like teddy bears or as if they were security blankets, their fingers wrapped tightly around the white femurs and humeri. Others looked around trying to find something of their own, their blank gazes only coming to life when they spotted raw meat. Schafer knew if he stayed at the door too long they would find him. It would only take one, and then it would bring more. He retreated into the confines of the dark house. The road was too full of them, so clearly he was going to have to stick to using the back yards to get around for now. He just hoped they didn’t all have such high walls as Jeremy’s.
Schafer went back to the yard and examined the wall leading to the next house. It wasn’t too high, and he knew he could get over it with a little help. Spotting a spare tire, he dragged it over to the wall, the effort of it making him sweat. All he had eaten in the last twenty-four hours was half of a dark chocolate bar and a cold tin of tomato soup. They were down to one cup of water a day each, and it wasn’t enough to keep them going. He ignored the pain in his head, and using the tire to lever himself up, he climbed the wall to the next house.
The neighbor here obviously took more pride in their house, and the garden, though overgrown now, clearly had been loved at one point. There was an abundance of flowers and roses that had intertwined around each other, unattended too for months, and vines had grown all along the length of the dividing wall. Dropping into the garden, he landed softly on a mound of earth, his feet sinking into the dry dirt. The house proved less successful than the last, though, as all the doors and windows were locked. Schafer reckoned he safely had three or four hours before he would have to turn back, and it would be easier moving from house to house as the fences got lower and easier to climb.
Using a discarded trampoline, Schafer clambered into the next property and found one more dead end: another locked house, and no way in. He could have smashed a window, but was reluctant to draw any attention to himself with the inevitable noise that it would make. Plus, if he accidentally cut himself, he didn’t want to bleed to death before he could make it back to Jeremy’s. As he made his way over another fence, he realized he had reached the end of the small terrace. The last property had no fence bordering it and the garden gave way to a small path, and then the open road. He spotted a couple of zombies meandering amongst the discarded vehicles on the road, and he quickly ran to the back porch. There was a glass atrium over a wooden deck where the occupants of the house had probably spent many hours enjoying the sunshine. Schafer didn’t want to stay outside for long and expose himself to the corpses close by, so he entered the house quickly, finding the back door wide open.
The heat in the atrium was intense and he moved fast, jogging into a downstairs sitting room furnished with photos on every wall. A black and white picture hung above the couch of a couple on their wedding day reclining in an orchard surrounded by flowers. The man wore a smart suit and tie; the woman a white dress. Both had gleaming white teeth and large smiles. They were beaming with happiness, and suddenly Schafer felt overwhelmed by sadness. Where were these people? Had they left and made it somewhere safe, or were they rotting in a field, their decomposing bodies exposed to the elements, their wedding bands destined to be buried forever in the earth? Schafer looked closer at the other photographs around the room, all immaculately mounted in plain silvery chrome frames: in one the woman held a tiny baby, in another the baby had grown into a small boy and was playing with a plate of spaghetti and had it draped over his head as he laughed. Schafer saw drawings made in crayon, stick figures holding hands as a purple sun shone down on an over-sized house with blue grass and a giant fish inexplicably floating in the sky above them
Schafer went back to the yard and examined the wall leading to the next house. It wasn’t too high, and he knew he could get over it with a little help. Spotting a spare tire, he dragged it over to the wall, the effort of it making him sweat. All he had eaten in the last twenty-four hours was half of a dark chocolate bar and a cold tin of tomato soup. They were down to one cup of water a day each, and it wasn’t enough to keep them going. He ignored the pain in his head, and using the tire to lever himself up, he climbed the wall to the next house.
The neighbor here obviously took more pride in their house, and the garden, though overgrown now, clearly had been loved at one point. There was an abundance of flowers and roses that had intertwined around each other, unattended too for months, and vines had grown all along the length of the dividing wall. Dropping into the garden, he landed softly on a mound of earth, his feet sinking into the dry dirt. The house proved less successful than the last, though, as all the doors and windows were locked. Schafer reckoned he safely had three or four hours before he would have to turn back, and it would be easier moving from house to house as the fences got lower and easier to climb.
Using a discarded trampoline, Schafer clambered into the next property and found one more dead end: another locked house, and no way in. He could have smashed a window, but was reluctant to draw any attention to himself with the inevitable noise that it would make. Plus, if he accidentally cut himself, he didn’t want to bleed to death before he could make it back to Jeremy’s. As he made his way over another fence, he realized he had reached the end of the small terrace. The last property had no fence bordering it and the garden gave way to a small path, and then the open road. He spotted a couple of zombies meandering amongst the discarded vehicles on the road, and he quickly ran to the back porch. There was a glass atrium over a wooden deck where the occupants of the house had probably spent many hours enjoying the sunshine. Schafer didn’t want to stay outside for long and expose himself to the corpses close by, so he entered the house quickly, finding the back door wide open.
The heat in the atrium was intense and he moved fast, jogging into a downstairs sitting room furnished with photos on every wall. A black and white picture hung above the couch of a couple on their wedding day reclining in an orchard surrounded by flowers. The man wore a smart suit and tie; the woman a white dress. Both had gleaming white teeth and large smiles. They were beaming with happiness, and suddenly Schafer felt overwhelmed by sadness. Where were these people? Had they left and made it somewhere safe, or were they rotting in a field, their decomposing bodies exposed to the elements, their wedding bands destined to be buried forever in the earth? Schafer looked closer at the other photographs around the room, all immaculately mounted in plain silvery chrome frames: in one the woman held a tiny baby, in another the baby had grown into a small boy and was playing with a plate of spaghetti and had it draped over his head as he laughed. Schafer saw drawings made in crayon, stick figures holding hands as a purple sun shone down on an over-sized house with blue grass and a giant fish inexplicably floating in the sky above them
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