Chapter 02: Still there's survivors

Chapter 02: Still there's survivors

Those bastards do not get tired.

Their eyes are empty, no glare. The emitted grunts make me feel pity, I admit. While not wanting to, I try to imagine what it must feel like to be eaten by these things, with their rotten but powerful teeth rending me, fighting for my flesh.

How would be become one of them? Wandering around with the sole purpose of killing. Do they think? Feel pain? Have feelings? Everything happened so fast that nobody had time to study the disaster further. I have no idea how it started. We could not plan anything or save anyone. It was every man for himself. It was hard to see people who were part of my life being chewed, and some rising then. The zero day will never leave my head.

Above, I realize the upper branches are thick, tough. The treetop reaches a significant feet tall, high enough to hurt someone that eventually could fall. Forward, branches meet with the nearby tree, and so on. There are four to the side wall of the gym. I save my empty bottle inside the bag and close it. Time of concentration. I take a deep breath and start to climb carefully, slowly, ignoring the grunts below me. Rush is something that I do not have in moments like this. I think that's why I lasted so much.

Leather gloves protect my hands while I go climbing. As I steady my feet on the branches, I analyze every inch. I hold a thinner one above; a leap, I jump to the trunk ahead, planning a precision. My hands slip, I do not know if in moisture or bird shit, and I almost end down there amid the cursed ones. Luckily, my clothes curls and gives me time to hold in a nearby bunch of shrubs. My heart comes up to the throat and get back to the chest.

Lately I have gone through several risky situations, but I still value my life, so any sign that I'm going to fuck up makes me almost have a heart attack. On the other hand, to die this way nowadays would be a curious solution, but I prefer to leave it for another day.

I keep walking on the branches, removing leaves that cling in my hair and clothes. Halfway through the second tree, I hear an almost forgotten sound: the roar of an engine. At the corner of the block down a pickup truck comes, pursued by a gang of zombies. Humpf, zombies. Yeah, right.

I cannot see who is on the steering wheel. The windows are closed and quite dirty, like the rest of the vehicle. Taking into account the street where it appeared, must have come from the countryside. I remember my uncles and cousins ​​who lived on a farm. How should they have died?

At a glance, I see it vanish into the opposite corner. I can not risk slipping one more time, so again I concentrate on my climbing, then I realize that my persecutors were attracted by the noise and went after it. I seek for some deaf which may have been left behind. Nobody. It's my chance.

I climb down by one of the twigs, sit on the trunk and, with an impulse, I jump on the grass which cushions the fall. Slight, I run up to the side wall where there is dry but still alive shrubs. One last checked around and I head to the main gate. Open. I walk in quietly, but before I can declare victory, I see a damned coming towards me. Where was that bastard? He does not scream like the others, but runs like a bitch. Looking for a chain, something to close the gate, I do not find a measly padlock around. Options? Just one: run again.

I'm already on the stairs when I hear the gate hit violently and the monster entering. I reach the upper floor which take me to steps extending for all over the place. I did not think twice before running down and into the dark hallway leading to the toilets. I slam the door and, seeing that there is no lock, I go straight to one of the cabins and climb up the toilet bowl. There I wait.

It takes a while until I hear the door being ajar, bumping against the tiled wall. After that comes the silence. I remain motionless, sweat sliding down my face. I feel like I'm in that position for hours, fighting the cramp that attacks my leg. The will to survive is bigger than any discomfort. I find odd the absence of grunts so characteristic, which increases my tension. By the noise, he is opening the cabins doors, one after another. I wish it was a horror movie cliche and I was hiding behind the last one, but I do not know which one I hid.

Upon hearing the cabin door being opened nearby, I feel the blood move through my veins so wildly that seems milkshake in a blender. With sweating hands beneath the worn glove, I swallow hard and prepare myself to attack. At least it will not be so easy to catch me, you son of a slut, God rest her soul.

I look down and watch a shadow standing in front of me. I lose control over my breathing; adrenaline makes my body shake, rampant.