07 - Clawed

We were sprinting. The neighborhood was in ruins. Cars crashed into one another, flames devouring everything in their way. Sparks flew at the streetlights, the electricity dying. Dead bodies lay flat on the street, and puddles of blood painted the concrete. Their flesh hung from bones, limbs fractured and half-eaten. There were only the dead.

I coughed as we ran through the thick smoke. A few yards away, sickos swarmed toward a blaring car, allowing us a chance to get past them. Turning and detouring, we staggered as Gwen fell on the ground, and the others fell on her. Ivan quickly pulled her back up. I held Lenore’s hand so tightly I could break her bones, pulling her away to overtake the stampede. Mark stopped at a corner, peeked, and waved his hand.

“Come on!” Isaac exclaimed.

We took a turn.

And then another turn.

It seemed we ran for almost a mile. The next turn led us to a thick mass of ugly faces, their heads tilted to the moon. My breath was stuck in my throat. I tried to brake, but my body didn’t catch up, sending me into Isaac’s back. He turned, spun me around, and shoved me forward, making me lose Lenore’s hand. We doubled back, taking another direction.

I held Lenore’s hand again. With all of the terrifying roars filling the quiet streets, there was nothing else I wanted to hold on to. Hope after hope that we had lost them, yet the horde was closing in. I swear they could run faster than us. Going over fences and through backyards didn’t help. They were only getting larger and nearer.

A scream echoed so near behind me that it reached my chest. None of us could help looking back and seeing what it was—well, who it was.

It was another victim of the dead. A young girl who seemed as old as me wailed as she stretched out one hand while the sickos dragged her away. The horde swarmed over her until she was consumed piece by piece. My grip on Lenore’s hand tightened, my eyes locking on hers.

“Just look at me,” I said.

She nodded, panting heavily.

We continued running. I forced myself to brush off the putrid scene, following closely behind the rest. Gwen asked in between breaths where we could hide, but no one had the strength to speak through panting. And the sickos… well, they were only getting closer. They were flooding every direction, the streets shrinking around us. Every time I looked back, they were never falling farther behind.

I wanted to stop to catch my breath, but Lenore held my hand tighter than I did.

Tears flew from her cheeks as we broke through the wind. Everyone’s gasps and pants nearly harmonized; my heart beat louder than before. This was far worse than being locked in the classroom.

Mark took a left, and I slowed down, but did not stop. Everyone else in the front stayed on the same route. I grew confused.

My throat was dry, my pulse racing. I wanted to warn them they might have gone the wrong way, so we could catch some air too. I wanted to get Mark back, but he had already disappeared through the block.

But then the sickos followed. The running horde had shifted its direction. He held a rock and slammed it repeatedly on a metal sheet that rested alongside a pile of junk.

Then it came to me—what he was doing. But how would he find us if none of them knew where he’d gone?

I stretched my palm out, but Lenore’s grip was unbearably tight. I tried slipping my fingers through the gaps of her hand, but it only caused my knuckles to hurt. But I could slip them out. I slipped them out.

Taking another street to where Mark was headed, I pulled to a stop and heard Lenore gasp when she noticed. The group was already ahead of us when they saw us stop. They waited as they panted, hands stretched onto their laps. I met Lenore’s imploring gaze the moment she knew I was about to leave her. I didn’t let it get through me. I was already going.

“No!” Lenore cried. Andrew caught her before she could follow.

I turned and sprinted into the street. It felt almost quiet as the only things I saw were blood, mutilated limbs, and pieces of flesh. I looked through the gaps of each house, the fences, the yards, but no one was around. Where did he go?

Reaching the end of the block, I heard faint footsteps. It could be him—or not. But there was only one way to find out. I headed for it and pressed my back against the wall. Somehow, its cold texture made me feel a little safe. Then I heard grunting and snarling. At a house, I found Mark standing over the dumpster, then climbing on the water pipe. The horde seemed smaller than earlier.

Then the footsteps closed in behind me. I quickly crouched. As Mark reached the roof, I headed to the opposite side of the house. I found a gate in the fence and pushed through. I looked up again to find Mark climbing down, and as he landed, his eyes widened when he saw me, his fists ready at his chest. He sighed and moved his knuckles to his hips.

He looked over my shoulder and pushed me out of the side yard. Running once again, Mark led us back to the street where we left the group. We saw nobody but sickos.

Mark cursed and turned to me. “Where do you think they went?”

I looked around, hoping we’d only taken a wrong turn, but there was nothing. I shook my head. “I swear they stopped here.”

He rolled his eyes and then cocked his head at me. “Let’s go.”

We continued until nothing looked like Kerns anymore. There were more trees than Kerns.

Mark finally stopped to catch his breath, his hands resting on his knees. Wiping the sweat on his face, he looked at me. “Let’s find stuff we can use,” he said in between breaths, “and light.”

I nodded, but my eyes were on someone else. An unfamiliar woman with short hair, disheveled and dull. She stumbled when she saw us. “Help,” she tried yelling, but her voice cracked, rough and strained. “Help.”

I rushed to her, a few strays limping nearby. Their roars were wild, hunger spat from their dripping mouths. I tugged her up, but her weight was pulling her down. As she slowly managed to move, the riser caught her thigh, and its fingers clawed into her flesh; she screamed.

The blood spilling from her gashes made my stomach churn. I dropped her hand as I almost vomited.

Mark came to help, kicking the sicko off, then helping the woman. I helped put her arm over my shoulders, and Mark on the other. We raced to a nearby house with lights out and doors closed, but the woman’s weight began to drag us to the ground. Her grip loosened from my shoulder, and she fell and thrashed, seizing.

Her fingers stiffened, mouth gaped wide. She let out a scream that didn’t sound human—two sounds at once. I covered my ears and shut my eyes. When the scream stopped after a long minute, blood trickled from her nostrils, veins appearing on her face and her neck.

She stopped moving. Her eyes were fixed on the dark sky. The veins remained on her skin, her stiff fingers froze, and her mouth remained gaping.

I took a few steps back and pulled Mark’s arm to move away. He followed, eyes fixed on the dead woman.

Silence fell between us—I could hear our panting. Mark and I exchanged glances. He slowly crouched and examined the woman. He cautiously flipped the body. Standing close, my hands trembling, I searched for bites. But we only found the claw marks.

A scratch killed her?