Over the next few days, I continued to fight the madness. I stopped for supplies along the way, but I never stopped for long. I hit two cities along the way and stopped to kill some zombies in each. It was stupid, but it was the only release I had from the battle against the madness. It was like scratching an itch: it didn't solve the problem, but it did make it go away for at least a little bit. To me, it was worth it. It made the suffering more bearable. It got me closer to California. As long as I kept going, it was worth it. My only thought was making it to California.
Another day passed and I found myself in another city. I had thought of bypassing it, but the pain was too great. The battle against the madness was making me feel sick. Even though I maintained control, I began to act like some sort of crazy person. I needed some sort of release from the madness I fought. That morning, I'd gone far enough that I cut my arm, just so I could focus on something apart from the madness. I'm not proud of it, but it seemed to help a little. So I chose to go to the city.
The city was much like the others. The people were dead and zombies, crows, and vultures all feasted on their corpses. This city had died more recently than the others. I could tell by the state of the bodies. I drove to a sort of mall in the middle of the city where there was a fountain and benches and room to see the zombies coming from a long way off. I had driven through the city with my windows down and music throbbing, but I turned the music even louder when I stopped. I climbed onto the roof of the Juggernaut, my drawn swords gleaming in the sunlight.
Above me, vultures circled. Crows sat on light posts, watching me with their evil eyes. Zombies came from every direction. At first, most just ambled my way, but when they saw me on the car, they picked up the pace, shifting into the ambling run they do. I stood on the roof and smiled. The undead crawled over the city like a plague of insects, but I was death. I would outlast them. In the end, death would win out: so that life would prevail. I laughed.
Jumping down from the car, I began to tear into the zombies. There were enough that I didn't draw out the kills. I worked efficiently, severing spines and watching heads fall. The courtyard was a nearly perfect place to wage my personal war against the undead. The terrain was varied enough that there was always something I could use to my advantage. Zombies stumbled and I swung. They funneled in and I hacked away. They crowded and I danced away to a new position. The day wasn't hot, but I was soon feeling sweat slide down my face. It mixed with zombie ooze and approached my eyes. I pressed on. The courtyard was still filled with zombies.
It became tedious, dispatching the endless sea of undead. Their corpses littered the courtyard, but still more came. My arms were on fire, but the courtyard was still a battlefield. Eventually, there was an end to the flow of zombies. The number in the courtyard began to drop by measurable amounts. I finished off the last of the zombies and started to relax. My body ached and several scratches were already burning, but the rush still felt good. It felt like my anxiety, my fear, and my anger had been blasted away by the focus and demand of the task. I climbed up on the fountain and surveyed my handiwork. It was magnificent. I sat down on the lip of the fountain's basin and basked in the warmth of the raw emotion, and in the light of the afternoon sun as it slowly fell behind the tall buildings.
As shadows descended on the courtyard, I got ready to leave the city. I dropped down from the fountain and something caught my eye down one of the streets: a flicker of movement. There were birds flying around and squabbling everywhere, but this movement registered differently. I started down the street, swords drawn again, scanning for movement. A zombie bolted from behind a bus shelter, running away like the devil himself was at its heals. I considered pursuing it and cutting it down, but then I realized something important: zombies don't run away. It was a human.
I shouted something at it as it ran. I don't remember what. I was in shock. I shouted again and it slowed to a stop in the middle of the street. It slowly turned around and I saw its face. It was a girl. It...she...was beautiful.
I started walking toward her, slowly. She seemed uncertain, as if considering whether or not to bolt again. I realized I still had my swords drawn and sheathed them once again. That seemed to calm her some. By now, she was facing me, standing in the middle of the street, shifting from one foot to another, still seeming uneasy. I looked very closely at her as I approached, still have trouble believing. She was a redhead, her hair seeming somewhere between orange and red. She wore a faded yellow, close-fitting t-shirt that ended below her hips and a pair of black leggings. She had no jewelry and her skin was so fair that it seemed to glow in the fading light. On her feet were running shoes. I probably wouldn't have noticed except that they were so different from the rest of her outfit. I think I smirked.
As I got close, I got a good look at her face. Her eyes were green. They seemed to be clouded by worry. Dark bags beneath them showed she didn't sleep much. But she was still beautiful. Her cheeks were a little sunken, making her mouth look larger than it was. There was something about her mouth... My eyes jumped between her eyes and her mouth. Then they jumped to her nose, her ear, and back to her eyes. It seemed stupid, but I didn't seem to know what to focus on. I finally settled on her eyes, but they were so intense. It was difficult for me to look into them.
I stopped a few feet from her. Now what? What do you do when you meet someone? Somewhere, deep in my memory, the information resurfaced. I stuck out my hand. She flinched, but then reached out her hand and grasped mine. We shook hands. A smile spread across her face and, in that moment, I felt like everything was going to be okay.
We made our introductions. She said her name was Charlotte. It was strange to finally hold a conversation after so many weeks in complete isolation. Translating my thoughts into words and sentences took a bit of effort. I'd certainly talked to myself in that time--on many occasions--but that was different. I told her where I'd come from and where I was going. I told her about California, but she already knew. She asked to come with. I was excited: thrilled, actually. I'd never expected to run into anyone on my way to California. There were so few people left. What were the odds? And the odds that it was someone like her...I was blown I away. I could hardly put my thoughts into words. I tried not to let it show, but it felt like the world had been painted in shades of gray, but was now awash with color.
She told me how to get to her hideout and then went to get her things. I ran to get my SUV. A few more zombies had shown up, so I dispatched them: no big deal. I changed out of my blood-soaked clothes and did what I could to clean off my face and arms. A shower would have been great, but I was in a hurry.
I got to her hideout just before she came out. I studied it as I waited, and it seemed like it had been an upscale apartment building before the apocalypse. It had been barricaded at some point after the outbreak: the windows on the first floor were covered with several layers of plywood and the doorway, which had once probably had nice pane glass windows and doors, was now buried beneath layers of boards. It made me think of a castle gate. It was an interesting image, watching her force her way out of the castle door, her possessions in tow. She didn't have much. She seemed so out of place next to the fortress, and next to the skeleton of a city. Next to the city in its present state, she seemed like a ghost: like a memory of the world that was, walking through the world that is. She was a spark of hope. She was a reminder that all was not yet lost. She was a reminder that there was still some beauty left in the world.
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