SHORT STORY DRAFT ONE/TWO
We have never stopped running; not since the zombie apocalypse began. My mother and father died at home when I was at school. I knew something was up, so instead of following both my sister’s home, I ran. I haven’t stopped since.
I eventually ran into Perrie and Camila. They were best friends before the zombies hit, and they stuck together. They abandoned their families to run away together. We suspect their parents died just like mine did. Torn apart by the zombies. Flesh eaten by monsters. Turned into monsters to repeat the vicious cycle.
The girls weren’t keen on me, at first. Especially Camila They were hesitant to let a complete stranger into their lives suddenly, fearing I may be the type to steal their supplies and run. I wasn’t; I stuck to my word. You have to take some risks in the apocalypse. That was three months ago.
Right now, we’re hiding in an old, abandoned New York City private school. Not the one I attended; I only went to public school. It wasn’t Perrie or Camila’s old school, either. None of us had recognized it but we all realized early on that it was easy to hide in schools. Zombies never hid or attacked in them, considering there wasn’t any brains left in them. We usually cooped up for a night or two in a nurse’s office, laying on the cots while taking inventory on our supplies and planning a course of action. Our supplies had been dwindling since our last zombie fight three days ago.
“We’re all out of knives,” Camila whined, running a hand over her smooth head. We were all forced to cut our long, beautiful locks once we realized zombies could tug on them and snap our necks that much easier.
“There’s an old gun shop up the road, from what I can remember,” Perrie recalled. “There must be knives there.”
“But I can guarantee it’s already been raided,” I added my input. “Early survivors probably took any weapon left in there a month or two back. We can check, but there’s probably some hoarder survivors guarding it.”
Hoarder survivors were the worst type of survivors. They guarded different buildings with stock items, such as gun shops or Sams Clubs. These buildings were vital to our survival so we often had to fight them off. It didn’t hurt that I learned how to fight on the streets as a child, growing up rough housing with the boys.
We were silent for the next half an hour or so, taking inventory. We still had two guns, enough bullets, a pipe, and Perrie’s bow and arrow. Our food was beginning to dwindle, which meant we would need to prepare for a fight against some hoarders. There was guarantee to be some food left in the old school cafeteria, but we always planned ahead. We also all had one change of clothes. Only one. Clothes were heavy, and we couldn’t afford to carry more than one change. We’d lose the clothes on our bodies now and head to a major department store the next day to get a new change.
Breaking the silence, Camila's stomach grumbled. Her face fell, realizing we might not have enough food for all three of us unless we broke into the kitchen. We took shifts in eating when we didn’t have enough food. Camila had received the latest fasting shift, meaning she hadn’t eaten for over two days. She was guaranteed food first.
“Eat the soup,” I mumbled in an attempt to shut her stomach up. Perrie passed her our last can of tomato soup, a personal favorite among all of us.
“Thanks, Nessie,” She smiled before chugging the soup.
“Slow down!” I yelled at her. “You’ll get a stomachache if you drink it too fast.”
“I’m going to go look in the kitchen,” Perrie asserted her tone. She grabbed her bow, stringing her arrows onto her back. Her stubby blonde hair made her face somewhat more beautiful. Her cheekbones were made for a masculine haircut. I frowned, realizing I most likely looked like a twelve year old boy.
“I’m coming with,” I replied, grabbing my gun and loading some bullets. The weapons were just a precaution in case the zombies finally took over the schools or if we ran across another group. We
might trade supplies if they seemed friendly. If they were looking for a fight, we’d be “forced” to kill them on the spot and take their supplies. I had never killed a person before the apocalypse. Now, I had lost track about how many zombies’ hearts I had ripped out with my hands or how many hoarders I had shot through the head. Change made me this way.
Perrie and I headed to search for the kitchen. Camila came running after us, scared for her life. She was always the timid one. She needed Perrie or I by her side at all times. It didn’t help that Perrie often teased her for being the baby of the group. It caused Camila’s fear to go above a teenager’s normal fear levels. Of course, what was “normal” anymore?
We stumbled across the kitchen quickly. It was still sealed and locked, telling us that nobody had touched the rich foods inside. I smiled, bringing up my gun to shoot. Pulling the trigger, a shot rang out as the door was pierced, the lock becoming undone. Perrie quickly opened the door and ran in. All we saw was typical school food.
There was a line for hamburgers and pizza, but most of that was moldy, cold, and mushy from not being heated for so long. There were some bags of chips, which we quickly grabbed. We then stumbled across the freezer. There were so many foods inside of it; untouched foods. Frozen foods. Foods that weren’t past their expiration dates. Foods that could be eaten once we heated them up. Glorious foods.
“We need a basket,” I told the girls. They both nodded, and we headed back to the nurse’s office where we dug around for a while. Perrie eventually found a stash of garbage and body bags. Camila froze at the ladder, but we reassured her it was only used in demonstrations. We carried the bags back to the kitchen where we threw in all the bags of chips.
We then hit the freezer. We sorted the foods, but not before picking out three pizzas for dinner tonight.There wasn’t much besides pizza and juice, and we couldn’t live on an all carb and protein diet. Camila found another door where stocks of spaghetti, outdated bread, and some warm juice. We took the juice into our body bags, also throwing in the bread. Someone else could come along and take the spaghetti. We had no way to cook it. We left all the frozen foods minus our pizzas since we would be moving along in a day or two.
Perrie started the oven as Camila and I headed back to the nurse’s room. We crammed the breads, chips, and juices into Perrie’s backpack. We took the pillows and blankets and shoved them into my pack, deciding to put the clothes, cash, chargers, and phones into Camila’s. We carried our tent with us by hand; same with the weapons. They were always positioned to our sides. Dinner was finished by the time we got back.
I hadn’t had pizza for over two months. At the sight of the gooey cheese layering a thick cardboard crust, I drooled. My very own pizza.
The feeling didn’t last. After I had chomped down the food, I was full. I felt fatigued. I wanted to pass out. This is what happens with weird food cycles like ours. Whenever you ate, you felt weak.
“I think it’s time we called it a night. We have everything packed up for tomorrow. We can ditch this school and head to the gun shop. We have enough weapons to get past whoever is there. We’ve got enough food to last us three or four days. We can easily make it to Brooklyn and find a school there,” I told the girls, taking over as leader. The girls nodded, joining me in the nurse’s room. Camila and I gained the cots; Perrie elected to sleep on the floor. It was another rotation process we did. I’d be next to sleep on the floor. I’d be next to fast. I’d always be next.
I awoke sometime early morning, lacing up my boots. I kicked Camila in the heels with the boots, waking her up instantly. She was woken up screaming in the middle of the night; her night terrors were getting the best of her. Camila kicked Perrie in the face, signaling a wake up from the other girl. We were ready to hit the road. We put on our packs, then strapped our weapons.
“So where was this gun shop?” Camila asked as we headed towards North Street.
“It’s right off of the Walmart,” Perrie replied, taking lead. Her shoulders were down, head up while scanning the area. When you took lead, you were always on edge.
We continued walking until we came across the wanted gun shop. It looked like it hadn’t been touched.
“It’s a trap,” I breathed out, grabbing Perrie’s shoulder as the girl began charging in. She shook me off, shooting a bow into the glass of the door and breaking it. She stormed in with me and Camila at her side.
“Quickly,” she replied. “Before the zombies hear the ricochet of the glass. Stock up on your knives, Cam. Grab some bullets, Nessie. Don’t waste time.”
We all headed off in different directions. I spotted the bullets I needed instantly, grabbing six packets of one hundred bullets. I realized I had more time, so I ran into the backroom where a refrigerator sat. I raided it, finding some Gatorade. I grabbed three of them, heading back to the front of the store where Camila had just grabbed four or five packets of her throwing knives and Perrie had grabbed a new packet of arrows. We nodded to each other, running out of the store. Spotting a large garbage bin, we hid.
This was another trick we had learned. Zombies and other survivors never, ever checked the garbage bins. There was little garbage left in them, scraps picked over from the first hunger wave. We laid our finds down, opening my pack to put the extra bullets and knives in. Camila tore open one package, placing all her new knives in a special side pocket we had found at another shop. I reloaded my gun and Perrie threw more arrows into her shoulder pack. We set out on the road again.
“Good finds,” I muttered, attempting to make conversation a few miles later. It was eerily quiet. Quiet never meant good things, so I had learned to fill the silence with words.
“Shut up, Nessie,” Perrie told me. She continued to stomp the ground, her combat boots hitting the pavement with annoying sounds.
“I think we need to pick up our pace,” Camila inputted. “We’ll never reach Brooklyn before dark and this pace.”
“Cam’s right,” I replied. “We still need to find a school and raid it before tonight; see if it’s the right fit.”
“I know what we need to do!” Perrie yelled at both of us. “Camila, you take lead.”
She shoved Camila in front of her. We formed back into our triangle formation, Camila in front of us both. She didn’t lead often because of that whole fear of the zombie’s thing, but she made it work when she needed to. Right now, for example. Tensions were too high between Perrie and me right now. She was still upset that it was her turn to sleep on the ground last night.
Due to Camila’s speedy feet, we reached Brooklyn before dark. Settled into a public school, we found the nurse’s office and kitchen just fine. The kitchen had nothing. It had been picked over by another group of survivor’s who must’ve learned quickly as well. We did, however, find nurse’s office supplies. We stole them quickly. It was a complete bust food wise; we’d have to hit the nearest Wally world in Brooklyn to see if that had been picked over as well but that always meant hoarders. Was Camila strong enough to go against the hoarders right now?
For the next few days, life was uneventful. We camped at the Brooklyn school as our supplies dwindled to just a few slices of bread and a jug of juice left. That would last us two days, at most. We needed to set out again, but Perrie disagreed as usual.
“We can’t just keep running; we need to take back what is rightfully ours,” Perrie stated her case to me and Camila. “We need to kill the hoarders and get into the local Walmart. It’s completely sealed still, by the looks of it. They haven’t touched one precious resource in there.”
“Camila’s not strong enough,” I replied. “She was on the fasting schedule too long. We can’t do this to her.”
“She can have the last pieces of bread and half the juice,” Perrie responded. “That’ll keep her strength up enough to throw some knives. Maybe we’ll run across another pack of survivors on the way to kill the hoarders. We can split the Walmart up. They take half, we take half.”
“That’s a big What If,” Camila murmured. “I think I have enough energy to do this though.”
“Are you entirely sure?” I asked, concerned. I couldn’t risk losing her. Her fear somewhat made me feel stronger about myself; I finally had something to protect in life.
“I’m sure,” She replied, smiling. “Let’s go kill some hoarders.”
We packed quickly, keeping our weapons out. We needed all of them if we were going to win this war. Walmart’s were always the most needed resource. We were somewhat lucky to stumble upon a sealed one; we also had the unluckiness on our marks since the hoarders had control.
Perrie led. I marched behind while Camila stumbled. I could tell her energy was low. She wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t ready. I tried to smile to her, to let her know everything was going to be alright. She could barely muster a half smile in return. She itched her head where little stubbles were forming. We needed to shave our heads again soon. All these thoughts kept coursing through my mind when we finally reached Walmart.
The hoarders were prepared. Two men guarded the sealed doors, their eyes covered by sunglasses. Their black shirts were covered by leather jackets in the cold weather. One carried an axe, one a gun. We could take them, as long as they were the only two ready to strike. We snuck up and I instantly struck one in the chest with my bullets. He fell to the ground, dying instantly. Curious, his goon buddy looked around.
“Who’s out there?!” He yelled, as if we were going to answer. Rookie mistake. We jumped out of the garbage can from where we were hiding and I moved up to shoot him. Camila beat me to it, throwing a knife right into a lung. It looks like it collapsed since he began grabbing at his chest, gasping for a breath. More jumped out from behind the alley. We weren’t prepared.
I ran off to fight a group of girl hoarders with bows. Hours of training with an enraged Perrie had prepared me for this. I was ready. It wasn’t hard to aim and shoot them. They seemed inexperienced. They were all down before they had a chance to put up a fight. I turned to see where Camila was fighting a group of older men off of her. Just like the second goon who was originally guarding, knives were thrown into each of their lungs.
We had fought off all of them. I smiled at Cam, but then we both looked shock. Where had Perrie gone? We looked around, shocked. She was on the ground, a knife in her left lung. She was struggling to breathe and blood was spurting out of her mouth.
“Help,” she muttered at us. We both ran over as quickly as we could. Camila already had tears forming in her eyes.
“It’s my fault,” Camila cried.
“Why would you think that?” I asked her, trying to comfort both of them. I got the first aid supplies we had snagged from the Brooklyn nurse’s office, quickly pulling the knife out of Perrie’s lung and beginning to wrap the wound.
“My knives,” Camila cried. I noticed it was Camila’s brand marked on the knife. “It was an accident. I’m so sorry Perrie. Please don’t die.”
“Goodbye Camila,” Perrie muttered as blood continued pouring out of her mouth. “Be good to her, Ness.” She closed her eyes for a final time. Camila broke down.
“Let’s get inside,” I grabbed our packs and Camila’s hand, ushering her inside. “We can camp out here for a few days and prepare to go out again. I’ll reseal the door. You go find some supper and sleeping supplies.”
I ran to the saran wrap aisle, grabbing as many bags as I could. I then headed for the autumn appliances section. I grabbed a leaf blower and some batteries before heading to the front. No other packs of survivors had stumbled upon the opened Walmart, which was always a good thing. I could work my magic.
It was another trick I had learned. You needed lots of saran wrap and something hot if you wanted to trap yourself inside a building, or keep anyone out. You’d layer it over the door and blow with the leaf blower, completely sealing us in and anyone else out.
I finished within a few minutes. We’d done this so many times, it was routine. It was second nature. I could still see outside, though, and Perrie’s body continued to haunt mine. Camila claimed to have killed her, but I wasn’t paying attention either.
“Camila!” I shouted, trying to find her. I couldn’t afford to lose her too.
“I’m here!” She yelled back. I ran towards the voice.She was picking out air mattresses for us to sleep on tonight while chilling in the camping section. I picked out some new backpacks. Our old ones were getting in worst and worst condition the more we hiked.
“I’m going to find some dinner,” I told her. She nodded, dragging the air mattress boxes to the dressing rooms, so we could each have an individual room. I scoured the food aisles, picking out some alfredo soup and garlic bread, a simple dinner we could easily digest after today’s fiasco. I stopped to grabbed Camila’s favorite ice cream as well, cookie dough. It wasn’t hard to locate an oven, either. They had a snack shack, just like every other Walmart on the face of this Earth. I heated up the soup on the stove top, popped the bread into the conventional oven, and grabbed a spoon for the ice cream. Camila wandered my way at the smell of the bread.
We slept in silence, as well. I think we could agree that we were too depressed to think about it if we were forced to talk. To think about Perrie’s death. To think about how we had killed her. We’d blame it on ourselves, never the other person. We couldn’t handle that. We kept the silence.
She fell asleep first. I knew, of course, because I could hear her subtle breathes from the stall next to mine. It was uncomfortably quiet without Perrie’s snores. Perrie’s snores are what always lulled me into sleep.
I somehow managed to get sleep, though. I don’t know how but I did, because I was awoken with a jolt. That jolt was Camila kicking me in the leg.
“Get up,” she told me bluntly. No emotion in her voice or etched on her face. She was just there.
“I’m up, I’m up,” I whined. “What’s for breakfast?”
She wasn’t in the mood for conversation. I sat down, a bowl of tomato soup sitting in front of me. I easily drank it all, not even bothering with the spoon. I didn’t even realize how hungry I was until that moment.
“I’m going to go find some instant coffee,” I told her with the hunger for caffeine in my voice.
“Stay,” she spoke in a soft whisper, showing emotion for the first time since last night. “Stay.”
“Come with me if you’re so scared to be split up,” I spat at her, pulling at the strings of her fearsome behavior. She followed like a lost puppy. I couldn’t find any instant coffee so I settled for the little bottles of iced Starbucks.
I chugged two before Cam tapped me on the shoulder, signaling me to stop. I chugged one more before stopping. I needed the caffeine coursing through my blood and veins or I’d never stay awake. Or alive.
Obviously, Camila had been up early. She had gotten our new packs filled with all of our favorite “on the road” foods. Breads, juices, soups, snacks, the whole nine acres. She had also stocked up on bullets and knives, exactly what we needed after that big fight. We couldn’t risk one of us dying. Perrie was sacrifice enough.
After a lengthy lunch of eating all of our favorite freezer foods, we set out again. Camila pulled me into a giant trashbin about halfway to Manhattan. A knife was held in her battle stance, ready to aim for my lung.
“What is wrong with you?” I yelled at her, struggling to get away. She held the knife against my throat now.
“Did you seriously think me killing Perrie was an accident? I was tired of that girl. I’m tired of you too! All you guys ever did was make fun of me for being scared. Well guess what? Who’s scared now?” She yelled hysterically, knife against lung again. She kept switching the positions, unsure of how to kill me. “Any last words?”
"I just wanted to be happy," I cried.
"So did I," she yelled in my face. "I'm going to be finally be happy with you two out of the way."
“Trust no one,” I choked out as she shoved her knife into my lung. "Trust no-"
