Waiting to Die (Book 2): Wasting Away Read online

Mary led me to the kitchen.

  Empty food cans lined the counters. A light film graced the granite tops, making them look dingy in the afternoon sun. I could smell spent food in the air, but didn’t let on.

  She found a map in one of the drawers, unfolded it, and placed it on the dining room table. She marked the location of the grocery store and traced a line with her finger from the apartment. It was only a few blocks away and down a couple of side streets. I penciled in the path she indicated and studied it until I knew exactly what route I would take.

  I emptied my pack and checked to make sure that my pistol was loaded. I must have checked it four or five times before I was satisfied. I removed the clip and slid it back, checked the sight and aimed, felt the weight in my hand and lowered the barrel to make sure it was real. Everything had a ghostly quality. After finding someone else who had survived, the tension from the dead made me anxious.

  Mary watched as I checked the weapon. “Does it help to go over it like that?” she asked. “Is it like some sort of meditation?”

  “No,” I replied. “It’s more out of nervousness. It doesn’t help to calm me at all. It just keeps reminding me of what I have to do.”

  “Then why put yourself through it again?”

  “Because, in life, there are some things bigger than me,” I said.

  Being safely tucked away with Mary had put me on edge - it had allowed me to let my guard down. When I was out there among them, I knew where they were, I knew where I stood. I could feel them with the hairs on the back of my neck. I was always ready, always aware. But here, away from their constant threat, I felt like the connection had been cut. I felt the fear again.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.

  I nodded, placing the pistol on the couch beside me.

  “I have enough to get by,” she said.

  I looked at the shelf beside the kitchen at the few cans of food she had left. “You have enough for a couple of days,” I said.

  “I can manage.”

  “Mary, you can’t stay here forever. What are you going to do when the food’s gone?”

  She let out a sigh and looked thoughtfully through the window. “My husband told me to stay here, to stay safe until someone came to get me out. As much as I’ve thought about leaving, I don’t know what it’s like out there. All I’ve seen has been through that window. It’s been like watching the same terrible movie over and over again. I wouldn’t know what to do once I was outside with those things.”

  “I’ll teach you,” I said. “There has to be someplace to go. We’ll find an island, a mountain top, the deepest pit. It doesn’t matter. I’ll get you somewhere safe and we can try to start over.”

  “But what if you find that you hate me?”

  “Hate is a pretty strong word.”

  “It’s possible,” she said. “We could wind up stuck with each other. We could get to this sanctuary of yours and find that we don’t get along. Then what’ll we do?”

  “We’ll manage,” I said.

  She laughed. “But still, I don’t know if I can go.”

  “In the time before, didn’t you ever want to get away from it all? Didn’t you ever wonder what it would be like to live free without restriction?”

  “I never needed to run away from anything,” she said.

  “I didn’t mean that you should run away from life,” I said. “But maybe running headlong into it isn’t such a bad thing.”

  She smiled. “But that seems like what you’re getting at. I lived an everyday life before all of this,” she said. “It was simple, but I was content. I even had a little money stashed away for a rainy day. When this happened, I was under the impression that I would die, that we would all die. I believed that this was the next step in the natural course of things. But, for some strange reason, I couldn’t let myself go. I kept fighting. I looked for food in the other apartments and watched the world slowly die outside that damn window. I watched every single second of the end of times, but I couldn’t get myself to let go.”

  “Don’t you see? That’s exactly what we’re supposed to do. It’s in our nature. We have to survive because dying isn’t an option. That’s all I’m asking you to do, just hang in a little longer and give me a chance.”

  She gave a small laugh. “It’s almost like you’re proposing to me.”

  I shook my head and smiled. “No, I’m just offering something better, and it seems to be more reasonable than dying here alone.”

  “I watched people kill each other. I watched them take women and girls from the streets while the dead ran wild. They didn’t help anyone. They stole innocent young girls and took them away. Do you know what I imagined them doing to those girls once they had them tucked away?”

  I slowly shook my head.

  “I imagined they were doing what all cowards have done before them. They assert themselves, they rape and they beat away every last scrap of dignity. What’s to say there aren’t more of those types of people out there? I mean, those are the ones who seem to survive something like this -the alpha males- those who would kill at the drop of a hat and never look back at the destruction in their wake.”

  “You seem to have eluded them,” I replied. “And I have too. That’s all that matters. We stay hidden and we get away from here.”

  “You have big dreams,” she said. “They haven’t been out much since the beginning. I dread to think what they’re doing in there.”

  “All I have left are dreams,” I said. “And the others, they can rot out there for all I care. Come with me, Mary.”

  She looked down at her hands and folded them in her lap. “So do you have any particular destination in mind?”

  “An island would be ideal,” I smiled. “But I think we should head east, get away from the coast. There might be others who have made it. We could find refuge somewhere.”

  “Big dreams,” she repeated, shaking her head in amusement.

  “Some of the biggest,” I agreed.

  “So teach me, tell what it is to be out there with them. Tell me what you’ve seen.”

  I had told my wife not to worry, that we would be safe. We lived in the suburbs and the riots were happening in the city. I was sure we would be fine. The police wouldn’t allow them to get past the city limits.

  We went on with our lives as if nothing were happening. We settled in and hoped for the best just like so many others. We waited and did nothing.

  We’re spoon fed from birth, we don’t believe that anything truly bad can happen to us, so we wait and we pray in our churches. We drive our luxury cars and live in our micro-mansions and think that the government will take care of all of our problems.

  I was one of those people.

  It wasn’t until the power went out that I got worried. The lights flickered on and off for a few minutes and finally went black. My wife and I sat there in the dark, still believing that everything would work itself out. We ate crackers and cheese by candlelight and drank wine from the crystal set her mother had bought us for our wedding. We laughed and talked as if nothing were happening.

  The next morning, I pulled a windup radio out of one of the boxes I had stored in the garage. The power was still off and I was getting curious. I wanted to know if they were making any progress with the rioters.

  We listened to the reports. I had a sense of hope again. If the radio stations had power that meant our issue was local. They were saying that the city was under quarantine, that the looters and rioters were being barricaded within a five mile zone within the downtown area.

  I smiled at my wife. “See? I told you it would work itself out.”

  She returned with a shy smile. “I didn’t doubt you for a minute.”

  I pulled some meat out of the deepfreeze before it fully thawed and got the barbeque ready.

  I had been so naive. To think, I was going to cook outside while the end of everything was almost at our front door. But that was the problem, without any information, no one rea
lly knew what was going on, no one had any idea that the dead were returning to life. We thought we were safe from looters and rioters in our comfortable homes. We thought that all we had to do was bide our time until the authorities came to save us.

  While my wife was sitting on one of the lawn chairs in the back yard, I went into the house to get a teapot. I was going to boil the water on the small burner on the side of the grill. Thankfully, the water was still running and I filled the pot and grabbed a couple of teabags from the cupboard before returning to the yard.

  As I juggled the teapot and packets, trying not to drop them, I heard her scream. I went through the back door and dropped what I was carrying. I stood there in shock as my wife fought off a man who was advancing on her. He launched himself on her and threw her to the ground.

  I stood there frozen, watching while some madman held her down, burying his face in her stomach. I might have yelled something, but I can’t quite remember. Maybe it was only a whimper.

  The thing was on top of her. It looked back at me with strips of flesh in its mouth. He returned to her stomach and shook his head again before slowly chewing what he had torn away.

  That was my first real sense of what was happening out in the real world. It took someone so close to me to die before I snapped back and realized what was going on. I stood dumbstruck and watched that thing tear at my wife, and did nothing to save her.

  “You didn’t try to save her?” Mary asked, shock drawing through her voice.

  I looked away from her. “It happened so fast,” I said. “You never know what you’re going to do in that type of situation until it happens. I did nothing.”

  The moans and howls tore through the yard as more of them entered through the side gate. I looked back at the creature and thought it smiled at me with something in its mouth. As I stared at it, the reality of what it was gnawing on sunk in. I could see the details of what was hanging in its mouth. I saw that terrible thing hanging there, slack.

  There were at least a half a dozen of them in the yard now, making their way toward me.

  I panicked and ran back into the house, slamming the door behind me. I bolted the lock as wet, bloody hands slapped against the window, smearing stains from the tips of their fingers in slimy trails that coursed along to the edge of the glass.

  I tried to scream, to allow anything to come out, but I was silent, and my breath was gone. I was trapped. There wasn’t anywhere to run. I took to the stairs that led to our bedroom. I fished through the boxes in the closet and found the pistol I had bought a few years earlier when a rash of home invasions erupted in the neighborhood next to ours.

  Breathing heavy, I slid the clip into place and cocked a round in the chamber. I felt like a fool for not grabbing it sooner.

  From the spare bedroom, across the hall, I opened the window and aimed the gun down into the backyard at the creature, but it had wandered off. All that remained was my wife, swaying in place. Her stomach was torn open and blood was everywhere. Something small fell from the open wound and she lurched forward, her eyes locked on me.

  I called out her name, but my voice was gone, and nothing would come out. She stared blankly and exposed her teeth in a snarl. As a knot of entrails fell from the wound on her stomach, she staggered toward the house.

  Downstairs, I could hear the pounding getting louder. I went back into the bedroom and slammed the door. My knees went weak as I backed away from the door. I fell backward onto the bed and rolled to the side to get back up, but my legs went out again and I crumbled to the floor.

  A spray of thick coursed from my mouth and splattered against the bed. It pooled on the carpet as I heaved. My stomach lurched again, but all that was left was bile and burping rasps.

  Glass broke downstairs and I scurried to my feet. I was up off the floor in an instant and at the window in our room. I pulled the latch and opened it wide. I stuck the gun beneath my belt and crouched through the window, stepping out onto the overhang.

  I couldn’t see any of them anywhere. With a type of dexterity that I didn’t know I had, I jumped from the overhang and onto the roof of the porch before leaping to the ground below in a graceful roll.

  Up on my feet, I gathered myself and ran. I didn’t dare look back. I just kept running and prayed they weren’t following me.

  “What was hanging from the creature’s mouth?” Mary asked; her eyes wide.

  I shook my head and closed my eyes tightly.

  “You don’t have to say.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just can’t.”

  “It’s fine.” Her expression changed to worry. “Only tell me what you want. Some things are better off forgotten.”

  Chapter 5

  Throughout the neighborhood, I could hear shrill cries and screams. Half eaten limbs lay strewn in the street. Women were attacked by children. There were men being eaten by their wives. Rabid and diseased things crossed my path. At that moment, I knew what Hell looked like.

  I saw a figure coming at me, weaving through the fallout. He held his hand high above his head. Something glistened in the sun.

  Old man Anderson ran at me with a hammer, but I dodged him at the last second, more out of luck than dexterity. He yowled at me to die as he swung.

  “What the fuck is the matter with you?” I asked him as I moved out of the way.

  He stopped mid-swing. “You’re not one of them?” he asked, breathing hard.

  “No, I’m not one of them,” I said, stepping back.

  As if a switch had clicked inside his head, Mr. Anderson withdrew and ran past me, his attention diverted to one of the dead attacking a young woman a little farther down the street.

  It was as if everyone had lost their mind. I watched Anderson for a moment as he launched himself on the thing that was attacking the girl. I watched for only a second before I turned and fled. It was hard to see him that way. He was a docile man, kept his yard perfectly trimmed and his wife’s roses watered. He didn’t look like the type who would snap like that.

  I fled, horrified at what the world had become. I saw enough murder in those first few hours to keep my nightmares vivid for the rest of my life. Everywhere I turned led to death. And from every death the bodies rose.

  Tired, sore, and covered in sweat, I continued on. There were voices in the wind, carried by gentle gusts that also brought the iron stench of freshly spilled blood. Terrible cries and belching rasps of pain tore through the evening air, dry shrieks and violent pleas for help.

  The wailing of the living was cut short by the screaming of the dead. I watched them take after a man and knock him to the ground. They weren’t fast, but what they lacked in speed, they made up for in perseverance. They didn’t know fatigue or wear. They were predators, plain and simple. They were hunting us down to rip us clean.

  Six of them converged on that man. They clawed at him as he dropped. They milked the blood from his shuddering body and tore into chest, recklessly. His cries evolved into a whimpering gurgle as blood flooded his mouth.

  I stared in shock. Once the man lay still, the creatures rose and walked off as if they had become bored, passive with their expired prey. Within a few minutes the man rose. His body shook and jerked as he stood. Entrails released and dangled down toward his feet. Blood pumped out through his wounds as the last beats of his heart vanished. Eyes wide, the man shambled off, restricted by the loss of muscle on his left leg. He stumbled, swayed, and moved forward, sniffing the air.

  From an overgrown ditch beside the road, I watched as the dead wandered by, unaware that I was only a few feet away. I shook violently as they passed, closing my eyes, trying to make the nightmare stop. I stayed that way for a long time as more of them filled the streets.

  Eventually, when they thinned out, I rose slowly and hurried through the grass. My jaw was tense as I clenched my teeth, holding back the urge to cry out.

  I ducked down again when I heard someone scream. From the neighborhood beyond, a child emerged, trancelike and luci
d. She wore a red ribbon in her hair that cascaded down along her back where it had begun to unravel. She turned in place and screamed for her mother. Two clean lines emerged upon her face from where the tears had washed away the dirt. I begged her to shut up in my prayers. I begged as the dead heard her too. I begged every second they devoured her while she sobbed and screamed. I begged with all that I was worth.

  And in an instant, they were gone. They left the quivering, torn flesh of the child to degrade and reemerge in the middle of the road.

  “There was nothing you could do?” Mary asked. “You couldn’t have helped her?”

  I shook my head. “I was so afraid …”

  She let out a breath and touched her hand to her mouth. “It’s so hard to imagine.”

  “I see it every day when I close my eyes.”

  I saw this over and again. I watched from afar as the dead hunted down the living and ate at them until they returned to life in death.

  I kept quiet and sobbed in the growth at the side of the road until the sun crept up on the horizon, merging with folds of smoke and ash, congealing along the sky. I had been there all night, too frightened to move, too afraid to even run.

  Explosions erupted from far off through the city as sirens wailed and people cried in despair. I could see the flames rise in the distance across the cityscape, licking the morning clouds. The pounding of guns coursed through the air, followed by the snap of single shots, mimicking fireworks and breaking, brittle bones.

  The lecherous things howled with the breaking dawn, growing louder as if competing for supremacy against the sounds of rapid fire. I heard terror and anguish washed away by snarling screams. I wept as death took all that was around me.

  I squeezed in through some brush amongst trees and into an illegal dump site. I threw debris over myself to guard against prying eyes. I felt at the small of my back for the pistol and grasped the grip in my hand. From under the garbage, I drew the weapon closer and placed it in my mouth. I could feel the tension of the trigger, the cold of the steel, and the coarseness of the grip as my finger tightened.