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I gasped awake, covered in a film of sweat. The cool morning air was chilling as it dried the sheen.
It was just a dream of a memory. A memory turned into a nightmare. Moaning slightly, I covered my head with the blankets and burrowed into the bed, still shivering.
Closing my eyes again, I invoked the good memories to combat the bad. I recalled my father's laughter and my mother's singing, thinking back to a time we were all together and happy. A time before the divorce ripped us a country apart. The old times, before the world turned.
I wondered again, for the thousandth time, if my father had made it out of that school. Those thoughts led down a dark path, though. A path I couldn't afford to let my mind wander down. I had searched for months, followed trails that led me in the wrong directions and never managed to find any evidence he was dead or alive.
I eventually accepted the inevitable and moved on.
Now, it might be some time in late September, maybe even early October, but there was no way I could know for sure. I could feel the ache of loneliness growing deep in the pit of my stomach. It was a longing to have someone to talk to, to travel with, and share stories and ideas with.
I swallowed it down. I knew it was better to be alone. Better to be alone than watch someone I love get ripped apart. I couldn't go through that again.
I let the thoughts die away as I reluctantly stretched to work the stiffness out of my muscles. After finally abandoning the sanctuary of my bed, I looked down on the world from my second story window. For roughly three months, I had called this little neighborhood home and had spent a good amount of time spying on its inhabitants.
They were all there, milling about like listless cattle. They were always there. I had heard them called many different names. Face-eaters, walkers, demons, infected, and even zombies.
Unlike the traditional undead zombies, as was the fad that was rampant before the infestation, these things weren't dead. They still breathed and still bled, but all humanity was left behind when they turned. To me, they were just freaks. No other name fit better in my mind.
My breath fogged the glass as I watched them. The balding beasts shuffled around each other with no real purpose. Some of them would walk from one end of the street to the other, just to turn around and walk back in the other direction. Others were a bit more ambitious, walking around the entire block but never changing direction. They were forever walking in circles, wearing away the soles of their shoes in their endless loop.
A few carried tools they had used in their normal life. There was one that wore what I assumed to be gardener's clothes and dragged a rake behind him. Another one wore what was left of a suit, complete with a tie, and he toted around his briefcase. A lot of the women held their purses, or what was left of them anyway. I had been here so long I could recognize most of them now by sight.
My neighbors.
Maybe it was time to move on.
I wasn't able to stomach watching them for more than a few minutes anymore. I turned away from the window to get started on my morning ritual; taking inventory and planning out my day.
I went through the same motions every morning without fail, even though I hadn't been mobile since before the heat of the summer set in.
I was taking quite the chance living in this house. Even if the freaks were docile towards me, there might come a day when that would change without warning. For right now, the freaks offered protection from those out there that were still unaffected by the disease.
Some of the people that were uninfected seemed less than human. Losing the foundation of society changed people. It let the monster inside come out. The people like that were just as deadly to me, if not more, than those freaks outside.
I spread the blankets over my bed and smoothed out the wrinkles, making it look clean and tidy. The notion was ridiculous in this day and age, but this house, this whole neighborhood, had hardly been damaged, and at least I could return to a semblance of normality and daily routine while I stayed here.
Grabbing my packs, I set them out on the bed. First, I tossed up my sturdy hiker's backpack that I'd recently pulled out of one of those old supercenter department stores. It was nice and new, unlike my well-worn belt pack that I'd removed from a dead GI back in the early days. I'd had that belt pack for so long it was like it was a part of me now. I dropped it on the bed, ignoring it for the time being and starting with the big pack.
Going through the contents systematically, I set everything out on the bed in proper order so I could get a quick visual if anything was missing. I knew nothing would be. Not now. Not in the relative safety of this little utopia I'd stumbled on, but regardless, I faithfully repeated my ritual on a daily basis.
The pack probably weighed about twenty pounds now. I knew it was going to take some time getting used to the weight when I decided to move on again, so I tried to make sure I didn't over-stuff anything. That would also cause the zippers to break and the fabric to wear out early. Never knowing when I'd come across a good pack again, I took care of the ones I had.
Starting with the blankets and spare clothing, I set them out on the bed first and followed that with my many different containers for food and water. I had one container dedicated to eating utensils, including a new can opener I'd found in this house. It was much better than the old rusty one I traded out for it.
My extra bullets and a few small games, which included a deck of cards and a few dice, were set in their place next. The containers full of miscellaneous things came last. These were just a small treasure trove of things I thought might come in handy at some point. Once I got my visual on everything, I meticulously repacked the bag and moved on to the belt pouch.
The items in my belt pouch were much more personal. Anytime I was on the move, even for a brief scouting run, I strapped the pouch on. Although it seemed unlikely that I wouldn't be able to make it back to the house, I wasn't willing to take that chance. Always err on the side of caution.
Some of the contents of my belt pouch included an old Swiss army knife, a hairbrush, a toothbrush, and my old broken MP3 player. I also kept a notepad and a collection of pens and pencils in the pouch, although I didn't write much down anymore.
In the smaller side pocket, held shut by a tiny zipper, was where I kept a locket that had a picture of my mother in it and a ring my father had given me on a Christmas Eve ages ago. I only unzipped the pocket to get a visual. There was no need for me to lay these out on display.
Finally, I pulled out the little stuffed kitten that Seth had given me. I always saved this one for last, and I only pulled it out for a second today. It was black with bright green eyes, and it wore a lacey ribbon around its neck that had yellowed from age. Smiling sadly, I pet the little head with my thumb before tucking it safely away again.
The next on my list were the extra backpacks I had stumbled across here and there. I decided it would be a good idea to collect them. This was much lighter, but something that would definitely be going with me. Essentially, it was nothing more than one big backpack full of smaller packs, pouches and containers. I figured it was better to have extra and not need them, than need one and not have it.
Once done with the packs, I moved on to my ever-important weaponry. I slept with these near me almost one-hundred percent of the time. My dad's old revolver had a special place under my pillow. I was so thankful he had taken the time to teach me how to shoot before we were separated. Out of the many things he taught me, this was one of the most appreciated.
The next on my list was my most preferred weapon, my large Bowie knife. For protection, I had slept with this blade for so long it was hard for me to sleep without the feel of the hilt in my hand. Of course I kept it in its sheath during the night. No reason to accidentally slice my ear off while I was sleeping, but it was convenient if I needed it. Also, using the knife meant no reloading, no noisy discharge, and no running out of ammo. That's a short list of important benefits.
&n
bsp; I kept my holsters on the bedside table. They were made of sturdy leather, and I had one for both my knife and gun, along with a smaller sheath I normally wore strapped around my thigh. That sheath carried another blade, more like a dagger. It wasn't as big as the Bowie knife, but shaped differently. I could cut from either side with that one, so it was a good backup.
The last weapon I carried was a small skinning knife that I kept inside my boot. Can't say that I would be fighting anything big with that little thing, but it might come in handy in a pinch. Be prepared.
At least I was secluded enough here that I didn't have to fear anyone stealing. The freaks didn't steal. They no longer had a use for the material things in life, but I forced myself to keep up my watchful habits as if I was out in the open. I couldn't let myself forget what it would be like out there when I started traveling again.
I looked over my food supply. I only brought enough food to the bedroom to last for a few days. Everything else I stored in the kitchen, just like back in the good old days. It might have been a ridiculous practice, but I held on to everything I could consider normal. It kept me sane.
I finally decided it was time to remove the barricade from the door. I had never gone more than four days without leaving my room, but if I didn't go out today, I would break my record.
Normally, the heat of the summer alone was enough to drive me down in search of a cooler place to hide while the afternoons sweltered away. The thermostat in the lower part of the house would sometimes read 105 when the sun was creeping down from its peak. I hoped this cool morning was a sign that this hellish summer was coming to an end.
Sometimes I regretted I had chosen to spend the summer here instead of moving north to a cooler climate. I was aware I had that choice every day to move north, it wasn't as if there was anything, or anyone, to stop me from going, but the truth was I just didn't want to leave this neighborhood. My initial reasons for staying here were absurd, but now I had grown used to my daily routine and didn't want to disrupt the norm.
I came across these neighborhoods from time to time, although I had never stayed in one for more than a couple weeks. This one had running water and electricity at odd intervals, which was a blessing I didn't want to question. If I tried really hard, I could pretend that everything outside my little house was just a dream. I was aware that was a dangerous line of thinking, though. If I let myself walk down that path, I might end up wandering out there with the freaks. Or maybe taking one in as a pet just so I could have someone, something, alive I could talk to.
No. It was too dangerous to think that way. My stay here was coming to an end. The loneliness was there to help flush me out of the city, but, more than that, there was a gnawing at my mind now. It took me a little while to figure out what that disconcerting feeling was that always seemed to be haunting me lately. It was like an annoying gnat always buzzing around my head that I couldn't shoo away.
I wanted answers.
Over the past five years, I'd traveled with quite a few survivors and never met anyone else like me. I was someone that the freaks ignored. I was someone that had been bitten and yet I lived on, uninfected.
I needed answers.