Living on Borrowed Time

Chapter Fourteen

     Before my eyes even open I instantly remember what had happened. I instantly know that I'm in danger. My eyes open, my entire body cries out for help, aching in places I didn't know could ache the way they do. I struggle to stand, my survival instincts trying to take over. Luckily the drugs have worn off, I can now feel my legs enough to stand on my own, but I feel too much. At the same time I wish the drugs were still in effect so I couldn't feel as much, but it's better this way.
I observe my surroundings. I'm in a fenced in backyard. Solid wooden fence and thick lush grass. Confirming that there are no undead around I look down at my shirtless torso. My ribs are insanely bruised, dark blue and purple. I'm no doctor but from the pain I'm feeling I'd guess a couple of them are fractured, and if that's the case I've gotta be careful. Any wrong movement could send a rib fragment straight into an organ and puncture it. I feel as if I need to call out for help, see if anybody is there. Maybe Jane or Johnny, but then I catch my words right before they're about to roll off my tongue... I hear groaning... and shuffling. It sounds like just outside of this fence there are several undead dwellers. I look down at myself again, but not to observe my injuries, but too observe my lack of supplies. When Joseph said no weapons, food, or water, he really meant it. All I have right now are the sweatpants on my legs and the bandages on my body. No weapons, no food, no water. Not even a shirt, or shoes, or even socks.
Then I begin, crucially limping toward the stone walkway to the left of the white, colonial style home. Reaching the walkway I see the gate to the fence at the end, past that... the front yard that I can only assume is crawling with the undead. As I reach for the lock on the gate I can feel the shade that looms across the walkway, chilling the beads of sweat across my forehead. Just before pushing the gate open I reach down and grab one of the larger rocks beside the house, any form of defense can do wonders for me right now.
Holding my left forearm close to my ribcage sort of like a shield I limp toward the street, staggering out into the open. Now that I'm thinking about it maybe it isn't the smartest idea. Then I spot a few undead corpses staggering around in the street, about twenty feet to my right behind an abandoned car. My heart gradually beats faster and faster, then... my heart stops as they begin to stare directly at me, but to my surprise they just let out a groan and stagger on as they were before.
Becoming insanely puzzled I continue to stagger straight forward, down 12th avenue. I look down at myself as I stubble down the sidewalk. Badly bruised all over, staggering, and... also smelling like complete shit. Is it really that simple? They mistook me as one of them. I look up and suddenly see another just ahead on the sidewalk. Filled with curiosity I stay on course, slightly exaggerating my sluggish and injured movements, nearly dragging myself along. As I near closer my heart pounds against my chest faster and faster, I'm now questioning my decision and my sanity. It can't be this easy to trick them into believing I'm one of them. The standing rotting corpse is only about four feet away now, it just stares with it's dead glazed eyes, its rotting face, and its hungry jaw chomps, looking as if it might fall off at any moment. Suddenly it lunges for me, but I had already been half expecting that to happen so I try to side step. The corpse stumbles and falls to its knees. I turn and swing my arm over my head and slam the rock down into the back of it's decaying skull, smashing it's brains out into the grass.
"Huh!" I grunt with severe pain, seriously aggravating my torso injuries. I rest there a moment, kneeling down on one knee, grinding my teeth as I wait for the additional pain to subside.
Maybe they can tell the difference if you're close enough. Maybe I didn't smell dead enough... I don't know, but I need to find a safe place to heal, I have to find food and water.

As I look up at the sun I notice that it must be around noon, which is surprising because I thought it was much later. That's good though, I have more time to find a place and supplies before dark.
Through the heat of the day, the intensity of aimlessly wandering around in an undead ridden world, and through the agonizing pain I feel everywhere, I see a place that may be promising. A small convenient store at the corner of a neighborhood that must've at one time been a nice and calm place to live.

"Hello?" I softly call out, peeking into the small convenient store. The walls are made of a dark red brick, while the face of the store is a wall of glass panels. Half of the windows unfortunately shattered, but the door is wide open.
I slowly step through the door, glass crunching beneath my bare feet, but I hardly feel it. Compared to the pain I'm already in, walking on broken glass is a piece of cake. Through the gloominess I can see what appears to be a back office, the door is wide open. Walking further in I begin to feel uneasy, receiving weird vibes from this place.
I walk in between two empty shelves which at one time were probably full of delicious treats, now all that remains is dust. As I near the back office door I begin to smell something horrid, something strangely... familiar.
Inches away from the door. I place my hand against the door frame, using it as support. For a moment I am hesitant, but then... my stomach churns with fear and disgust. I remember the smell now. Walking through the door I remember the man who had shot himself in the bathroom stall of the gas station near our home.
The office is a bit brighter thanks to the two small narrow windows near the ceiling, one on each of the outside walls. There are papers scattered all over the floor, and on the two desks that are against one of the outside walls everything is knocked over, as if someone attempted to sweep everything off with one fluid motion of their arm. Then, deep down in my stomach I feel nauseous. My eyes meet the empty sockets of a corpse. A man, sitting up against the wall between the two desks. His face has clearly been picked clean by the undead, but the cause of dead is obvious. A black handgun lies in his right hand, and a bullet hole in the side of his head, the edges of the hole cracking along the skull a bit like a spider web.
Behind him, leaning against the desk sits a brown rifle with a scope on it. Covering my nose as I approach him I grab the rifle, yanking it out from behind him. The scope gets caught on his dark red jacket and he falls forward, face landing in his lap. As the corpse sits there, folded like a lawn chair, I notice a bite on the side of his neck. The cause of his suicide? I guess he took the easy way out. But is it really ever easy?
With hesitance I guiltily slide the jacket off the corpse and onto my torso. Doesn't feel good taking clothes from the dead, it's morally wrong and kind of disgusting, but this is pure survival now, and besides... he won't be needing it anymore. Now that I'm warmer, and have a weapon, I feel my survival is better secured. Still exhausted and in pain I call it a day, I need to rest. I slowly close the office door, the click of the lock echoing through the dead and empty store.