Chapter 3: Flight Simulator

I was conscious for several seconds before it occurred to me to be surprised that I was waking up at all. Lying face down in the street, my head hard against the curb, I could taste blood. A broken tooth clicked in my mouth when I tried to spit it out.
How was I still alive?
I tried to life my face from the hot pavement, found that I couldn't and settled back down.
I was alive wasn't I?
I must be, I thought, I hurt too much to be resting in peace.
Struggling again to get to my feet, I managed to get my hands underneath me and it was then that I made an important discovery.
Someone had bitten my finger off.
Son of a bitch.
Biting my lip, I managed to roll myself up onto the curb. My wounded hand ripped free of the sticky maroon stain with an audible squelch. I moaned as if the sound itself had hurt.
For awhile, I just stayed like that, cradling my injured hand on my belly and squinting against the sunlight. The July heat was oppressive even as low in the sky as the sun was. It must be late, I thought. How long had I been out?
How was I still alive?
Why had the zombies left me alone?
Elise.
I rolled over on my belly, trying to push myself to my feet and cradle my hand at the same time. I collapsed on my face. I scrambled to my knees, got to my feet, managed a few steps and then nearly collapsed again, catching myself on the brick facade of a nearby building.
My legs buckled.
“Elise!”
I wiped my face with my good hand. She was gone. Safe, I thought, but gone. I, on the other hand, was completely and thoroughly fucked. I would have laughed if I hadn't thought that the pain of it would dump me back on the asphalt.
I blinked away the fat, burning sunspots in my eyes and strained to take in my surroundings. I'd run three city blocks from the gas station and lost the gun about half way. I'd have to find it. My body ached with the thought of crawling around on the hot pavement between abandoned cars.
I sighed and looked around some more.
Little shops and business lined the street. An old-fashioned movie theater with a big light bulb lined marquee sat at the end of the street. A black plastic R hung alone from the sign. I wondered absently what movie had been the last to play before the end of the world. I hoped it has been something good. The last movie I'd watched was Shaun of the Dead and the irony was not lost on me.
About the time I started thinking about finding some water, I noticed the zombie.
He'd been standing there the whole time, I think, watching me. It stood in an unnatural stance. His right femur was broken low near the ankle and he held himself up on the broken end of the bone, his foot flopped to the side like an empty shoe dropped on the ground. He was the one wearing the same Alice in Chains T-shirt as me. Creepy.
My heart beat hard against the inside of my chest and I think I felt blood running down my leg. At least, I hoped it was blood. I carefully reached for the nylon holster at my side, but found it empty. Damn force of habit.
Fight or flight. No gun equaled no fight and I guess flight was left, but I didn't think I'd be taking off anytime soon, I resorted, then to the only option I had left. “What the fuck are you looking at?”
It said nothing, only tilted its head quizzically. I noticed that it had no nose.
“Gotcha nose,” I said, holding up my good hand thumb between middle finger and index. I laughed then, mostly out of terror and useless adrenaline, and felt a stitch of pain in my chest. I coughed, wondering if I'd cracked a rib or punctured my lung.
I watched the zombie and he watched me.
If he rushed me, slow as he probably was on a broken leg, he would catch me and, wounded as I was, he would probably kill me.
I'd never see Elise again.
Glancing around the street, I looked for something I could use as a weapon. Nothing. Apparently, I'd chosen the cleanest street in America to make my last stand.
I clenched my good fist, pushing myself off the wall and to my feet. I'd spent a few semesters in self-defense courses, but a kick in the balls doesn't stop a zombie. Close quarters combat would only serve to get yourself bitten. I spread my feet shoulder's width apart. I hoped I could deliver a kick hard enough to knock him down. Maybe, I could stomp his skull and...
The zombie turned and walked away.
I stood there, mouth hanging open, watching him go. He never even looked back. After a few minutes, he was out of sight. He moved with the quiet determination of a man who had shit to do.
Pretty fucking anticlimactic, I thought, trying not to shit my pants, giggle, or both.
I needed to find that gun.
And I did, after nearly an hour of searching. It had gone farther than I'd expected. I wondered if I hadn't kicked in when I dropped it. Lucky I didn't shoot myself in the leg.
Damn, I was thirsty.
I limped back to the gas station and found several bottles of warm Coca-Cola in a dead cooler. I drank one of them in one gulp, belched and drank the other one slowly as I ate a pack of cup cakes from the snack shelf. It had been mostly picked clean except for one pack on account of them having been stepped on. Tasted just fine to me. I would have to find more food, though.
After bandaging my hand with what I found in a first aid kid and downing a half-dozen Tylenol, I began to feel halfway human again.
I left the gas station and immediately wished I hadn't.
Several zombies milled around just beyond the gas pumps.
I slipped back into the gas station and crouched down, the natural pain-killing adrenaline and Tylenol overdose smoothing out the rough spots.
I slid the pistol out of the holster and just watched.
Four zombies, none of them my noseless friend, stood around a fifth. At first, I thought the fifth member of the little group was actually a living human being. He movements were very animated. He swung his fists at the other zombies, kicked at them which did nothing but make me grateful I had not tried to Kung-Fu that other zombie.
When the fifth zombie turned, though, I could see that his chest cavity had been torn open, exposing several internal organs. He was fresh, but he was definitely dead.
What the hell was he doing?
He fell on one of them, pounded his fists against the things already smashed face. Finally, he dropped his arms to his sides and slumped his shoulders in an all too human gesture of defeat and exhaustion.
What was I seeing?
The other zombies let the fifth one vent for awhile, and then they knocked him to the ground and tore one of his arms off. Another one bit into his face, tearing away chunks of flesh and ultra-white shards of broken bone. It must have bitten into his brain because all of a sudden he stopped kicking.
I crouched there, mouth hung open for the second time today. What had I just seen? Zombies didn't attack or kill other zombies. This made no sense at all.
Staying low, I slipped back into the gas station and concealed myself behind a sunglass tree.
Too much new information. I didn't have the time or concentration to process all of this properly. Elise wouldn't believe what I'd seen.
Elise. I'm going to die here, I thought. I felt my jaw quiver. I didn't want to die alone, out here, with those things.
I felt my eyes burn.
No.
Man up, I told myself. You can do this. One step at a time.
The first step was to get out of the gas station. There must be a back way out. I turned and came face to face with Noseless.
I fell on the floor, scrambled back until I hit an ice cream freezer.
He sprang toward me clumsy but quick.
I raised the gun, trying to aim at his head.
He came at me until his forehead was practically against the barrel of my pistol.
If I pulled the trigger, the others would hear and come after me. I could catch them in the doorway, maybe take them at point blank.
My hand tensed.
He reached out and pinched the front of my t-shirt. He tugged it gently and then released it.
The gun shook in my hand.
His milky, bloodshot eyes stared at me.
“Eventually, I guess, the maggots will get us both,” I said and lowered my gun.
He drew away from me, turned and left.
By the time I got to my feet, the quartet of zombies outside had moved on. I watched out the window for a long time as night fell.
Second step was to find a car. One of the cars in the street had to have the keys in it. When the street was sufficiently darkened, I crept out and started searching from car to car, favoring ones that were either near the edge of the jam or at least not too wedged in.
The dome light flicked on in the first car I checked, startling me. I was more careful as I went. Finally, I found one, a late model Toyota Corolla, parked at the edge of the crowd. The gas tank was empty, but the keys were in the ignition. The driver's side window was smashed. I tried not to think about it. I dropped the car in neutral and pushed it quietly to the pumps. I pocketed the car keys and quickly and quietly filled the tank. “These gas prices are killing me,” I said to no one in particular. I just need to catch up to them. They had a huge head start, but I thought I could catch up with them.
Returning to the car, I fished the keys out of my pocket. I found something else in there too. I took it out and stared stupidly at it like I had no idea what it was.
If it were still possible for me to be stunned, to be horrified, for the would to spin out from underneath me and leave me falling, then that is what I felt.
“Fuck.” In my shaking hand, I held the only key card that opened the only door to The Fort. Elise and the others couldn't get in. They were as good as dead.
I got in the car and flew.