Story- “One Last Night”

“Run!!” Henry yelled over the torrent of noise that blared through the flooded station. “We gotta run, Ash!” He could barely hear himself. He could only hope Ash, who was staring at the departing train with raw anguish in his eyes, could. He grabbed his friend by the shoulder and somehow managed to drag them both out of station and back under the sun.

“Ash? He did not expect the boy to respond; his mother and sister had been on the train that had left the buzzing city just minutes ago. Henry swallowed. He had no idea where his own family was, let alone a plan to find them. But he knew what his parents would have wanted. They would have wanted him to run- to find someplace safe and then stay there with anyone he could trust. And right now, that someone was Ash.

Without another word, he looked around him-where total havoc was currently ensuing. As it had been for a week now, since the terrible news had come and everything had gone so horribly, horribly wrong……. No. he would not think about it. Thinking about it would serve no purpose other than to cloud his thoughts. It would leave him to be another one of those once-civilians who now scurried across the ground in blind panic. Right now, he had a responsibility. So he blocked off all thoughts and scouted his surroundings once again. Shelter….. They needed to find shelter. They already had enough rations to last at least another week. Asking someone for help would be insanity. He could trust no one. So as quickly as he could, he formulated a plan to keep him and Ash safe for at least the time being.

He ran across the street, still gripping his friend’s shoulder tightly, and moved along the curb, searching for any house that has already been vacated and was not on fire. He found one almost immediately. He snatched up a stone from the ground and threw it at a window. The stained glass shattered. He waited another minute before proceeding to enter the house.

There was a front garden, almost unrecognizable because of being trampled upon so thoroughly. Faint remnants of purple tulips that had perhaps once grown in the yard remained. The front gate was of ebony, about 10 feet tall and standing as a reminder that no matter how far you went, it would always stand strong and tall as a tree. Perhaps for the owner. The door was unlocked, since it gave way with nothing more than a slight nudge. Someone had left in hurry, by the looks of it. Not that it was at all strange.

Henry went in, closely followed by a now self-mobile Ash. There was a modest living room, with wooden furniture and blue walls. All the draws were open, and the armchairs and sofa moved, as if the place had been ransacked. He picked up the heaviest object he could find, hauled it across the room and threw it against the door. He tried it. It held. Walking in further revealed a modern kitchen, with basic necessities. He opened a few cupboards. The person had apparently not even thought of taking along culinary utensils. Smart, since very few people were going to need them with what was to come. He ran his eyes across the setup once more before walking upstairs in order to find accommodation for Ash and himself.

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Before the apocalypse, Henry had never seen a zombie. Never thought it possible. Weren’t those creatures figments of science and fantasy fiction? When he’d been younger, he’d had a school custodian with disheveled white hair and a few crooked, yellowing teeth. That was as close to meeting a zombie as he’d come. So naturally, he had no one idea how to fight one.

When he’d first heard the news that a certain batch of genetically modified humans was going to be tested for research purposes, now almost half a decade ago, he hadn’t believed it. How could someone be so cruel as to do unspeakable things to another human being, even under the pretext of science?

“Fools, the lot of them. They’ll see how wrong they were when the time comes.” That was all his grandfather had said upon the matter. And 3 years later, the news finally tore through the country faster than the speed of light. The experiment had gone inexplicably wrong. Everyone in the lab facility was dead. The ‘zombies’ were out, and it was every man for himself. He could only imagine what the plight of those who had lived closer to the headquarters had been. This was his condition, despite living almost halfway across the nation. He’d fought his way here along with Ash and his family. They’d been one tight group, as needed to be in a wilting world. He’d faced his first group of zombies not far from home, and it had been absolutely terrifying. At that time, Ash’s father had burned the entire pack, but had got caught in the fire and consequently lost his own life save theirs. That had been the first time he’d actually seen someone die. It had been horrifying and just so wrong. But he’d made it this far, guided by Ash’s wits, his mother’s positivity and his sister’s still-alive belief that the world would someday be the same again.

But today, the worst thing had happened. Mrs. Grake and her daughter had boarded the train moments before the boys. Henry and Ash had been thrown back by another rally of people pushing and pulling anyone in their way to get onto the vehicle that would carry them out of this hellish world. And so, they had missed the train.

For some reason, these were the thoughts racing through his mind as he stared out of the small window and onto the already darkening street. There was hardly a living soul about. The crowd in the early hours had quickly dissipated the lower the sun got. Now, almost 4 hours later, the lane was quieter than it had perhaps ever been.

And although he would never admit it, he was scared. Scared, of what he was to do now; alone. The train would not be coming back. He knew that much. Pure panic flared in his chest. Maybe he’d been wrong. Wrong, to bet both their lives on nothing but his instincts and his instincts alone.

The fear of the unknown does strange things to people, Henry. Strange things. That is why a man must never lose his mind to fear. Madness, pain? These are just fine. But fear is what can get a man killed. Never give into, as long as you are alive. His grandfather’s words washed over him, giving strength to his almost shredded heart that there was still hope.

But hope would not make itself reality. He would have to do that. The zombies would be coming, in another few hours at maximum. And he had to be prepared to fight for his life and that of anyone who was with him. He trudged across the hall, knocking at Ash’s door one, then twice. It creaked open. Ash’s face, now red and etched with crease line from crying, peered at his. “Hi” Ash’s voice was scratchy and raw from all the silence. “Hi” he muttered back. He knew what Ash was feeling, yet could offer no condolences, because he knew no one and nothing helped in these situations.

“We need to get downstairs and get ready. They will be coming. We just have to hold up tonight, and we can move to a better location next.” he continued. Ash nodded. If nothing else, the absence of his family would motivate him to survive and make his way back to them. Henry took that as a good sign.

“What do we need?” Ash questioned, already pacing right along his bed, deep in thought. Despite their predicament, Henry smiled. Yes, this was Ash. And he was back. “Fire works. But it’ll be hard to get enough fuel to ward off an entire group. I don’t think this place has guns. And old-fashioned poles and rods…..” Ash shook his head, looking up at Henry. “Why are you just standing there and staring? Come up with some ideas.” Henry walked over to the window in Ash’s room. “I don’t know, Ash. If the cluster is as big as the one we faced in Tersen, then we’re done for.” Ash nodded.

“We set up a plan; fight for tonight. We need resources, lots of them. Let’s start scouting. It’s already getting dark.” So they set out with a few wooden beams they had pulled from the curtain holders in their room as weapons, and into the unknown beyond.

The first thing they searched for was wood and any other fuel with a low ignition temperature. Fire had always worked well against packs of infiltrators. Henry supposed that made sense. Even their ancient ancestors had originally feared fire. And these- creatures, whatever they were, were about as smart as they had been. Yet, the entire world was at their mercy now, all because of their lust for human blood and their penchant for ruthlessly killing anything and everything that came in their path.

Henry had once seen a body mutilated by a pack of zombies that had been left starving for a few days. In these conditions, one could assume that the outcome of giving a morsel of food to those beings would not end well. Both for the morsel in question and the spectators. But seeing it in person had been dreadfully horrendous. If he could, he would wipe his own memory just to get rid of that specific memory. That image now seamed to be permanently seared into his mind. But alas, how often do people get what they want?

Henry was stunned back to the present as a loud alarm went off somewhere to their left. He turned to Ash, only to find the boy staring right back at him with wide eyes. They came to a wordless understanding and took a sharp cut into a deep crevice just to their right. And then they waited for the source of the noise to present itself. For approximately 15 minutes, nothing happened. And then, the creature appeared.

The thing looked exactly like its entire species did. Stringy, oily red hair cut short till the shoulders. Disfigured features, blocked and blurred by an array of scars and bruises, ever-bloody, chapped lips and the inhuman expression. But it was the eyes, the eyes that made you aware of the threat that had now locked in on you, and would stop at nothing to drink your blood. Hollow, wide, milky eyes. Diluted to an extent the original color of the once-person’s eyes was undeterminable. It sent chills down his spine, and purged any rational thoughts deep into a hole in the middle of nowhere.

He gulped, sucking in breathe, again and again and again until his body responded. After one last deep inhalation, Henry and Ash looked at each other, counted to 3 and ran straight at it.

While normally this would be regarded as suicidal activity, these creatures had not inherited any of their benefactor’s intellect. This left the boys with one small advantage. They barged right into it, Henry knocking it off its feet with a few well-directed whacks of his pole, and Ash using some knives they’d picked up from the kitchen cupboards to effectively pin the thing and finally put an end to its miserable existence.

They looked at each other. The zombie had not even fought. That was not common. Something was off. If the creature they had just killed had died without struggle, it meant that its ultimate goal- elimination of humans- had been fulfilled. Or was about to. His pulse quickened.

Ash’s sharp intake of breathe was enough to tell him he’d figured it out to. Not a last stand. This was an ambush. That was when they heard insane laughter coming up the avenue. They sound of about 30 throats right behind them. And as it got closer, another group joined in. This one coming from right in front of them.

Henry swore violently as he tried to unsuccessfully think of a solution out of this situation. Ash had gone stiff beside him. Slowly, the sounds grew louder, and disgruntled, gnarly forms limped into view. Henry and Ash looked at each other, understanding passing between their eyes, as they readied their weapons.

This was going to be a long night. Which was just as well, because it was probably going to be their last.