The sound filled my ears with horror. There shouldn’t have been this many of them, this wasn’t the way they should have acted. Yet somehow, they seem to work together like a pack of feral dogs trying to get in. and they were succeeding. It was an arm, first, through the window to my right, smashing through and caring not for the deep cuts the plywood inflicted upon it. A face followed but that was quickly put down by Andrew with a shot through the neck, severing the spinal cord. With its fall, two more replaced it at the breach, enlarging the hole. Andrew and Esther put down as many as they could, most arrows finding their mark due to the small distance between where they were standing to the wall where the undead had staged an assault. Fighting desperately, they seemed to be on the winning side- as long as their arrows were not all spent. Realizing this, I ran to the nearest window and spying through a hole in the wood, I was dismayed. Almost a hundred of them. I had never seen such a gathering since the when they first arose in the beginning. Looking back, I knew my two new friends were fighting a losing battle. It now seemed to me they were fighting a many headed hydra, with each head slew two more took its place. Their arrows all but spent, it looked like they realized this too. To this day, their courage took me by surprise. Perhaps it was their will to live which stayed their hand from the gun. The supposed savior of man was its downfall. In the beginning, as the surviving soldiers entered the large cities, the incredible noise from each shot fired drew more of the undead in. Guns were now considered a last resort, better suited for ending your own life rather than that of the enemy. There were enough bullets in Andrew’s revolver yet the both of them seemed to ignore it, preferring to fight on as long as they could. By now, all of the arrows were used up and they were using long logs to hold back the invasion. Unfortunately at that moment, another breach was made, this time across the room, and another, and another.
I grabbed a log from the fire and started swinging madly in the general direction of the undead. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see their bony cheeks, their bloodstained mouths and empty clouded eyes. I wish I could have become deaf too, for their groans were unbearable. Hearing it, I could have almost pitied them. They drew nearer and nearer; my log connecting with only a few heads, and without much effect. The ones I hit just fell back a little and continued pushing at each other to get to me. I suppose there could have been some luck that day; all of these corpses were in an extremely advanced stage of wear. Their ligaments dry and their muscles stiffened, they could not charge as their fresher counterparts could. Still, there were too many, and I had lost hope. I didn’t know if Andrew and Esther had survived, my back was turned to them. Too deafening the noise the undead cannibals were making till I was not sure if I heard shouts from the other two living people in the room or not. I felt a strong grip on my arm. Two hands. I risked opening my eyes and saw a set of rotting teeth about to clamp down upon my arm. I smashed its owner’s face with the log and moved backwards. The room was filling up with them now, and the smell was so awful my eyes teared and I found myself choking on my own spit. I was so overwhelmed I nearly dropped to the ground in defeat. Let them have me, I say. The pain would be momentary and I would be granted an eternity of peace. No more fear, no more running, no more hunger, no more suffering. I knelt down and covered my face with my hands, too afraid to shed any tears. My whole body was shaking and yet my mind was anticipating the moment where I could be set free from this world and the pain it brought.
I thought back, to the beginning, I had a beautiful, enviable life. I considered myself lucky. I was doing well as a writer, my book ‘The Color of Sacrifice’ selling out in bookstores around the world. I was a Pulitzer Prize winner and women adored me. My eyes however saw no one but my beautiful Anne. I was living the good life, the earnings from my book giving me a chance to live 2 lifetimes without any more work. When the Red Death struck, even as my love was torn from me I considered myself lucky. I was immune to the first generation of the virus and I survived. I was lucky I had never seen Anne’s face as she awoke from death. I was far away at that time. Long after the first wave of infection I still considered myself lucky. I was never bit, and had little encounters with the dead, safe inside the fortified community the people before me had built. After that, I still considered myself lucky, when I was discovered by these two kind people and taken in. Thinking about it now, I know that all those times before, I wasn’t really lucky. No, the only moment in my life where I was lucky was now. Where I anticipated the sweet, sweet embrace of death, knowing in a few short minutes I would feel it, and all my sufferings gone.
Hands fell upon my back, my arms and my neck. My eyes still closed, I urged them to bite into my flesh, hoping that I wouldn’t have to endure too long the ordeal. I could smell the decay in their breath. The hands gripped my shoulders and my back, jerking me to my feet. I couldn’t help but open my eyes, and I wish I had never done so. I was looking into the face of a dead man. I was looking into the face of a comrade I had abandoned, Aaron.
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