They Called It The Apocalpse

Chapter 26

Tate found himself bored, he'd been sat alone by the fire for quite a few hours now and he'd picked apart virtually every piece of grass around him. He poked at his eyes, yawning tiredly as he tried to stay awake. These types of nights were always the worst for him because even though he was tired, he couldn't sleep, regardless of this he wasn't allowed to sleep anyway. He'd been given a job to keep watch and stoke the fire. Every few hours he gathered firewood from the nearby bushes, covering his hands with his jacket sleeves and yanking at the twigs and branches until they came loose. He tossed them onto the fire individually to try and stretch the job out into a much longer task but it didn't keep him occupied for long. Every now and then he would check on Thalia, the door to her tent remaining pulled back so that he could monitor her condition. She breathed weakly but her pulse had gotten stronger and the entry marks of the bears teeth were barely there at all now. She looked peaceful in her sleep and Tate wondered if she really was sleeping soundly or if she was having violent nightmares, he couldn't know that she wasn't dreaming of anything, trapped in a coma between darkness and nothing. Her whole body was in a constant state of limbo. Around 5 in the morning, just before the rise of the sun, Tate got to his feet to check on Thalia again but something else caught his eye and thus he headed away from the camp. He stumbled down the grass bank, slipping in the mud but finding his footing again at the bottom then staggered across to the closest camper van. It was large and had steamed up, greasy windows. However, for the time being Tate wasn't interested in that, his curiosity peaked at the car still attached to the front. It was a Toyota with tinted windows and a rusty red coat of paint, there were four doors plus a boot and inside, when he pressed his face to the window, he could just about make out the cream leather interior and stick shift. His hand wrapped around the door handle and gave it a gentle tug, it shifted a little but never came loose so he gave it a yank this time and it popped, swinging backwards faster than he'd expected. He fell back, hitting the dirt hard and grunting at the impact. Then he turned back to their camp to check no one had seen him, it seemed everyone was still sleeping because there was no one there to laugh or taunt him. Casually, like nothing had happened he got to his feet and peered inside of the car. It was almost immaculate, like it had been a preserved relic of another time and Tate supposed that it now was. He poked his head inside and looked at the fuel meter first. It seemed to be frozen at half a tank but that was better than nothing. He slid his butt inside and tested out the pedals, the break was a little stiff but they all moved, his next problem was the keys. They weren't in the ignition or in the cubby hole between the seats. He spun round to look into the back and frowned at what he found; half finished colouring pages littered the seats and a scruffy teddy bear appeared to have fallen into the footwell. Everything looked like he'd come across it mid-scene as if they hadn't finished what they had been doing at the time. He thought about where he'd found the keys of the other cars he'd driven and he had an idea. Carefully, in case any hidden surprises lurked up there, he pulled back the sun shield, expecting something, whether it be a creature or the keys to drop free but there was nothing in there. He looked round the car again, only this time he spotted the abandoned purse in the footwell of the passenger seat, lying flat on its side with a lipstick that had rolled free and been smushed into the carpet by a dainty footprint. He rummaged through the purse first, finding no keys but a collection of mints, makeup and change. He pocketed the money, recalling his promise of a beer to Jason as he did so then his eyes trailed up. They locked onto the camper van and his mood declined, "are you kidding me?" He whined but his eyes caught the gas meter and he knew that he had to go in for the keys.

He climbed out of the car, brushing the dust from the seat of his trousers then headed for the door of the camper van. There were a couple steps leading up to it and he tried to take them first but soon realised that he had to open the door first. He outstretched his arm and gingerly unhooked the latch. The door opened itself, swinging back on its hinges with a squeak and beckoning Tate inside. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath whilst he attempted to psych himself up, although he considered it a good sign that no joyous had come out and attacked him. There was no noise coming from inside when he listened and so he cautiously took the steps up into the van. What he saw first was strange, there were two armchairs facing the front window, they had seat belts drawn across them as if they were used as extra seats. He turned the corner and came across the kitchen, only to be choked by the overwhelming smell that he met head on. The kitchen was pretty normal, it had all the essentials and swapped between the two walls until the right hand one broke into a picnic bench style table. It was covered in a tartan red and white table cloth but Tate wasn't particularly focused on that. His eyes were glued to the bodies sitting at the table, one was slumped over, a small ring of red soaked into the table cross around the place where their head had made impact with it. It seemed to be a man, rather plump and wearing a white polo shirt. Whilst the other burnt its way into Tate's mind. It was a woman, with delicately made up hair and a bright red smile on her lips, only it wasn't a smile, she had died screaming or in shock, one or the other but she was still sat up, her brains blown out onto the wooden unit behind her through a small hole in her forehead. Her eyes were open but they'd shrivelled up to the size of raisins, leaving a cavity of pink flesh where they should've been. Fly buzzed round the pair and crawled across their open wounds and Tate drew a hand to his mouth, he wanted to throw up form the smell, it stank of rotten flesh but he needed that key and so far he hadn't seen it.

He continued down the hallway, shuffling past the two victims at the table and pulled back the door to the rest room. Inside the toilet water had curdled into a rotting mess, human faeces floated around at the top and Tate quickly drew the door back again, at this rate he was gonna puke his guts up before he found the key. There were bunk beds opposite the toilet area, two small ones with curtains drawn back and lights that looked like they hadn't worked in decades. He stumbled past the small storage trunk just after the restroom and came to a final door, it slid back to reveal the master bedroom, at first glance it looked normal, there was a striped bed and two pale peach lamps, the curtains over the windows were drawn and Tate moved further into the room to open them, reaching over the bedside tables and pulling them open. An abundance of dust shot into the air and he stumbled backwards, tripping on something and falling onto the bed. He looked down and nearly screamed, there was a boy sitting on the floor with one leg out and one leg propped against the bedside table, he was crammed between the bed frame and table so tightly that he couldn't moved from his last position. His hands were up, almost in front of his face, and contorted in fear like he was trying to shield himself. His mouth was open like his mothers but his eyes were closed, stuck in an eternal state of shock. The entry whole for the bullet went through his mouth, Tate could tell by the splatter of blood spraying down his yellow polo and blue jeans. Another give away that the entry point was his mouth happened to be the thousands of maggots that spilled out of it and writhed inside of him. Tate felt like crying, he was living a nightmare and it reeked of rotting flesh. He skimmed the sides for the key but it wasn't there and finally they rested on the closet on the same wall as the door. It seemed tiny compared to the camper vans other features but he thought it was worth a check at least. He got up, careful not to step on the kids leg again and gripped the handles. He pulled in one big motion and as he did a body lunged forwards at him. This time he did scream, only a little and it was quiet as he jumped back. He saw the pigtails first, two bunches of blonde hair with pink bobbles holding them in. She was wearing a matching pink dress with a yellow shirt underneath and knee high white socks. Her feet were clad in black school shoes and her brains were splattered across the back of the closet. Tate took another step back as his eyes focused in on the exit hole, a mess of flesh and bone gaping out the back of her head and it was at that point he saw the hole where the bullet had gone through the closet door. He made a noise like he was crying but no tears spilled as he abandoned his search and clambered back out of the room over her body.

As he traversed the hallway his eyes caught on the storage trunks and he turned back to examine it for the key, only when he pulled it open he got a worse surprise than he'd bargained for. There was a little dog, probably a terrier cross only it didn't have a head and when he looked closer the head was in the other side of the trunk with guts leaking out beneath it. He quickly slammed the chest again and bolted down the hall, shooting past the bunk beds and the rest room and into the kitchen when something caught his eye. It was a tiny flash of silver that came from underneath the mans body, his hands had been on the table at the time of his death and he'd fallen forwards onto the one holding the car key. "Aw no." Tate complained as he slowed and reversed back, he reached towards it, flinching away front he dead man each time he almost got it then took a deep breath and shoved the guy backwards, hi whole body shifted and his head flopped back, staring at them sky. Tate kept his eyes away from the face, prying the car key from his fingers before deserting the caravan. He trampled down the stairs triumphant toy, shaking the car keys about in the air as he did then went to kiss them, catching himself just before he planted a wet kiss onto the metal. His next action was to slide back into the car and cram them into the ignition. The car roared then puttered its life away. Tate tried again, this time turning the key harder and praying that the car would start and it did, bursting to life with a pur. He smiled proudly at his work and started to laugh like a maniac when he happened to catch sight of the fuel gage going down. He watched it spin all the way round to zero before the car engine cut off. "You've got to be shitting me...." He cried desperately as he tried the key again and again and again, nothing happened and he threw his head back, beating his hands against the steering wheel in frustration. He threw his hand up at the roof of the car, curling it to be his middle finger sticking up and screamed, "Well, fuck you too." He then climbed out of the car, slammed the door and stomped back up to their camp.