Get Out Alive

1 This is How You Survive

"Go, run. Into the trees." He said this calmly to me and pushed me forwards to run down the empty road. My feet stumbled along the trail we took through the woods before I could catch my footing once again. He knew that if we panicked or screamed, we would have had no chance.

Tom, tall with green eyes and long wavy brown hair was a bit slower than me and limped on his bitten leg behind me, blood soaking into the fabric of his torn jeans. The two of us quietly slipped into the line of trees away from the open road hearing the gurgled breathing and groans that became louder. We were running out of places to hide and we couldn't run forever.

The little white house stood out like a beacon in the circulation of brown and green that surrounded us."There," Tom said breathlessly pointing to the house which looked fairly isolated and untouched by the outside world.

We tried the doors to find them locked so we found ourselves turning to lock the gate to the backyard and hide ourselves behind the dumpsters and cluttered remains of an attempt to escape the dead which failed in dried bloody glass and scratch marks on the gate before they were eaten and left to turn.

"Oh, God. What are we going to do?" I tightly clutched the sleeve of Tom's jacket when these were the only words that escaped my trembling lips.

"I don't know yet," Tom whispered back and then turned his head to the right enough to see me behind him out of the corner of his eye before keeping a watchful eye of our surroundings. "I did not anticipate that they would follow us this far south."

I released his sleeve and I crossed my arms over my chest. "Wait, you knew about the mob back in Fort Worth?" I hissed at him. The moans were growing closer.

"Yes," he hissed back and lifted himself a little higher from the ground to look over the gate and dumpsters in case they had already found us. He kept our small hand held gun pointed at the ground between his feet with white knuckled hands for our only protection when he lowered himself back to the ground. The wound on his leg only got worse and the infection made his skin turn an awful greenish pale and weaken him immensely while his body shut down. "I figured we would have lost them by the time we hit Waco." But that was three hours ago. We passed the sign into Bryan on the road not ten minutes before we would be running through the forest.

 "And you didn't think it would be right to tell me?" I asked angrily before looking behind me to see if they managed to get in yet.

Tom turned around to face me completely ignoring my question and reached for something at his back. "There's not enough time," he said and quickly pressed a full revolver we found only a few hours ago in an abandoned camp site into my hand.

 "What are yo-"

"Shh!" Tom stopped my words and proceeded to pull his jacket from his shoulders and put it over mine.

 "Bu- but I've never shot a gun before," I said quickly while I awkwardly held the small pistol to hopefully stop Tom from what he was doing.

He suddenly grunted loudly in pain and bent down to clutch his heavily bleeding bitten leg. His hand returned covered in dark red blood. Tom was turning. It was too late to save him. I knew but didn't want to believe it.

Then I suddenly realized what he was about to do.

"No, Tom," I said quickly and gripped his arm again after slipping my own into the over sized jacket. "We'll find another way. This is not the answer." I shook my head and looked up at him with pain and fright filling my eyes like they did when I was quickly pulled and taken away from the high school with a group the on day one.

"This is the only way," Tom snarled, gripping my upper arms to steady himself and look desperately into my eyes. "This is how you survive. You can get out of here faster than me." Tears began to form in my eyes when I began to shake my head at him with my face curling up like it always did when I cried. "You're an incredibly fast runner. Use it to find safety. I will only slow you down."

 "No," I whimpered and tears slipped down my cheeks while I continued to shake my head. "No, no, no, no, no. I can't lose you too."

 "You have to continue on without me," Tom said, his voice became shaky too. I could tell he was fighting tears and his grip on my shoulders became tighter when he fought the urge to clutch his leg again. He quickly sucked in a painful and shaky breath before continuing."You have to survive and overcome all of this, okay?"

 "I- I can't," I stuttered. "I've survived this long because of you. I can't do this without you, Tom. I... I love you. You can't ju-"

Tom suddenly took my face into his crushed his lips into mine. A new flood of emotions rushed through my body from head to toe. I had never been kissed like that before in my life. I closed my eyes and my trembling hands slowly lowered themselves to my sides and the tears suddenly stopped coming out. Tom's hands gently held my face to his and his lips pushed forwards into mine, beckoning me to invite him in. And for that one moment as he claimed me for the first and last time, I knew I would never be with him. The guilt seemed to slip away from my thoughts and the feelings I knew I have always had for Tom since the beginning replaced them. I suddenly didn't feel the threat. I didn't feel afraid anymore. I didn't want that feeling to stop. He pulled away too soon and rested his forehead against mine and looked down at my tear-filled eyes. "I love you."

I exhaled quickly still in complete shock at what he just did. But I didn't have time to think because Tom suddenly took my hand and pulled me ahead of him.

"Go," he said quickly. I turned around to look at him one last time. "Go! Run, Tatum!"

With tears running down my cheeks, I pushed open the gate of the backyard and took off running towards the trees where the dead weren't thick enough to stop me.

"Come on!" I suddenly stopped in my tracks at the sound of Tom's voice shouting to the dead so I could get away. The groans were getting closer to me. "Here! Here!" His voice rang through the forest, surely bringing more of them to us.

"Tom," I whispered, feeling as though I couldn't just leave him there like he told me to. My heart was still racing from what he just did and now I know he always had those feelings for me too.

But his plan was working. He was leading them away from me on his limp leg, his skin almost as pale as the monsters he was trying to get away from. I watched from afar for a moment before I started to panic at the sight of him struggling to gain ground on them. They move faster at the smell of the blood and the sight of fear and struggle.

"Tom!" I shouted frantically and tightly clutched the pistol he gave me while I ran towards him. My heart was racing like the wind that stirred the trees around us and I ignored the growing pain in my heart that I knew he wasn't going to make it.

"Go, Tatum!" He shouted to me although I ignored his pleads and pushed forwards toward him. "Leave me!"

I felt this sudden urge within me to use the weapon that was tightly clutched in my hands. I stopped my running and faced a struggling Tom and the dead. With both hands and a shaking body and heavy breaths, I lifted up the gun to shoot and hopefully buy Tom a bit more time. But I didn't get that chance when something suddenly grabbed my shoulder and I heard the gurgled breathing before I screamed. The gun fell from my hands.

I managed to push the dead man away from me before I was bitten. But in the process, I toppled backwards and fell on my butt in the grass. I looked up to see the thing coming at me on his hands and knees trying to get at my feet. Struggled cries and whimpers escaped my raw throat although they were quiet and my breath and energy was gone. I backed up in the grass kicking him away terrified that he would get me. I flailed my hands around to hopefully grab something to hit him with. My voice came back enough for my terrified cries and whimpers to ring through the forest, hopeful that somebody would hear.

He grabbed a hold on my foot. I squeezed my eyes shut. I heard my own voice cry out followed by the gunshot. Blood splashed across my face and body. I opened my eyes and looked up to see Tom holding his smoking gun a few feet away just before they got him. Biting down on his neck and arms. I cried out as I watched it happen so painfully. But Tom didn't shout or stop them as his body crumbled to the ground. They ripped apart the flesh of his skin as if it were wet paper on a thin surface of bone. He crumbled to his knees on the ground and looked up as if that would be his last plead for death.

"Go," he mouthed when our eyes locked for the last time. Then, he was covered with the dead eating away at whatever they could grab.

I scrambled for my gun and their feast began. I took off into the trees without looking back and hot tears streamed down my face.

With labored breathing, stifled cries, and fast hands to move the limbs and plants that got in my way, I flew through that forest for my life and clutched the little pistol in my hands with white and painful knuckles so it wouldn't fall...

How did this happen? How did we get here? How did I go from a simple junior in high school to having to fight for my life without any warning?

Now that I think and look back on it, calling it the zombie apocalypse is an understatement of how it completely altered or rather, destroyed my entire life. When it hit my town, the disease had already gone global. We were spared a week. The news had shouted loud and clear for weeks that something was wrong. Dead people were coming back to eat the living. Sounds crazy right? Sounds like something out of a book or movie or T.V. show. That's what we all thought it would turn out to be. Most people just shrugged it off and went on with their lives. We didn't think it would wipe out over half the population of the country or destroy towns and homes and families.

But through all of the horror and the dead coming back to feed on the living, the scariest part was the fact that it happened on just another normal day. Just another Monday out of the year when the only thoughts were the ones concerning the little things about life and the small problems we face every day. . Then, it just happens. And you can never be prepared. I will never be prepared.

1 year and 6 months later...

I clutch my jacket tighter to my body and clench my teeth in pain and a small cloud of air escapes from my lips and disappears as quickly as it came. I've always hated the winter time. But I never had to deal with sitting in it for more than a few minutes at the bus stop or waiting in line for concert tickets. Now, I painfully live in it.

My boots crunch in the dead leaves and the axe bumps against my side while I walk down the quiet road. A light wind stirs the leaves and breathes through the forest quietly and causes my jacket to flip up and goosebumps to rise along my arms again. I pull my jacket closer to my body. The only good thing about the bitter cold is they're more quiet during the days like these.

Normally, my hand would be tightly clutching the red handle of my mountain axe, eyes darting from either side of the tree line at every movement and sound, with my body always tense while keeping a steady jog down the road. But today, I'm calm; walking slowly and taking in my surroundings, the sounds, the sights which are things I don't normally notice on my travels. I suppose I'm so calm because I haven't seen one of them in four days. They are normally quiet and don't move too often when it gets this cold. They hate it just as much as I do. That's the human part left in them.

The cold air and brisk winds started to come through a few weeks ago. I would characterize it as unexpected, annoying, and completely helpful only when concerning the dead. There is no need for anyone living or dead to be moving as much during the cold months. This means I can rest easy for the time being. Although the cold slows us down, travelers come around more often since it's obvious to everyone that the dead are slower, they take opportunities to move during the daylight hours. I'm always on guard. I'm not overly fond of people living or dead. I prefer the solitude.

The air is still and frigid with cold. I take a few more steps being conscious of my surroundings until the sudden snap of a twig and the crunching of leaves beneath someone's weight puts me on edge. I drop my hand to my right leg and I whip my head to either side of the forest line until my eye catches the shredded clothing and my nose catches the foul stench of a stiff slowly trudging its way through the forest mindlessly as a blind and deaf child would. I hear the spine tingling sound of its struggled breaths and gurgling exhales before I see the remains of a man wearing a long dark coat and work pants with the flesh from his right calf shredded and the flap of fabric ripped away to reveal the ugly and grotesque sight. My heart clenches and a sudden sadness comes over me.

For a moment, I stand completely frozen, paralyzed by fright with not a muscle moving or a breath leaving my lips. My hand is glued to my hip without even trying to unhook my axe to kill it. I can't find the strength or momentum to run up and kill it like I normally can. All I feel is this sudden urge to freeze and hope it passes.

The stiff notices me. It must have caught a whiff of my scent like I did of him. I still feel this invisible hand holding me in place and my breath hitches in my throat and my heart beat picks up speed so it's pounding like a hammer in my head.

My body can move again. I don't hesitate and I feel myslef filling up with adrenaline and start to become shaky with excitement and fright. My cold fingers fumble for a moment with the chain around my neck until I lift the whistle to my lips and let out the shrill sound of the high pitched note that personally, I can't hear it; but I know the stiff can.

He stumbles backwards for a moment from the shrill sound and lets out a loud groan of pain while almost hitting himself in the head with lazy arms to hopefully make the sound stop. His attention is taken away from me and is drawn towards the noise.

This gives me the window of opportunity. I release the whistle from my lips and grab my red mountain axe to run at full speed towards the stiff and bring my arms over my head with the axe which I then drive down into the stiff's head in one swift down strike of my body. The stiff's eyes go dark and he stops struggling, going limp and heavy in the axe's hold so he falls to the ground. I wrench my axe from his head with his dark red almost black blood pouring out of the wound and splashing a portion of my jacket. He goes limp on the ground. Dead, once again.

I exhale in relief at my sudden need for action and violence. It takes me a few swings and a good dip in the nearby stream to clean my axe of any stray blood the stiff left on my pointed mountain axe. I clean off my jacket as best I can while taking the opportunity to grab a few drinks myself when the water is actually cold the way I used to like it. I refill my bottle and head back towards the road to continue on my journey for a new place to call home.

For the time being, I wander the empty roads and find little supplies among the abandoned houses and stores. I personally like to stay away from the cities because that's where most people go and the dead like to linger there.

Another brisk wind picks up the loose flaps of my jacket. I groan in annoyance at this bitter cold. It's Texas, how can it be this cold? It's getting dark and even without the stiffs lurking, it can be dangerous to be traveling at night. I've had too many experiences with that. Just when the large tree to my left looks cozy enough to sleep in, my eyes wander once more and notice the brown crumbling wood of a house. I sigh in relief at the sight of it.

As I make my way towards the house, I tightly clutch my mountain axe and pay close attention to any sounds that would reveal anything dead or alive hiding around or within. I keep my senses sharp and I am careful to avoid loudly crunching on the dead leaves or snapping any twigs beneath my feet.

It's a painfully slow process to search the house outside before silently pushing open the door to the home. It's not quite dusk yet, so I still have the advantage of light in my side.

The home itself isn't too damaged although I found the door slightly ajar when I entered which makes me worry that somebody came and left in a hurry or still lingers here. To my left lies the living room with all the couches moved at odd angles and the remains of what once was a cereal box strewn among the shredded magazines and newspapers that clutter the floor. On my right, I find the kitchen still bright from the evening light hazed by clouds and dust filling the room. There's a closed door in the left corner which I intend to leave alone until later.

Making my way towards the kitchen, I only hear the faintest sounds of my cold still breath and the quiet moans from the stiffs wandering around outside. Out of habit, I actually try the kitchen sink to see if I get lucky. Nothing. I let out a small sigh in annoyance and turn my attention to the cabinet above the stove. The only thing I find is a partially opened can of rotting beans. Not even I will go that low yet.

I settle myself down with a small box of stale Animal Crackers I found among the strewn mess of trash that litters the ground of the living room. I decide to leave the upper level of the home for the morning since I don't want to be caught with a stiff trying to eat me in the dark when I can't see him. I barricade myself in a spare bedroom on the lower level that has been stripped of most of the nicer things but left only sheets and pillows they couldn't carry.

With the door locked and the windows shut tight, I can finally relax a bit knowing I am safe for the evening.

I slowly walk over to the large wooden dresser and stare at my reflection in the large mirror sort of curious about my own features. It has been a long time since I have seen my face in the mirror because I normally choose to avoid the bathrooms when I enter houses in search of food. I have done a pretty good job of keeping the acne away and the color in my cheeks and my skin is fairly tanned considering I've lived in Texas all my life. Although, I suppose everything is covered with a fine layer of dirt and sweat I haven't had the time to clean away. I have light pink small lips and emerald green eyes with a round face to match. My hair is a fairly layered dark brown wave of a long pony tail behind me save for the messy short layers in the front of my face. I don't plan to look my best considering I see nobody but the dead. And what do they care? But I go ahead and pull out the rubber band and let the long brown layers flow down my back so I can run a hand through them once again.

Besides the dog whistle around my neck, I wear a small golden key hanging from a leather cord that my mother gave to me on my thirteenth birthday. This is what my she gave to me when I came of age to be a teenager so I will do my duty as a mother to pass on the legacy. Just remember that there is more than meets the eye even in the little things, she said this to me like this little key was important. It opens no doors or even has any writing or symbol carved into it. Even now, the mystery of the small golden key my mother gave to me still has me asking why.

I stretch and yawn tiredly and decide to call it a night. The first thing I remove is the brown leather belt around my waist that holds my small bag that has all I need to my left hip and on my right is my red-handled mountain axe. I move to pull off my long black and grey hoodie which relieves me of the heaviness to reveal the thin dark blue V-neck shirt and black tank top with long fingerless gloves I wear underneath. I bend down to unclip the straps on the heavy gold-colored knee pads which are extremely helpful when it comes to jumping and climbing trees and buildings which I often do. I next proceed to unlace the strings on the blades strapped to my wrists. A small invention I created for those moments when I'm pinned to the wall and my only weapon is the unsheathing of the blades hidden on the underside of my arm in which to bury into the head of your attacker dead or alive. I leave on my gloves and finally decide to unlace the strings my knee-length brown boots since I've got a bed and a room to myself for the night.

For a moment, I rummage around in my small leather bag to do a count on my supplies once again to see what's next on the survival list. I carefully lay out my small fully loaded black pistol in front of me before proceeding to pull out a map of the state, a flashlight, my water bottle, a small bag of jerky, a can of tuna fish, a few melted mints, my old drum major whistle, a small notebook, a lighter, an old compass, my small syringe and a bottle with clear liquid in it's case, and my father's pocket knife. Although I have been good about not eating as much these past several months to conserve food, it will be harder to do in the winter when I have to keep warm because I am so small. I can die faster this winter unlike the last which was much more unpredictable and warmer than this winter has started.

Finishing off the animal crackers, I crawl into the large bed and realize I haven't slept in a real actual bed since I was with...Mr. Angel...

...

I ran through that forest with white knuckles clutching that small black pistol and tears staining my face. My body and mind were still in total shock that the entire ordeal actually happened. But in my head, I figured if I stopped moving, I wouldn't be able to continue. I would collapse and die right there, unable to carry on.

But my life took a sudden turn; and so did the ground. One moment, I was pushing aside a branch to keep running when I took one step to find there was no ground to catch me. I cried out and went tumbling down the steep hill with branches and rocks scraping my face and body crashing into the ground on my back too shocked and weak to move with the wind knocked out of my lungs. I stared blankly at the dark clouds and trees above me with nothing keeping me from the terrifying thoughts that ran through my mind. Not even when I saw a dark blurry figure appear above me.

"Tom?" I mumbled weakly staring up at the black and blurry figure looming over me. In my jumbled mind, I had forgotten that Tom had died only minutes before. I didn't realize it wasn't Tom kneeling down on the ground beside me until I had no energy to scream.

I heard the gurgled breathing and smelled his foul stench before I felt the dead man prying open my shirt. But that was as far as he got when I heard the high pitched sound of a whistle and saw the stiff stagger backwards and grunt in pain. Next I heard the sound of the gun shot ring through the air and feel this hot and sticky substance splashing across my bare skin and soak into my clothes. A heavy body suddenly landed on my middle section knocking the breath out of me once again so I could no longer move. But I didn't want to. I wanted that stiff to eat me. Let me feel the pain Tom suffered for me.

Another figure suddenly appeared in my vision. "What are you doing laying on the ground, girl?" The figure asked me.

I wasn't quite sure how to move my lips and answer his question. I found myself simply laying there hoping this was all a nightmare and it would disappear and I would wake up in Tom's arms like I did that morning. But when my vision did come back into focus, I was shocked to find who I saw looking down at me.

He bent downwards and extended his hand to me. I gently pushed aside the stiff's head and took his outstretched hand with a gratitude of thanks. I looked down at my clothes to find them soaked with blood and dirt which I have come accustomed to. But I scrambled to zip up my jacket at the sight of my torn up shirt exposing my bare stomach. I swallowed down my pain and wiped away the rest of my tears and reached up to push waves of wavy dark brown hair from my face. This was when I realized that I was still tightly clutching the small black pistol Tom gave me not thirty minutes previous to this.

"You shouldn't be alone out here," said the man with the white hair and kind face. "Are you in a group?"

 "I... was," I mumbled quietly and bowed my head in shame and sadness. "I was recently separated from them."

The man nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that." He looked familiar to me in some way which I could not remember. I tried to think back to where I had seen him as I felt a few tears squeeze out and slide down my cheeks. I suddenly felt his reassuring and firm hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, everything will be alright." I nodded slightly. "What's your name?"

I sighed softly as I stared at the mud caked around the sides of my black Converse. "Tatum," I said softly. “Tatum Rivers."

The man chuckled down at me and he shifted his large gun strap higher up his shoulder. He smiled warmly at me. "Well, Tatum you may call me Mr. Angel."

I studied the man for a moment, taking in the features of the person who saved my life like it was nothing. But, that's how things work in the world as of now. He had very round and light eyes with white hair and a beard to match. He carried a rather large gun I don't know the name of over his shoulder and a large hiking backpack probably loaded with supplies. All I had was a dead man's jacket and his pistol. No turning back now.

I sort of awkwardly stood in that forest while tucking the pistol into the waistband of my jeans at my back. I wasn't quite sure if I should follow him or part ways as people with the common purpose to live another day.

He seemed nice enough but this gave me no reason to trust him. But I couldn't stand another minute to be alone. After what I just went through, all I wanted was a hug and a nice warm place to sleep. I felt the tears forming in my eyes again.

"You coming?" The snapping of twigs and the crunching of leaves stopped abruptly when Mr. Angel noticed that I was not following him. He turned around to glance at me. "The others would have heard that gun shot. They'll be coming down that hill soon if we don't hurry."

I suddenly came back to my senses and stumbled over my words for a moment and gave up simply nodding and making my way through the trees towards him.

Mr. Angel slowly turned around and began to walk forwards with me in toe pushing our way through the thick brush and leaves.