The Dead that Walk
In the dark of the night, they resemble insects lazily swarming a hive.
The country club and golf course were overrun. The idea was to go there for the night; a place to rest and refuel before taking off, back to their nomadic existence. The idea seemed to be a good one. It was outside of the city, surrounded by the rolling hills of the golf course. There shouldn't have been any reasons for the risen dead to be there in mass.... But they were. Perhaps it was all those old timers that golfed, and couldn't outrun them. Whatever it was, it was a mess, and their idea of shelter quickly shattered.
Sarah turned the wheel, driving the car into another cul-de-sac. Maybe this one would have signs of life. Maybe there would be the soft glow of light coming from one of the windows. Maybe there would be more survivors. They couldn't be the last. The only sign of life was a gushing fire hydrant at the end of the street, and hungry moans sounding through the night even though all of their windows were rolled up.
The houses all were still so perfectly manicured. The yards and the paved driveways. She could almost imagine life hadn't changed so dramatically. She could imagine herself living here before all this happened, and found herself coveting for just a taste of that life. Not this life. Not what life had now become.
Passing by a crashed SUV that had smashed into a pole, pulled her out of her daydreams. With a loud, disgruntled sigh, Sarah looked over to the passenger seat where Jane, another survivor, sat. "We can't very well just keep driving, we'll run out of gas. Maybe we should just stop at one of these houses and barricade ourselves in."
