6. A Whole New Fucked up World
A Whole New Fucked up World
Olivia
Ileave early the next morning, wanting to cover as much distance as I can before the sun sets. I’ll need to find a safe place to sleep since there’s no way I’m staying in a tent with zombies roaming around. Plus, it’s far too cold to be sleeping outdoors.
The first few hours of my journey are pretty easy going; the roads are empty and it’s easy enough to ride past any zombies I encounter. I stop a few times just to make sure that Bean and Harlow eat and drink.
It’s early afternoon when I realise I need somewhere to stay the night.
It plays on my mind, causing to Bean tense beneath me as she picks up my anxiety.
I grimace and lean forward to stroke her neck.
“Sorry, Beanie,” I murmur as I force myself to relax in the saddle.
Last thing I need is to be spooking my mare when danger lurks around every corner.
We reach a small village just as the sun is setting.
The same village I was in when this whole thing started.
It’s the first time I’ve set foot back here since that fateful day and it’s…
harrowing. Cars litter the quaint streets, some crashed into one another while others sit crumpled against walls and buildings.
Dried blood stains every surface, from windows to pavements to the sides of cars.
Thankfully, there aren’t any corpses anymore.
Although that’s probably because the ones wandering the streets ate them.
And fuck, does it stink.
Even though this winter has been bitterly cold, it hasn’t stopped the wandering corpses from rotting.
The overwhelming stench causes my nose to burn and my eyes water.
My stomach roils with nausea and even poor Harlow is suffering as she whines and sneezes.
Beneath me, Bean’s entire body tenses and it’s like I’m sitting on top of a dragon as she snorts and prances.
Her antics cause the dead to turn in our direction.
And they’re looking at me.
I’ll never get used to how fucking creepy their eyes are as they gleam with that alien hunger.
It’s even worse when there’s half a dozen of them looking at you at the same time.
Now I understand how an antelope feels when they’re being eyed by a pride of lions.
Every part of my body is screaming at me to turn tail and run, but I can’t.
The sun’s setting and I need to find shelter, which means taking down these zombies.
Harlow bares her teeth and growls as the hair between her shoulder blades stands on end. As terrifying as she looks, I can’t risk her being injured, even if the zombies aren’t interested in eating her. “Harlow, stay.” She glances over at me with a look of betrayal, but does as she’s told.
Sucking in a breath, I grab an arrow from my quiver and nock it.
I sight the nearest target and aim my bow as I draw back the string.
I centre myself, keeping the bow drawn for a second before exhaling as I let the arrow fly.
It hits its target; the arrow embedding itself into the zombie’s skull and causing it to collapse to the ground.
One down; five more to go.
I ride Bean through the street, weaving between abandoned cars and let more arrows fly.
More zombies fall to the ground, truly dead.
I allow muscle memory to take over as I separate myself from what I’m doing and instead think of the zombies as targets.
It’s the only way I can do this without succumbing to the panic that’s lingering in my chest. Or puking all over Bean. She’d never forgive me if I did that.
I don’t stop shooting until they’re all on the ground, unmoving.
Blowing out a long breath, I shake my head and swallow around the lump in my throat.
It’s almost sickening how easy that was.
I didn’t even hesitate once and I’m not sure how I feel about that, especially after my hysterical laughing fit yesterday. Am I becoming numb to killing already?
I shudder at the thought and shove it aside. Now isn’t the time to fall apart, so I focus on the list of things I need to do.
I slide off Bean and collect the arrows from the fallen zombies while keeping my mind carefully blank.
As long as I don’t acknowledge what they are, I can keep going.
Once collected, I clean and inspect the tips for any major damage before putting them back into my quiver.
Arrows retrieved, I mount Bean again and nudge her forward.
The village is tiny, just a road that winds through the middle with houses and shops lining it.
While most of the houses appear untouched, the shops are in awful condition.
Windows are smashed, doors hang on by a hinge and debris litters the pavement outside.
It makes sense since most survivors would look for food and supplies, so shops and other businesses are the first things ransacked.
I keep my gaze away from the church; the place where my life changed forever.
I steer Bean away from most of the broken glass and bodies of the zombies while keeping my eyes open for any more walking corpses.
Although, it seems I’ve dispatched all the ones in the village.
Where the hell did everyone else go? Did they make it out to a safer location?
Or were they bitten and moved to a different location? A more populated area with more… food?
The thought makes my stomach turn. I urge Bean into a trot down the road that bisects the village and eye the houses until I choose one near the outskirts of the village.
Halting, I slide off Bean and lead her down the narrow alleyway between two houses, happy to find a fenced back garden that’s perfect for Bean for the night.
I leave Bean in the garden still with her tack on and head into the house, the knife Andy gifted me drawn and ready.
I step into the kitchen and wrinkle my nose.
When’s the last time the owners updated the place?
The fridge and the oven look to be decades old and the cabinets are an awful burnt orange colour that makes me think of the seventies.
The living room isn’t much better, with a worn velvet sofa, a box TV and a coffee table that looks as if a breeze could knock it over.
Upstairs, the bedrooms are much the same, but the bathroom is the worst, decorated in the ugliest mint green I’ve ever seen.
I don’t think toilets and sinks even come in that colour any more.
Although, I doubt anyone is selling sinks and toilets in any colour with the dead currently refusing to die.
Relieved that the house is empty, I go back outside to pull the saddle and bridle off Bean and set them aside.
The mare wanders away from me and happily munches on the overgrown grass.
The only issue is the lack of water for her and while it’s not ideal, she’ll be fine overnight.
I’ll just have to find a water source first thing tomorrow.
As I pick up Bean’s saddle and bridle, I spot Ketchup sitting on the fence, digging into a snail she has clutched in her talons. I expected her to fly back home, but apparently she’s sticking with me for now.
My stomach chooses that moment to growl, alerting me to the fact that I haven’t eaten since this morning. I’m surprised I even have an appetite after killing those zombies earlier, but I don’t dare delve into that line of thinking.
I head into the house with Harlow hot on my heels. After feeding both of us, I move into the living room and settle down for the night. The sofa is surprisingly comfortable considering how old it looks and with Harlow cuddled up next to me, I’m warm despite the chilly February air.
But no matter how cosy I am, I can’t fall asleep. Every sound has my heart jumping into my throat and panic fluttering in my chest. I keep jerking awake from my half-asleep state, prompting Harlow to huff and move to sleep on the end of the sofa.
Reassured that Harlow doesn’t seem at all worried about the noises, I settle back down. She’d tell me if there’s a problem. My body finally relaxes into the sofa enough for me to float to sleep.
I’m finding that I both love and hate life on the road.
There’s a sense of freedom I never had before the world fell. I don’t have to worry about what other people think of me if they see large bags under my eyes, the scars on my stomach and lower back, or watch me freak out over having to get into a car.
It’s just me and my furry—and feathered—family.
And while that’s a heartless thing to enjoy, especially with how much death I constantly come across with the walking and not-so-walking corpses, I can’t help it.
For so long, people judged and pitied me for something I couldn’t control, and it was exhausting to have this niggling anxiety in the background whenever I left the house.
But damn, do I miss modern conveniences.
I never thought of myself as some who’s spoiled, but after two nights on the road, I miss my lukewarm shower and my bed.
Washing in icy streams and rivers and peeing behind bushes is getting old, fast. Not to mention the loneliness.
Sure, I was lonely before I left, but this is something deeper.
A yearning to interact with at least one human being, even if it’s just a quick greeting.
It makes sense since humans are social creatures, but it’s more than that.
I crave comfort and, most of all, touch.
It’s sad to think that I don’t remember the last time someone hugged me.
Tobias, maybe? He’s never been much of a hugger with me like he is with his wife, which is to be expected. But damn, does it suck.
There’s nothing I can do about it but keep moving forward and remember the entire reason I’m out here; to save my brother.
It’s late afternoon on the third day of my time on the road and, after a day of successfully scavenging for food, I need to find a place to sleep.
I’m skirting around the outskirts of a small town to lessen my chances of coming across anymore zombies or people.
I’ve already had to avoid several villages because I’ve spotted signs of people being there.
While I’m sure not every person out in the world is a monster, I’m taking Andy’s warning to heart and not risking it.
Especially since Harlow has been on edge since we got here.
Her hackles are raised and her body is tight and low to the ground as she moves, almost like she’s waiting to pounce on whatever is about to attack us.
It’s enough tension that Bean is nervous beneath me, wanting to jog instead of walk.
Even Ketchup isn’t immune as she flies ahead of us, eerily silent when usually she’d be chatting away at us.
Abandoned cars and vans litter the road of the council estate we’re moving through, much in the same way as every other village I’ve come across. Only there’s more blood and rotting bodies on this street.
My gaze lands on one particular corpse and I swallow hard.
It’s the body of a child, no more than ten years old, and looks fresher than most of the others.
His mouth is slack and his eyes are wide open but glazed and unseeing as he stares up at the darkening sky.
There’s so much blood covering his body that it’s hard to see what killed him, only that whatever happened was traumatic.
It’s a stark reminder of this new, fucked up world.
I tear my gaze away as my chest tightens to the point I struggle to breathe and spots appear in my vision.
I pant and tighten my grip on the front of the saddle as my panic crashes over me like a tsunami.
Below me, Harlow whines and nudges my boot, but it’s not enough.
In the grips of the attack, all I can do is hang on and hope it passes soon.
I’m not sure how much time passes when Harlow growls, a savage and terrifying snarl I’ve never heard from her before, not even when faced by zombies. I blink away the remnants of my attack just as Harlow throws herself toward a dark figure that’s emerging from the side of a house.
My eyes widen and fear rushes through me. “Harlow!” I scream as I grab my bow and ready an arrow. God, please don’t let her get hurt, I think as I nock the arrow and take aim.
A hand clamps onto my thigh and yanks me from the saddle. I land in a heap with a heavy body on top, pinning me to the ground. I cry out only for a hand to clamp over my mouth, not only cutting off my scream, but my air, too.