to the left of me. My pack is smacking against my back with each step, the baseball bat sticking out of the top jumping around the zipper.

I grab hold of the glass door and swing it open. The bell dings overhead as I dart inside, spin around, and hold it open for David to come through, too. He jumps in and I step back so he can flick the lock and pull the nearest magazine shelf in front of it.

The biters clash against the door, the lock banging in its confines, but they're too weak to crack the glass and therefore unable to get inside.

I turn around and look over the shop. The other shelves are filled with food, drinks, and other supplies we could make good use of.

“Get some stuff to put in your pack,” I tell David as I swing off my own and unzip it. I go up to a row of canned food and sweep off a good portion of the stack into the bag. Though the selections aren't that vast, I move along the aisle picking things out that we won't have to eat right away; more cans, a couple jars, a few packets of things like rice and pasta. When I come to the sweet section and take a stop, I'm tempted to grab something. After a few seconds of indecision I give in to my teenage appetite and pick up a pack of Oreos.

“Hey David!” I call, smiling as I skim over the brightly colored packaging. “Guess what I– “

I turn the corner and come face to face with the barrel of a gun.