The Pain of Survival

[Vulture]

"So we're headed east?" Aldo asked, craning his neck to have a look at the map. His dreadlocks brushed against the paper. He absently raked them aside with a dirty hand. "What's in Indiana? Aside from Indianapolis, I mean."

He looked out the window. The light was losing its golden quality, turning instead to the blue glow that heralds a Midwestern night. Aldo had been scared of the dark as a child. Lying in bed, listening to his dad mutter to himself or snore heavily, all the little creaks and pings the poorly maintained old house had made. He hadn't slept much some nights, simply huddled under the covers and wondered what was out there in the darkness. Horrible images of dinosaur-like creatures and wolves on their hind legs had filled his juvenile mind, beasts clawing at the closet door, the window, the very edges of reality. He had gradually lost the fear as he grew older, replacing it for more mature, realistic fears- what if the house burns down in the night? What if we're robbed? What if Dad finally loses his temper and hits me too hard? Realistic, yes, probable, no.

And now there were monsters in the world, beasts walking in the night, creatures that could not be reasoned with or fended off by the expedient of a blanket over the head. The night was dangerous now. They were all back where they had started. They were all children once more. The situation had seen to that.

It just wasn't fair.

Aldo screwed his thumbs into his eyes, aghast at the monstrous injustice of it all. About to start life as an independent adult, and here he was.

"Looks like we'll be sleeping in the car again," he said. His voice cracked slightly as he fought to maintain control, to keep a level tone. "We should try and find supplies again in the morning. Gas, food, anything."

[Mammoth]

"Fuck that." Jack said, staring out the window blankly, responding to Aldo speaking about sleeping in a truck. "Lets go. There's bound to be a farmhouse around here somewhere."

His voice didn't carry any weight or volume at his almost gray face stared off into the darkening night. Randy scooped up the map off of the hood and folded it up, handing it to Jack through the window. The two didn't make eye contact, seemingly still holding their conflict close to the chest. Once everyone was safely inside the truck, Jack fired it up and threw it into gear, slowly moving off into the east. As they passed by the car laying in the ditch, Jack slowed down to peer into it and see if there was anything of use. It was empty, except for a man who clearly had given up on living. If he could feel anything right now, he might have been disgusted or sad, but Jack just looked back to the road and continued.

Jack rubbed his eyes as he drove, the night coming about faster than he had hoped. Before too long they had pulled up alongside a small cottage nestled behind a silo and some cornfields. There were no cars around and no signs of anyone still being here. Jack shut off the truck as he pulled it up to the small house. It looked to be a few rooms, but it was only one story. He opened the door to the car and looked around, climbing out and pulling the hatchet from his belt. He was exhausted, almost too tired to think about being scared. Almost.

Slowly walking up to the door he looked around and nodded everyone to join him. Randy was the last out of the car.

"I'll check 'round the back. Gotta take a leak anyway." Randy said, walking around the side of the building, still holding the last empty bottle of whiskey he had from the cooler in the truck.

Jack nodded calmly an reached over to grab the handle of the door. As he did so, his hands started to shake again.

Damn it, Jack. Stop being such a God damned pussy. He thought, getting angry with himself as the words that Randy so eloquently used shot through his mind again. He released the handle and knocked. Nothing. He knocked again. Nothing. Grasping the handle, he turned it and heard the latch pop loose. Tensely, he pulled open the door.

"Hey... Anyone home? We're not tryin' to hurt anyone. Just looking for a place to stay for the night..." He said. No response.

Looking behind him, he checked to see if Aldo still had his pipe, and to make sure Harper was behind him since she didn't have a weapon. Walking tensely into the small cottage, he could see it had been thoroughly tossed. Whomever had lived here either left in a hurry, or... He didn't want to think about the or. Clasping the hatchet tightly, Jack took a deep breath and walked through the open hallway into the kitchen...

[Aufidius]

Her skin had become a little too pink, adding a slightly unnatural hue to the otherwise beautiful face. It was almost certainly a consequence of rolling his thumb over the picture in this exact spot, time and time again, a fact Gavin recognised. He withdrew his thumb from over the photograph and studied it for a moment longer. Despite the faint discolouring, his daughter's face shone like a beacon of happiness - her smile, her eyes, even the way her head tilted slightly towards her dad. She was sat gently on his knee, with her mother knelt down on the other side. This was her first day of sixth grade, and grandad had said her face was so happy, so beautiful on that morning, that a family photo had to be taken right there and then.

"Stay safe, both of you..." Gavin whispered, putting the photograph back into his wallet, as he exhaled deeply and flicked a tear away from the corner of his eye.

"Hey... Anyone home? We're not tryin' to hurt anyone. Just looking for a place to stay for the night..." The voice was deep, male. 'We' - that meant at least a couple. Fuck...

Gavin pressed his hand around his jaw and bit his bottom lip. He went to move, but then didn't, as if his body was telling him something before his mind kicked in. His leg was twitching - fight or flight...

"Shit, did they knock? Why do you let yourself get in these bloody trances? Ellie won't have a dad if you don't fucking focus!" He pushed the words out in a whisper, through a clenched jaw wound tight through frustration and fear. The voice claimed they had come peacefully, but this was hell on earth, and devils lied.

Exhaling one more time, Gavin considered his options. First, he could call down stairs in reply. If they were friendly, they'd all get along, end of problem. If they weren't, they'd all call back friendly anyway and get ready to smash his head in. Bad idea. Second, he could sit tight and wait. They'd come across him eventually, but again, if they weren't friendly, he would be cornered in a small upstairs room. Bad idea. Third, he could try and sneak down and have a peak. If they didn't look like a problem, he could confront them but have a cleaner escape route should he need it. If they looked like five members off the WWE tour bus, he could get out the house, hopefully unseen. The third option wasn't great, but it was the best he had.

Slowly, he stood up and opened the door a little, taking a quick look out. He knew the door creaked if opened fully, so he held it just enough to squeeze his body through. Light still flooded the bottom floor, so there was no chance of skulking in shadows like the next coming of Rambo; his best hope was to inch his way down the stairs and take a look; he could then decide if to leg it or not. You've been in a few scrapes you old git, he thought, get some bloody bottle, and if it comes to it, fight like your daughter's life depends on it!

When he was two or three steps down, he bent his head over to take a look. The view wasn't clear, but it looked like two guys and a woman. One of the lads was skinny, barely more than a kid from what he could see. The other guy was bigger, thicker set and looked about thirty-five or so, if he had to guess. The lady looked late 20s, perhaps, he wasn't sure, but it soon didn't matter. As he put his foot on the next step down, the floorboard decided it would be the next inanimate incarnation of Luciano Pavarotti. The creak filled the otherwise quiet house. So much for those options... just try not to come off like too much of a pussy...

Deciding that peaceful confrontation was pretty much the only way forward, Gavin tucked the kitchen knife into his belt and came down the rest of the stairs. As he stood at the bottom, facing in towards the kitchen he caught their faces fully for the first time. They looked like normal people, just like him. Desperate, perhaps, but who wasn't? He rolled over phrases in his mind, trying not to sound too soft but without lighting any fuses that might start something nasty. The big guy did have a hatchet in his hand, after all.

"It ain't my place, just holing up for a day or so." He paused in an effort to release the tension in his voice. "Just thought I'd see who you were before calling back; where you guys from?"

[cider]

Wayne looked at the digital watch by the bed. 8 am, Sunday. He scratched his beard while looking outside his open window, before getting dressed. The sun was already up and shining, and its rays pleasantly spread their warmth to Wayne's naked feet as he descended the stairs.
"Good morning", a scratchy male voice offered. Wayne smiled at Harry, sitting by the kitchen table, before grabbing a mug. He sat down opposite Harry and poured himself some coffee.
"Where is everyone?" he asked. This time a Sunday morning usually meant everyone was eating breakfast.
"Kathy is sleeping in. Matt and Carl are outside unloading the truck. We're going to the Sunday fair, see if we can find something of use. You could tag along."
"Nah man, you go. I'm gonna fuck all today", Wayne answered before receiving a 'fair enough' reply. He noticed the kitchen radio was turned off. "Listened to the news yet?"
"Yeah, and that's why I turned the damn thing off. They're going all spastic over a flu or some shit, advising people to stay indoors. Can you believe that shit?"
Wayne shrugged and grabbed a piece of toast. "You mean they're warning us to go outside here?"
"That's the thing - it's nationwide. Utterly ridiculous." Carl shouted from outside that they were ready to go. Harry finished his coffee and headed for the door. "We'll be back by three at the latest. Clean the kitchen when you're done."

With that, Harry left. A minute later Wayne could hear the truck driving off as he finished his toast. He flicked on the radio. Commercial break. A nationwide flu appearing over night? What the fuck? Wayne knew there had been no mentioning of it last night as he'd been listening to the very same radio before heading to bed. Whatever it was or wasn't, it sure was weird. He finished his coffee and went to take a leak. When he came back, the news where back on.
“-the disease that has been contracted by these unidentified citizens appears to be extremely contagious. It is advised that people stay in their homes until absolutely necessary. If you have come into contact with an infected person, please quarantine yourself and contact emergency services immediately.”
"What the fuck", Wayne said, this time aloud. It sure did sound more serious than Harry had made it out to be. Suddenly Wayne could hear the stairs creak. He turned around and saw Kathy, Harry's wife, coming down the stairs. By the confused look on her face, it appeared she had heard the news as well.
"Where's Harry?"
"He took the other farmhands to the Sunday fair. Said he'll be back by three."
"What?! Didn't he listen to that?" she asked, voice raised, and pointed at the radio.
"I'm sure it's nothing. It always is, Kathy."

8 hours after the outbreak

"You said he'd be back by three, Wayne!" Kathy said angrily as she headed towards her car. "This is fucking serious, we gotta go find him."
They had been listening constantly to the radio for the past hour, not being able to move from it. There was a death toll now, and it kept rising. The local mayor had already made a speech, and rumors had it the president would be giving a speech later. Either way, over a thousand people were already confirmed dead, and reports about riots were just hitting the news.
"Calm down Kathy! You should stay here, I'll go there."
"Are you kidding me? This is Harry we're talking about, there's no way in hell I'm staying here!" she screamed, and then realized how loud she had just shouted. She sighed and turned back towards the car. Fine, Wayne thought.
"Fine! We'll both go, just hang on a sec." He went back into the house and up to the Hatchet's bedroom. And there it was - Harry's old shotgun, a 12 gauge Remington 870. He made sure it was loaded and went back to the car, which Kathy already had started.
"What the hell?" she said, staring at the shotgun.
"They're talking about riots and shit now. I'm just not taking any chances. Let's go."

10 hours after the outbreak

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! Hang on, Kathy! I'll get you out of here, yeah? Just hang on!" Wayne said, his voice shifting between whispering and screaming. He had just put Kathy in the back seat of the car. She was bleeding profusely from a wound in her thigh, although Wayne had did his best to cut the blood flow off with his shirt. With no medical experience, it was a safe bet that shit wouldn't work, though. He heard growling behind him, closed the back door and quickly lunged into the driver's seat, reaching for the shotgun on the passenger side. He could almost feel the man tugging at his back when he turned around and kicked the man away, shoving the shotgun in the mans face while standing up.
"I'll fucking shoot you, you piece of shit. GET DOWN!" The man seemed to be in a crazed frenzy and didn't listen at all, walking straight at the barrel. Wayne hit the man square in his face with the butt of his shotgun and got back in the car, shotgun in his lap. He threw his seatbelt on and started driving. This was insane. They had come to town finding it in complete chaos with looters everywhere. Then everything had turned unreal as they saw a man eating another man's face. What the fuck! Wayne had kicked the attacker in the head without thinking, when another crazy motherfucker had come up from behind and thrown Kathy to the ground, biting off a chunk of her thigh before Wayne kicked him off as well and pulled Kathy into the car. They hadn't been in town more than a few minutes, while Harry had been there for most of the day...

The closest hospital was about half an hour away in a neighboring town, and Wayne wasn't sure if they were going to make it in time. He knew from movies that there was a big artery or some shit in the human thigh, and judging by the disgusting amount of blood Kathy had already lost, that crazy fucking cannibal had severed it. Cannibal? CANNIBAL?! The flu, which it obviously was not, must be the cause of that. No way two bloody cannibals decided to have a snack in the middle of the street just like that. Wayne realized he was taking his mind off Kathy, trying to rationalize things - as if that was possible. This wasn't happening.
"I'm getting you to the hospital! Stay awake!" he drove back out of town, not noticing the chaos around him anymore. He drove for what felt like an eternity, looking for the exit leading to the hospital. Then he noticed Kathy had gone quiet. Shit.
"Kathy? Kathy are you still awake? KATHY!" He turned around and what he saw was not something he would ever forget. Kathy was awake, but as weird as it sounded he could swear it wasn't Kathy. She stared at him with empty eyes and open mouth, and then lunged at him.
"FUCK! Get the fuck off me!" he screamed and slammed his foot on the brake while at the same time grabbing the handbrake. Next thing he knew, the car was lying halfway into the ditch. The front shield was broken. Thirty yards ahead, Kathy was laying on the ground. He exited the car with the Remington held firmly in his hands. The afternoon sun warmed his skin and the birds in a near-by tree chirped happily. This would have been a beautiful Sunday, had it been any other Sunday. He approached Kathy, and to his own horror saw that her back was severely broken and twisted in ways that should not be possible - and she were still clawing at him! He looked at her in chock.
"How are you even still alive?" he asked in a low voice. Her empty eyes stared at him as she tried to drag herself towards him, biting in the air. "Are you?" He paused, then raised his shotgun, hands shaking for the first time since he had killed that woman so many years ago.

Roughly one week after the outbreak

Wayne looked at the digital watch by the bed. 8 am, Monday. He made sure his window was still boarded up and grabbed the shotgun by the bed. He had sealed of the stairs - the entire ground floor. The only way to get to the second floor was climbing up one of the three metal ladders Wayne had placed out. During the last week he had realized that the biters, as he called them, were unable to climb ladders. When Kathy... died, he had continued to the hospital only to find it in even worse state than what he had previously seen. Complete and utter chaos. He drove back to the homestead and barricaded doors and windows. Since then, he had been listening to the radio and watching the news all throughout every day. The infection spread rapidly, and no one knew the death toll anymore. Millions upon millions of people had died, and the army struggled to maintain the quarantine zones in some of the larger cities. Wayne had contemplated trying to reach one of them, but decided to stay put until the army got things under control. And if they didn't... well, he sure as hell didn't want to be in a big city if the walls came tumbling down. On the fourth day, over twenty or so biters had appeared from nowhere and almost broke through the supposedly barricaded door, before wandering off again after Wayne went into hiding until the next day. That event had convinced him he wasn't as safe as he thought, and so he moved everything of worth upstairs, set up ladders and sealed the stairs.

Yesterday, however the electricity had been cut off. The phone lines were dead, too. The only communication he had left was the kitchen radio, which allowed him to do little in the way of actually communicating. His food supplies were dwindling too, even though he ate sparsely. He had yet to meet another person who wasn't infected, and judging by the news reports most people huddled down in the quarantine zones. He had to go outside, however, had to find supplies. At least he wouldn't have a problem with fuel yet, as Harry had stored a stack of fuel cans in the garage. Weapons wouldn't be a problem either. He had plenty of shells left. In fact, he hadn't fired the Remington once since he left Kathy. Now, he walked to the supply room upstairs and ate breakfast. Toast and coffee. At least something remained the same. He then pulled out a map of the larger surrounding area. As he thought, the only place likely to have supplies was indeed Harry's own property, a cottage about half an hour's drive east of the homestead. Unless it had been looted, of course. If so, it would have had to been immediately following the outbreak, since no cars had passed by the homestead in the last five days. Not as far as Wayne knew, anyway.

He made sure he was properly dressed in thick clothes. All he knew about these biters was that you could not communicate with them and that their infection spread through contact. The news reports had told him that they only stayed down if their brain stopped functioning, so he knew that too. Didn't know how the fuck it was possible, though. After taking his jacket, he grabbed the shotgun and a box of shells and climbed down to Kathy's car. He had tried t oclean it, but there was still dried blood in there. He hesitated for a moment, standing next do the car. Man up, Wayne. It's dried fucking blood, she's not in there. He got in the car, put a duffle bag and the Remington on the passenger seat and drove off.