You must know life to see decay,
But I won't rot, I won't rot,
Not this mind and not this heart, I won't rot."
I take in a deep breath before cleaving across the Crawler's neck. I feel the blade sink into the thick, soft flesh, and I turn away, ignoring the loud plop and splat as the head hits the dirt-layered concrete. I glance at the black blood on the hatchet's blade before wiping the silver edge along the sleeve of my leather jacket. The black stands out against the brown material, and I remind myself to clean it later. I slip my hatched into its frog belt and drag my palms against each other, unconsciously trying to rid myself of the zombie's stench.
I look around at the fallen few and then glance back at my battered sky blue truck before starting towards it. I climb into the driver's seat and plunge the keys into the ignition, only stopping when I feel a soft vibration on the truck's bench seat. I look over at my old flip-phone, watching as its small black form rises once more against the vinyl until it becomes silent and still. I reach for it, using my thumb to snap the screen up.
One missed call, It reads.
Then another vibration makes me jump.
One new voice-mail.
My thumb lingers over the button before it puts pressure against the key, and I raise the phone to my ear.
"Har? It's Kish. I just wanted to let you know that the pack and I are around Northern Pennsylvania, if you were anywhere close by. Maybe if you are, you could meet up with us?"
His voice fades, and I think for a moment that he's finished. Then he says,
"Call me back, Harley."
I shut the phone and drop it back onto the vinyl seat. I run a hand through my long dirty-blonde, almost orange hair, running my fingers through to the blackened tips of the strands. I contemplate calling Kish back, since I'm in South Carolina and Pennsylvania, and the drive, though tiresome, isn't really that long. Then I decide against calling him and dig my heel into the gas pedal, my hands sliding like liquid across the leather of the steering wheel. I wait until I pass the "Welcome to North Carolina" sign, then I let out a string of curses as I realize I'm kind of excited to see the pack again.
I look around at the fallen few and then glance back at my battered sky blue truck before starting towards it. I climb into the driver's seat and plunge the keys into the ignition, only stopping when I feel a soft vibration on the truck's bench seat. I look over at my old flip-phone, watching as its small black form rises once more against the vinyl until it becomes silent and still. I reach for it, using my thumb to snap the screen up.
One missed call, It reads.
Then another vibration makes me jump.
One new voice-mail.
My thumb lingers over the button before it puts pressure against the key, and I raise the phone to my ear.
"Har? It's Kish. I just wanted to let you know that the pack and I are around Northern Pennsylvania, if you were anywhere close by. Maybe if you are, you could meet up with us?"
His voice fades, and I think for a moment that he's finished. Then he says,
"Call me back, Harley."
I shut the phone and drop it back onto the vinyl seat. I run a hand through my long dirty-blonde, almost orange hair, running my fingers through to the blackened tips of the strands. I contemplate calling Kish back, since I'm in South Carolina and Pennsylvania, and the drive, though tiresome, isn't really that long. Then I decide against calling him and dig my heel into the gas pedal, my hands sliding like liquid across the leather of the steering wheel. I wait until I pass the "Welcome to North Carolina" sign, then I let out a string of curses as I realize I'm kind of excited to see the pack again.
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