A snippet from my short story, Walking Ghosts.
The fear of death, though such a primal instinct, still ran through the blood of mankind. Even with advanced science and medicine, the sheer thought of what would come after instilled terror. Where skyscrapers breached the heavens and an endless pool of knowledge lay at your fingertips, no one could have predicted that death was not the end.
Screeches filled the decimated town, corpses strewn like forgotten flyers. Not all were motionless. Humans that had shamed the laws of nature now rose from the grave to feed on the young and helpless, to let teeth tear through rotting flesh.
It was worse at night, the banging at walls that plagued Anna whenever the sun set. Like a recurring nightmare, scratching your bed, daring you to peek. The demons that haunted Anna had once been neighbours, people she had known and grown up with. Their skin wasn’t rosy and warm anymore. It hung off their bodies like old leather. Boils and maggots licked along infested wounds on arms and legs. Some zombies dragged broken ankles along as they trudged past disemboweled corpses and abandoned homes.
One fortified house harbored a girl and dog. No effort had been spared to board up windows and doors. It was for her and her pet’s safety, after all. That didn’t stop the zombies. It didn’t deter them enough to keep them away for even a night. Despite remaining there for months, her little haven stood strong through each onslaught. A group of zombies were gathered outside Anna’s house, raking ruined nails over walls and dragging their feet across the porch. She began to think they could smell the living and had the sole purpose of seeking them out when night fell. Some twisted instinct, their need for fresh prey driving them to hunt for a beating heart. What other reason would there be for the few that had collected at her front door?
Night after night of listening to the screeches, the pounding at the windows, hearing desperate yanking at the reinforcements, it had taken a toll on Anna. Staying up until witching hours had left too much time to her own thoughts, thoughts that were prefaced by wheezes right outside her room. Anna would have to clear them out once morning came as well, parasites that needed to be plucked from the skin. Otherwise they would continue to linger, perhaps even start banging their heads against the iron bars.
One zombie had cracked her skull like that once, Anna could remember it still. As if something like that could be pushed from your memory so easily.
Anna had her hands over her dog's ears, holding him as close as possible, both providing and finding comfort in the act. Buddy shivered ever so often, his breathing uneven, shifting into what sounded like slight gasps. The stress was a lot for a dog, even one raised in a ruined world. His dark eyes drooped from exhaustion, as did Anna’s, shooting open only when a zombie slammed against a door. Alert to protect his human- or, at least, desperately trying to be. Buddy needed rest, she knew this. Both of them were sleep deprived, however Anna cared more about her dog than herself - he had kept her sane during the lonely months where hope of seeing another living human had faded to nothing. Instead of cowering from the screams to attempt a few hours of sleep, Anna huddled in the corner of the room and covered the German Shepard's ears. Buddy's heavy body was comfort enough to Anna, or so she would have liked to say. In truth, she was just as terrified of the clawed fingers reaching through gaps in the glass. She was alone, after all, it was just her and Buddy.
That really wore you out, when your only companion was your pet dog. Mind you, there was nothing wrong with having Buddy around, it was only tough at times - and you had two mouths to feed in the midst of an apocalypse.
When the sun finally rose, Anna and Buddy gave in to their exhaustion. The undead’s cruel determination to rip the living apart fizzled like a dying ember. For a few hours, Anna and her dog could rest. It was all they could do, after fitfully staying up through the night. She jerked awake a few hours later, joints popping as she stood. She pressed her thumbs against her spine and bent backwards until she could hear the cracks, exhaling in relief. Buddy yawned, sharp canines glinting in the light that had snuck into the room. Anna ruffled the dog’s head, a silent morning greeting, before she approached the front door. Along the way, she grabbed her modified baseball bat, the end dragging against the floor.
The first warning to any zombie that still lurked around the property. Barbed wire had been wrapped around it and nailed into place, dried blood and rust alike a testimony to its use.
Anna stopped and stared at the blockade she had created at the front door - a stack of boxes filled with useless junk, an eyesore floral-patterned chair, and a few pots that only held wilted plants - before shaking herself awake properly and pushed each item off to the side. Buddy sat and watched, his tail flicking slightly whenever Anna would glance at him.
“You are absolutely no help whatsoever,” Anna said, her voice rough. Lack of hydration and sleep, but nevertheless she smiled at him. Anna was capable of moving those heavy objects on her own, since there was no one else to help her for probably… miles and miles. A few deadbolts, which had been installed after Anna had claimed the house, were undone and she could finally open the door. Not before she grabbed her shotgun, though, which had been perched on a table near the door like some car key. Hanging from the barrel’s end was a face buff, one which Anna slipped over her head and allowed to settle around her neck. She dropped the bat after she had stepped out and checked the rounds of the shotgun, leaving Buddy inside.
A zombie had shuffled to the broken fence, lazily swaying on the spot. Braindead in every single sense. Were it not for the blood staining their mouths, they would have seemed harmless. One zombie, a greasy old man whose one cheek hung from his face by mere threads, spotted Anna and wheezed something akin to a surprised gasp, immediately shuffling over, his ankle twisted grossly.
"Good morning, you ugly fucker," Anna said just as she aimed the shotgun and fired, piercing his skull. The bang had caught the attention of the other zombies and a chorus of screeches rose as they rushed to the source. Another shot went off, this time a slobbering teen dropping, and Anna pushed a heavy breath through her teeth, reloading the gun. She hummed, a bit broken in tune, but she didn’t stop even as she aimed once more and fired, leaving only two walking ghosts. The sight of their fallen comrades didn’t stop the remaining zombies; they didn’t care. A cruel army of undead, yet that was what ensured their success. Almost amusing - almost, if Anna had any laughter to spare. She didn't, not for the rotting bags of flesh.
