All was quiet as the sun began to rise, casting its dire glow upon the streets of Winchester. Wrecked cars smoked with dying embers, calling to memory the chaos that ensued in the wake of the apocalypse. Reanimated corpses seemed to rouse from slumber, stretching their sinewy limbs toward the sky. Zombies; walkers; biters; runners. Mya didn't care about the labels anymore. They were a pest, a nuisance, a boogeyman brought to life. They scared the living daylights out of her. Mya wondered if perhaps humanity was being punished. Scientists had warned the public about the rise of superbugs, rapid changes in climate and the resurgence of diseases nearly vanquished in the western world. Perhaps all this had been a cocktail for mother nature's vengeance. "Well, she picked a fine time to make a fuss," Mya muttered under her breath, shaking as she crawled behind collision debris, scouting the area for zombies. Most appeared to be calm and sluggish, finding nothing mouth-watering to chase. Mya was one of the unfortunate few still left in town.
As far as she knew her mother and stepfather were both dead. She had last seen them driving northward to find her cousins who were stranded. They left her to man the fort and keep herself from starving and becoming infected. Home offered a reliable supply of canned goods and freshwater. Mya's stepfather had even left her a few tablets to prevent dehydration. She regretted not accompanying them, though she had little to offer in the way of skill. "Probably would have gotten them killed, as useless as I am," she moped while slowly standing up, dusting off her jeans. With her heart racing she jaunted toward a nearby wooden shack. She pressed her back against its frame as she peaked around the corner. Her destination stood some distance away: a lone gas station out in the middle of the desert. It was closer to home than the big chain stores which were desolate and empty.
She had been a patron of the little pit stop though she hardly spent a dime. The prices were generally marked up to attract unknowing tourists desperate for fuel. It was not uncommon for customers to shell out twelve, fifteen or even twenty dollars for food and drink. Considering the stiff competition from giants such as BP and Shell the gas station owners did what they could to survive the market. Things had changed, however. Money had lost most of its appeal. Weeks into the disaster most shop owners either slashed their prices or provided donations to weary survivors. Money wouldn't get them very far unless one could afford to live in a safe haven. Mya ran her fingers over her head feeling short hairs starting to bulb. "Hope they got some razors left; could use some lotion while I'm at it." She gripped the straps of her backpack as she made a dash for the gas station. She was growing anxious out in the desert heart, feeling insecure and unsafe out in the open.
A zombie nearly caught her off guard, its weak body sprawled out on the desert sand. Its mouth came close to nipping her ankle but she managed to leap across it. Mya stumbled a bit, almost falling to her hands and knees as she clumsily hit one of the gas pumps. She was shaking again, partly from fear and exhaustion. She wiped her brow, trying to catch her breath. Her trimmers didn't stop. "Man, I hope they have beef jerky or something," she heaved, leaning her hand against the front door of the station mart. She fumbled with the handle, shakily pulling the door open and letting herself in. Almost immediately she was overcome by the smell of rotten food and piss. She plugged her nose to ward off the noxious scent. Her shoes were already wet from the putrid water staining the floor. "Shit, that's nasty," Mya exclaimed as she scraped her feet against a piece of cardboard. She slowly made her way down one of the small aisles trying to avoid wet surfaces like the plague. She grimaced the further she walked, finding shelves knocked over and food spoiling on the ground.
She cautiously approached the cash register, pausing once she heard groans and nails scratching against wood. She noticed a door behind the counter with a placard forbidding customer entry. A small handwritten note jittered with movement as the door was pushed with a feeble force. The note read, "Danger, do not open." Mya heeded its message and warily stood at the counter. A small shrine had been erected in honor of a dead loved one. Ashes from burnt incenses dirtied the counter top dusting over a few small offerings. Mya stared at several slim jim sticks, some cans of food and a bouquet of dead flowers. Her tummy grumbled as she hungrily eyed the goods. Her hand reached out to grab all that she could carry but she hesitated upon seeing a picture of a family at the center of the shrine. Her lips flattened into a small line as she took just one slim jim and a can of beans, leaving the remains untouched.
She looked away as though embarrassed and sauntered toward one of the nearby walls. She tore the wrapping from her slim jim and began devouring it, nearly drooling once it hit her tongue. Her eyes scanned the shelves and brightened once she found a package of Bic razors and some jars of vaseline. "Thank goodness." Mya grinned as she began stashing her loot into her backpack. The dankness of the gas station seemed to bother her less and less.
No comments:
Post a Comment