Outside

Contributed by Charles Dean 

George could here the noises of the infected outside again tonight. Tomorrow he’d have to leave this safe haven for the first time in years. He wore a worn out white long sleeve shirt, and equally worn out blue slacks. His hair was long and unkempt. His eyes had tired black rings, while his skin looked sickly.

He’s been here alone for two years, all the others left, or, perhaps they died. He wasn’t quite sure. Tonight he ran out of food and water, he shook hungry and licked his lips thirstily. To keep his time he’d starting writing on the walls and floors. “ I must leave, I must go, I must survive!” His writings said in example.

Besides the sound of moaning, there was an aged oak grandfather clock ticking and tock. His heart’s pulse was fast and felt hard, it sounded like a drum. It was just another sign of exhaustion. Why was he still awake? The thought pressed him like a button on an arcade machine.

He knew the answer full well. Keep the dead out! Although, his barricade made of bookcases of various colors and shades was sturdy enough. Why take the chance? To be fair he often drifted off some nights, and those days; the sun would be out and the dead were still there.

They seem to stand like rotten puss filled statues. Not a single utter of sound. Only the look of a thousand cataracts. Expressionless even. Still, he wouldn't take a chance!

He had his legs up to his head, rocking slowly in the middle of the dirty floor. Sweat beads like bullets on his goose bumped skin. He chuckled in uncertainty and of stress. The moans of dead even louder now. Every shamble he swore was like a mini quake.

“I’ll kill any I see, it’s best for my survival!” He yelled internally. It sounded like a thundering echo in a cave. Strange as it was, it’d be the best he could describe it. It wasn’t them moving he was afraid of, it was their eyes watching. Could they memorize his location?

He had to believe zombies weren’t like the depictions. No way they’d been accurate! After all, those were just canonized lore. Nobody truly knew what an undead person’s weaknesses could be. Nor, their abilities!

For minutes maybe hours had passed before he’d looked up at the window in front of him. He needed too, he suddenly remembered. It showed the moon and sun, his one saving grace here! Just above his barricade to the exit of this dilapidated, decaying mess of a building. The light of the moon was the only thing left, soon, the sun would come.

Stopping his rocking, he extended his right hand out to the floor. Dragging his pointer finger along the dust caked floor. He made tiny lines to represent the seconds. He followed every tock of the clock. Every tick began a second, and even tock ending a second.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock… on and on. Hours flew as he drifted with sounds. Was he asleep? Perhaps micro-sleep. Who knows but the sky?

The light of the moon was gone now. The sun was painting the skies pink. Shambles slowly dissipated, so too the moans. Soon the world was silent. His eyes were bloodshot, the tired black rings even darker.

George quickly got up to move his barricade away. It was the clock going off that truly set him off. His heart beating fast again. It didn’t take long for the door to be cleared. He opened the door.

There’d been something standing there. It spooked him, he jumped back. Shielding his tired eyes. Shaking violently, he slowly moved his arm out of his view. Then he saw it.

It wasn’t a zombie, it was a manikin. And as he walked outside he saw nothing else standing still. What he saw was the modern world. Cars driving and people  living life. He’d survived a delusion.