I run until I can't breathe and my lungs burn, and even then I keep going, right up until an oversized branch snaps back and smacks me square in the face. "Son-of-a..." I yell out before slapping a hand over my mouth to shut myself up. My restraint lasts about three seconds before I rip my hand away and gulp in huge mouthfuls of air. My face is stinging like crazy, especially my nose and when I lift my hand to gently prod at it, my finger tips come away smeared with blood.
Exactly what I don't need out here in the open surrounded by flesh eating monsters. I wipe my fingers on my jeans and use my sleeve to try and stem the flow of blood, hoping it isn't broke, even as my eyes water, I'm still quickly scanning the woods. I need to make sure that I'm not attracting every zombie within smelling distance of my blood- not that I'm even sure that's how zombies find their prey, but the idea is terrifying.
I fight the urge to feel sorry for myself and cry. I'm failing miserably without Silas and my Dad here to save me. I'd even be happy to have Abby right about now, at least then I wouldn't be alone. The bleeding eventually stops, though my nose is still sore to the touch. I force myself to keep walking in what I can only hope is the right direction. These woods can't be more than a mile or two thick- at least that's what I tell myself. I don't run again though, the stitch in my side prevents it, even if I'd wanted to- which I don't. It's probably better to save my strength in case I really need to run.
The image of the guy I just killed is burned into my mind and follows me through the trees like a ghost, creeping me out even more. I know technically, the zombies killed him, but I also know that it was the stab of my knife that condemned him to die. I'm almost relieved to have the distraction when a rotting corpse staggers out from between the trees right in front of me and lets out a demonic sounding growl. Thankfully its only the one, and I know I can deal with it.
The training kicks in naturally, like a second nature and gives me a welcome reprieve from my own tortured thoughts as I raise my axe and charge towards the zombie. I don't want to give him enough time to come at me and build any momentum- charging zombies are the most difficult to stop, especially if you are using a melee weapon instead of a gun. The axe slices down into the top of it's head, the contact between blade and skull vibrating up my arm with force, and it stops the creature dead in it's tracks. The zombie drops like a lead balloon and I glance around to make sure the coast is clear before reaching down to retrieve my weapon.
It comes away gummy with half rotten brain matter dripping from the blade in clumps. I make a face as I wipe it off on the remains of the zombies red flannel shirt. The irony that this zombie happens to be dressed like a lumberjack, and I just killed it with an axe, is not lost on me. It's one of those things that Silas would have laughed at, had he been here, and it makes me miss him even more.
I'm not the best judge of distance, but roughly another mile of hiking and I'm out of the woods- literally, not figuratively. I feel a mixture of warring emotions as I step out of the treeline into the direct sunlight and squint. The woods started off as this terrifying thing for me, but now being out in the open has me feeling way too exposed- the woods, though scary, offered a lot more cover.
I briefly consider going back into the trees, but I know there isn't anything for me in there, other than the illusion of safety. I need to find a map, something to eat, and to figure out some kind of rescue plan, so I force myself to continue and cross the grassy ditch and climb up onto the road.
I don't have the river anymore to guide me, so I take an educated guess and start off in my chosen direction. The weather is cool, but the glare of the sun is bright as I trudge along the road. Nausea hits me as my stomach starts growling like crazy and I have to take several deep breaths. I'm so hungry I'm starting to feel sick. I actually begin to heave, but there's nothing in my stomach to even throw up, so I keep walking, forcing one foot in front of the other.
