Our Undead (11 page)

She backs up a couple more
steps.

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
This isn't your fault… I won't kill you… yet.
I've seen enough death in the last week to last a lifetime…
my
life time, at
least.

OurZombie:
GrrrrooowwaaaaoorrrrrrAaa!!!!!!

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
But then what should I do with
you?

Just then a rumble comes up
from her stomach, and the hunger pangs help her decide what she
must do next.

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
Ugh, I'll figure you out later. I need to eat
something.
(sighs)
And, you're blocking the way to our supplies.
Well, at least that's one thing I can give you all the blame for.
Hmmm…

<><><>

Back inside of the former
sickroom, the sun's rays shine radiant through the room's single
window. It spills into the room, and the sparkling light glimmers
over the abandoned blankets, as well as the other belongings left
on the floor by it's previous tenants. Flecks of dust shimmer as
they float through the sun's golden transparency. Despite the small
traces of blood scattered about the floor, it would be hard for one
too imagine the horrors that had taken place in this setting, so
appealing to the eye.

**CRAAASSSH**

A toaster comes flying
through the window, crash lands inside the room and tumbles until
it is stopped by the wall. Soon after, a chunky tree branch
follows, poking in and out of the window frame, clearing all the
glass left behind by the toaster. The girl had gone outside and
broken this huge stick off of a nearby tree, and now she swings and
slides it across the whole frame to make sure it is completely
clear of glass before jumping in. She already has a cacked ankle,
and does
not
need
cuts to go along with it. So when she feels that it's clear enough,
she tosses the branch inside and starts pulling herself up into
another one of last night's horror scenes.

She has quite a difficult
time because of her injured ankle, but she does manage to get her
weight up and over without knocking it. Her right knee, however,
takes a pretty good scraping from the windowsill. No blood, but in
giving too much attention to her foot and not her footing, she
slips. She ends up falling on to her left side and arm with an
awkward thud. It sucks, a
lot
, but it isn't a fraction as bad
as that sharp pain she had felt before when she tried to walk on
her bad foot. An annoyed groan is all this accident incurs, and she
gets up to dust herself off.

She sees the duffel bag
that holds all of her family’s supplies quickly, limps over to it,
bends down and takes hold of it. But before she opens it up, she
sees the broken closet door, and immediately needs to focus on
calming her heart. She needs to keep it from speeding up, because
now is not the time to lose it. Did he end up like her mother had?
Could he possibly be sitting in that closet right now as a pathetic
excuse for an undead monstrosity, unable to move? Out of respect,
she has to find out. And if he is alive in there, she has to kill
him, so she grabs the large stick for protection, and moves slowly
in the direction of the silent closet.
*creeeak*
……
*creeeak*

Closer and closer she gets
to the broken door until she's near enough to look inside, then she
carefully brings her head to the opening of the big crack in the
door's middle. Tensely, she peers in, but when she sees her father,
her body becomes relaxed again, for she sees the state he is in. In
the closet, her father's body sits upright against the back wall.
His skull has been eaten in, and a sizeable piece of his brain is
missing. He didn't even get the chance to become a
zombie.

The girl is used to seeing
corpses by now. She is definitely used to the sight of the
slaughtered undead, and she is even used to seeing maimed human
beings, but the sight of her father is just too much for her. She
turns away from the closet, vapid, and throws up in the near
corner. There isn't much to be expelled. She doesn't get to eat
very often due to the condition the world is in, so all that comes
up is stomach bile and some instant noodles from the day before. It
burns her throat as it comes up, and projects on to the
floor.

After she's through, she
wipes her mouth off with her arm and spits out some of the left
over bitterness. Her stomach is now emptier than it had been, and
it's quick to remind her that she needs to eat.
*grrrrrrrrrr*
She rubs it to ease
her discomfort, looks at the closet, but not inside, and limps over
to the duffel bag.

She opens it up and
rummages through the contents, looking for something to fill her
gut. She finds a bottle of water and takes a great big mouth full.
She swishes the water around in her mouth before swallowing it,
closing the bottle and putting it to the side. Next, she finds a
bag of bread that looks about three quarters full. She takes it
out, opens it and takes out a slice. When she puts it in her mouth
it tastes as plain as white bread should, but is intensely
satisfying. It doesn't take her too long to finish the first piece,
and she takes out another one right away. She devours the next
slice almost just as fast, and almost takes out another one before
she stops herself. She looks at the bag and begins to wonder. How
much more food does she even have? Granted, she had more of a
supply now that she didn't have to share them with her parents, but
how much longer would it all last?

Instead of eating anymore,
she closes the bag of bread and begins to take the rest of the
stuff out of the duffel bag. She lays everything on the floor
around her: one more bottle of water, another full loaf of bread,
two cans of noodle soup, and three cans of Spaghettios. She
remembers the side pockets that the bag has and checks them as
well. Inside she finds a couple of large chopping knives and three
handgun bullets. She scoffs at the bullets. She wouldn't know where
to begin loading a gun, but the knives might come in handy. Is
there anything else? She picks up the bag, turns it upside-down and
shakes it about. Something drops out and flutters to the ground
like a falling leaf, a little piece of paper that lands face down
on the floor.

She puts the duffel bag
aside, and picks up the little paper. When she turns it over, she
sees that it is a picture of her and her mother and father, a
wallet sized family portrait they had taken almost a couple years
back. Her mother looks beautiful. Her brunette locks are flowing
lusciously down the sides of her head, and her smile is bright and
warm. Her father, Gary, is standing tall beside his wife, with
golden hair, and a smile that brags strength and pride. He was a
king in his own right. This is the light in which she likes to see
them most, and she smiles.

Then she sees herself in
the photo, standing in front of her parents. Her smile is just as
warm and welcoming as her mother's, her eyes just as blue. People
had always said they looked like each other, even with their
contrasting hair colors, and it really shows in this picture. The
young girl's smile is such a pretty one. She was so happy.
Was.
The thought brings
her back to the present, and the smile she wears vanishes just as
fast as it appeared. She puts the picture in her pocket and begins
to put all of her food and supplies back into the duffel bag, but
not before she takes out one more piece of bread and puts it into
her mouth. She also takes the oil lamp and matches that are on the
floor, and two blankets.

When she's finished putting
everything into the bag, she zips it up, gets slowly to her feet
and swings the strap over her shoulder, all the while holding the
bread slice in her mouth. She makes her way to the window, and is
about to throw the bag out, when she hears something. It sounds
like a low murmuring, like the soft purr of a cat, but a little
deeper and more constant. It seemed to be coming from somewhere
inside of the cabin. Yep, definitely coming from inside the cabin,
but what the hell is it? She turns around, back toward the inside
of the room, and focuses all of her attention on listening. It's
not coming from the room she's in. It sounds like it's coming from
somewhere deeper inside, so she inches her way to the room's door.
It too has been broken through, and the closer she gets to it, the
clearer the low humming becomes.

She gets to the door and
looks through it. Down the hall she sees our zombie, still caught
in his snare. Oddly enough, he isn't struggling. He's just standing
there moaning to absolutely no one. It's a weird moan that the girl
has never heard before, more high-pitched than the normal bass
heavy gurgling growl she has become so accustomed to hearing from
the creatures, especially the male ones. It sounds almost sad, and
the way the thing throws it's head back as it wails, adds to that
impression.

She opts not to disturb
him. It wouldn't be very smart to catch his attention from the
other side of the door. He might very well be able to get out that
way. No, she doesn't want to attract his attention, but she also
has a hard time looking away. Could it be that these nightmarish
creatures actually have some sort of emotional intelligence? It
almost looks that way, and it thoroughly intrigues her, so she
takes more one bite of her bread slice and swiftly pulls away from
the door.

<><><>

She enters the cabin again
by way of the front door, just finishing off her slice of bread.
Instantly at the sight of her, our zombie starts up with the
growling and flailing of arms. It's becoming pretty apparent that
he doesn't have as much vigor as he once did. He struggles, but his
movements now just seem unmotivated. It's almost as if he's
just
acting
like
a zombie to keep up appearances, for the young girl's sake. But she
couldn't care less. She throws the duffel bag and her big branch on
the floor, and chuckles at the monster.

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
Heh… Are you still going at it?

Our zombie
continues.

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
You know, I just saw you a minute ago. I was
watching you from that room back there. You didn't see me, of
course.

He snarls at
her.

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
From back there, it looked like you were crying.
Like a baby. And now you're tryna act all tough.

He continues snarling and
reaching for her.

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
Maybe you're not all bad… I mean, it's not your
fault you're a disgusting, soulless, rotting, walking… dead, but…
not really dead thing.

The growling and reaching
persists as the girl turns for her bag and picks the water out of
it. She opens it up.

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
When people are dead they aren't supposed to walk
around, they're supposed to be at rest.
(takes a sip)
This…
(sips again)
This
is a curse. A curse for you, a curse for me…

She starts limping around
in front of the captured zombie while she speaks, as if having a
real conversation, using hand gestures to help explain herself as
she talks, in a serious state of questioning and thought. Like a
sergeant or commanding chief talking to his men, or a dictator
giving a speech to his supporters, but it does nothing in helping
our zombie understand a single word of her notions.

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
The only ones who
aren't
cursed are the ones who
are already dead. They are the truly lucky ones. And I'm talking
about the DEAD dead, not the… YOU dead… Yea, we're in the same
boat, you and I… both cursed to live through hell on Earth until
someone puts us out of our misery.

She stops in her tracks and
turns to the thing.

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
So, I guess I can't blame you for constantly
moaning either.

He wiggles and reaches,
wanting a taste.

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
You really want me, huh? Is that what all the
moaning is about?

She starts limping toward
him.

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
You would love to break out of that door and sink
your teeth right into my face wouldn't you?
(stops out of his reach)
Or for
me to take one tiny step closer?

Our zombie swipes and
swipes his free hand, coming within an inch away from her face. She
looks him right in his eyes as she speaks, and then watches his
hand as it sways back and forth in front of her. Then, she does
something insane.

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
Well, here you go.

She slowly inches her head
forward just enough so that the tips of our zombie's fingers graze
the soft muggy skin of her right cheek. They leave behind little
trickles of week old dirt and dried blood when they swipe across
it.

LongBlondeHairedGirl:
Is this what you wanted?

He really gives it a go,
but the girl just isn't close enough to get a grip on anything.
Then she ups the teasing by shaking her head back and forth,
letting our zombie's waving hand tap both sides of her face. But
this is a mistake, and she quickly pays for underestimating him. As
she shakes her head, her long hair flows to and fro with the
motion. The oblivious girl doesn't take this fact into
consideration, and as our zombie's hand passes by, tapping her on
the right cheek, she swings her face to the right with a little too
much momentum. This causes her hair to come swinging out in front,
and our zombie takes advantage of this divine
opportunity.