Free Writing: The Dead Can Run (Chp2)


Another addition to my free writing exercise. As always please keep in mind this is a first draft with minimal revisions. Again I cheated a little but not as bad as the previous segment. I combined two writing sessions. If you prefer the chapters to be broken up in two parts like Chapter One was or have the entire section posted like Chapter Two let me know.

Feel free to point errors and grammar out for when I do get around to properly editing this story. 🙂

Warning: dry humor/sarcasm and rambling

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The Dead Can Run

Chapter Two

The rest of the highway blurred by. I clung to the phone refusing to sever the connection to my son, to the only time I might ever hear his voice. My fingers were going numb and my hand on the steering wheel was close behind. My son’s screams had turned to cries and muffles as he tried to speak into the phone. My mind went blank, the questions I should have asked never came.

Was he alright?

Had he been bitten?

Where was his grandmother?

Nothing. I could only cling to the phone and press harder on the gas pedal. I swerved down the exit that would lead me closer to my son. I didn’t bother to brake and thanked the strange empty roads ahead of me. I swerved right and let the tires scraping and jerking against the potholes that infested the two lanes give me the comfort they offered. I was glad it wasn’t infested with the undead.

Potholes seemed a miracle over what I had just witnessed. My gaze wondered to the blood stains clinging to my cracked windshield and my hood. I forced my eyes to tear away from the spot the severed arm had been and concentrated on returning to my son.

“Mommy,” the faint voice of my son beckoned me to drive faster still. “Mommy…where are you? Please help us.”

The phone went silent and I tossed the phone into the passenger seat and reared in my seat. I didn’t bother to call back. I was only a few minutes away. I just had to drive faster. My eyes stared ahead of me, past the endless trailers on either side. The short road seemed to extend far beyond the normal. The stop sign finally came into view and I dared to slow down just enough to ensure I didn’t die before I reached my son.

Again the roads seemed bare. The morning had already come and with it the hustle and bustle of business life should have followed. A strange feeling in my stomach had me wanting to throw up on my steering wheel. I turned left, then right, then left again.

My eyes welt up in tears again, tears in vast numbers, tears I had never known I could shed. My heart pounded on my chest and my lungs ached for air. I strained to breathe and slowed down. The street to my house was crowded with cars, smoke rose to greet the ravens circling above. And my world shattered.

I had to get to my son.

My son had to be alive. I let that last thought urge me forward. I jerked the car to a stop and jumped out, the last words my son had spoken to me echoing over and over in my head. Mommy…where are you? Please help us. I had to get to him. I ran, skidding over hoods and squeezing through any space that would allow me passage. I glanced around, no bodies, no zombies, no undead. The uncertainty grew and I ran faster.

The void of dogs barking scared me more than the empty yards on both sides. The busted mailbox that still had three of the four numbers to our address came into view and I shoved the broken fence open. I ran up the stairs and threw the ajar door the rest of the way open. It was open. Why was it open? I forced all thought about what could have caused it ajar and I stepped inside.

“Mom, Scott?” I half cried half whimpered. No reply. “Mom…Scott…” I yelled louder and thanked the morning for its growing light. My brain had hit reboot and I couldn’t remember where the light switches were.

I made my way to my son’s room. Empty. I bolted to my room. My knees gave way. My bed was covered in blood and I inched towards the bundle in the center. Tears burned the side of my face and my stomach twisted and protested the contents it still contained. I inched closer. I extended a shaking hand and pulled the sheets back.

A scream erupted from my lips and my heart burst from my chest. This time I swore it lay near my feet to beat its last beat. I staggered to my feet and leaned against the doorframe. I covered my lips in disbelief. The limp body of my stepfather lay sprawled on the bed, his insides no longer in their proper place.

My stomach gave up and I threw up. The vile taste invading my mouth only caused me to gag more and I found myself on my knees again. The contents of my breakfast lay on the tiled floor reminding me that I was still alive. My eyes wandered to the corpse on the bed and I wished I was dead.

A loud bang snapped me back and I bolted to my feet. My son crossed my mind and I ran towards the kitchen, to the backdoor. I hadn’t checked the storage or the backyard. Hope forced my heart to beat again and I ran faster. The banging came again and I swung the door open.

Another scream escaped my lips and I rushed back inside, the sound of moaning lingering in my ears. I struggled with the doorknob. My bloody fingers slipped on the cold metal and I screamed louder. Desperation took over and I clung to the doorknob as if it was the key to my very life. Actually it was, that was the only thing keeping me from the horde of zombies that had greeted me.

The banging moved to the door and with one final attempt the locks fell into place. I backed away from the door and reached for something, anything to use as a weapon. The moaning grew louder followed by garnishing of teeth and fingers gnawing at the wood. My hand reached for a pan lying on the table and before I could grab it something hard hit me on the head. I hit the ground hard and everything went black.

Next

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One thought on “Free Writing: The Dead Can Run (Chp2)

  1. Pingback: Free Writing: The Dead Can Run (Chp1 Prt2) | Enchanted Tales of the Romantic Kind

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