(Here's some more of my short fiction, or PICtion. Enjoy the rest of this piece. You're the best — kc.)
Part 2 of 2
Lucky for me, a zombie has less of an attention span than I do. When I'm running, they can't focus enough to find the correct angle to ever catch me. They just sprint straight after me as if I stood still, not thinking that I'll be in another spot in a split second. Also, when running through areas with multiple entrances, zombies are too stupid to realize they can come in through a different window or a door than the one I use. So again, they fight as I cruise along.
Of course, this can be dangerous if a zombie is running ahead of you.
The way one of my runs works is, the scavengers pick out a place to find stuff, then give me an estimate of how much time they'll need to get there, pick up goods, and return home. I run around the town attracting zombies towards me, allowing the lazy-as-shit scavengers to work in piece. And I'm here all alone. But, I'm the best runner, and running means I never have to cook. So I guess it's a half-win situation.
Shelly never picked her battles the right way. She didn't realize that if she just gave me some free time to go to the movie theater to see Iron Man 2 I could experience a little needed space and hang out with some of my boys. Instead, no. I had to go shoe shopping with her.
And buy her those hideous Converse All Stars or whatever they're called. And man, they were pink. That's ugly on ugly. Personally, I choose a shoe that offers some support, and doesn't take a lifetime to lace or unlace.
Okay, now's the time. I need to make it to the bunker now. I put in the call. They're not happy about it, but I'm running out of gas. I see them waving at me. They're outside the heavy gate door that keeps the zombies out of our place.
You've got to be kidding me. One of the scavengers twisted an ankle jumping out of the truck. Now they've got to wheel him back into the bunker. Which also means I need to keep running, because if I come anywhere near the wounded scavenger the zombies are going to kill everybody. So I need to circle the block.
But I've gone this far. I might as well cruise by Shelly's old apartment. I haven't done that since a week after the outbreak. Why not? She's probably not there anyway. Plus, her parking lot smells like tacos from the Mexican restaurant nearby. I wonder if Miss Lopez made it. Her chorizo chimichangas were to die for.
I can see her old window. I remember when she used to look out that window waiting for me to come home. After we broke up she closed the blinds. I know because I drove by one night. I'm probably glad I didn't see what was going on inside.
I don't see any signs of life here. Not even recent garbage. I'll cut through anyway, because if I remember right, the courtyard leads to a mailbox area with a single door. That will be a good distraction.
Lots of good, lots of bad memories here. And I'll just add one right now. Coach would probably tell me to repeat to myself, "Shelly wasn't the girl for me, and that's okay" as we ran through some golf course or something. And it's true. She wasn't the girl for me. She isn't the girl for me. And that's okay.
There are only five zombies after me right now. Some must have collapsed from exhaustion.
Hopefully none came towards that stupid injured scavenger.
I'm running on the grass. It's nice and soft on my legs. I visualize Shelly coming down the stairs to hug me like that time we almost broke up over something stupid. I think it was because she went to yoga with an ex-boyfriend or something. Who knows? Who cares? It's all in the past. But yeah, she did. Which was really lame.
That time she came down the spiral staircase dressed only in some flip flops and the monogrammed bathrobe my mom gave me for high school graduation. Right now I see nothing. I just see a solitary pink All Star.
Holy shit, that's her shoe! The shoe I bought her!
I scan everywhere for more signs, but I'm already out of time. Maybe somebody dropped it. Maybe she lost it as she moved to a safe house. I see the doggie door on her neighbor's place flapping. Good thing zombies don't care much for dog brains. I turn and scram. A full on sprint. I can smell these five zombies behind me. That's too close, even for a trained sprinter like me.
The call comes in. The bunker is ready for me. I pump my fist and make my way through the courtyard. I need to remember to come back here with a clean up team and look for Shelly.
They've got to listen to me and come back here. I mean, I'm the guy who helps them feed their families. They've got to let me check this place out.
It will be nice to quit running. Maybe I'll get a shower. Maybe they've found Shelly. Once I leave Shelly's house it's just a few blocks more and I'm home.
But now I'm floating. Then I fall hard on my back. I hear and feel the beacon crush under me. Little bits of plastic pierce my back. I look at my right shoe. It's covered in dog shit. That fucking worthless neighbor. His dog's still shitting on the lawn!
No time. I prop myself up but a zombie jumps on top of me. I'm back down. Another ghoul attempts to tackle me even though I'm already down. He lands at my feet and snaps onto my left foot. Thank the Nike gods that his rotten teeth can't bite through cross trainer mesh. I shove the first zombie off me and a different one confuses him with me and piles on top. I kick the zombie at my feet. He bobs away, but pulls off my shoe. The other two are close behind. Gotta make sacrifices. I dump the backpack and forget my left shoe. Dogshit still coats my right shoe so I slip again, but don't completely fall. I'm back up just in time to watch and then hear zombies tear open my former backpack.
I'm minus the beacon, which means the zombies are lazier as well as less crazy.
It's been a block with only one shoe, and my left leg screams. My shin splints kick in. The 13 miles or so I've already ran come back to haunt me.
Two cars lay stalled about two feet from each other. There's a body in between them. I could go around the body, but if I leap over the body, the zombies won't jump, they'll just trip. And I'll have lost them. Which will be good in case my legs turn into nothing soon. Or I step on some glass. Or another catastrophe happens.
The lump turns toward me. I assume it's a girl with all the hair in her face. What's left of her face. Looks like that's what was eaten first. She's gnawing on a stump where her leg used to be. Zombies do that when they're really hungry. She pulls herself around to get a better glimpse at me. And wouldn't you know it, on her remaining foot, is the other pink Converse All Star.
I can't think about this now. I've got to jump over her. I can't think about the good times. The bad times. The great times. Right now. I can think only about right now. I wasn't expecting to see her like this. Even though I told myself a million times I'd see her again, somewhere in the future, I can't stand to see her like this. The undead are too close to me so it's too late to run around the cars. I need to hurdle over her.
I leap using my shoe, hoping the spring in the sole is enough to help me clear the living corpse of my ex-girlfriend. I do it. But her skeletal hand swipes my foot as I pass over the top of her. I spin mid air and crash on my left shoulder.
I struggle. She's crawling for me. Two zombies trip over her, buying me some time. But I can't put pressure on my shoulder. Or my bare foot. It seems I'm the idiot who rolled his ankle this time. Four years of cross country running and now I suffer my first major injury.
The hurt ankle won't be my last problem. A hand is around my calf. I see what's left of Shelly's face open up, and bite down onto my foot, protected only by a holey running sock. I feel a tug and pull my foot away. I look at it, then Shelly's face. She's chewing on my toes, only they're off me. She looks orgasmic right now.
If I could burn her with a cigarette, I would. Only this time it wouldn't be an accident.
Something, someone, flattens me. Then another. I feel some bites and claws, but this happens so quickly I can't tell the difference.
I do what Coach said to do: find a mantra that makes me comfortable and repeat it.
"Shelly wasn't the right one for me. And that's okay. Shelly wasn't the right one for me. And that's okay. Shelly wasn't…"
(What did you think? Do you like to see short stories on here? Want more? Want somebody else to write them? Thanks for making it this far! You're the best! — kc)