S. Davis - 900 Miles

Shooting my focus back to the spinning, fiery Z, my eyes went wide as I realized the direction it was heading. I had to stop it…

“Enough of this shit!” I screamed out as I charged in.

Nine mil in one hand and my hammer in my other, I could feel the gun come to life as it spit bullets toward the creatures between the flaming Z and me. After a few obvious misses, I was able to take down three of the monsters before the clip emptied. Throwing it to the side, I dove into the mix, shifting sideways across a Z dressed in a chef’s apron, which was now more red than white.

The chef was a big bastard, and I recognized him immediately. It was Earl. He’d served me on more than one occasion, and I hated that I had to put him down. However, at the end of the day, he was already dead… I was just finishing the job.

Pinning the chef to the ground, I brought the full force of the hammer down through the Z’s skull. As he was still violently twisting on the ground, I brought it down once again, feeling the metallic head crash through the monster’s face, hitting the concrete floor with an audible clank. Wiping my forearm across the plastic faceplate covering my eyes and mouth, I managed to smear away just enough of the blood splatter to see the fire continuing to waltz gracefully toward the medicine cabinet.

Glancing at Rodgers, I watched as he moved in on the flaming Z. Roaring with an all-too-familiar scream as it charged, I couldn’t help but think that the creature looked more like a pissed-off version of Satan than the undead.

With rage screaming from his bloodshot eyes, Mr. Rodgers lifted a double-barreled shotgun from his hip and pulled the trigger, pumping a round of buckshot through the chest and skull of the Z. A perfect shot, with one exception. The creature hit the ground hard, but not before it fell backwards against the oversized cabinet that held the medication.

Watching in horror, I stood helpless as the fire engulfed the entire cabinet in just seconds. Knowing we couldn’t let it spread, I turned my head from side to side, looking for an extinguisher before my eyes lifted to the ceiling. Why the hell hadn’t the emergency extinguisher gone off?

With my eyes focused on the small metal sprinkler closest to the flaming wall, I darted toward it, took a running jump, and drove the head of my hammer through that malfunctioning piece of shit with an audible metal on metal crack.

In the moment before I looked up to see Kyle drop one of the creatures across the room, I saw the metal sprinkler head hit the ground in front of me, sliding to a stop at the edge of the chef’s apron. An instant later, small drops of water began to rain from above.

With that blow, the tides turned in that little skirmish, and our team made quick work of the rest of the Zs; the fire quickly extinguished to nothing more than a smoldering ash pile. The Med Center was a mess, and blood was spiraling into pools on the concrete floor. That shit never truly washed out of the concrete. If you looked close enough, you’d see light pink stains scattered throughout the halls of Avalon.

A stain. It is all that is left of us once we’re gone.

“Jesus, man, I thought Mr. Rodgers was nuts,” Kyle said as he walked up to me and patted my shoulder.

Keeping my eyes fixed on the melted plastic and cracked glass of the medicine bottles, I didn’t respond. It hadn’t hit me yet… what this really meant. At the time, I thought we had some additional meds in storage.

“We need to get you some cardio,” Kyle continued as he tapped two fingers against the armor across my stomach.

I laughed but still didn’t respond to his quip. Hell, I was in better shape than I’d been in since high school. Before the apocalypse, I’d spent ten years sitting in front of a computer. The most exercise I would get in an average day was walking up and down the stairs in the parking garage, and that was only because it was an easier route than walking across the full length of the garage to get to the elevator. We were bred to be lazy back then.

And I was as pathetic as the rest of them.

Pulled from my introspection, Kyle caught my attention as he crossed the room toward a smaller sized cabinet. Nodding his head up toward me, then glancing back down at the metal handle just below, he motioned for me to walk over toward him. As I approached, he crouched down a bit and whispered that he’d seen someone crawl in there, but wasn’t sure if they’d been bitten or not.

With the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, I lifted the hammer above my head, ready to strike while Kyle reached one arm down to the cabinet. Taking a deep breath, I nodded to him as he touched his hand to the handle and yanked.

Stepping forward, ready to bring the weapon down, I pulled back as a small girl rolled out onto the floor. She wasn’t older than ten or twelve, and didn’t have a mark on her. With long blond hair and overly pale skin from living underground too long, she looked almost angelic.

Putting my hammer back into my belt, and nodding at Kyle, I reached down and lifted her up with both hands. One small arm rolled across her chest, and she lifted her head slightly before falling back to sleep.

I gave a huge sigh of relief. With all the death in that room, at least one person had made it.

The chef did make good eggs.

My eyes caught a movement across the room. There was a banging at the cylindrical door, followed by a squelch as a circular switch began to turn to the right. I glanced back at Kyle, who shook his head. Mr. Rodgers lifted his eyes to meet mine. It couldn’t be the creatures.

The door clanged open and slowly swung wide as we watched our fearless leader enter the room.

Jarvis, the man who had been elected leader of Avalon shortly after Kyle and I had returned, stepped through the frame and into a pile of gore covering the floor. Glancing down, he shook his boot, splashing small chunks of brain across the dead body of a woman wearing a scarf.

When we initially encountered Jarvis, in those first weeks of the apocalypse, he was well-kept. Suit and a tie, short silver hair, and a friendly smile that you couldn’t help but trust. His status was somewhere in between the Elites that ran Avalon and the Commoners that were tasked with taking care of it.

It’s funny to think of him like that. Over the past months, his polished demeanor was quickly replaced with black Army fatigues and long, pushed-back hair. He now sported a small scar running down his neck, a wound he’d picked up during the fight after the Arena battle, and a constant two days’ worth of gray stubble. The harder, more toughened looking Jarvis was still just as poised as ever. He was someone we all knew we could trust.

Jarvis had fought hard to transform Avalon into a place where people were equal. He taught us to scavenge without stealing, and to live without needless killing. While we had our share of issues in this little compound, his leadership helped maintain a level of trust inside the walls. We all knew what we were following him toward… a society that adapted to the new reality, but held on to its humanity. Ultimately, he’d created a positive place in a world of evil. I would have followed Jarvis to hell and back. We all would.

Richard, his number two in command, sidestepped the reddish-black puddle and entered just behind him. They both looked around at the mess, assessing the damage to the Med Center.

“You boys got here a bit late on this one, didn’t you?” Jarvis finally asked.

None of us responded. He didn’t expect us to.

As they walked toward the middle of the room, their eyes finally fell on the small girl resting in my arms.

“One survivor,” I managed to get out.