The Madness Inside Us

Catch Me If You Can

Close.  They're so close.

I can hear their inhuman grunts and snarls just behind me, so close now that I can feel their rancid breath on the back of my neck

I move down the highway in a dead sprint, desperately wishing for a motorcycle, a car, anything to be on the road so I can take shelter or drive away from this horde of flesh-eaters snapping at my heels.

I would pick a motorcycle that shits out.  Nevermind that now, just MOVE, goddammit.

My legs pick up the pace a little, but my body screams out in protest, muscles burning and feeling as if they'd snap from the tension.

Oh yeah,  and the fucking stab wound in my gut doesn't exactly help with the whole running thing either.  Blood soaks through my gray tank onto my torn-up shirt.  I take a minute to thank whoever was listening that the adrenaline was numbing even a little of the sharp, radiating pain.  Lungs wheeze and spasm with every gasping breath.  My arms pump harder still, and I gain a little headway from the creepy ass shits reaching for my flesh.

Fucking fresh zombies suck some serious ass, man.

I reach the crest of the hill on the road and see a sparkle ahead, a shine on the road.

A car.

There is a group of people gathered around the car, I can see as I get closer.  Combat boots pound against the ground and I can't even think about how I haven't eaten in days, or seen even a drop water.  I press my hand against the stab wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood from leaking even more onto the leg of my cargo pants.  The pack on my back smacks down with every desperate stride I take.

The group's heads snap up at me as I run back down the hill toward them and all I can think is how I want these people to move, to get out of the way of the horde and to safety and NOT end up like I'm about to.

Let's just hope they'll give me mercy before they go.

"RUN," I screech as loud as I dare.  The arm not clutching my side waves them forward as I will them to get in the truck and get the hell out of there.  "They're coming fast, GO!"

Eyes widen at my rapidly approaching figure.  I am only about a football field and a half away from them now.  And the Zs? Too fucking close for comfort.  I tear my already destroyed shirt from my body, hardly breaking stride, and press it to my abdomen, soaking up some fresh blood before flinging it behind me, hoping the Zs were as stupid as they were horrifying.

Sure enough, several of them stop to grapple over my bloody shirt, all trying to bring it to their already bloody mouths to taste.  It gives me a couple minutes to get out of there.

At last, I reach the group.

"What's goin' on, kid"?, asks a startled man with white hair and a beard that, any other time, I would think was kick-ass.  But right now, I just wanted to kick all their asses for not listening.

"Y'all gotta go.  There's a horde of Zs coming, and they're fast."

Who I assume is the leader of the group steps forward, looking on in horror as the pack at the crest of the hill runs, snarling, right at all of you.

"I guess they finally figured out that shirt was just soaked with blood, and not actually Manwich", I huff.  My heart is thumping unevenly now against my ribs.

I'm dying.  I've lost too much blood.

Everyone in the group starts to hurriedly pack their gear up in the truck, jumping in and dragging me into the bed before taking off.  I lean up against the back window and look around at the people I owe my life to.

In front of me kneeling by the tailgate, a tall boy with dark hair around my age lifts his rifle to his eye and fires, taking out two of the zombie assholes at once.

I smile at him, mouth pulling up to one side, and mutter, "you're a hell of a shot, huh?".

Pink colors his tan cheeks and he grins back at me.

My vision starts to become spotted and I drop to my left side, grasping again at my newly acquired fucking belly button on the right.

The bearded badass's hands are grabbing me, trying to keep me awake and I so want to listen to him but the darkness overtaking me is so warm and gentle that I struggle.

Do not go gentle into that good night.  Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Some part of me awakens at that thought and I manage to keep barely conscious.  I listen to them all call to each other, communicating about me.  Doc, that was the name of Beardy Badass.  The boy was 10k.  I crack my eyes open and blink through the black spots, searching for something, anything, to hold on to.  To keep me here.

My eyes lock onto two blue ones.  I stare up at a startled-looking 10k, shallow breaths gasping out of my mouth, as Doc calls out about there still being a large slab of knife blade in my gut. Doc apologizes about not having time for painkillers as he digs around for the blade before it works its way into any important organs.  I yell out and strain so hard to keep the rest of my screams of torment inside that I can feel tiny blood vessels burst in my eyes.  My hands clutch at the rough material of the truck's bed and find someone's long, calloused fingers.  They clutch back.

"FUCKING SON OF A WHORE", I holler out, and 10k's eyes go so wide it would be funny if I weren't fucking dying.

"Sorry kid.  It's out now.  Just stay awake.  I'm getting you stitched up", Doc says, smoothing my sweaty black hair back.  My eyes sag and I'm feeling cold now, and I hear him order 10k to keep me awake but it sounds wrong, too far away, and I can feel myself slipping and I start to panic, but then....

I feel 10k's warm hands on my face, patting it lightly, stroking my cheeks, and his soft voice breaks through the haze and darkness and reaches me.  I manage to open and find his eyes with my own light green ones, and hold fast onto his gaze as we rocket down the highway toward safety, Doc stitching me up.