ByLillian Tague, writer at Creators.co

This is a piece of fan fiction I am writing. Its going to be written in parts out of order so hang tight! There will be a new entry every week! Thanks for reading!

Basically this young man is experiencing the Zombie Apocalypse and this is his story.

I am alone. For the first time in thirteen and a half months, I am alone. The sun setting on the dashboard seems almost as dull as the clouds in the distance. There is a storm coming, which means this will be a long night. I stare at Benji’s body laying in the road about twenty yards in front of the car. I stared at his stillness. I haven’t seen him so still since the night he finished Elie Wiesel’s trilogy. He spoke to me in a different way that night. He told me he knew that God had brought this disease to the world to rid it of all of its hate and all of its purity and leave the in-between people like us behind to witness it all. People like us, who chose to stand by and live our day to day lives ignoring the violence and well as the justice happening all around us. People like us who chose to live life with no feeling, and no color. Now we are paying our debt by being a witness to this destruction. I cannot cry, I no longer know how to cry. I’ve also learned that thinking is a bad thing.

A walker stumbles out of the woods into the road, engulfed by the smell of death. I watch as my dead friend is being torn into by that fowl creature. His blood, still warm, staining the face and fingers of that THING. I am not fazed by these things anymore. But I do know where there is one walker, there are more. I slide into the back seat of the station wagon, slide under my blanket, then fall asleep. I wake to the noise of moaning and dragging footsteps. I hear the rain hit the roof and windows and watch the shadows slowly sweep by each time lighting strikes. I know they are distracted by the meal awaiting them but I remain still, slowly falling back asleep.

I dream of her again. Randy. My wife Randy. My dead wife Randy. She haunts my dreams with a sweetness unexplainable to any speaking mammal on the earth. I live for these dreams. I feel alive when I see her rich chestnut hair, and her blood filled cheeks. Her hands crafted with God’s finest craftsmanship. Her eyes, softly gleaming, icy blue melting into an ivy green full of life. I watch her as I have watched her many nights before, holding her bow against the strings of her cello. Her bow gliding among the strings playing Air. Bach was her favorite. It had always seemed as if she were one with her instrument, almost making me jealous. Then I enter and sit with her. I raise my fiddle to my shoulder, grasp my bow, I begin my stride---I am awake. I’m shaking vigorously. This happens when I dream of her.

It is morning now, I raise myself up slowly, I see nothing except for Benji’s remains laying in the road. I slide back into the front seat, start the engine, and continue North. North is Canada. The colder it gets, the less bodies there are. I stop at a 7-11 and take all the water I can find and scavenge for fuel. I got lucky this time, I filled up. I made it to the great lakes. Finally. I parked right on the beach, about ten miles from the bridge. I ate a can of Vienna sausages, drank a pepsi, and then thought about WHY I am here alone. A thought I knew I would have to face tonight.

I kept rethinking our plan. Get in, check the pantry, get out. I kept replaying the afternoon in my mind. If I had had been watching the doorway instead of admiring long lost photos of smiling faces, he wouldn’t be dead, laying in the middle of some Ohio dirt road. I remember holding him in that dirty road. Repeating himself, telling me to hurry up and shoot. Then tears filled his eyes and he began begging me to shoot him. Ben had been my only friend since I lost Randy. He saved me from my own grief, my own self destruction. I held him there in that road, then I was crying. I said “thank you”, he replied “Just pick up the damn gun and shoot me! I ready dammit”. I put the gun to his head and pulled. That was the first time I watched the light leave someone’s eyes, as he went limp. The blood still on my shirt is a reminder to me that I can’t stop going, because he wanted Canada even more than I did. I slept in my blanket again, another dreamless night.

When the sun rose I made it to the bridge. Luckily the side leaving Canada was empty. I drove slow, listening to the bridge cry. I reached the gates and broke open the door to the booth where I would search for the button to raise the bar. I looked under the counter, where I saw a baby’s car seat, stained with blood, I paused for a moment, reflecting on what reality is now, and continued my search. I found the button, pressed it, and ran out to get back in the car. I slammed on the gas, made it through the gate, watched it drop behind me. I make it over the hill of the bridge and on the other side, a massive heard of Walkers making its way up the bridge. I slam the car into reverse, not even thinking to check the rear view mirror. Then I crash into the gate booth which is when my air bag pops open, the car alarm goes off, and the booth topples over on top of the car, capturing me inside. I search for my bag, I grab the knife from my pocket and slice open the air bag. I can see the walkers now, moving even faster now that there is noise, light, and movement. The only way out of the car now is through a small slit in the window, a sharp metal piece hangs almost in my way. I throw my bag out, then begin squeezing my way out of the car. I’m almost out when I hear something metal bend. I then feel a stinging pain in my calf and the metal piece that was just far enough out of my way was now through my leg. I screamed in agony as the walkers got closer. I used my other foot to push the car up enough to get my leg free. I can feel the flesh tear as it falls from the metal. I dragged myself to the gate and pulled myself up. I grabbed my bag and began to limp hastily towards the woods at the bottom of the bridge. I kept falling and pushing myself up. I reached the bottom and fell again. I couldn’t get up. I ditched my bag and raised myself once more. I made it five yards and fell. I began dragging myself along the pavement. I could hear the monsters behind me, chasing their next meal. I knew I couldn’t survive this time. This was it. The adrenaline pumping, I turned myself over looking at the sky. I looked to my left and saw a meadow, purple and yellow. I admired how the sun hit the wet blades of grass. I felt the first bite into my flesh and screamed as I was being eaten alive. Then I felt another, and another until I could feel nothing but numb pain. I looked at the grass and the flowers, and I saw her. Standing there, I saw her. Dressed in her wedding gown. Her hair in waves, smiling her half smile. She lit up the sky and reached her arm out to me. The sky behind her became brighter and blurred into scenes of my life, flashing before my eyes. Putting up a tent in the Colorado mountains, playing my fiddle for the first time, playing fetch with Sebastian, our first date, the proposal, the wedding vows, painting the house, the pregnancy test, the sonogram, the last night we spent together, her hands, playing her cello, Benji finding me on the floor, getting drunk, getting beaten at poker, Benji saying goodbye, the sunset on the lake…then I was standing in the field of purple and yellow. Randy, Benji and I all staring at the mangled, bloody, lifeless body in the middle of a lonely Michigan road. Witnessing for the final time, receiving our final glimpse of Hell, that we can now leave behind.

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