To The Grave

Chapter 28. Randall. Day 136.

I sat down on the sidewalk, giving up. Marty turned around briefly. He continued for a moment before turning back quickly. "Come on, there's nowhere to stay around here."

"There's houses. With beds, maybe food." I groaned. "We've walked maybe seven miles. I don't think I should be walking with a concussion. I just want to sleep."

"We need to get back." He snapped.

I shook my head, removing my broken glasses. "You need to get back. I don't have shit waiting for me back there. You can keep walking all night, but I have a bruise on my brain and I want to sleep."

He tossed the backpack to the ground. "Don't sleep with a concussion."

"Why, cause I might die? We might also die standing here, or in an hour when we walk into a group of rotters or tomorrow when people find us and kill us for our supplies." I shouted at him. Groans echoed in the distance.

"Help me find a car. Then you can die all you want." He muttered, walking up the street towards a car parked in a drive way. I stood up, struggling to maintain his speed. He pulled on the door, opening it widely. I leaned against the small sedan looking at the corpses finding their way towards us. I held the knife up, slowly moving closer to them.

My leg extended, the knife swinging down onto another corpse's head. I spun around quickly, seeing one approaching Marty and the car.

"Look out." I screamed. He turned holding out a knife, slashing the corpse down. I ran over to him, pulling him closer to the house. "We need to stop for the night." I pushed the door open, slamming my shoulder into it.

Marty and I ran into the house, slamming it behind us. Marty pushed a couch in front of it, struggling with the weight. We stumbled up the stair together, our legs wobbling below us.

I sat down on a bed, feeling Marty crawl beside me. "Find your own bed." I groaned. He pulled the leg of his pants up, revealing the swollen gash on his knee and the bruise surrounding it. I let out a disgusted gag. I stood up, digging through the backpack, pulling out some bandages. I stumbled through the house, finding a bathroom.

I fumbled through everything finding rubbing alcohol and band-aids. I returned to Marty, pouring the liquid onto his leg wiping off the bubbles quickly.He groaned in pain. I quickly wrapped it up, laying back down.

"What if we die, Marty?" I asked, my head hitting the pillow.

I could feel him shrug, "Would it be a bad thing?"

"Shut up." I snapped, rolling onto my side.

"I mean it. If we die, tonight, we won't have to spend whatever little bit of life we get, hungry and cold and watching people die and starve and kill us."

I kicked my leg into him. "Shut up."