“Well, the good news is, zombie blood in this world is not contagious. But, I might get sick, so it’d be better to avoid getting drenched in it.” [Ryner]
Ryner said as he looked at his face in the side-view mirror of a black car. He was in the middle of wiping off the blood smeared on his cheeks using his own shirt. The face reflected back was that of a 20-year-old man. Just like he remembered, he had messy black hair, pale skin and half-closed eyes of different colors. The left one was dark brown while the right one was white, as if it had been damaged and went blind.
Moreover, despite that quirk, Ryner possessed the perfect average appearance that would let him easily blend into a crowd. Still, since his body had undergone intensive training in the past, which can be inferred from the abdominal muscles seen under his shirt, his looks were sharp and there was no sagging skin.
“Honestly, there aren’t that many zombies around here.” [Ryner]
Behind him, dead, decaying bodies were lying on the street. After Ryner fended off the zombies that had been drawn in by the sound of gunfire, he searched the house and then left. Exploring the city, he walked around the neighborhood, sometimes fighting more undead, and sometimes entering more houses. As such, he had found several items that were of use, including a black backpack that was currently on his person.
“Now then…” [Ryner]
Once he was done wiping his face, he resumed his march through the neighborhood. He had been using the side-view mirror of a car that had crashed into a streetlight. Such accidents could be found here and there, with even a car having rammed into the wall of a building. But, there was no one inside. For the moment, Ryner hadn’t found any living human.
“It’d be great if there was someone I could talk to…” [Ryner]
He said out loud while kicking open the door of a house. Taking a look around, he couldn’t find anyone or anything that was still moving. There were two floors with the basement being linked to the garage. The kitchen, the living room, the bedrooms and the bathroom were all covered in dust. It was quiet, peaceful, but traces of panic were still present.
Some drawers were left opened. A pot of brownish soup gone foul was on the stove. A few clothing articles were scattered about. A glass of water was left broken on the floor. A toy in the shape of a blue, rectangular robot laid at Ryner’s feet. The place was abandoned and whoever used to live there had evacuated in a hurry, taking what they could with them. Ryner scavenged whatever he could, looking inside wardrobes and cupboards for clothes and food.
The language used was not alien to him and the various items and electrical appliances were not foreign either. Though he didn’t know where he was, he had no trouble navigating around the house, and made his way to the bathroom. There, he found a washbasin in front of a mirror, a toilet and a bathtub with a showerhead. Flipping the switch by the door a few times, he confirmed again that there was no electricity. Opening the faucet, water flowed out.
“Oh, there’s still water in the tank here too.” [Ryner]
Remarking so, he wet a towel he had picked up, quickly cut off the water, and took off his jacket and shirt, exposing his upper body. Thanks to intensive training, there was no unnecessary fat and his muscles were forged like steel. Moreover, they weren’t large despite the strength Ryner commanded, but were instead compressed, yet supple. It gave him the impression of possessing an average build when clothed.
Furthermore, his upper body was covered in what appeared to be large scars crisscrossing and zigzagging all over his skin. There were some from bullet wounds, blades and burn marks. An especially large one covered his chest, making one wonder how he survived. However, these weren’t real scars. They were closer to being birthmarks.
“Good, she perfectly recreated them.” [Ryner]
Ryner said as he examined the marks on his chest all while wiping his skin that had some dried blood here and there.
“This one is from when I got shot. This one is from when I got stabbed. This one is from when they opened me up…” [Ryner]
He then looked at his face in the mirror, at the sleepy-looking eyes staring back at him.
“You got properly remade, Ryner.” [Ryner]
His reflection didn’t say anything back.
“… I really need to stop talking to myself… But!” [Ryner]
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Wearing a slightly oversized blue shirt instead of his bloody red one, Ryner continued walking down the road.
“Talking to yourself is a great way to stay sane when you’re the only survivor.” [Ryner]
“Aaaagh…” [Zombie]
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
He said to a groaning, slightly oversized undead man before whacking him on the head using a frying pan he had found. It made a loud, ringing sound upon impacting the skull.
“This is too loud and unwieldy. But kind of fun.” [Ryner]
Then, seeing a limping woman that had an eye hanging out of its socket slowly approaching him, he threw the black culinary tool at her face. The zombie fell down backward without resistance, letting Ryner stab the first one in the head with a knife. The blade penetrated the skull and sank into the brain, stopping the rotting creature’s movements. However, when he tried to pull it out, the blade snapped.
“… Well, damn. Guess that’s all I’ll get out of a knife made to cut steak.” [Ryner]
He thought out loud, noting how the knife was light, the edge sharp, and the blade sleek, making it easy to use for dining, not killing zombies. Luckily however, next to Ryner was a house that had a set of hockey equipment on the driveway in front of its garage. There was a red goal net and lying on the ground was a hockey stick. Ryner jogged up to the wooden hockey stick, grabbed it, and went back to the second zombie that had finished slowly getting back up.
“This might seem unfair since you’re unarmed, but don’t hate the player, hate the game.” [Ryner]
After needlessly talking to her in a cool voice, he hit the asphalt with his newfound weapon once.
“Game on!” [Ryner]
And his newfound weapon snapped.
“Are you kidding me?” [Ryner]
Ryner said, looking at the jagged end of the hockey stick that was now just a stick.
“Raaaah…” [Zombie]
Meanwhile, the zombie, groaning, stretched her hands out to grab him, her jaw opened wide to bite his throat. Seeing her slow but unimpeded approach, Ryner jabbed the broken end of the wooden stick in her mouth like a spear and into the back of her head. The lifeless monster fell backward, and did not get up again.
“… Maybe I should find a better weapon. Like a hammer. Or a crowbar.” [Ryner]
So, his journey continued in such a manner. Ryner would make his way down the road, search a residence for supplies and eliminate the zombies that he encountered. Sometimes, he would stop to read the names of the streets written on the plaques attached to a pole. Then, he would mutter something along the lines of “Where the hell is 31st Ceramic Prototype Street?” while scratching his head. Other times, he would look inside the cars dotting the place. The thought of hotwiring one had crossed his mind, but none of them had a working battery.
After wandering around for some time, the only living human in the area had finally left the residential district.
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“Did you find any on your end?” [???]
In a dark room cluttered with rows of shelves, a man, holding a flashlight and a semi-automatic pistol, asked a woman.
“No, there’s nothing.” [???]
She was kneeling on the cold, tiled floor, rummaging through a shelf full of cardboard boxes and using a flashlight to illuminate the contents.
“No food or water, nor anything. Just empty boxes. But, there was still some supplies the last time we left.” [???]
“Damn, so someone else picked the storage clean.” [???]
The two spoke in a low and nervous voice, clearly pressed for time. The man was in his forties, had blue eyes, brown hair and a messy beard while the woman was in her thirties, sported black hair reaching her chin and brown eyes. The duo was dressed in every day clothes that covered their limbs, such as shirts, pants and jackets.
Moreover, each person was carrying a backpack and had a magazine rolled around their left or right forearm that was held in place with duct tape. They appeared dirty and dusty, possibly from having gone through rough times. But, that was to be expected when their city fell and they had to do all that they could just to survive.
“Any luck?” [???]
A third man in his mid-twenties, with black hair and blue eyes, walked into the room, armed with a pump-action shotgun. Just like the other two present, he appeared ragged and had a backpack as well. The trio of survivors spoke quietly about their current situation.
“Someone else must have found out about this place. There’s nothing left here.” [Survivor]
“… Damn.” [Survivor]
“Yeah, I had the same reaction.” [Survivor]
“You don’t think it was the Old Man’s group, was it?” [Survivor]
“Maybe, but they’re not exactly lacking in supplies.” [Survivor]
“Yeah, those nut jobs would happily see us starve while dining on fine cuisine.” [Survivor]
“I wish I could blow off that creepy old bastard’s head with his own shotgun.” [Survivor]
“Guys, now’s not the time for rant and gossip. If there are no supplies here, then we’ll have to quickly look for the next market. But first, we need to get the hell out of this place.” [Survivor]
The black-haired woman interrupted the two who were getting heated up, urging them to leave. Her fellow survivors agreed and the trio hurriedly left the place. They swiftly walked down a dark and dusty corridor, relying on their flashlights to see their surroundings, and soon arrived at an intersection.
“Is the barricade holding?” [Survivor]
“Obviously, or I’ll be screaming my head off instead of trash talking other survivors. See?” [Survivor]
The bearded man asked the youngest member of their group, to which he flashed a light on the double doors that were at the end of the corridor on their right. Furniture like tables and chairs were stacked up against them to prevent them from being accessed.
THUD
THUD
THUD
A chorus of eerie groans could be heard from the other side of the double doors as they were continuously being hit.
“Zombies are dumb as bricks, but credit where it’s due, they really don’t know when to quit.” [Survivor]
The black-haired man said, trying to lighten the mood, though he still looked anxious.
“We’ve got a horde banging at those doors and you’re joking around?” [Survivor]
“It’ll be fine. They can’t break them down in just five minutes, so we’ll have plenty of time to escape.” [Survivor]
“Maybe, but what if they we-?” [Survivor]
BANG
Suddenly, the booming sound of something powerfully colliding against the double doors like a ram reverberated, shutting up the trio.
BANG
The barricade shook and rattled. Chairs stacked on top fell to the floor.
BANG
The double doors, dented, were pushed open, creating a small gap, and from there, a bone-chilling screech could be clearly heard.
“T-that’s…” [Survivor]
Like demons emerging from the gates of hell, undead hands forced themselves between the widening crack, reaching out for the humans frozen by fear.
“… Run.” [Survivor]
The bearded man whispered to his fellow survivors, who were as pale-faced as him.
“RUN!” [Survivor]
Then, upon his urgent cry, the three bolted down the corridor.
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Item of interest
Hockey stick:
* Left in front of a garage driveway.
* There’s an illegible signature on it. By someone famous?
* Made of wood.
* It broke.