Dead Sprint



  Dead Sprint

  A Short Story

  William Walsh

 

  Text copyright © 2015 William Walsh All Rights Reserved

  You never get used to the smell. That putrid stench of rotting flesh fills your nose every minute of the day. You can get used to everything else, the noise at night, the scrounging for food. Even the close brushes with death on a daily basis become the norm if you live long enough. That’s how life was now. That’s just the way things are.

  It didn’t take long for society to crumble. But like the law of nature states, you have to adapt to survive. And that’s just what we did. At least the ones who were left did. I don’t know the actual ratio of dead to living was, but it had to be overwhelming. Surviving was exactly what I was doing, and well I might add. I had a decent supply of food and was giving back to the leftover scraps of society in my own little way. I’d say I’d gotten used to things as best as I can. But no matter what, I never got used to that smell.

  I was out doing my rounds, my own personal little clean up detail. Already a good crowd of dead were trailing behind me. It didn’t take long to build it up. Just walk around long enough, make a little noise, and they’ll show up. Slowly, but they’ll come. I fiddled with one of a dozen or so explosives inside the bandolier that hung around my body. It was just about ten more yards to the intersection I was making my way to. I was almost ready. I turned and looked at the crowd. They shambled about mocking the living. Their rotting faces said only one thing, hunger.

  “Not yet. A few more.”

  I felt adrenaline surging through my body. I walked quickly, not running, no need too. I didn’t want too much of a lead on the dead. They didn’t exactly move fast. I wanted to make every little explosion count. I was quite handy at making more but supplies for nearly everything were thin or just about gone. I had to make them count. Nervously I gripped my pistol as I walked. It was just a small six-shooter but I felt safe with it. I had found it on a dead body of all things. Early on after the outbreak I had found the corpse of an old lady with gunshot wound to the forehead. It was in her purse. This old lady gets turned into a zombie and still shambles around town with her purse over her arm. Minds are crazy things. Rarely did I ever shoot it or even pull it unless I really had too.

  My following was growing now, almost time to use my dynamite. I looked down the road ahead of me finally reaching the intersection. Not much there besides more pavement and some abandoned cars. I turned and faced the mob of rotting men and women who were once just normal people. I kept a decent backwards trot as I reached for the bomb off my chest. I lifted it up and caught the smell of it. The smell brought me back to my apartment. I pictured my work station where I spent hours painstakingly making small amounts of nitroglycerine, then, wasting no time, making dynamite. I stopped backpedaling and then pulled my lucky Zippo from my pocket. There was no such thing as good luck anymore, but it did have a clover on it. Who knows? Maybe it was lucky.

  “OK, time for death part two.”

  I heard the moans of dead hunger as they shambled over each other for their next meal. They were clustered close, good. I popped the top off the Zippo and fired it up. I lit the end of the long fuse and watched it spark. It burned for just a second. Then I hurled it at the dead mob. Their creepy white eyes followed the spark as it flew and then landed a foot or so in from them. Now ignoring me, they reached out for the sparkly thing on the ground. They fell over each other as they all grabbed for it. The one in the front, a rotting middle-aged man in a suite, now grasped it in his hands. Pre-necrosis he was probably some type of businessman. Now he was about to be so much puss on the road. What could have once been called curiosity made him hold it to eye level, then…

  BOOM!!!

  The blast blew most of the dead down. A cloud of dusty smoke hung stubbornly were the frontline once stood. I now had a second stick in hand. One for good luck I always say. I lit it and threw it a little further than the first. I didn’t wait around for the blast this time. Before it had hit the ground I had already turned and taken off running at full speed. The blast would attract many more and I didn’t want to be around for that. The blast might also attract my biggest nuisance, the very much alive authorities that had all of society’s leftover power. They were a much bigger pain in my ass than the dead ever could be. Clearing my mind, I sprinted down the open pavement that once was a quiet neighborhood. It was about a mile back to Hinzman Street where my apartment was. I could sprint the whole way, and I planned to.

  I was quite thankful for all hours I put in on the track. I never was big and strong but I made up for it by being a fast runner. It was a good quality to have in this day and age. It kept me healthy in more ways than one. Forget cardio, this kept me from becoming a meal. I controlled my breathing and took long even strides. I passed the occasional puss bag easily avoided their slow staggered movement. I was looking forward to sitting on my beat up couch and heating up some canned chicken before turning in for the night. Maybe something good will be on the radio. TV was a long dead enterprise, but radio was going stronger than ever. It wasn’t so bad. It was kind of relaxing. I had plenty of things to do with my hands making nitroglycerine and wouldn’t have time to watch it anyhow.

  As I saw the taller buildings of downtown and knew I was close to home. I slowed my pace a bit and felt the pain in my legs subside. I turned down the narrower streets toward the metal fence that the National Guard had put up a while ago when they were still trying to fully preserve the town. Much of the population most had long since moved on but there were still some people here. Handfuls of soldiers remained. They were mostly just here to man the gate and secure the trading post. The post kept my supplies in decent stock. My dynamite making made me a comfortable man given the state of things. Not many people possessed the nerve to make nitroglycerine. It was one of the most dangerous things in the world to do. I got pretty good at it. It took a long time and a lot of patience, but time was something I had plenty of. The jars of various chemicals, the hotplates, the eye droppers, the beakers, and the large bags of sawdust were my tools.

  The usual section of the fence I would hop had a dead guy hanging around it. I pulled a small flash bomb from the small sack on my waist. It was really nothing more than a small homemade firecracker but boy did these things come in handy. I found a good hiding spot and then looked to where I could throw the small bomb. I found an open parking lot in throwing distance. I pulled my lighter and placed the flame to the fuse. I was just ready to throw it when a hot spark hit my hand causing me to drop the damn thing. The loud pop blew right next to me leaving a loud ringing in my ears.

  “SHIT!” I screamed. This would attract every puss bag in the immediate area. Now I really had to move.

  I was just turning the corner to run when I ran right into a man. He wasn’t the kind of man you want to run into in a literal dark alley, considering he was dead. My momentum hit him full force and it sent us both down. I scrambled hard to get away. This wasn’t the first time I was in this position with one of the dead but I really hoped it was the last. I kicked him off and was about to get away when he grabbed my pant leg. I was working it from his hand when a second dead guy appeared and was heading toward me. I had to get away quick or I would be tonight’s midnight snack. The dead guy on my foot was making his way up my leg. His whitened-over eyes and his rotten face were getting closer and closer. Hungry dead groans escaped his slack jawed mouth as he got made his way up towards my face. I pulled my pistol. This was now an emergency. I took the safety off and then held it to his face. I let him get a little closer until his mouth was almost over the barrel, then turned my face away and pulled the trigger. I felt wet chunks splatter up my arm as the pop registered in my already
ringing ears. I took a few shots at the other one sending him back. I didn’t get his brain so he would be back up shortly. I turned the gun around and wacked at the hand of the twice dead zombie who still gripped my pant leg. When the grip loosened I was up and moving.

  I was moving away quickly but I was still in a bad position. I was moving blind and had no direction and or place to go. I wanted to avoid the gates. The soldiers that manned them were hard to deal with and could be real assholes. So once again I was running. I tried staying close to the fence. Eventually I found myself getting a little closer to where I had originally thrown the dynamite. I was slowing my pace to catch my breath when I heard the rumble of a large engine followed by some gun fire. Over the groans of the dead I could hear the cheering and yelling between blasts.

  Fucking National Guard. The last vestige of organized government was taking all my damn kills. Every time I went fishing at night, the Guardsmen would show up after the explosion. I was running down a side street and I could hear them just a block away. To avoid the somewhat large crowd of dead up ahead I just hopped a nearby wooden fence.