Zombie Hour (sequel to zombie game)

chapter 21

21

The days and weeks and months had nearly passed in a blur. Joe and his friends had not encountered any zombies on their way except the occasional stray that would come across their path. But no deadly hordes. Joe had been the leader of this group, yet again, and he made all the decisions; he had—well they had—all decided to go hunting for a night, see if there was any deer around, or any sort of animal that would be a source of meat, since the only things that had been eaten were the countless numbers of nonperishable food items that had been brought with all of them after they had left the CDC. They had succeeded in killing a deer. They had brought it with them to camp and chopped it up, gutted it, and cooked it over a small, somewhat cool of a flame. No big bond fires here because they didn't wanna attract attention just in case some zombie or human were around to see them camping their. They had slept peacefully, and the day after eating the deer, they began their walking with a renewed vigor, looking for something—anything—that would be better than living on the street, where food was the main issue, as well as the health care of the others and water, since they hadn't found any sort of stream or lake or any body of water for that matter for miles and miles and miles. In short, they didn't know where their next meal was coming from half the time. They had all matured since the events of that town when Mike was viciously shot in the head, his body dismembered and eaten by a couple of cannibals. They had become a lot stronger as a whole—but as individuals, they had become monsters in a sense. Joe feared that the entirety of the people of this little group were losing their humanity—he became afraid that one day, one of these people in his group, would come around, kill everybody in the group before taking their own lives, which was what this world had apparently come to; death, death, more death and the fear of a fellow group member who one loved turning on them, slaughtering them in their sleep to perhaps save them from this more brutal world, which, in fact, death was the last resort.

Joe and his friends had been traveling for quite a long time. They had traveled along many villages that had been ravaged by war, cities that had buildings that were sheered in half and crumbling, places where strange creatures and zombies were roaming, places that were filled with bloodshed and death and every turn and every which way they looked. It was around midday, a couple of months later, when Joe and his companions stopped, looking around at the clouds that had become thick in the sky, blotting out the sun, creating shadows that danced across the sidewalks and streets, as they came across a large, city that was shrouded in dirt and ash. Joe went to a large building that was standing right beside him, opening the door, raising his machine gun, and stepping slowly and silently through the building, searching it, trying to make sure that there was nobody living in these houses, that he was all alone. A few moments later he came out the front door and nodded, signifying that it was clear to everyone he was traveling with.

“We will stay here for awhile,” said Joe. “Later I'll take a couple of you and we'll go hunting, looking for some more meat.”

“Sounds good,” replied Tom, “I am glad we have found someplace.”

“Me too,” muttered Linda, holding her arm in her hand. The blood had spread down her arm, creating a crimson tint that was still present along the wound. A bit of caked on blood traced a line down her entire arm, stopping at the hand. Joe stepped back into the building, the rest of his friends following him. He reached the spiral staircase and looked up it into a dark abyss.

“We're gonna go up here,” said Joe.

“Are you sure?” asked Tom.

“Yes. I was just up here.” Joe led the way, slowly climbing up the staircase, the steps creaking like the bones of an old person. He held his hand on the banister, as did the rest of the friends as they made their way up into the darkness. A few cobwebs were intertwined within the rotting away wooden pillars that held this part of the building together. The smell of death and decay was present in the room—in the building—as a whole. They stepped through the darkness. Joe saw a dust couch sitting in the middle of the dark and dirty room and he decided to sit in it, a bit tired from the journey they had just taken to get here.

“When are we gonna go hunting?” asked Tom.

“In a few. I think we all deserve a little bit of a rest in someplace that is somewhat comfortable,” replied Joe. He rested on the couch for awhile, as did the rest of them.

A few hours later Joe awoke and told everyone that he and Tom were going to go hunting and that Carl had to stay with Linda. Everyone agreed, so Joe grabbed a pistol and slung it across his waist, taking the machine gun he had as well and slinging it across his back. Tom had a knife and sword and a .45 pistol. They stepped outside. The sun had finally come out. The brightness of it sent pins and needles striking Joe in the eye, having only bee accustomed to the darkness of the building they were now taking residence in. They were going to go hunting for deer, or any other animals, that would produce a substantial amount of meat. They needed protein. Or they would die.

Joe crept along the streets that were littered with already rotten away carcasses, as well as the dilapidated cars that lined the streets. He led the way. Tom was right behind him. They hadn't seen much except for the barren landscape that this city now was, but they were still confident that soon, very soon, they would find the deer, kill it and eat it, without trouble. But they still had to be wary of the zombies that would inevitably come and find them and kill them. It was just a matter of time. They came across several cars that had skeletons in them. The skin had rotted away from the bones over the months that had passed, leaving nothing but bloodstained bones.

Suddenly Joe saw something dart between the cars. He saw the brown, furry back legs, as well as the head that shown white in the shadows. He aimed his pistol at the deer and was about to fire when Tom stopped him.

“Lemme go and kill it with a knife. If you fire a shot, it might attract attention,” said Tom.

“Alright,” said Joe. Tom slunk around, toward the car, knife out, and once he saw the deer he reared around to stab it, but it had already gone, presumably having sensed its own demise. Tom saw the deer bounding through the city as if it were a meadow filled with trees and flowers, and he was about to go after it, but he didn't, because he knew, since he had hunted deer before, that if it ran away nobody would be able to catch it so it would be a waste of precious energy, specially now, in these times, if he did try to catch the deer, so he stopped himself. He slid the blade into the waistband of his jeans and turned back around, looking at Joe.

“If only we still had your crossbow,” muttered Tom.

“I know. But it probably would have been the same anyway. The deer would have gotten away anyway,” said Joe.

“True,” muttered Tom, a small hint of disdain in his voice. So they continued their search for a deer they could eat. Joe was still leading, his gun out. Tom suddenly stopped.

“What's wrong?” asked Joe.

“I hear something,” muttered Tom. Joe stopped and he too heard it. It sounded like a small moaning sound. Maybe zombies. Or humans. Who knew in this world?

Joe pinned himself to the wall, listening to the sounds intently. He heard them coming from the other side of the wall he was standing behind. He dared a glance around and what he saw made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up to know end, creating an icy chill that poked down his spine in his fear. What was on the other side of the wall were zombies. Hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands of them. They couldn't stay here. They had to go.

Now.