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.


7. Seven

I awoke to a dull but consistent pain in my leg. The first thought that entered my head that morning was "what the actual fuck happened yesterday?" The night's sleep I'd had was beyond awful. The day before wasn't a nightmare and it was completely and horrifically real, I could never even comprehend it. Sam rolled over lazily and ended up resting his weight on my leg. I quietly whimpered in pain. His eyes opened slowly, and he then realised – due to how close he was to me – that he must have done something pain inflicting.

"Oh shit, sorry," he lifted up the duvet, causing a cold chill to wrap around my body. "Are you okay?" I nodded along, although I had no idea. I could have been dying and had no clue. He helped me up, and I sat in that crappy old camp chair for the last time that summer. The morning passed, and I was forced to stay sat down and watch the others pack everything away. My mind was reeling. It wouldn't stop, no matter what I tried to focus on. Why did that happen? Is that even possible? Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. Or I'm insane. Probably insane. A dog? Really? No. I'm insane.

As the last bit of gear was hauled into the pick-up truck – everything except that one last pathetic camp chair that was glued to my backside – the others were discussing plans.

"First we'll head to the hospital, get Darcy's leg fixed up, head home and pack the stuff away, and then get our things ready for college." The others exchanged nods. Sam came over and helped me up, placing his hand on my waist – like I was completely unable of functioning on my own. I rolled my eyes and shook him off, standing up by myself. I limped over to the pick-up, fully aware that there were eyes on me. I'd had a minor injury to the leg; I wasn't incapable of doing everything.

I sat in the passenger seat of the pick-up and folded my arms. I was in fact acting like a stroppy four year old, but I didn't particularly care. They weren't the ones rendered useless with this goddamned bandage on their leg. The others got in. I involuntary started crying. "Things like this just don't happen." Sam's hand gently caressed mine, in a way that a mother would soothe their terrified child when they'd had a nightmare. I felt like I was making a big deal out of nothing, but really I was just frustrated with everybody's calmness about the situation.

During the ride to the hospital, I rested my head against the cool window, and somehow managed to ignore all the pot-holes in the road. Miraculously I slept like a baby. It was short lived, though. My eyes squinted open and I made a noise somewhere in between pain and confusion. I grabbed my leg on instinct, and noticed a faint staining of blood on my fingertips. Sam looked over from the driver's seat and almost crashed into a bush.

"Holy shit, we need to get to a hospital, like, now." Sam said, stabbing the accelerator with his foot.

"I'll be fine."

He ignored me, his eyes fixated on the road ahead. We drove and drove and drove. Sam was intent on rushing, as if I was in a critical condition and could drop dead at any second.

"Sam, stop being so melodramatic, I'm not going to die. Unless you don't slow down; in which case we'll all end up dead."

We got to the hospital. Though, my memory of it is hazy. Sam parked up amongst only a few other cars; all of them empty. I narrowed my eyes.

"Where is everyone?"

We all looked around; in the whole car park there were only four cars. Sam brushed it off. I decided that it must have just been a quiet day, or most people were out on holidays, it was summer after all.

"You two can stay here, we'll just get Darcy's leg fixed up and come straight back, about twenty minutes tops." Sam announced to Brooke and Jamie, who were still confused at the lack of cars.

We approached the entrance, which was half-heartedly poised open, the door swaying in the gentle breeze. The first thing I noticed was the overwhelming quintessential hospital smell; old people and disinfectant. Numerous rooms we passed, but we had yet to find anyone, doctors, nurses, patients, nobody. We thought maybe this ward was sectioned off or something of the like, but no matter how much further we ventured into the wards, not a soul was found.

I felt a cold chill creep around my shoulders. "Sam, something's not right here." There was one corner we turned, and my heart began pummelling at my ribcage. I sucked in a large breath, and my hand grabbed onto Sam's as his mouth gaped open. The floor was a canvas, painted with a gut-wrenching trail of blood. All the way down the corridor, until it faded out into bloody red footprints. I placed my hand over my mouth, and refrained from gagging. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. Sam's hand was clasping mine so tight his knuckles turned white.

A receptionist's desk laid parallel to the red catastrophe lacing the tiled floor. Papers and once-important documents were strewn everywhere, like a bomb had hit. I noticed a newspaper lying solemnly on the top of the desk. My heart leapt at my throat. It only took a second to read the headline – those bold words made my body go numb and vomit burn at my throat.

Attack of the Living Dead: An Apocalyptic Era Dawns.

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