It has been too long since I wrote another entry to this crazy but fun zombie story. Please keep in mind this is a first draft and no revisions or editing should be done as part of the exercise, though each entry I find it harder to keep true to it. I hope you are enjoying my take on the zombie apocalypse none the less.
Feel free to point errors and grammar out for when I do get around to properly editing this story. And if you would like to read the chapters one day early consider signing up as a patron over at my patreon page.
Warning: dry humor/sarcasm and rambling
The Dead Can Run
Chapter Three Part One
I didn’t know how much time had passed.
When I came to it was dark and my head throbbed like no tomorrow. But what I did know was that someone had hit me over the head with something hard and painful. But why? I was in my own house for crying out loud. Yet the zombies in my backyard weren’t mine, I reminded myself through the pain swirling around in my head. Heck the most deadly thing I owned were two miniature poodles if you could call them deadly. Cute, annoying, but deadly not so much. They barked more than anything else. And who knew what had happened to them.
Like on cue, on that last thought a bark reached my ears.
I forced my mind to settle and strained my ears. Had I heard right? Had my mind played tricks on me?
The bark came again, then another bark slightly different in tone followed by an angry male voice. “I told you to muffle the darn dogs or leave them outside. They are going to wind up the zombies even more than that woman.”
Yes, I had heard right, my dogs were alright. What about my son and my mother? Images of my stepdad sprawled on the bed his insides no longer where they should have been flashed through my mind and I forced down another knot and the last remainders of my breakfast. I pushed back the bloodied images and let the words behind the darkness sooth away the uncertainties.
“That woman isn’t my fault. I wasn’t the one who left the gate unchained or the door unlocked. We are lucky it wasn’t one of those things,” another voice replied, less loudly than the first. I could notice the nervousness of his words through the wooden wall.
“Shut up, you saying it was my fault? How was I supposed to know there were still people alive? We did the rounds and found no one in the entire complex.”
Were they talking about me? Had they just stated that no one else was alive?
No, it couldn’t be.
I struggled to get closer and found I was tied to a chair.
The unsettling feeling in my stomach grew. They had tied me up, shoved me who knows where while my son was possibly dying somewhere and in need of my help. Tears clung to my eyelashes and my throat tightened. I tried harder, tugging against the rope until my wrist threatened to turn raw, and managed to free a hand.
The rope loosened enough and I freed my other hand but not before the chair toppled over and my head smashed against the floor. The darkness started to spin for a brief moment before it stilled once more. My body froze in fear of being discovered. Nothing. The voices continued but faded as if the men had moved to another room.
I waited a few more minutes and then continued my struggle with the cursed rope. A few more tugs and I was free. I moved from the chair and the ropes that clung against my skin like leeches to flesh and rose. I felt fabric rub against my hair and the new forming bump. I was in a closet. I scrimmaged through the array of clothes hanging and bumped my elbow on a dresser. The closet was mine. My fingers grazed the newly remodeled floor to make sure and I thanked the turn of events.
If the closet I was locked in was really mine then it meant there was a flashlight in one of the drawers. My hands tugged at the metal handle and a sigh of relief escaped my lips as my fingers pressed against the flashlight. I turned it on and the darkness faded behind the small ray of light. I glanced around for something I could use as a weapon, anything I could use to escape the unknowing threat on the other side of the door. The horde of zombies in my yard would require a much better array of choices.
“What the heck?” the same angry voice from before yelled. “She freed herself.”
The men had moved back to my room.
The moment of relief was short lived. A shout behind the closet door was followed by heavy footsteps and the door was yanked open. The flashlight was ripped from my grasp as something hard smacked against the side of my face. I fell to the ground, the sound of angry words fading and mingling with the irony of the fact that one could fall unconscious more than once per day.
“You should have used the handcuffs,” the angry voice mocked me.
My luck hadn’t changed for the better after all.