Hey sweetie ok so I found something that needs some work:

I wake up out of an uneasy sleep to Rich gently shaking me awake. I
scream and lash out blindly.

“Hey, hey, calm it,” he says, pinning down my arms. “It’s only me.”

Feeling foolish, I jump out of bed.”Sorry. Nightmare,” I apologise. Of-
no. Don’t think. Stop wrapping yourself in all those bad feelings, Astrid. It doesn’t
prepare you. Makes you worse. Stop. <<< THIS..

Jumps very quickly and very suddenly over to..

Chapter 11 –Astrid

We silently back away, for they
can smell blood and will surge upon us if they catch a whiff of it. “What’s the
plan?” I whisper at him.

“Not really a plan,” he replies.
“But here it is: we get in there. I shoot like a lunatic while you grab some
cures. Then we escape.”

“Easier said than done,” I snap. ”That
is reckless. That is idiotic. That will get us both killed.”

“What else can we do? Not to
sound self-pitying, but I barely see the point in living anyway…apart from you
and Mum and Dad.” His face is dead and expressionless.

“You were always the happy one,”
I say, looking at him worriedly.”The one who could see a silver lining on every
dark cloud. And now you’re giving up life?”

He shrugs. There’s cold steel and
an intense gleam of revenge in his eyes. He’s not even taking his eyes off the
vague direction of the WD.

He wants to kill them. He wants
to murder them. He wants to hurt them. He wants to make them pay. This isn’t my
brother, Richard Kane Melody. This is a bitter stranger. He’s changed so much
and I’ve been too engrossed in my own thoughts, too busy feeling sorry for
myself, to notice.

“What about Kelsie?” I ask,
trying desperately. Kelsie is his girlfriend.

He stiffens, points towards the
direction of the room with WD.

“Oh…” I fall silent, not knowing
what to say. So his girlfriend died in the arms of a WD and I didn’t know. You didn’t even ask, says that voice,
that guilty conscience.

A few seconds pass.

“You know I love you, right?” I
say, embracing him.

He kisses my cheek softly.”Yeah.”
He sighs. “Let’s go shoot some zombies,” Rich says, tapping my rifle. “Let’s
not try my ‘plan’. They could block the door and then what will we do?”

“Here?” I inquire.

“Here,” he confirms.

I pull the trigger; feel a kick
against my shoulder, and the shot echoes around the empty hallway. “If I’m
gonna go,” I say.”I want you at my side.”

The door slowly creaks open and a
commotion of snarling and ripping assaults my ears.. “You’re not going to die,”
he tells me, laying a protective hand on my shoulder “I’ve got your back.”

Squeezing his hand, I blast off
the head of a WD who has appeared at the end of the corridor. It groans and its
feet take a step, then the body collapses onto the floor. No blood sprays out;
they are not living, hence the ‘D’ in WD. But their flesh is pink and as raw as
an uncooked hamburger.

It is quickly replaced by a dozen
others. “Check outside!” Rich says, grunting in approval of himself as he takes
down several WD. “Make sure none are coming from outside.”

Firing three more shots, I race
back towards the door that leads outside. My heart sinks as I see so many WD
advancing towards us, coming from three sides, practically running over each
other in their chance of fresh blood.

“They’re coming!” I shout.”
Heaps! Over a hundred.”

He curses. More and more WD are
filtering onto the front corridor and they’re getting close.

Too close.

“We can’t run back out. We just
have to hope we can kill enough,” I say.

“We can’t,” he says. “We…”

He stops talking as he quickly
hops back as a hacking WD lands near his feet. He hoists up his bandana to
cover his mouth. I do the same. The last thing we want to happen is to get
infected. But how ironic would it be if we did.

“Good luck, Rich.”

“Back at you.”

I actually don’t feel that bad,
you know. I mean, I’m probably going to die. I should be anxious and
disappointed but… it’s like there was this dark foreboding heavy cloud sullenly
hanging over me, the precipitation of it in the form of … arrows, let’s say.
There were explosive-packed ones, some flaming, many poison-tipped, others
sharp and piercing. And now it’s rising, rising far away from me, breaking up
and eventually fading away into nothing. Long-lasting happiness was a mere,
distant memory, and now I feel it again as I risk my life for cures.

“The end of anxiety and fear for
Astrid Melody!” I yell like a madwoman as I shoot crazily a group of WD that
have set their eyes on me. I’m not going to go down without a fight, though. Oh
no. That’s not the way I work.

“NO!” He shouts at me, knowing
exactly what I’m thinking.”Astrid, don’t!”

“Relax, I don’t fancy being torn
apart and eaten. Not my idea of a noble death. But I don’t have a choice, do
I?”

The sound of shooting
considerably quietens. He put down his rifle.

“What the heck are you doing?” I
cry in dismay as the WD come within twenty feet of him. The cloud returns, its
grey wispy tendrils wrapping around me and squeezing, squeezing, coiling itself
round my neck and squeezing.

“Tell me you won’t!”

“Richard,” I beg. “Richard,
please!”

He obstinately stands there while
I try-and fail- to fend off the approaching WD.

15 feet.

“Say it!”

“I won’t!” I lie, trying to keep
all dishonesty from showing on my face. “Richard! I said it! Please!”

He instantly picks up his rifle
and resumes shooting down the corridor while I swiftly go outside and try to
tackle the impending WD. It’s futile, though. There are two of us against about
200 WD. It was stupid to come. Too late now, though. We can’t go back because
they’ll follow us to town and there’ll be a bloodbath. I shoot with my rifle
since it reaches a farther distance.

We’re dead. There’s no chance of
us making it out of here alive.

But can we try? Can we hold onto
a flicker of hope? Yeah. I’ll be Rich. I’ll think that everything’s going to
turn out awesome if I want it to enough.

It works for him.

Maybe a miracle will happen and
we depart from this place weighed down with joyfulness and cures.

Maybe.

Chapter
12- Alice

“No.1345
is gone now...”

That’s
what a balding middle-aged man with a pudgy stomach is saying as he frowns
deeply and shakes his head pityingly at me. I’m number 1345. There’s no one
else screeching as they scrape their nails across the wall in CWC20 (Children’s
ward cell twenty).

Nothing
remotely good has happened to me since I had my first taste of blood- my own. But
I know that if I feed anymore from myself I’ll die- and stay properly dead
forever. If there are no antidotes, then a day before the transformation has
ended- tomorrow in this case- they put a drug put in the victim’s food. They
are then carted off to a lock-up with a raw animal such as a bird to satisfy
them for a while. I’m going to pretend to be drugged, and then escape and stop
this terrible yearning that seems to be eating my insides. 

Adults will slow me down, because they’re too
big to carry, obviously; I’ll have to stop to feed. Babies- now that’s good. I
can carry a couple; they’re like what- 10 pounds? Also, their blood will be
better because it’s no secret that most people over the age of ten have either
began to drink or smoke, which makes the blood absolutely filthy.

 No dirty blood for me. No. I've waited long
enough.

So innocent infants who have never done a bad deed in their lives for dinner.

Chapter
13- Astrid 

“We
can’t do it,” Rich breathes.

We’re
back to back now, me rapidly firing away at the incoming WD; him keeping off
the ones inside.

“We
shoulda listened to Mike,” he says.

You think?

“No
talking. Focus,” I instruct.

“Almost
to the end of this lot,” he says with effort, ignoring my warning. I risk a
quick glance back and see that there are only about two dozen to go for him.
Me? Hah. I’ll be here an hour counting them. “Quick, Rich! This lot are too
close! QUICK!”

His
shooting intensifies as he mutters inaudible words under his breath. “Trying!”

“Try
harder!” I yell. I know he’s doing his best, but he really needs to do this
fast. This bunch of WD are speedy, gaining distance in every split second. I
almost have a clear picture of their faces. Jesus Christ, their faces. Drooped,
soulless grey shark eyes which are now lit up with lust; noses that look like
they’ve been ripped off then stuck back on with some form of adhesive; the
thinnest lips stained crimson with blood; cheeks with heavy crevices like
lasers had run through them. Rags that look as if they’ve been dipped in the
London sewers hang limply off their skinny, frail bodies. The ones I’ve shot
down lay alone on the pavement and road. These creatures have no empathy or
sympathy; if one of them dies they have no reason to care. The rest probably
just think, One less contender for blood.

I
actually feel sorry for them. It’s not their fault they’ve turned out like
this…

“Rich!”
I shout. “They’ll be here in about two minutes!”

“Ten
left,” he grunts. “Keep your lot away. We could make it.”

I
get out my pistol, which is a lot quicker than my rifle and blaze away, moving
it horizontally, back and forth, back and forth. Not aiming at any particular
one; just shooting randomly. All I need to do is keep them at bay while Rich
finishes off the inside ones.

There
are several thuds of bodies from behind me.

“Five,”
he tells me.

“RICH,
HURRY!”

Half
a minute later, when the WD are so close that tears fill my eyes, he says,
“Close the door. Bolt it. Now.”

I
obey him and lock it all, shaking it roughly to ensure that it’s stable. Rich
ends the remaining WD. We swiftly weave over the endless line of carcasses,
inserting bullets into those who are still twitching. The sickening impact of
bodies hitting against wood echoes through the cold, empty hallway. I exhale
slowly. That was a narrow escape if I ever saw one.

“It
won’t last long,” Rich says, looking anxiously back down the corridor. “Let’s
see if we can get some cures.”

If
we don’t, I will cry. Honestly. It’ll make this whole expedition pointless.

We
silently run down the other hallway and bound up the stairs. He stops before
the entrance, the metal door huge and looking at least a hundred times his
weight. Rich moves the cloth over his lips again; and I do the same, quietly
shutting the door behind us after we go in. Adrenaline is just beginning to die
down; my heart still thumps hard as I stare stock still at the sight that meets
us. Rows and rows of small glass bottles on shelves that tower up to the
ceiling.

Rich
makes the first move, running to the glasses and inspecting the labels. “CURES!”
he screams at me in ecstasy.

I
wrench open my bag-pack, grinning like a cat that’s caught a juicy mouse, stuffing
all the antidotes inside it. There isn’t really a specific cure you need. Just
anything ending with ‘cin’ or ‘illin’ really, save a few.  Just as my rucksack is full and cannot contain
anything else besides happiness of no measurable volume, I hear loud
splintering.

“They’re
coming.”

Rich
glances around. It’s a vast room of shelves and empty space, large windows on
all four corners. He’s set his eye on the nearest one. “The roof. We can go out
on the roof.” He tries the window. It doesn’t open; he curses under his breath.

“There
are still three more,” I say, crossing over to the one at the north end of the
room and yanking at the handle. Mercifully, it opens. “Thank God,” I murmur.

“Ladies
first.” He helps me through the high window by hoisting me up on his shoulders.
When I’m safely on the roof, I pull him up beside me, shutting the window
firmly as distant footfalls sound in the distance.

We
move away from the window so we won’t be in sight when the WD come. The roof is
flat, which is good because it makes it easier to move.

“So
how do we get down from here?”I ask. Some of the WD have taken to surrounding the
building and it looks like we’re trapped. My high spirits are considerably
dampened.

“Um…we
jump and run.” It’s more a question than an answer.

“They
will follow us,” I say, thinking hard. “We should lead them away from town;
camp out for a night or something.”

“But
Mum…”

“Tomorrow
is her last day- It’s all right. But perhaps we can give her two cures since
we’ve left it so late.”

“It’s
some people’s last days today,” he retorts.

“Rich.
We have to get them off our tail.”

 “Let’s see how it goes.”

Suddenly
a mouldy hand appears near the edge of the roof, and the sound of thrashing
registers in my brain. More arms join it, and hideous faces too. Just as I’m
about to step back, something catches hold of my rucksack. I look down in
horror, trying to retrieve my backpack. The hand of the WD is stronger than I
thought, though, and it’s sickeningly close. “Rich!”

He
rushes to my aid, trying to wrench the pack out of the WD’s grasp, grunting in
effort.  The WD does not let go, gripping
the rucksack with surprising power. Rich falls back, narrowly dodging away from
the coughing mouth of another. “Drop the pack, Astrid,” he tells me, panting.

“No!”

I
pull harder, harder. So many lives could be saved with this bag by my side.

“DROP
IT!” he screams at me as I am slowly pulled over the edge.

“N-n-NO!”
I say, desperately back-pedalling with my legs. Don’t let go. Don’t let go. 
DON’T LET GO!

I
land with a thump on my back, clutching the backpack as if it’s my life. I gag
when I see that a decaying hand is attached to it. Disgusted, I prise it off
and rinse my hand with a little water, quickly scrabbling away from the borders
of the roof. “We better have a long wash when we get back,” I say, wrinkling my
nose.

 “You could have been killed,” he says stonily,
but unable to hide the anxiousness in his tone.

“But
I wasn’t. And I am pretty much holding thirty lives right here,” I say, waving
the bag in front of his face.

“Lucky
devil.” He peers down. “I think we’d better camp out here. I’ll take watch;
alert you if anything happens.”

“They’d’ve
found a way to get up here by sunrise,” I disagree. “We need to go- now.”

“Any
ideas?” he asks sceptically.

“Jump,
like you said?”

“We’ll
break our ankles or something and that’ll slow us down. Remember, they’ve got
the whole building covered.”

“No
other option. I’ll take a closer look.” I leave my pack next to Rich and walk
round the whole perimeter of the rectangular roof, looking down and filing away
key facts in my mind.

When
I get back to Rich, I say “It’s getting dark. The WD can’t see well in the
dark; but they still have their sharp sense of smell. In front of us, there are
the most WD. Behind, the least- about twelve or so. To the left and right,
they’re climbing on top of each other, trying to get to us- and they aren’t far
away. I suggest this: I shoot the ones at the back- with my silencer on so they
can’t hear much- while you distract the others. Then we jump and run, out into
the countryside or something. In the morning, we go back to town.”

“Sounds
like a plan,” he says.

I
apply my silencer and click the safety catch off my gun.

Chapter
14- Alice

I
don’t eat breakfast, which is merely a slice of stale bread anyways. I don’t
even touch the water in case that’s been tampered with as well. Dinner I toss
under the bed, because if I just leave the food on the plate they’ll know I haven’t
been drugged. I make a great show of becoming woozy and then falling asleep
after supper had been delivered. Half an hour later, the door opens and I hear
the first human voice other than my own in the first time for a week.

“She
down?” says someone with a rough tone.

Someone
crosses the small room and prods me. I try not to jump up at the wonderful
scent of blood. So close…oh so close…

“Yeah.”

“Poor
soul,” sighs the first person who had spoken as I’m pushed onto a hard metal
cart with a blanket covering my body.

The
smell of blood is so overwhelming I can barely contain myself.

“Which
lock-up?” asks a different person; female.

“Um...”
I hear a piece of paper being un-scrunched. “Number 1345 to Harlton Hotel.”

The
flooring underneath me changes from smooth, squeaky lino to bumpy asphalt that
almost throws me off the cart. “The first van,” says someone.

The
cart stops abruptly; I am lifted onto someone’s bony back and shovelled in a
truck. Doors close and I am plunged into darkness. I open my eye a fraction to
double check that they are gone and sit up when I am sure that I am the only
conscious person here. All I can see is blackness, which is annoying. I at least
hoped for some dim light; dreamed of a window I could peek out of every now and
then. I should get off the van now; if I run away near the lock-up I’ll have a
heck of a lot of travelling to do; the lock-ups are all secluded, far away from
all homes. I peek through the tiny gap between the doors. There’s no-one in
sight, but there probably is a guard at the front. I take a deep breath and
prepare to bolt.

Chapter
15- Astrid

I
take down the ten at the back with ease while Rich blazes away loudly with his
rifle. When I’m done, I skirt back round the roof and nudge him.

“Clear,”
I mutter.

 “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Now,”
I tell him. I’m impatient to escape; the WD are close and they repulse me.

He
follows me back round. I jump straight away before I lose the courage; land
hard on the grass with Rich beside me.

“Damn,
I sprained my ankle,” I curse, inspecting my foot with irritation as pain
shoots up my leg.

“I
hate to rush you, but we have to go. Now. They’re coming,” Rich tells me
sympathetically.

I
grit my teeth as I flat out sprint away, each step like a dagger plunged into
my ankle. The soft texture of the field underneath me lessens the pain, which
is a plus. Discomfort slips into distress as I am pressured to move faster on
my wounded limb. The backpack thumping against my back and the constant snarling
behind me pretty much force to me to move faster. Eventually the noise behind
us recedes and I slow down my pace to a steady jog, walking an extra mile after
the noise of the WD has died down just to be sure, but Rich urges me on for
countless hours- so it seems to me-until it’s way too dark to move safely and
I’ve damaged my ankle again.

“Where
bloody are we?” I pant as I collapse at the foot of a tall, broad oak.

“I
have no clue,” he gasps, looking around helplessly.

As
we catch our breath, I open the extra-large bag and just smile as I count the
little bottles, pulling the ones in my pockets out as well. “Thirty-three in
total,” I whisper to Rich as I return them and lay my head on his shoulder.
“You?”

“Lemme
check.” He digs into his pack. “Twenty-six.”

Fifty-nine
in total. A good haul. Usually when we go with our groups, we get about ten to
fifteen each.

I
yawn tiredly, stretching out my arms and groaning. “I’ll stay watch; wake you
up in a few hours.”

He
lays his head on the tree trunk and falls asleep almost immediately, while I
look up at the stars faintly twinkling in the inky black sky, smile at the shy
silver orb of a full-moon hiding bashfully behind the dense clouds, sigh
happily as I stroke my brother’s hair, finally at peace.

When I can barely keep my eyes open, I rouse him.

“Five minutes,” he mumbles groggily, barely audible
as he turns over on the cold soil.

“Now,” I insist, only half-conscious.

 “Coming.” He
sits upright, rubbing sleep out of the corners of his eyes

I’m asleep before my head has fallen on his lap,
gliding into wonderful dreams of us proudly marching into town with nearly sixty
cures with us, and then sinking into a soft bed.

*

“Astrid.”

A
faint voice reaches me.

“Astrid!”

It
now has a tinge of annoyance.

I
feel myself being pulled up and impatiently shaken. My head lolls as I fight to
stay alone in, encased in my dreams.

“Astrid!!!”

I
snap back to reality, opening my eyes then wincing as the sunlight burns them.
I pick up the precious pack and lean against the tree.

“Any
idea where we are yet?”I ask him hopefully.

He
shakes his head. “Heading back to the lock-up seems the easiest way to regain
out bearings but that’s too risky.”

“Phone,”
I remember, digging into my pocket and taking out the little cuboid of glass.
“Don’t you have one?”

He
shakes his head. “Stolen.” Typical.

Luckily
my mobile’s still charged. It doesn't take me long to suss out where we are.
“Benton Woods,” I inform him. “There are two ways to get back to town: retrace
our steps from past the WD lock-up, or…” I frown as I peer at the screen. “We
walk north about three miles and then follow some motorway for four miles
–until we come to the third changing-point- then just walk south for about ten
minutes. Then across Waterbury Field and come out near John’s grocery.”

“About
eight miles,” he groans, running his hand through his dark hair.”That’s, like,
two flipping hours.”

“Stop
moaning and start walking.” I get out my compass.”This way.”

We
trek through the undergrowth, jumping over large, gnarly tree roots and almost
wetting ourselves when we hear a rustle in the trees, which turns out to be a
bird fluttering its chocolate brown wings. The journey to the motorway takes
longer than I thought; just over an hour; because of all the obstacles that
barred our way – and the river.

We
considered just walking round it but we eventually realised that it stretched
miles on, so we ended up wading through the waters, tossing our packs on the
other side, reluctant to let them out of our grasp.

I
stand by the motorway, resting most of my weight on my left hip, breathing out
a little “Phew!” My clothes are heavily saturated with water and it makes me
feel all heavy and sleepy.

“Which
way now?” says Rich as he views the deserted lanes that run endlessly on either
sides of us.

I
consult my phone, which had taken a bit of a bashing when it was thrown about
ten metres into the air to land on hard, coarse dirt. “This way,” I reply,
pointing right without looking up. “Yeah. When the third choice of turning
comes, we go down.”

He
starts walking without any further queries. I rummage through my bag, looking
at the pathetic 1 inch of water that remains in my bottle. Unscrewing the cap,
I down it in one go and resist the urge to ask Rich for some of his supply.

As
we silently cover the distance, I notice how quiet and desolate it is. Before
there were always countless vehicles trundling down the roads; letting out gas
fumes that clogged the air; severe traffic jams building up; a bright red light
often flashing in the middle of a lane symbolising the fact that a car wheel
had deflated. Now? It’s silent and lonely with the mild, morning wind whistling
softly through the nearby trees that we came out of.

Rich
speaks up at last. “They’d’ve shipped Mum and Dad off to a lock-up today. No,
yesterday.”

My
legs nearly buckle underneath me. “What if they’ve sent them to Benton Park?” I
whisper, almost scared of voicing the terrible notion out loud.

“They
wouldn’t have,” he says. “They know that some have been escaping.”

I
relax slightly, trying to ignore the rumbling in my stomach. I’m used to being
hungry, because it wasn’t long ago when almost all the food ran out since
no-one was importing food because of all the infections and so on. Most of the
fields we have in town have now been used to grow cabbages, because cabbage
grows in pretty much all year round. Bread is almost non-existent, which is a
pity. All the cows had long ago been slaughtered and used as meat, so no milk,
apart from the few people who have managed to keep goats and supply very pricey
dairy products. When I say few, I mean few. About half a dozen.

So
we’re all stuck with the same boring diet that thins and pales our skin and
turns us into a bag of bones and blood: cabbage, cabbage, cabbage, cabbage,
artichoke. Oh, and rice. There is a vast rice field right north of the town. I
guess we’ve managed to hold onto civility. There are still jobs, but no
teachers or lawyers or anything. Just WD hunters, cure-seekers, food-growers,
and expeditioners ( they leave the relative ‘safety’ of our town to go out and
look for anything; fields, foods, animals, etcetera) That’s it, really. People
are also working on restarting a council and jury and so on.

Order
is slowly being regained.

Maybe…maybe
I’ll be happy now.

Maybe.

*

Once
I spot John’s grocery, I start running, blood  roaring in my ears as the prospect of saving
my parents exhilarates me to an unexplainable extent. My legs pound continuously
on the bumpy terrain, barely touching the ground before they’re up again.

“I’m
coming, Dad! I’m coming, Mum!” I yell as I race towards the IC with Rich by my
side.

Chapter
14- Alice

Chapter
14- Alice

I
manage to tear away from the van without being noticed.

Now to locate someone to drink from…I think, trying to recall forgotten memories of
people with young children. There’s always Stonewall Nursery…I set my sights on
that. If I bust into half a dozen random houses, I could not come out with any
infants and probably be captured. The nursery is a tricky one, but I know
they’re low on staff. I jog my way to the children’s home, my mouth watering.
It actually pains me to walk past these vulnerable people milling around. I so
want to pounce on them and suck greedily. So much blood….gallons and gallons. Oh…

As
I creep past the lifeless grey buildings, I spot Stonewall Nursery at the end
of Stonewall Lane, freshly painted, an eye-piercing, candy-coloured three-story
construction standing out amidst dull, ransacked structures. I knock on the
door which has garish bright yellow smiley-faces painted on it.

A
careworn middle-aged lady with tired, intelligent brown eyes opens it. She
blinks as she takes in my wild, tangled, filthy hair, my dry, blood-crusted
lips, and sorry excuse for clothes, and fumbles with the locks in the door,
screaming “WD!WD!” down the hall.

Made
strong by the intoxicating scent of blood, I roughly barge past her. A young
boy of about four is about seven metres away from me, cowering against the
bubble-gum pink wall, seemingly unable to move.

“RUN,
LIAM! LOCK YOURSELF IN THE-“

I
silence the irritating woman behind me, sharply snapping her neck with my bare
hands. And just like that, she falls to the stained purple carpet. I just murdered…I realise. I’m slightly
surprised to realise that I don’t care. I’ll be dying in about twelve hours
then rising back up. How long do I have to be out? Three days, was it?

A
dozen dumb children poke their heads fearfully out of rooms leading off the
hallway, just wanting to become my meal for the night. The commotion of feet
from above me tells me that adults are on their way. I should probably go
upstairs to stop any calls or cries for help going out here. Sweeping past the
kids, I fling open a small door where I assume the boiler and power switch are.
I flick the power switch off and stand indifferent to the pathetic wails of the
children who have been enveloped by the dark.

Several
workers slowly advance down the stairs, fear etched more than plainly across
their faces. They all have weapons, of course. No one over the age of seven
walks around unarmed. When they see me, two scamper back up the steps, probably
to aid the little ones. The remaining never take their eyes off me, waiting for
me to make the first move.

“She’s
not fully WD,” a blonde-haired teenager mutters to a boy next to him.

“No,
she isn’t,” I rasp. I hate how this WDI limits my speech. Soon it will be gone
forever.

They
look at me uncertainly, not knowing what to do, which is fatal; I catch them
off guard, swinging my elbow at the closest face to me, bringing up my knee
hard. I’ve never indulged in this fighting business and such but now it’s like
a natural instinct. Like how a rabbit will flee at the slightest disturbance in
the woods.

The
man groans and rolls on the floor. I kick his body away as the others make for
me, so obviously desperate. They don’t know what they’re doing the fools. Act
first and think later; that’s what they’re doing.

I
knock down two and glare at the others, breathing hard.

“I
take some kids, and go away,” I say, my voice like gravel. “Or half the nursery
dies. Your call.” I don’t think I can hold it in much longer. I need to feed.

“No!”
one cries, while the incessant wailing from the children drones on. The speaker
brings up a hard wood baseball bat with spikes injected into it, aiming
clumsily for me.

My
fist plunges into his concave stomach and he doubles over, retching out a vile
substance, the bat dropping to the floor inches away from his head; a spike
piercing his skull as a low moan escapes his lips.

“You
are wasting time and lives,” I tell them. “Let me upstairs.”

A
few heads shake hesitantly, evidently scared to do so, and hands grip weapons
tighter.

I
grab the nearest child by the neck. I don’t like threatening them; don’t relish
in delivering fear and destruction, but what has to be done has to be done.

“Five…”
I cough, my throat as dry as sandpaper.”Four…”

The
child whimpers, unable to make a louder sound due to her windpipe being cut
off.

“Bliss!!”
cries a woman whose child is a splitting image of her; the same flawless
chocolate skin, the same beautiful almond-shaped eyes, the same full lips in an
ex
pression of dismay.

Bliss’s
eyes close and she begins to sway on her feet.

She
runs to me, murder and anger in her eyes. “Leave my daughter alone!”

I
free Bliss’s throat and sink my teeth into her slim, slight arm.

Chapter
16- Astrid

“Yes,
cures, very good,” he mutters. The head of the IC, Stephen Andover, paces
frantically across his office. Finally he stops and slams his hand against a
metal box, clearly disturbed by something bad. “Someone has escaped, though,
you see. About ten minutes before you came in. We’ve sent a bunch of WD hunters
after her, but…” He chews his lip and resumes endlessly walking around his
office.

“Who?”
I ask, uneasy at the thought of an infected person running about. No doubt,
that person will spread infection…which means more cures will be needed.

“Alice
Melody,” is the horrible answer.

My
blood runs cold and I feel Rich stiffen beside me. “Not...not Mum…” It’s almost
a question. The second we return with cures, Mum has vanished.

“Astrid.
Astrid.”

I
can hear a faint voice calling to me, but my senses have been engaged with more
important things…blood churns in my ears, my joints turn to jelly and I can’t
speak, let alone move. I am left alone, with only this overwhelming sadness and
hopelessness and-and…I don’t know what else. It’s a horrible feeling that numbs
me to the very core.

Not
Mum.

Please
not Mum.

No.

No.

Please.

I’m
begging.

I’m
on my knees.

I’m
up again, offering, offering all I have.

I’ll
do anything.

Anything.

Please.

Please.

Tears
mist my vision, my legs buckle beneath me and I’m about to pass out, but Rich
roughly shakes me. “No time for this Astrid,” he tells me, his voice devoid of
all emotion. We need to find her before she gets captured and shot. Now. Get
up.”

“There’s
no point.” I wrap my hands around my knees, hugging them to my chest. It’s too
late. “It’s too late.”

Stephen
hovers awkwardly around me. I just want them all to get out. Rage is slowly
building up inside me and I don’t think they want to feel the full-blown extent
of my wrath.

“Astrid,
it’s not. Trust me, it’s not. Just come. We can find her; cure her.”

I
lick my lips, deciding. It’s futile, I know, but of course, I’m Astrid Melody.
I do the stupidest, craziest, most pathetic, most heroic, impossible things. I
shoot zombies. I save the sick. I bring pain to those around me. I go on mental
breakdowns.

But
I always persist, no matter how many times I tell myself that I can’t go on.

I
stand up abruptly and start for the door, gun in hand. “Where to?” I say heavily,
not even turning round. Doing anything feels like such an effort.

“Melody-“begins
Stephen.

“Please
give out the cures,” Rich tells him. “Don’t miss out my father, or I’ll kill
you. I mean it. Oh, and make sure you leave one cure, even if there are other
infected waiting.”

“That
is sel-“

“We
are the ones who brought the cures,” Rich argues. “We have every right to be as
selfish as we want.”

“I
am the one in charge of-“

I
slam the door of Stephen’s office shut.  

“No
idea,” Rich says to me.

I
descend down the cold metallic staircase and barge past the unhappy-looking sentry
who stands near the exit, sucking in the fresh air before I lose it.

“Let’s
check Stonewall Lane…” I say, voicing the first road that comes to mind.

I
pick up speed and run across town, quite ready to give up all hope. With each
tired heartbeat the same, painful sentence is repeated inside my head- We’ll never find her; she’ll be shot by
someone else.

I
dig my feet into the road by Stonewall lane, drawing to a stop. “I’ll check the
left side of the street,” I tell Rich, raising my voice and yelling around: ”WD
on the loose. Anyone seen her?”

She’s
not Alice Melody, my mother, anymore. She is a vile, bloodthirsty brute.  She is one of the WD. I don’t bother wiping
the tears off my face. Why should I? Why should I hide my misery behind a mask
of indifference?

Faces
poke out from windows and doors creak open. “Only one?” Someone asks. There’s
been masses out before. Everyone was to lock themselves up somewhere secluded,
and make sure no wounds were open. The town hall was also open to people
running from WD, where dozens of WD hunters stood guard.

“Yes,
one. She’s not a WD, really. Today is her last day.”

They
relax at this. Only a few deaths could occur with a single, infected female.
The risk of infection is fairly limited too. A young girl of about thirteen
says, pointing to the Nursery with a quaking finger,” I heard shouting.” Trembling,
she shrinks back into her house. I don’t take much notice. They’ve just
probably been alerted of the news and set about to protect the littlies. But
why are there no lookouts around the building? A bad feeling shoots up my
spine. But it’s a long, wide street…surely others than a frightened teenager
would notice if Mum came strolling down here?

I
run to Rich. He’s shaking. I peer behind his back; half of the residents are
now fleeing,  carrying scraps of food and
water, blankets, and of course their weapons; anything quick to get that can
last them a few days.

“She’s
in the Nursery,” he whispers.

I
swallow, vibrating on the spot, not knowing what to do. “I don’t want to…” I
speak up at last.

“We
have to. We’re wasting time. We need to go.”

I
shake my head. “I can’t.”

“There’s
no such thing as ‘can’t’.”

“There’s
no such thing as zombie-like characters,” I retort. “Please, Rich. I can’t I
just can’t.” I won’t be able to do it.

He
drags me to the Nursery. “I don’t sit well with this idea either,” he tells me,
always the voice of reason.”But it’s vital.”

He
opens the door, rifle raised.

I
resist the urge to take flight as I see four dead bodies lying on the floor, terrorised
toddlers, and a few grief-stricken adults watching helplessly as Mum bends over
a tiny girl… The adults look so relieved to see us; shouts of joy spiral up in
the air.

“Mum.”

She
looks up. A conflict of emotions briefly flits across her face, but then she
just turns her face back towards the girl.

“What
are you waiting for!” cries someone, smile fading. “Shoot her!”

The
girl is almost gone. “Sorry, Mum.” Rich’s finger moves towards the trigger.

“No…”
I murmur, stretching out a hand as if to…to…my thoughts aren’t connecting well
right now. I don’t know what.

He
shoots. Nothing happens. It’s not loaded.

“SHOOT!”
Yells a chorus of desperate voices to me.

The
next few minutes seem like hours to me; everything moves in slow motion jerks
and my brain seems on fast-forward. I could murder my mother, and save the
child. Or let her devour an innocent infant and go on ending other young lives.

What
to do, what to do, what to do.

I
can’t kill my mother. Not my own mother.

I
can’t let a child die. Not someone so little, whose life is ending as soon as
it has begun…

But
it’s one or the other.

My
mother or countless numbers of others. If only I could make her remember…

I
recklessly pull her off the child, the only thing I can do without being eaten
away with guilt. “Mum, stop!” I plead.

I
can’t hear Rich. I can’t hear all these sobbing people around me. It’s just my
mum and I, trapped in a little circle. I look into her bloodshot eyes, smaller
and darker than they used to be. Her fingers, like vices, tighten around my
throat, surprisingly strong. I wrench them off.

“Mum,
it’s me. Your daughter. Please don’t do this.”

“Go
away. Let me feed.” I can tell that it takes her a vast amount of effort to
utter these few words. And she tried to throttle me. It’s too late to save her
now. She only has a few hours left, anyway… I fumble with my pistol, shaking crazily
so that I drop it. Mum picks it up, training it on me as I stare at it pathetically.

“You
wouldn’t kill part of your own family, would you?” she whispers as here
crushing fingers wrap around my wrist. “Not your own blood?” She grins
insanely. “See how important blood is, huh? Saves lives, ends lives, and
consumes lives.”

She
hacks up something horrible, a long series of horrible coughs. I try to reel
back, get away from certain infection.

“Join
me,” she says, her voice ever so enticing. “The first few days are bad, but it
pays off, daughter.”  She emphasises that last word. See? She still
wants me. She’s still loves me. She-she’s still similar to what she was before…
I find myself nodding, then shaking my head in confusion, kicking hard and
struggling out of her intense grip, sick and disoriented,  losing control of my senses, all because this
is my mum. If she was anyone else, I’d’ve killed her without a thought. But the
world has to put me in this terrible position. “Join me or else you become food…
my lovely food…”

She
breathes all over my face and my stomach turns.

“Both
would make me happy…” she rasps.”You
make me happy…”

“Please
don’t do this,” I beg, trying to reach into her rock-hard, impenetrable soul. Her
voice is so captivating, puts me in a kind of trance I can’t evade. “We have
cures- lots- we can save you!”

“I
guess there’s no persuading you,” she says, a trace of regret in her voice. “Bye,
Astrid, daughter.” Her vast mouth opens and clamps over my leg, biting down
hard. As the pain runs through me, I snatch up the neglected rifle, and shoot
twice.

Once
at her.

And
once at me.

For
I can’t live with the thought of having killed my own mother.

Epilogue- Rich

“Dad?”
I call.

I
hear muffled sobbing coming from the attic, and sigh, knocking softly on the
door.

“Can
I come in?” I ask gently.

No
reply, but the crying fades out.

I
open the door and slip inside, finding him kneeling beside Mum’s coffin. I lay
my head on his shoulder, not trusting myself to speak. I’m too optimistic-that’s
what Astrid had always said. Yeah, it works for some time. But then well the
truth and realisation dawns, it kills you.

They
all think I’m strong, naturally like this. That I can withstand anything and
not shed a single tear. But every night I cry myself to sleep, then wake up and
plaster this undaunted, happy look on myself. I spot every little bright thing
and proclaim it to the world, as if it’s such a big deal. I can’t help myself,
so I try to help others, but by the end I just break them. It’s a shame Astrid
didn’t get to see my true colours, but then she’d just be disappointed.

I
can tell her now, though. I can spill it all.

So
I begin talking, not even hiding what I’m saying from from Dad. Talking and
talking and talking, for hours on end while Dad just stares at Mum’s coffin.
Then I walk over to him. I’m not going to go on about all this mindless babble
about how ‘they’ve gone to a better place’. That’s what fake, plastic Rich
would do.

“Son,
don’t do what your sister did,” Dad says at last, pulling himself upright and
passing a hand over his tired face.

“Don’t
do the right but hard thing?” I raise an eyebrow, using the nearby dusty box to
help me get up. My muscles have felt like jelly ever since Astrid fired those
shots.

“No
suicide, kid.”

I’ve
been contemplating that, and decided that it was the best choice. I might
change my mind, but I just don’t think so. I’m in charge of my own life right
now.

“You
won’t leave me alone, will you, Richard?” he asks, looking out the window.

“I
won’t ever,” I lie.

End
of conversation. That’s the thing with us men. We never like revealing our
feelings, do we? Ever so arrogant.

*

We
stand, side by side, looking at their fresh graves.

“I
want to join them.”

It
slips out on its own. That was supposed be in my head, not out loud.

“That’s
not solving anything, Richard.”

“A
guy can hope.”

He
doesn’t reply.

I
sprinkle an exact hundred of pink and purple daisies over Astrid’s headstone.
Took me hours and hours but I got them; I didn’t rest until I did. And I’m
satisfied.

Dad
places a single, flawless white rose on top of Mum’s grave.

“Just
like the one I gave you on our first date,” he whispers to her, closing his
eyes.

“Just
like they’d always liked,” I say, looking at the flowers. I sigh and turn
around. I haven’t saved them. But there will always be plenty more to save.

The
supply will never run out.