Stories of the End: A Short Story Collection

The Things You See

(Author's Note: This story contains strong language and harm to animals.)

One:

Someone had tied a zombie to a post.

It had walked in circles around the post until the rope wrapped all the way around, like an overly energetic dog tied to a tree. Unlike a dog, it was too stupid to figure out how to turn itself around and walk the other way to untangle itself. "Max," Dereck instructed quietly, "stay." Max did as he was told, staying still as a rock but keeping his eyes fixed on the zombie. "It's okay. Let's keep it together, buddy."

Good news: with the zombie restrained, killing it would be easy. Well, should be easy. He didn't want to get overconfident. Still, he had a system. That helped.

"Max. Distract."

Max kept a safe distance away, but moved to the zombie's line of sight and began to pace back and forth, whining loudly as he did. The zombie's head snapped towards the dog and it struggled against the rope, fully distracted by the dog. That left Dereck free to sneak around and stab it in the back of the head.

It was disgusting, and he was definitely washing his hands three times when he got back to base. But it worked.

"Okay, Max, okay! Good boy!" Max stopped shining and wagged his tail. "Good job! Who the hell tied this guy up anyway?"

It was tough to tell; it wasn't like whoever had done it left a note that said This is my zombie, he's fine, the window is cracked and I turned on his favorite CD. It was just there. And tied up.

Maybe whoever the zombie had been had been tied up before it turned. That was kind of a worse thought.

The body didn't have anything vital on it, not even a wallet with an ID. Dereck would've carried the body back, but he was in a hurry to get home. He remembered where it was; he could come back for it later and they could do a proper cremation.

The body was gone when he came back the next day. In its place was another, completely different zombie.

Two:

Foot travel was the most common mode of transportation now. That, bikes, or horses, but Dereck had always preferred running. All you needed to stay out of reach was a brisk pace and endurance, and it didn't carry the risks of flat tires or getting thrown.

Still, running also had its risks. Sometimes you tripped over things and busted your ankle. Sometimes you ran through a puddle and soaked your good running shoe for the rest of the day.

And sometimes, people were just complete and utter assholes.

Max shoved his nose against Dereck's cheek. "I'm okay, I'm okay. Shit." He was okay, though he nearly hadn't been. If the snare had wrapped around his flesh ankle, he would've been in much worse shape. Hell, he was lucky his prosthetic hadn't been yanked off by the fall.

"Keep an ear our for me, would you, buddy?" Dereck pulled a pair of wire cutters out of his bag and got to work. "Always come prepared...thanks, Boy Scouts."

It took him longer to cut his leg free than he would've lived, and he spent a good chunk of that time wondering how he'd get away if he had to ditch the leg. None of the plans ended well for him, for obvious reasons. It was a relief when he finally got it cut.

"Who put you here?" Dereck muttered as he looked at what was left of the snare. He was tempted to follow the line and see what might be on the other end, but he knew better. He was just one guy armed only with a knife and a crowbar. The camp didn't hand out guns for routine patrols unless they were at code orange or higher. If shit went wrong, he'd be alone and under-armed. So, instead, Dereck made a mental note of where the snare was. They could send other people back to check on things.