SURVIVAL ?

Hi Guys and Gals... just been tinkering with a little piece of fiction. It may become a serial piece.

I might go missing in action for days at a time, but only because I'm up to my neck in work. But I will try and post a few bits when I can.


SURVIVAL?

I could feel its breath on my face, warm, moist and cloying. It snarled, exhaling a putrid aroma that brought the acrid taste of vomit into my throat.

Its lips, like the rest of its face had dried and withered, pulling back over a receding gum line that showcased two rows of yellow and chipped teeth. Between the teeth I could see the partly chewed remains of my wife’s face.

Spittle, thick and yellow dribbled down its chin and I had to turn away to avoid tasting the undead saliva, doing my best to keep the fucker at arms length.

I felt around with my free hand and found the stumpy barrel of the sawn-off shotgun. It was a weapon that had served us well up until now. I dragged it across the ground, turning it so I could point the business end under the chin of my attacker. The twin black holes of the barrel sank into the soft, decaying flesh, breaking through the skin like it was nothing more than a gossamer fabric.

I glared up at it and gritted my teeth. “Fuck you,” I hissed and pulled the trigger.

Its head exploded, a miasma of tattered skin, shattered bone fragments and a thick molasses of congealed blood and decayed brain matter. It was like watching a volcanic eruption of rotted matter.

I kicked the limp body backwards and rolled away, feeling the remains rain down on my back, a heavy, cold shower of rancid blood littered with writhing maggots that had been feeding beneath the undead face.

I knew I had to move quickly. The sound of gunfire would attract more of the undead and I would now have to face them alone. Less than ten minutes ago we had numbered seven. Now they covered the street around me, torsos ripped open and fed upon by the infected horde.

I took several deep breaths and then pushed myself upright and searched for the canvas bag that Maria had been carrying. I needed the weapons, the food and the water it contained. Without it I was as good as dead.

The bag was under the burned out wreck of a car, the driver roasted black behind the wheel. Lucky bastard, at least he had been given the blessing of true death.

I retrieved the bag and walked over to what was left of my darling Maria. Her once beautiful face was missing, eaten off the skull. Her stomach had been ripped open by bony hands and her organs scattered around her without respect.

I kneeled down at her side and took her left hand in mine. The wedding ring was still there and I pulled it off the gnawed finger and then slipped it into my jacket pocket.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

In reply Maria’s eyes snapped open, her once blue pupils now stained with a dirty red that bled into the whites. She tried to raise herself up, her mouth already opening and closing with an unnatural hunger.

I stood and placed my boot on her chest, forcing her back against the ground. This was the woman I had promised to love in sickness and in health, in life and in death. She was neither.

I pointed the shotgun at her and closed my eyes, feeling the tears running down my checks.

“Forgive me,” I pleaded and pulled the trigger.

I turned away without opening my eyes. I had no wish to see the results of the blast. I wanted to remember her in better times.

I reloaded the shotgun and stepped out into the centre of the street. I could already hear the moans of the undead, eager to feed on the living.

If I had survived this long then I could survive just a little bit longer. Just take it a day at a time.

I owed that much to Maria.