Deadman Crawling [m×m]

THREE

He doesn't wait any longer.

He zips up his bag and runs out of the store.

He's close to a panic when he hears footsteps right behind him, loud growling groans following him.

He's stupid.

He's so stupid.

He chances a glance.

His heart plummeting and making him nearly stop.

But he doesn't.

The fear is stronger and pushes him to go faster.

It's an infected.

Their clothes are torn and shredded.  Their skin is bruised with open sores and blisters scattered across their rotting face.  Blood is dripping down their chin, soaking into bits of fabric with pieces of rotting meat hanging in long strips and chunks.

The smell is enough to almost make him puke.

But he swallows the bile down and focuses on running.

He reaches the fire escape, tripping on the fifth stair.

The infected right behind.

Oh god, oh fuck!

He kicks the motherfucker away, making it stumble back and flip over the railing.

He's breathing harshly in relief, but the infected gets up and looks up right at him.

He's still not safe.

He struggles up the ladder with the heavy load on his back.

And only panics further when he feels a bony hand wrap around his ankle.

He looks down and sees the infected about to bite him.

He didn't wrap his legs with duct tape.

He didn't think of it as a possibility.

He didn't think he'd be here.

Without hesitation he grabs a knife and jams it inside the infected's eyes, wincing when it slides right through.

The infected falls back again.

And this time it doesn't make a move to stand back up.

It simply twitches and moans pathetically before reaching to touch it's eye.

Slowly pulling out the blade.

He doesn't stay to watch anymore and makes it to the roof in one piece.

He doesn't bother to hesitate, simply runs across until he makes it to his building and quickly climbs down after making sure he wasn't followed.

Once on the balcony, he strips.

He gets rid of all his clothing covered in zombie bits and heads inside.

His bag and everything on his person falls to the tiled floor in a heap of clanking sound.

After everything is placed down, he hurries to the bathroom where he sets the shower.

Immediately he steps into the cold spray washing away the dirt, the grime, the death.

He rubs his skin raw and checks for any injuries, any bites.

Thankfully, there's none.

When he steps out the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his curved hips, he breaks down.

He knew that person.

He knew that infected.

But that infected didn't know him.

Didn't recognize him.

And he realizes that there may never be a cure for this.  Not for something so... so monstrous, so inhumane.

He can't help but throw up, the bile he held back before, now making it's way up as his memories spring up.

It didn't even look hurt as it slowly dragged the knife out from its socket.

Didn't even look fazed, just stunted.

The dead gleam clear in its face, the malicious intent and hunger shinning in its eyes as it chased him.

He shudders.

He feels disgusted.

And he'll have to do it all over again.