Zombie Train Or The Z-Train

Zombie Train Or The
Z-Train

They
were finally beginning to feel the distance between themselves and
horrors that had forced them to flee their town. They had even began
to make a routine for themselves during their long journey. During
the day they would  mostly concern themselves with  finding food. In
the afternoons it was looking for a safe place when nature came to
call. “It's when your not looking for them..that's when they rip
you apart” Sara said  from around a tree.  “That’s what
happened to Mr. Miller”, Tim whispered this under his breath,
hoping Sara had not heard him. Tim knew that Sara seemed calm now,
but that could change very quickly. He kept his mouth shut after his
slip of the tongue and continued to work on there sleeping area. Noon
(for them) seemed like the best time to attempt sleep, they preferred
to walk at night, finding the cooler air made walking more tolerable.
When Sara came back to their campsite Tim could tell she had been
crying, “oh God Sara..I'm sorry”, Tim was trying to keep his
voice sympathetic with out sounding to soft. “I can't believe I
said that..”. Tim tried to say something about how he had forgotten
that Mr. Miller was her big crush, but knew anything to this affect
would just sound insincere coming from him. He was spared this when
Sara sat down on a leaf covered rock, put her her face in the palms
of her hands and cried. Tim, trying to comfort her, put his hand on
her shoulder, only to have Sara slap it off. She lifted her face from
her hands and looked into Tim's eyes (which were starting to develop
tears of there own)  “ he was such a good man, he never once
touched me; even when I asked him to..he never touched me.” Tim had
never heard about this.,His face went a little red and he could feel
perspiration upon the rise of his cheeks. He was jealous, and upset.
He was also mad at himself; “how can I feel this way after all we
are going through”. He searched his mind for the right thing to say
but only uttered “let's get some rest Sara, we have a bit farther
to go”. As he looked into her mud and tear streaked face,framed by
her red, twig and leaf infested hair, he realized she looked like the
crying clown he had seen in an opera his grandmother had shown him
pictures of, he now thought he knew what that clown was crying about.

The
nights were much darker then either of them had thought they would
be. The stars were always out but the moon seemed to hide behind the
mountains. Maybe that was best, if those bastards did use their eye's
to see, the dark might be safer. The woods where still and the wind
was a mere breeze. The crunch of leaves beneath there feet and the
odd snap of a branch were as loud a thunder in the cold night. Tim
pushed ahead, at times he felt as if he was dragging Sara behind him,
and at times he was.  The forest had become thick and angry, tearing
up his skin and raking at his hair. He pushed through tree after
tree, his hands (now raw from his efforts) felt cold and numb but he
did not stop .As the exhausted redheaded girl behind him clung tight
to his jacket, he made his way through till finally they passed the
last line of trees.   

Now, at
the end of their journey, the dark memories of their town began to
claw their way back to the front of their minds. Both fell to their
knees and began to weep. Tim remembered his dad bursting into the
house and began to bleed out of his neck. Blood gushed from his
father into a red pool on the kitchen floor. Is mother screamed
hysterically as she vainly attempted to save her husband. Tim
remembered the arms that reached in through the open door, the arms
that dragged his sister out to be devoured by the waiting teeth
outside. His mother left his fathers side to try to save here
silently screaming daughter, only to be pulled out her self. Tim
remembers running out the front door and witnessing events he once
thought only capable in hell. That's when he saw Mr. miller,  passed
out on his front porch, by the time he knew what was going on there
were at least five of the things on him. Tim recalled the strange
muffled screams the art teacher made. It was Mr. millers death
cleared the shock and drove him to Sara. Tim, now sitting in a
clearing (next to the girl he sometimes thought of his one true love)
was hoping and praying that all that death had been left behind them.

Sara
allowed herself to rest, not all at once, but slowly,bit by aching
bit, she allowed herself to rest. Kneeling there, looking into the
star filled moonless night she began to think about the events that
had led her, led them to this point. She was sitting at the diner
table with her mother listening to one of her fathers stories about
how the world used to be, back when the sinks had running water and
markets had “freezer” sections. That world had passed long ago
but she could almost picture it with it's coca-cola and electricity,
cars that moved and nights with out the sounds..of....She was able to
recall something about the train, the one that sometimes brought
needed supplies to the area. Every now and then she could hear the
low distant horn on the wind. Her father would say it was the last
real piece of the old world that worked the way it was supposed to.
That’s when she herd the pounding on the door. She remembered her
father getting up from the table to see who it was; she remembered
the yelling and the way her father and ted rushed into the dining
room and stated to drag her and her mother into the kitchen. They
were talking so fast and loud as they pulled food and water out of
the pantry, Sara became confused and scared. After her father grabbed
some papers from up in the cupboard they all rushed out through back
door.

Sara
briefly removed herself from her thoughts and looked over at Tim. His
face was a mess of dirt and tears, his blond hair was greasy and
shined a bit in the starlight. Sara had never truly thought of Tim in
a romantic way, yet somehow, after all they had been through she
could now see herself “being” with him. He looked over at her and
as their eyes met Sara remembered the way he protected her as the
ducked and crawled in the alleyways of their town. How at one point
they had stopped behind the market, (she couldn’t recall if her
mother was there) her father said they were going to need more water
for the trip. Her father could only have been in the market two
minutes when she heard the sound of a struggle, Tim rushed in to the
place and then, she heard nothing. Seconds latter Tim came out
supporting her father from beneath his arm. Sara could see the blood
stain forming like a blushing cheek on his bluejeans. Sara who had
always felt she was independent, now only wanted to hold her father
(no...her mother..was gone)  to stay with him and bury her face in
his arm. Her father gave the papers that he had taken from the house
to Tim “follow the route exactly and you'll reach the clearing, If
the trains not there, wait,  it'll come. Now get her out of this
hell”.

Tim
remembered how he had to pull her off her father; how he had to force
her to run, to live. Now they were at the clearing, and they will
wait, And soon they will be on a train to “not here”. Now
however, he was locked in the gaze of the girl he loved. It was not
lost on Tim (in fact it haunted him)  That this truly pure moment was
only made possible through the deaths of everyone they knew or loved.
Tim pushed back the he's guilt and pain and focused only on Sara and
he could tell, she was doing the same with him. Sara and Tim both
knew what was going to happen next. They weren’t ignorant to the
workings of physical love, but were still far from proficient at it.
But to get any where one of them would have to make the first move
toward the other. It was Sara who took that step, slowly,
purposefully moving to Tim's place in the grass. Sara put a hand on
the back of Tim's neck as she drew him (very willingly) to her soft
slender lips. Tim was a mix of nerves and emotion's. he was a little
embarrassed he had not been the one to make the first move, yet at
the same time he didn't care. All he could think of at this point was
when (and how) to slip in the tongue. However, once again it was Sara
who determined when tongues would get involved. At this point  Sara
had reached the end of her experience and hoped Tim would provide the
rest of the knowledge necessary to continue what they had started.
At the same time Tim was working up the courage to slip a hand up
into Sara's shirt. Then carefully and a little clumsily Tim began to
feel for the bottom of her top. His hand then began to slide from
Sara's navel, past what he hoped where her ribs, till finally he
could feel the soft curve of her breast with his fingertips.  It was
at this point, Sara decided to lay back in to the grass and allow Tim
to explore...her. Their minds where in such a state, their harts
pounded in their ears so loudly that they very nearly missed the
sound of a low horn in the distance.