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Authors: David Wellington
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match. Somehow they knew I wasnât one of them. They reached for me with outstretched hands, gnashed their teeth at the air in my direction. Their red eyes didnât blink as they stared at me with naked hunger. They made no sound.
They donât make any sound at all.
Up ahead of me the street opened into an intersection, a broad square of moonlight that looked mostly clear. I careened to a stop there, trying to catch my breath, trying to think of somethingâÂanythingâÂto do next. I couldnât see any good options except to keep running.
Even in the few seconds that I stopped to think, they came closer, a noose tightening around me on every side. They stumbled into one another and pushed others away, competing for the chance to be the one that got me first. One of them walked into the side of an abandoned car and got spun around by the wing mirror on its door. For a moment it could do nothing but swing its arms, trying to keep its balance. It failed and fell down with a crack on the pavement, the first sound Iâd heard from them. I started to take a little comfort from thatâÂI was grasping at strawsâÂbut a second later it started to rise again, its nose tilted over at a new angle but its eyes just as red, its teeth just as bare.
I picked a direction at random and ran on. My body protested at the strain. Iâd had nothing to eat for a full day, nothing but those damned sugar-Âfree mints. Iâd caught maybe an hour of sleep. My muscles were flagging, and I knew if I didnât stop soon, I would just collapse, fall down in the street like that zombie. Except I wouldnât be getting back up again.
I found the strength to keep going, but I was barely trotting along, only a little faster than the zombies chasing me. And always I saw new ones ahead of me, waiting for me, hobbling straight at me. When any of them got too close, I ducked to the side or I slashed out with my knife or did whatever I could to get past.
Eventually, I came back to where Iâd started. The turnpike lay before me, crossed overhead by an on-Âramp. It was a huge shadow that cut off half the world in front of me. At least if I got onto the road surface I would be able to see what was coming for me in two directions. I vaulted over the berm and climbed up on top of a rusting car.
Behind me a crowd of zombies looked up, hundreds and hundreds of red eyes staring right at me. They started forward, lumbering and shambling, not as a body of Âpeople would but as animals might, crawling over one another to get at me.
I looked around and then up. Overhead was a giant road sign, its green paint faded almost to bone white. It was mounted on a construction of steel girders that had sagged but not completely collapsed over twenty years. I rushed over and leapt onto the girders, which bounced a little but held my weight. The corroded steel crossbeams bit painfully into my fingers but I forced myself upward, ever higher, pulling myself up one handhold at a time until I was perched on the back of the sign, my legs dangling ten feet above the surface of the turnpike. The girders groaned and squeaked alarmingly and the whole construction swayed a little, but it held.
The zombies gathered around the base of the girders. They stared up at me, reached for my trailing feet. One or two of them tried to climb up after me, but they just didnât have the coordination.
I couldnât go down. They couldnât come up.
I remember very little of the next eighteen or so hours.
Â
CHAPTER 16
N o water, no food, no sleep. No energy, no ability to even thinkâÂI was too terrified. I clung to my perch like a bird in a hurricane, while all around me the zombies hungered for me, raged for me, but could not come an inch closer.
In my mindâs eye all I see is a single image, though that picture is seared permanently into my memory. I can see every detail of them, not just their red eyes and their
They donât make any sound at all.
Up ahead of me the street opened into an intersection, a broad square of moonlight that looked mostly clear. I careened to a stop there, trying to catch my breath, trying to think of somethingâÂanythingâÂto do next. I couldnât see any good options except to keep running.
Even in the few seconds that I stopped to think, they came closer, a noose tightening around me on every side. They stumbled into one another and pushed others away, competing for the chance to be the one that got me first. One of them walked into the side of an abandoned car and got spun around by the wing mirror on its door. For a moment it could do nothing but swing its arms, trying to keep its balance. It failed and fell down with a crack on the pavement, the first sound Iâd heard from them. I started to take a little comfort from thatâÂI was grasping at strawsâÂbut a second later it started to rise again, its nose tilted over at a new angle but its eyes just as red, its teeth just as bare.
I picked a direction at random and ran on. My body protested at the strain. Iâd had nothing to eat for a full day, nothing but those damned sugar-Âfree mints. Iâd caught maybe an hour of sleep. My muscles were flagging, and I knew if I didnât stop soon, I would just collapse, fall down in the street like that zombie. Except I wouldnât be getting back up again.
I found the strength to keep going, but I was barely trotting along, only a little faster than the zombies chasing me. And always I saw new ones ahead of me, waiting for me, hobbling straight at me. When any of them got too close, I ducked to the side or I slashed out with my knife or did whatever I could to get past.
Eventually, I came back to where Iâd started. The turnpike lay before me, crossed overhead by an on-Âramp. It was a huge shadow that cut off half the world in front of me. At least if I got onto the road surface I would be able to see what was coming for me in two directions. I vaulted over the berm and climbed up on top of a rusting car.
Behind me a crowd of zombies looked up, hundreds and hundreds of red eyes staring right at me. They started forward, lumbering and shambling, not as a body of Âpeople would but as animals might, crawling over one another to get at me.
I looked around and then up. Overhead was a giant road sign, its green paint faded almost to bone white. It was mounted on a construction of steel girders that had sagged but not completely collapsed over twenty years. I rushed over and leapt onto the girders, which bounced a little but held my weight. The corroded steel crossbeams bit painfully into my fingers but I forced myself upward, ever higher, pulling myself up one handhold at a time until I was perched on the back of the sign, my legs dangling ten feet above the surface of the turnpike. The girders groaned and squeaked alarmingly and the whole construction swayed a little, but it held.
The zombies gathered around the base of the girders. They stared up at me, reached for my trailing feet. One or two of them tried to climb up after me, but they just didnât have the coordination.
I couldnât go down. They couldnât come up.
I remember very little of the next eighteen or so hours.
Â
CHAPTER 16
N o water, no food, no sleep. No energy, no ability to even thinkâÂI was too terrified. I clung to my perch like a bird in a hurricane, while all around me the zombies hungered for me, raged for me, but could not come an inch closer.
In my mindâs eye all I see is a single image, though that picture is seared permanently into my memory. I can see every detail of them, not just their red eyes and their
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