The Zombie Catastrophe

SOMEBODY ELSE

“They cannot… they cannot touch me.” Kevin Santorini whispered to himself in realisation, his breath coming out in excited huffs from his nostrils.

The feeling in his chest was a healthy mix of joy and wonder as he watched them try to reach him without success, held off by this barrier that even he could neither see nor understand.

Now, he even dared to look them in the eyes, staring into the rotting, ashen faces. He could not believe his good luck when for the second time that day, the zombies left him alone.

Still, he remained where he had woken up, convinced that there was something about that place protecting him and afraid to leave its safety. He checked the bite on his leg and saw that it had healed, leaving ashen scars.

Was he dreaming? He wondered to himself, feeling the scars on his leg and pressing his fingers on them. There was absolutely no pain, no itch, and nothing to remind him that a zombie had bitten him there except for the scars, and even they seemed perfectly normal except for the colour.

Daring to rise while assuming that it was just the way zombie scars felt and looked when they healed, he took in the chaos around him. It was all a mess, everything trampled and destroyed by the zombies and their ravaging horde.

Standing there, hunger bit into his stomach as well, the sandwich he had eaten that morning long digested, and he hoped there would be something left that remained untouched by the zombies if he searched through the house.

He slipped his gun in his pocket and picked up the chainsaw, leaving the room and going downstairs. Everything in the house he had proudly co-owned was left in a dirty, disorderly mess, but he cared less now. All he wanted to do was survive.

In the dining room, the fridge was turned over with the contents pouring out, but he scavenged what he could from them, eating to assuage his hunger. In the kitchen there were some canned foods he ate as well, uncaring when they dribbed down the sides of his mouth.

He needed some rest, and his body was demanding it without caring for the situation he was in. Sleeping on the hard floor had kept him uncomfortable, and he felt the cramps in his back as he stood there, leaning against the kitchen counter.

And then came the question he had not asked himself.

For how long was he going to be here?

He soon forgot the question, ate until he was full, and then managed to get on the bed, ignoring his memory of what he had seen there just that morning while clutching his gun and chainsaw to himself.

And once more, he dared to fall asleep as the zombies picked the city clean.

A few hours later, the sound of clashing pots and pans coming from inside his kitchen woke him up again, and he rose, cocking his gun. He went back into the kitchen on tiptoe with his chainsaw behind him, where he saw a form sitting in front of a fire made on his kitchen floor.

He paused, watching for a while. The motions the form made were smooth and normal instead of the breaking, mechanical motions the zombies made, and the skin seemed smooth and fresh instead of the rotting skin covering the zombies. Moreover, he was not shrieking or growling. He was quiet.

“Hey… Who are you?” Kevin called out, pointing his gun.

The form rose, holding what looked to him like a machine gun and pointing it in his direction. Immediately, he was assured— this was a normal man.

“Don't shoot. I mean you no harm.”

“And so do I.” The form replied, lowering his gun.

Assured that he was now safe, Kevin edged closer, observing the form that was now clearly a man. He sat back by the fire, simply staring into the flames.

Kevin went and sat near it too, cautiously putting his weapons next to him and looking into the flames just like the man on the other side of himself.

He wondered what the other was thinking about, and wondered if they were both thinking about the same thing— about how they had woken up in a city with normal people and were now about to go back to sleep with dead men prowling their streets, dead men who itched to kill them as well.

It was the other man's question that drew him from his thoughts.

“You live here?” He asked, his voice baritone. He seemed to be quite muscular with short, low-cropped hair. As for his face, Kevin could not see it properly.

“Yes. The house is mine.”

He grunted in response and they were quiet for a while before he spoke.

“Sorry for making a fire on your kitchen floor, but I had to. The zombies fear fire, as it burns them just like paraffin, and they will try to quench it first if they mean to get you.”

Kevin raised his head to critically look at him for the first time, surprised that the man knew so much. It was only then that he observed the other man's clothing, noticing that he was wearing a black inner vest, but his trousers were military khaki.

“You are a soldier?” He asked.

The other man nodded. “Kind of. I am a sergeant, but still worth it. Name’s Max Johnson.”

“Kevin Santorini.”

“Do you think it appropriate that we exchange stories over some beer, Kevin?” Max asked, pulling close a big backpack that Kevin had not noticed before and taking two beer cans out. “I got left behind by the rest of my squad when we were fighting these zombies, and I scavenged a few stuff from empty houses when I realised they were never coming back to get me.”

“You were fighting zombies?” Kevin asked, surprised.

“Oh,” Max laughed for the first time, tossing one of the beer cans at Kevin.

“Oh hell yes I was. Blew lots of them up with grenades, burned them with flamethrowers, and shot at the rest with my gun. They come closer to stop it when you have something that irritates them like sound or fire, leave you alone when they see you are a danger or cannot be taken, but never stop following anyway. They only hide and watch you, waiting for your unguarded moments before coming again. They never give up until they have you.”

Kevin could relate to all Max had just said. They had left him alone twice just that day, and it chilled his bones for him to think that they were watching him now and waiting for him, if Max was right.

He looked at the windows, frightened to his bones, but all he could see was the darkness outside.