From the Ashes, You Crawl

Chapter Three

                Gerard awoke at sunrise like he does every day to the sound of his alarm. This was one of the only times he ever really used the electricity produced by his generator that he had collected many, many days ago. It was dangerous to make too much noise with the sounds produced by the buzz of the wires and circuits. Gerard had no idea how long the electricity would really last anyway, so he never got used to its comfort. The electricity was, however, the only thing that worked. The vehicles had stopped moving long ago when the panic had initially began. The first people to know of the infection filled their gas tanks completely full and then some, and then fled the gas station. It was only a few days before every car was stopped and every station was empty.

Gerard sat up on the edge of his bed. He stared at the covered window, his hazy, greying eyes searching the paneling. For less than a second, he wished he could see outside even though there was nothing to see. There was little light from under the window slits. That meant it was a cold, grey and dead day. Those happened for a long while sometimes. The bombs they dropped had changed the atmosphere. There were no trees or leaves. There were only singed black skeletons on yellow grass that cracked when stepped on. When it got cold, it did so randomly and stayed cold until Gerard lost track of the days. He could no longer see the sun, and so he did not leave his shack. He would sit in the corner of his panic room, a hidden box in his second room, and sob, hitting his head against the wall. The lack of warmth and heat and light for such a long time had effected Gerard. His pupils were wider now, even in direct light, which gave him the whole extraterrestrial look. Gerard wouldn’t know this though. He wouldn’t even recognize himself now. He hadn’t looked in a mirror in a very, very long time. When the sun would return, it would blink through the glaze and return Gerard to the unhealthy haze, but it never got warm anymore.

Gerard stood up walking slowly towards one of his stockpiles, grabbing his tote by the bed. After several minutes of indecision, he finally plucked a bottle of water. He wasn't hungry for anything now since he had eaten last night before nailing up more boards. He would eat later. With trembling hands, he poured the water into his tiny canteen until the water gathered at the brim. He set down the still nearly full water bottle and shoved the canteen in his pocket. Gerard sighed and walked into the front room. He was not surprised to find it still intact after the long, nightmarish sleep. The greasy haired man grabbed his pistol and katana from the stack of weapons. He shoved the pistol in the hip of his now tight fitting black jeans and the katana in the black holster he had found a long with it a very long time ago.

With that, Gerard looked over his home, like he did every day. He eyed the first room, his piles and piles of weapons. His whole stash was pointless. He had never shot a gun. He had never killed a zombie, and he did not plan to. There was a part of him that knew he would never be able to. The collection was mostly used as a security blanket, not because he saw the guns as security, but rather, an alternative exit to life if that ever needed to happen.

And there were SO many alternative exits right in this room.

With that thought, Gerard zipped his thick, black hunting coat over his black hoodie and unlocked the double bolted door to his shack and left for the city. Perhaps he would kill himself someday, but that day was not today.

 -

The yellow charred grass crunched at an insistent pace like the beat of an unsteady, gimped bass drummer. Gerard’s right leg pulled a few seconds behind him. He had always felt this was the thing that would kill him one day, if he didn't kill himself. Running was out of the question with his injured leg. Perhaps it would make more sense for Gerard to relocate his hoard to the city and recreate the safety he feels in his shack, but the idea seemed so... Terrifying to Gerard. He needed consistency. He needed a schedule.