Little Things, pt. 4

They picked their way slowly through the ruin of the road until it was Jake’s turn to nearly open himself on the rusted remains of some metal structure. He hissed in pain as it scratched—but didn’t cut—him, and he stumbled, only barely keeping his feet.

“I’m tellin’ you, we need to open up the light,” Oliver growled. “If we keep it off, we’ll draw ‘em just as surely by sound anyway. We’re gonna get cut—”

“Aw hell,” Jake panted. Something had broken the skin. “I jus’ did. Fine, open it. Just as little as you can.” He strained to hear the slightest whisper of movement around them, but the breeze was rustling branches not far off the road, and the lake shore was splashing gently beside them.

We’re gonna regret this choice, he thought as the light opened and spilled onto the ground in a small area around them. “I can’t hear nothin’ over the wind and the lake,” he said, “so maybe they won’t either.”

Little Things, pt. 3

His mind raced. The smell of the blood would draw the dead as quickly as the mosquitoes, and the dead were more tenacious by far. “Let’s move out, quick!” he whispered. “They’re not far, they’ll smell this and be on us.”

He cringed even as he said it; he didn’t know exactly what he’d cut himself on. Taking care of the wound was their second priority. Leaving it any longer than absolutely necessary was as certain a death sentence as being caught by the dead. If they didn’t track them down by it, he’d die of infection.

They moved as quick as they dared through the broken street, avoiding rusted, rotting lumps that could only rarely be identified as cars. They were spurred on by the eerie, inarticulate vocalizations that were all the dead could produce. The moon was still hidden away behind thick clouds.

“We need more light,” Oliver growled as he nearly gashed his own leg open on some sort of rod of metal jutting up from the ground.

“Can’t, too risky. They’re too close on us as it is.” He was grateful they were so slow. These were old dead, bodies dried out, slow moving husks.

“I know. Didn’t say I was gonna open it up, just said I wish we could.”

“If wishin’ did any good, the dead would all be gone.” They had to be almost there. They had to be. Nothing looked at all familiar though, and Jake found himself wishing for more light in spite of his own advice.

Little Things, pt. 2

“Damned ‘squitos are worse than the dead,” he muttered.

“Just deal. At least all they want’s a little blood.”

They kept to the road, picking their way across the broken surface. They hadn’t been maintained since the fall of civilization a decade before, and it showed; so many plants had pushed their way up through the asphalt that calling it a ‘road’ was little more than being polite. Some of the sprouted trees were surprisingly mature.

The only sounds they heard were their own footsteps, occasional muttered and stifled curses, and the droning of mosquitoes that got too close. Jake banged his shin hard on the remains of a roadside barrier and fought to contain a shout. He felt a slow trickle of liquid and felt a shiver course down his spine. Just great; as if their anti-biotics weren’t tight enough.

“What’re you doing stumbling around like that, Jake?” Oliver whispered harshly. “Quit messing around, we’re out too late as it is.”

“I’m hurt, man. We got any ointment left?”

“Shit. How bad is it?” His tone was instantly serious.

“Bleeding. Not too bad.” The mosquito drone grew a bit louder as more of them were attracted to the scent. A shuffling sound far off the road jerked Jake’s attention off his leg. His heart began to pound. Not now, damnit, not now.

Little Things

“Ow! You little bugger!” Jake slapped the mosquito from his arm with several choice curses and nearly broke his leg tripping over debris on the road. A long string of curses filled the air.

“Jake, shut up! You wanna bring ‘em all down on us? We barely escaped the last bunch.”

He forced the anger down deep within, favoring his left leg and trying to ignore the rising itch on his arm. They were right. They were far from the nearest enclave, but that was no guarantee of safety. The dead never tired. They could be found anywhere, at any time. It was best not to find them whenever possible.

Oliver kept his lantern hooded so low they could barely see the road, but Jake didn’t complain. Sound would draw the dead to them, but light would do just as good a job. The nights were painfully dark when the moon was hidden, so even hooded, their light would stand out like a beacon, but they couldn’t move if they couldn’t see.

Bringer of the Fall, pt. 7

He forced his legs to carry on as long as he could. The sound of an engine tore through the air behind him as he ran, accompanied by a rhythmic pounding that echoed his footsteps. Before he had a chance to wonder what that meant, he was tackled from behind and his mind exploded into a brilliant spray of color before darkness took him.

Bringer of the Fall, pt. 6

His face blanched pale as he watched the smoke rise. That had to be a coincidence, some part of his mind tried to tell him. It didn’t shut up until the squealing of tires told him that his escape had been noticed. He flat out ran, no destination in mind other than “away from here.”

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Breathing hard, wheezing. His lifestyle had left him ill-equipped to deal with this. He found himself wishing between breaths that he’d gone to the gym a few more times. Or at all.

He couldn’t tell if he was being followed; the paranoia center of his brain screamed that of course he was being followed. He listened to it. He’d better have some place to go.

All this over a drink? Less than that, stories about a drink? He could really use a drink. Or a clear breath.

He was rambling. Mentally at least. He wasn’t speaking. Couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. He needed somewhere to go, but couldn’t go anywhere. Somewhere to hide and catch his breath then, and figure out just what was going on.

He was on a side street, little-used, hardly any traffic or people. Every chase movie he’d ever seen told him that was a bad thing; he’d stand out, be an easy target. On the plus side, there was no obvious sign that anyone was actually chasing him.

He ducked down an alley just in time for the screech of tires to jolt him back into a run he couldn’t keep up. His lungs were lead weights set on fire.