No More Anything

Chapter Five: The Meeting

The pain in Blake's feet couldn't compare to what his heart felt. In a matter of hours, he had gone from a scared college kid wanting to go home to his mommy, to someone who would do anything to protect himself, even if that means murdering whatever monsters or freaks were roaming the streets. His whole life, Blake had always been the kind of person to avoid confrontation. Working at a grocery store, however, had hardened him up a little, but not much. He still hated arguments of any kind, and he always prayed the smallest ones wouldn't lead to any kind of physical resolution, though the situation had never come up. Him and his sister were just like his parents, who were both very stubborn, which was a blessing and a curse. This led to multiple arguments over the years, all four of them instigating their fair share. 

He had been walking for hours, and wasn't planning on stopping until he reached the stadium. The sun was starting to go down, but he didn't care. He had an objective and he was sticking by it: to get to his parents. He knew they were worried to death, not knowing if their son was still alive or not. To be quite honest, Blake was worried too. His mind was filled with all the anxieties and "what-ifs" of his situation. What if he never made it to the stadium to be saved? How would his parents know if anything happened to him? He shook his head as he walked, trying to clear the negativity from his mind and focus on where he was headed. 

He couldn't get over the fact that he seemed to be one of the only people left in Charlotte. As he walked, he was looking around at all the empty buildings and shops, all of which were once full of businessmen in suits running around, doing whatever it is their bosses had probably ordered them to do. The streets were always packed too, covered in cars and pedestrians, but there was none of that anymore, none of the movement and activity that Charlotte usually had. Instead, all the cars were abandoned in the road, their doors, hoods, and trunks left open. The very few vehicles that weren't left open, however, had biters that were sitting in the seats, snarling and clawing at the windows, watching as Blake walked by. He stopped to look at a few of the cars, but there was one that really bothered him. At one point, he had walked up to a minivan with a male and a female in the front seat, and children in all the backseats, all of whom had been turned. The entire family was snarling at the windows, and Blake was able to see that each person, children and all, had bloody gashes across their throats. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he walked by, continuing on his way.

Eventually, Blake walked past a green, metal sign he'd been hoping to see for half a day. The sign read "stadium" with big capital letters and a big white arrow pointing to the left, indicating the street to take.  For the first time in a while, he smiled as he followed the sign. Could this be it? Could he finally be going home? His answers and dreams were quickly shot down upon seeing the stadium. Even from this far away, he could see that every sign that there was a football team that had ever played here had been taken down, and replaced with the American flag, all of which had been ripped and torn to shreds. He could see sandbags, green tents, and Humvees outside in the main entrance...all of which looked like they had been abandoned. There were no soldiers, or civilians, for that matter. Pulling a flashlight from the belt the soldier gave him, he clicked it on. He could see that there was half of a sign that said "safehouse" lying on the ground, and upon inspection, Blake could see that it wasn't broken, it had been cut. The half with the word "safe" had been thrown to the ground with black paint smeared all over it. 

Not believing his eyes, he walked forward and moved the flashlight around, slack-jawed. The amount of dead bodies on the ground was like something out of a horror movie. The bodies were of various people, but the majority of them seemed to be soldiers, all wearing the same uniform as the soldier Blake had started his journey with. Upon further investigation, he noticed that all the bodies, men, women, and children alike, had bullet holes in their heads. He felt sick to his stomach. Who could do something like this? It was one thing to kill a few biters to defend yourself, but to slaughter an entire group of people? Whoever did this had a lot of men, and a lot of firepower, for sure.