The Dead Among Us

1. Fábia and the critter

Fábia's POV

   Sleeping outdoors is not my cup of tea. You'd think I'd be used to it, and in theory, I am, but I still despise it.

   What I hate is every morning, I find myself shivering, even on the hottest days. Likewise, I always wake up sweaty, no matter how cold it is. And no matter what, I always wake up with a kink in my neck. 

  My father, a seasoned hunter and survivalist, instilled in me a deep understanding of the woods. From a young age, I tagged along with him on his trips, learning everything he had to offer in that brain of his.

He was a strict old geezer, and his instructions were clear. "The wilderness is dangerous; you have to be smart to survive," and I obeyed his every command in order to stay alive. When he ordered us to run, I ran as if the devil was hot on our tails. And when he commanded stillness, I froze in my tracks, no questions asked, like a block of ice.

   My childhood might not have been one of fun and games. But it was adventurous, and hey, I learned to make a fire, skin a deer, catch a mole rat, find berries, and even make shelters in any environment. Skills most don't possess.

    One thing my dear old man failed to teach me, though, was the art of surviving zombies. Who would have thought that'd be the skill I'd need in life?

    Tonight, I'm too scared to sleep on the ground. I can hear the low growls and clatter of teeth from every direction in the wind. Don't get me wrong; those haunting sounds were still terrifying before, but lately, they've gotten worse for me.

    My father passed last Tuesday, ya see, not from the undead, thank God. Unfortunately, what took him is what I suspect was a heart attack; he exhibited all the symptoms.

Regardless of how he left this shitty earth, now I'm all alone. All I had was him. My mama left us shortly after my birth. Homegirl couldn't deal, I guess. 

    I tried living alone, I really did, but this shit is gonna kill me before the zombies do. It's so damn quiet I can hear my thoughts talking back to me. I craved more outside connection even with my father, now you can only imagine. So, with nothing but a backpack of supplies, I headed out of our cabin in the Maine untamed wilderness and took off in hopes of finding something more.

   In an endeavor to stay off the ground, I've tied myself up on a sturdy branch in a tree to make it through the night. My head is resting on the rough trunk. It's not comfortable, in case you're wondering, but I managed to get some shut-eye.

   That is until a terrifyingly chittering noise jolts me awake.

Our world is far from a Hollywood script; in our reality, even innocent animals fall prey to this dreadful plague, and in some ways, they can be even more horrifying than humans. It's unsettling to have people approaching me. I dread the moment when the squirrels make their move, catching me off guard. At least humans I can see, squirrels I can only hear most times.  

    In my defense for climbing a freaking tree, it's rare for squirrels to catch the virus; they are fast and intelligent, but when they do get it, it's something out of your worst nightmare.    

    Imagine these tiny critters, in fact, any rodent, relentlessly pursuing you with their lightning speed. The mere thought of those snappy whiskers grazing your skin and those little claws scrambling up your body trying to bite you is enough to make even the most courageous person's spine tingle with fear.

    I suddenly find my eyes wide open. 

Where the fuck is it?

    My sights dart around as I unsteadily untie myself, my fingers fumbling with the strands, trying not to make any noise.

I've entirely fucked myself and made the restraint a little too tight, and now I'm compelled to look down at the knot I've created. With my eyes down, that's when I hear its feet scampering at me.

    In a full-fledged panic attack, I find myself frantically grasping at the ropes now, my vision obscured from the night, and trying not to scream; it's getting closer and closer by the second. The chittering of its fangs and tiny wails are somewhere and coming right at me. 

    Finally, I manage to tear myself free, my movements lacking all semblance of grace. However, I am immediately met with the harrowing sight of the creature that had been lurking. The branch he's on stretches out in front of the moon, setting a chilling backdrop for the dreadful encounter. At that moment, I behold the demonic zombie squirrel soaring toward me, having launched itself from the branch above.

Everything unfolds in a chillingly slow manner, as if time itself has been distorted. The creature's tiny claws are outreached towards me, its eyes burning with a red glow and its mouth agape, frothing with an unsettling intensity.

    I can't help it; I'm crying like a scared little kid getting chased by a furious rooster. The high-pitched terror rises from my gut and scratches my vocal cords.

As I try to swat the thing away, I accidentally lean too far to my right and plummet off the branch a good ten feet onto the unforgiving earth.

    A painful "Oomph" escapes my lips as I hit the ground. Everything is blurry, and stars are dancing in my vision. To make it worse, I still hear the clattering of those persistent feet crawling at me again in the sticks.

I jump to my feet, grabbing my bag that fell with me in one swift motion. I run but soon come to an abrupt stop. To my horror, I suddenly realize that it's too late to escape, and a wave of terror washes over me. I can feel its sinister presence clinging to my right pinky; in the midst of my heart-pounding fear, I was oblivious to the pain of its teeth sinking into my flesh.

 Without thinking, driven by pure survival instinct, I snag my hand-forged Damascus steel hunting knife from its sheath on my belt and sever my pinkie clean off.

 As the devil and my digit fall to the earth, I send a forceful kick, propelling the animal far away into the brushwood.

 I watch its trajectory as it quite literally sails into the moonlight, and then I crumble to my knees.

Before I can stop myself, I let out a scream of agony and exhaustion. The worst mistake you can make in today's world.

It's too late.

I hear them.

I've awoken them.

The cold night air stands still as my breath catches in my throat. The unsettling sound of their shuffling footsteps echoes in the distance, growing louder and more frenzied with each passing second. The menacing growls reverberate through the atmosphere, sending a chill up my spine, the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention.

Corre Fábia! my father's voice screams in my head like Obi-won instructing Luke with the force.

I take off, my heart pounding in my chest. The wind rushes past my face as I crash through the bushes, feeling the sharp twigs and sticks scrape against my shins. My feet slip in the mud, and I stumble over hidden branches, desperately trying to keep my balance. My lungs are on fire, begging for oxygen as I push myself to keep moving forward. I just run, and I don't look back.

All at once, I emerge from the clearing of trees and find myself close to the Maine coast; I can hear the angry waves crashing in the rocks. 

Where do I go?

A ridiculous bright flashlight suddenly blinds me.

"Eh! Eh! Not another step! You are trespassing!" someone bellows at me.

I put my hands up, unsure if they have a gun. As I do, I feel the warm blood seeping from my hand down my arm, soaking my jacket sleeve.

"Please help me!" I cry out, my eyes closed from the blinding light.

"Are you bit?" the rough man's voice replies.

"No!" I lie.

The flashlight lowers from my eyes, but before I can react, the man grabs me by my jacket and pulls me forward. He's much larger than me, and I'm almost literally being dragged behind him to where, though I have no clue.