Untitled Zombie Story - unfinished

Sleep was becoming more and more a luxury lately, it seemed, but the woman found herself not needing as much as she used to.  Habit had dark eyes glancing from each side mirror of the pick up to the rearview before they turned back out to watch through the battered wind shield as she drove.  The truck had seen better days but it seemed to be true what used to be said – Toyotas could sure take a beating and keep on going.  The paint was cracked and peeling in some places, there were a number of dents, the wind shield bore a crack here and there, but the engine just kept purring away.  The last stop she risked earned the truck another ding or two but it was worth it; she had another full tank of gas even if her gun was out another few bullets.

Damn walkers, she groused, frowning.

In the passenger seat next to her was her tote bag and it carried just about everything she needed to take with her on a run – first aid supplies, an extra bottle or two of water, a few protein bars she had snatched up a while back, and an extra change of clothes.  She had survived on much less before she happened across the little truck filled with a decent stock.  She remembered having cautiously called out to see if anyone was nearby after finding it but the only answer she had gotten were a few groans that made her skin crawl.  It had not taken much for her little inner voice to talk her into darting for the abandoned vehicle and taking off like a bat out of hell.

One non-necessity she kept with her at all times, and which sat in the other seat atop the tote, was her dairy.  Some days it was the only thing that kept her sane in the lonely times.  She liked reading back through the pages from back when everything was normal.  No undead corpses roamed and shambled around looking for an unsuspecting victim and there were not as many needs to keep some sort of weapon nearby to defend oneself.  Now, though, things had definitely changed.  She reached to caress the worn, leather cover absently, letting the familiar texture comfort her as much as possible.  It had been a gift from her brother a number of years ago, before the world went crazy, and she had loved it instantly.  It bore her most intimate secrets as a teenager and budding young woman, and now it sat vigil with her through different times.  It held records of what happened to those she loved before she lost track of everyone, general locations of live zones she had the luck of running into, and names of new friends and allies.

She sighed and rubbed at her eyes as she eased off the gas pedal to avoid running headlong into anything in the false dawn.  She always preferred to drive through the nights and catch naps throughout the days when possible since it made any possible runs for her life even a smidge easier.  Things really did seem better now than a few years ago when things blew up; literally, in some cases.  Sometimes she was even surprised she had survived so long and had stayed sane through things.  As she’d written recently, those live zones she happened across so far helped a lot.  They helped ease the ache of loneliness and made things seem a little brighter even if for only a short period of time.  Currently in the deep south of the states, she felt the southern hospitality buzzing around her when she found survivors and it was a rare thing to be turned away, even in such hard times.  She knew she could not expect that to happen everywhere, though.  On the rare occasion it had happened it was fortunate enough that nothing had come to a physical altercation.  She knew some people were willing to fight for what little they may have and she would not blame them.  She certainly did not want to die because of some stupid misunderstanding. 

She let the truck roll to a stop on the highway and stared out the windshield, eyes closing briefly when a cool breeze blew in through the open window.  Fall was on its way and she was relieved.  While she liked the friendliness of the southern people she could do without the sweltering heat and humidity of the region; it was something she never had gotten used to, herself, even with having lived in Georgia most of her life.  Just a week ago she had spent the most time ever in one of the live zones – three days – and she had found herself growing more and more restless despite the good company she had found with an older couple.  They had treated her like family and the companionship had been welcome but on the third day when she was scanning through that latest diary entry, it struck her; she never found out what happened to her brother in the Midwest. 

The following day had found her packing the few meager belongings she had before she bid a somewhat teary farewell to the couple, then she was back on the road.  Now, after a number of hours later, she was sitting on I-16 W and staring out of the windshield.  Frank, the old man, had told her it was at least a day’s drive from Waycross, GA to Nebraska, the last known address she had for her brother.  While part of her was anxious to get there as soon as possible she still wanted, almost needed, to take her time in getting there.  Movement in the passenger’s side mirror caught her eye and she tensed after glancing over; a figure stumbled onto the road and paused before continuing on its way.  She found herself holding her breath as she watched, trying to discern if it was a live person or a walker.  She took a chance and revved the engine when it seemed the figure wasn’t turning her way and instead of whipping around to look as a person would, her heart dropped to see it stagger about before it turned to face the truck.  Now she could see it had been dead for a while since pieces of flesh were missing and an eye was dangling out of a socket.  The woman shuddered involuntarily then sighed when a couple more walkers joined the first.  After checking on the road ahead and to either side, just to be sure things were clear, she shifted the truck back into drive and drove off, leaving the trio to shamble in exhaust fumes.