A new DawnMature

As he woke he recoiled in disgust, the stench of the body seemed to have intensified overnight, all he could smell was the rotting flesh of the poor woman dead in the driver’s seat. He flung the door of the car open, and leaned out and threw up. He did so as quietly as humanly possible, he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself, his body seemed to be emptying the contents of his stomach out, but there was barely any in there in the first place, so he ended up simply gaging a lot and spitting.

After his dry heaving fit, he was suddenly weak, weaker than he had ever been. He needed to eat, and soon. But there was no chance that he could stay in the car and do so, he may throw up what he ate which would be a waste of food, and he may be caught unawares. It was best that he found somewhere better, a place that he could hide, and think about his next steps, like they needed that much thought, his days consisted of searching for food, running and hiding from the infected and sleeping, all for the same purpose to wake up the next morning and do the same again.

He left the car behind, and headed down some side streets; he didn’t see or come across any of the infected. Which made him slightly anxious, not that he wanted any of them to be there, but the fact that they weren’t there seemed to make the streets eerily desolate. He walked these side streets for at least twenty minutes, always staying alert, but taking comfort in this quiet moment, which came few and far between. He stopped occasionally to lean against a wall, he hadn’t realised how weak he had been left by his dry heaving session.

He rounded a corner, and he saw that he had stumbled across what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, or factory, it wasn’t incredibly big, but big enough to fit four cars in it. The side door had been ripped from its hinges, usually he would never go into any building which the doors had been wrenched from, but he was despite, and weak and he needed to rest and eat.

“Fuck it.” He said.

He entered the warehouse. It was defiantly a warehouse; it must have stored vans or large cars judging by all the tools and tires that were lying around the place. He looked for a good place to rest in the warehouse, somewhere high up, but had two ways to get out, in case one was compromised.

Then he saw that there was a ladder that leads to a control room, which must have been where they operated the winches that hung above him on the sealing. He began to walk over to the ladder, then he knocked with his foot a metallic object, he looked down and saw that it was a large monkey wrench. He picked it up and carried it with him; it could be used as a weapon in case he needed to defend himself. It was heavy, and in his weakened state he knew he wouldn’t put up much of a fight, and he was always more inclined to running and living, than fighting and dying.

It drained what energy he had left to reach the top of the ladder, and it didn’t help that he had to haul the monkey wrench with him. When he reached the control room, he saw that it had been neglected even before the outbreak. There was bird shit everywhere and a nest in the very corner of the room. But it didn’t matter; it seemed like a palace compared to the car he had occupied last night. There was a door and it had the label fire exit on it. Once more he had an escape route, and once again it was a fire exit.  Well he had found a good place to rest and get a fire started and eat something before he passed out.         

The End

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