by MC Mars
He woke up ten hours later and reached instinctively for the blade he kept hidden under the pillow, remembering only afterwards that this was not home. After six months it was amazing the habit remained. He grabbed instead the knife he kept hidden in one of his thick leather boots and sat up slowly, scanning the room for the source of the sound that woke him. Nothing. It was hard to take the relative protection of the safe house for granted after months of paranoia. Even here he was not safe, only safer. He leapt out of bed and spun, landing silently on all fours, and peered under the bed. Still nothing. He sheathed the weapon, relaxing only slightly. Satisfied, he left the bedroom and began gathering supplies from the kitchen, everything he could carry. There would be no returning here. They'd catch up soon. He put the 'Bringer Of Mass Bereavement' silently snoring in his backpack.
When he left the small town was still bathed in shadow, though he could see the sun between the mountains like a child peeking through their fingers in a game of hide and seek. It rose reluctantly, probably as afraid of what its light would reveal as he. The streets felt strangely empty, though he knew there were other survivors here. But they could be as dangerous as his pursuers, and he had no wish for company. He set a brisk pace, every sense alert, slipping silently through the shadows after months of practice. He wouldn't escape the town before they came, but if he found the right spot...there!
He landed on an abandoned trailer truck and looked out of the vehicle at his surroundings. The grey concrete road was pitted with rough holes, splashed with blood, a lot of blood, and scattered with bullet casings. Across the street a large building was billowing smoke into the clear blue sky, the flames licking up the outside of the building and setting alight to a pair of curtains that billowed out into the wind. The relentless, insistent moaning and screaming of the dead surrounded him. The zombies were everywhere. He let out his packaged C4 from his bag and threw it in the middle of the crowd of ghouls. It was timed to explode in minutes. The undead followed the thud of the thrown explosives.
He moved away from the truck with cryptic steps until he reached for a ladder leading to a grocery shop's roof. Then it exploded. The dead dropped motionless, burning around the bomb that just exploded. Looking around he could see the streets were now deserted, nothing moved. The whistling wind and the crackling fire was all he could hear. This was unnerving, he knew he was in a supposed crowded town, he could see building tops for miles around, there should be more sounds, cars, people, even gun fire. Nothing.
Then darkness came like a thief, pilfering the sun's rays one by one. As night plucked the last ray from the horizon, he leapt silently from rooftop to rooftop, making his way out of town to wait. He would travel through the night, arriving at his destination by morning. He smiled. One more day.
