We pulled into the interstate for a short time. It was gridlocked, but there was something comforting about all the cars. It wasn't until we began driving down the grass median that we realized most of them were empty and left running. Many had bodies leaning halfway through doors and among the tires, and we passed many a tottering undead that bent over a driver, ripping pieces of skin and muscle tissue from their unprotected arms.
We passed an old woman hobbling down the yellow lines with her walker. Rayford slowed and beeped his horn, and she turned slowly towards us, her mouth dripping with raw strips of bloodied meat. We moved on.
Pulling off the interstate into downtown, the wide roads curved and made my carsickness worse. I groaned and hid my face in my hands, not wanting to look at the rolling landscape.
The Ebon Center towered black, a hopeful sanctuary at twenty-five stories and once served many businesses in the district. I had only been there a few times in my life—my parent's bank was on the fourth floor. I never thought I would come here in a time of mayhem and the end of my world.
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?
