Our Days Are Numbered

Four friends embarked on a memorable trip in the countryside to celebrate the summer; however, while they were isolated from the world, they were unknowing of the mortifying reality that waited for them when they returned from paradise. They were young, free, and having fun, if there was one thing they weren’t, it was prepared. Especially for the hell-inflicting disaster of the zombie apocalypse. Darcy, Brooke, Sam and Jamie have one task, and one task only, and that is to survive.


15. Fifteen

"What about this?" Jamie asks, holding up a handful of rope used for climbing.

"Yeah," Sam replies. We're repacking only essentials for the trip into the city; extra weight will only slow us down. It's mid-morning, and needless to say our night's sleep was less than adequate, but at least it was safe. We tuck in to our final tin of cold Baked Beans, sharing the tin between the four of us. (Helen and Robyn refused, having grown so sick of room temperature tinned beans, and stuck to their rice crackers.)

My mind begins to quiver in terror at the things that lay ahead. I begin to even doubt we'll ever make it out of the city, the odds are most definitely against us, and with our lack of fuel, transport and most importantly, food, we're not going to last long. The hordes left last night, it died down at around 3:00a.m when the zombies finally caved in the walls of the house next door and their puny zombie thoughts told them there was no live food in the house. I'd looked out of the window to see off the final few before joining Sam back down on the floor. "We're safe," I breathed to Sam during his slumber, he snored a little, but I swear I saw his lips curl up into a smile.

I smiled at the brief memory, as if every hour lasted as long as a week, and last night seemed like a lifetime ago.

"We're going to get some fuel." Helen says. "We'll meet you by the truck in twenty minutes. You check the garage."

We nod in unison. Sam and Jamie lead our descent into the garage, where we begin searching hopelessly for fuel supplies. We're wrongly optimistic.

"Nothing," Sam tells us, kicking over empty fuel containers with his foot. I give up on searching for fuel, but instead try and discover any other useful items lying around.

While Brooke finds a small helping of breath mints and a miniature pick axe, and I manage to nab a swanky looking Swiss Army knife that looks in almost immaculate condition. Fools, I think, for whoever's house this was and leaving without such a predominantly useful weapon in this day and age can mean the difference between life and death.

Sam does a quick sweep of the garage for any last minute things that might come in handy, before saying "Let's move out."

Helen found two containers full of petrol for the journey, which, providing all went swimmingly, would get us to Cardiff, the nearest city, alive and breathing. We decide on only using the one, and saving the other container for emergencies.

"I'll drive." Jamie volunteers, he's always been one for taking the lead. Helen and Robyn proceed to get in the car after us.

"We have to find Michael." She tells me, a sparkle in her eye, she looks genuinely hopeful. I send Sam a worried look, as I know the chances of her husband's survival are slim, especially since an absence of eight months and no contact isn't exactly promising. But she insists. Helen and Robyn squeeze in the back seats along with Sam and I, with Brooke and Jamie in the front.  

The steady motion of the pick-up is enough to commence drowsiness, and soon I'm paying less and less attention to my surroundings.

"You're tired," Sam says, warmly wrapping his arm around my shoulder. I mumble something unintelligible he can't decipher in reply, but somehow in my sleepiness my head begins to find his shoulder. His lips lightly kiss the top of my head, his body warming my own. It's times like these where I sometimes forget we're in the midst of an apocalypse surrounded by virus-ridden corpses.

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