Survivor #7 - Not me

I ran, feeling the rucksack on my back bounce as I leapt across the gap between two buildings. Weightless, God that was good, for the past twenty-four hours had been moving with that stupidly heavy rucksack on.  The roofs were good, the roofs were safe it seemed like the zombies had difficulty climbing up here, hell so did I. I looked down at the streets below making sure there were no zombies nearby. The air seemed clear and all I could here was the wind rustling a tree in the garden just behind me.

I looked into my backpack making sure I hadn’t lost anything in my flight. Nope: tins, tin opener, bandages, plasters, medicine, water and a few other oddments. I had been there last time and I had only just survived through sheer luck and a bit of skill. I was ready now though, they wouldn’t get me here.

I grabbed my half eaten pasty that I had bought from the bakery just that morning before having to make a run for it. I winced remembering the screams and struggles I had heard and watched as I had run out the back unnoticed by the zombies. I had run home and packed, getting ready for the ordeal I knew I was going to have to endure.

I took my gun, a nice small semi-automatic pistol, and slammed a cartridge in before putting it back into its holster.  Then looking up I saw again the large tree that hung over the house and walked across the roof to the nearest bough. Grabbing it I pulled my body up and into it. I climbed higher before quickly making a small platform with a few planks I had taken with me. Checking again and ticked off in my head V, G, E. View, Gun and Escape.

 I unrolled my sleeping bag that I usually used for camping, it was thick, it would last. I climbed down after checking up and down the street for zombies, nothing. Taking the Jerry can out of my rucksack I filled the wine bottles from the bins outside the hose with petrol and shoved a sheet of paper in the top of each. Taking the bottles and can back up onto the platform I started to settle down to wait.

The smell hit me like a wave of ungodliness roiling and curving round my head, the smell of rotting flesh. Taking my lighter out and turning to grab one of my bottles I looked to try to find the source. They were not however gathered round the base of my tree as I had expected but were in fact standing in front of the hose just on my right. There were loads of them, all pushing and shoving to get to the front where a guy stood, gun in arm, pumping lead shell after lead shell into the crowd of dead meat.

Lighting the paper at the bottles neck I threw it into the middle of the mass of zombies. It burst showering most of them with the flaming liquid. They quickly collapsed under the heat while the man dispatched any who were left standing.

“Hey,” I called to him once they were all down, “You a survivor too?”

“Yeh, now get down here and meet the rest of them” He shouted back.

“There’s other people?”    

The End

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