A jackhammer. That's what his heart felt like. It was pounding against his rib cage with a ferocity that he had never felt before. Jason was not unaccustomed to working out and was in shape. But this was different, he was not just running, he was running in utter and complete terror. The muscles in his legs were burning in protest against the effort that was being demanded of them. His lungs felt like liquid fire, acutely accented by the daggers of pain that accompanied each breath. Even his arms hurt from the sustained pumping. His tongue felt like a thick piece of felt in his mouth. Jason’s eyes burned and were wide with fear. It was like they refused to blink, fearful they would miss something if they did.
His breaths became ragged and his muscles began protesting by threatening to cramp. He needed water and rest. He wasn't sure how long he had been running flat out. He did know he had made it to the other side of town. So he had been at a dead run for almost six miles. As he approached exhaustion, he chanced a glance behind and was relieved to see nothing. Out of immediate danger, he allowed himself to slow to slow his pace. He had reached Main Street of his small town.
All around him, trash and debris blew in the wind. Only a very few windows remained intact, those that were, tended to be a second story window. It broke his heart to see his hometown like this. To his left, the building that housed the town’s local paper was a burnt out shell. Several cars lined the street. Some flamed out wrecks; others were stripped down to their frame. Jason still couldn't believe that the world had been turned upside down in only six short months. He shook his head. In just three weeks the town would have been shutting down this section of road for the fall festival that took place every year. Booths set up by churches and organizations selling all kinds of food to raise money for the next year would line the street.
He allowed himself a smile as he thought of some of his favorites: Deep fried Oreo cookies, corn dogs, BBQ nachos, and, of course, lemon shake-ups. He would usually gain a couple pounds from all the food he would eat. Then he would hit the gym a few extra times to burn it off. Shaking his head at the memory, he moved over to the wrecked cars to see if he could find anything useful. He didn't have much hope, but it was worth a try.
The search didn't yield anything of use, so Jason decided to head for the Sheriff’s office a couple blocks over to see if he could get lucky there. He needed to find another vehicle so he could get down the road. He had to abandon his truck at the Wal-Mart where he had stopped and he sure wasn't going back there to get it. He was still mad at himself. He knew the store would be completely looted, but he still went in anyway. Like a fool, he had only brought his Glock. He never would have believed that so many of them would have been in this small of a town. You expect them in a large city, so you don't ever go there, but here, it was a surprise that had almost killed him.
Now he had no supplies and no transportation. This wasn’t a good predicament to be in with nighttime approaching. Jason carefully checked a few of the buildings on his way to the Sheriff's office. In the pizzeria, he found a small can of mushrooms that had been overlooked. He smiled. He loved mushrooms. Searching under the counter he found a plastic sack emblazoned with THANK YOU to put the can in. A noise from the front caused his heart to stop. He ducked behind the counter. From the dining area he heard the rattle again. He slowly rose up to try to see. The tables and chairs were strung out all over. The noise seemed to be coming from the turned over salad bar.
Moving around the counter, he edged towards the portable bar. Being sure to keep an eye out the front of the shop also, he moved beside the cart. Something inside was moving around. The cart shook each time he heard the noise. Pulling his survival knife, Jason moved around the bar so he could open the door to the storage area of the portable cart. It was on its side. He opened the door so he could use it for cover.
Ever so slowly, he pulled at the handle of the cabinet. Opening the door, the noise stopped. Jason waited a good thirty seconds before he peered to look inside. When he did, he got a face full of fur. With a screech and hiss, the raccoon jumped and hit him square in the chest. In his attempt to backpedal, he fell over a chair. Jason landed heavy on his back; unhurt. The raccoon skittered off to the back of the store and was gone.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he stood and checked himself over. The coon had left a few scratches but nothing serious. Replacing his knife in its sheath, Jason examined the cart. He found a bag of rotten tomatoes and the remains of a box of croutons. Another bust. He picked up his sack and headed to the street. Before he exited the store, he made sure the street was clear. With nothing in sight, he stepped out and headed for the sheriff’s office. He only had a little time left to find anything of use.
When he rounded the corner, he allowed himself some hope. In the sheriff’s office lot, there were two cars and a truck that looked intact. He checked each one and was encouraged. They looked in good shape. The truck was parked at the front of the building. It still had the keys in the ignition. He allowed a small celebratory fist pump. Checking over the truck, he saw that the shotgun was gone from the dash mount. He really could use some weapons. He looked up at the doors to the office. Maybe his luck would hold out.
He pulled out his knife and headed into the station. In the foyer of the station, laid three bodies. He started to turn and run when he realized they had all been shot in the head. He took a closer look. One was a deputy and the other two were prisoners. The good news was that the deputy had his gun belt still on, complete with gun and extra clips. Pulling the belt off the dead cop, he couldn't help but notice the partially pinned nametag: Officer Davis. Looking at the peeling and rotted flesh of the mans face, it was obvious that he and he others had turned. He would of never realized that this was his neighbor from three houses down if it weren’t for the name plate.
Authorities had tried to help organize in the panic that had ensued. The virus had spread so fast, no one had time to respond. He remembered one news agency reporting that it was an afflicted form of multiple viruses combined. The boyish news anchor, fear clearly written on his face, said that it was thought to be a medical experiment that had gone awry. He remembered the footage of the shuffling creatures. He shivered. The last few broadcasts of any type franticly spread the word that the shambling creatures could be killed by trauma to the brain. It was too little, too late.
Belting Davis' gun holster to his waist. He saw the injury that was most likely Davis' demise. The perfect semi circled wound on his upper left arm. You could see each individual tooth imprint. Pulling the gun he checked to make sure it was loaded. The bite to the back of his neck came with such surprise and adrenaline that it almost didn't hurt. Dropping down and spinning away, he was confronted by the decomposing corpse of the town sheriff. A six and a half foot tall man in life, he was an imposing figure. As a reanimated corpse, he was terrifying. Jason jerked the Smith and Wesson 45 up and pulled the trigger until the clip was dry. At least three rounds had found their mark, dropping the zombie sheriff.
He turned to run and both his legs cramped so bad it dropped him to the floor. The side of his face smacked the dust-covered tile. The impact knocked him unconscious. Hours later he awoke. Standing, he was hungry. It's all he could think about; an insatiable and driving desire for food. Sniffing the air, he moved off in search of human flesh.
