Rayford did not say much, and all I could do was look out the window. It isn't like a movie, where random objects—like strollers and empty dog leashes—are simply flipped upside down or left on sidewalks to make it appear like a disaster area. The town structure itself seemed relatively normal, with yard décor and running streetlights.
Except for a few crashed cars that smoked, the world seemed devoid of anything animated. Only every so often—a person walked crookedly in the middle of the street, vomiting and groaning—proving that they were out there.
It wasn't until we pulled out of the suburbia side-streets and into a four-lane city road that the true reality began to show itself in gruesome ways. The simple, unimportant road perused through shopping mall parking lots, theaters, small business, eight or nine car dealerships and large signs for concerts and hospital fundraisers. This area of town, without any tall buildings, trees, or places to hide—it's obvious, once I force my mind to think about it—anyone in the usual city crowd would succumb first. The busiest—rather than the most "populated"—would fall. And fall quickly.
There were bodies—a lot of bodies—flesh twisted and deflated. Those that were not bitten and converted, but devoured. They looked like little naked elflings, lying in heaps, in yards, on door steps, hanging out of open vehicle windows. Jaws hanging unnaturally wide, and the scarlet torn threads of skin left in the bony places.
Stripped clean.
YOU ARE READING
Bite
HorrorA motley crew of survivors during the zombie apocalypse head for a skyscraper where safety is promised. A short story that tries to answer the question - what do ZOMBIES think about?
