Blenheim Street

Wayne climbed up the make shift ladder he constructed to get onto the top of the double stacked storage containers. He quickly glanced below and around city street that he now called home. Once he was sure that there was no immediate threat and was safe for the time being, he grabbed the blue milk crate and set it down near the edge of the storage container. Wayne sat with a sigh as he checked what little ammo he had brought with him. Four meager shots left. He then started to double check the rifle to make sure that it would also function as intended. Once he was satisfied that it wouldn’t jam, he laid it across his lap and ran his hand through his messy hair to get some of the dirt out.

He needed a shower. He was covered with soil from working in the garden this morning and he stunk from sweating in heat of the day. Wayne leaned back to soak in the last rays of sun. He looked back into his street that he called home, Blenheim Street. It was not where he used to live, but he found his way here well fleeing from the city. Wayne found these people in need of a leader, so he stayed to help the survivors. Somehow the people here managed to put up fences and moved the containers out into the street. It was effectively keeping anything out that they didn’t want inside. Around this street though everything was burnt down. All except for these three houses that were intact. The survivors decided to use them well they could for as long as they could. His eyes wandered over the plants in the garden he had just set up this morning, rainwater collectors, and some chickens the group had managed to find well scavenging. The place was starting to be sustainable.

Wayne waved down to a boy as he passed below him. He was carrying some firewood from where they kept it to dry out and smiled at him. The day was over and everyone was tired. They were packing their things up and bringing back into the houses. He continued to watch as his people went about their last tasks for the day then turned his attention to the city's horizon. The sky in the west was starting to show the beautiful shades of oranges and reds. It was quiet, peaceful. The sounds of the city were nowhere to be heard. No moving cars, no one was walking the streets. The electricity had ended a few days prior. It was a pleasant change of pace for Wayne. He was never for the hustle and bustle of the city anyway.

Wayne rubbed his weary eyes and tried to blink the tiredness from them for the night watch. The boy who usually did the night watch had fallen ill. It sent everyone in a tizzy as to what they should do and what to expect. It was Wayne’s job to calm everyone down, he had inspected the boy and found no bites or abrasions. He assured everyone that the boy was probably just coming down with the flu and not to panic. It didn’t ease their worry that he might change into one of those monsters outside the fence. He had eased their growing worry, by deciding to lock the boy in a room until he felt better. From what Wayne could see, everyone was calming down. But looks could be deceiving. Locking the boy up meant that the night watch would be a man down, so the duty fell onto him. It was going to be a very long night.

Suddenly Wayne’s head snapped to the north where there was a burned down house. He saw movement, he was sure of it. He shouldered his rifle and used the scope to try and find out what was moving. He made small movements to carefully look the area over and found the target. From around the corner of the wreckage a man staggered out onto the blackened lawn. The man’s skin was a pale grey, but that’s not what clued Wayne into knowing he wasn’t alive. The thing was missing his left arm and most of his torso. It shambled in circles seeming to be after something. Wayne chuckled to himself when he spotted a squirrel that climbed a tree to escape. It kept bumping and scrapping at the tree to get after it. These things were pretty stupid, but easily misjudged. If they were far enough away, they weren’t a threat. But these things were silent. They made creaking noises and gasping sounds, but you had to be close to hear them. Wayne would just need to keep an eye on this one. He only had a few shots left, he couldn’t waste them.

Wayne stretched and cursed the folly of how people misjudged the situation. Early on during this outbreak, or whatever this was, everyone was angry. No one could understand why the military would shoot down crowds of people. The news didn’t help calm the hearts of the people either. Riots ensued all throughout the country and protests against the inhumane actions they had seen on their tv's against the people without knowing the whole situation. The undead monsters used this chaos to infect city after city. So many were infected, nobody knew what was happening and many were brought into hospitals for bites wounds without knowledge of the spreading infection. That’s where Mary was stationed to help with the riots. She wanted to help everyone she could, she was always that way. Wayne rubbed his eyes and tried to push the memories out of his mind. He needed focus, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to alert everyone to their presence. he needed to be ready. They were easy to kill, but quiet enough to surprise you if you weren’t prepared.

Wayne looked out over the broken city, looked out over the destroyed buildings, burnt parks, and damaged vehicles that filled the streets. In the distant skyline he could still see some the skyscrapers, he was wondering how long it take until they came down. Wayne eyes were tired as kept an eye out for any kind of movement. Something caught his eye. Something out there shined in the light. Glinting at him some five or six blocks down. He waited and watched for it to flash a few more times. He leaned forward and bit his lip. Could it be a survivor? Maybe it was someone who needed help? He shouldered his rifle and began searching. It took some time to get a bead on the glint, but what he saw broke his heart.

There through the crosshairs of his rifle he saw a little girl, walking barefoot through the street. She looked no older than five or six. Her tiny white dress torn and stained red, her strawberry blonde hair matted and stained red with ichor. Wayne had found the glint as the light bounced off something around her neck. It was a necklace, a silver heart locket. The glass within was catching light and reflecting it directly at him. From this distance he couldn’t see the pictures. He was fixated on the child. She looked so lost, her pale pupilless eyes wandering as she swayed through the street. Her little bare feet leaving red foot prints where ever she walked. Wayne had to pull away from the scope to rub his eyes. The memories of his daughter came flooding back to him, this little girl looked so similar to Emily, she was about her age. He took a trembling breath and shouldered his rifle once more. He had to do something he couldn’t just leave her like this.

Wayne put the crosshairs back onto her. It was hard to keep the rifle still, but his arms were shaking, the tears were streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto his dirty pants. He want to pull the trigger and give her mercy, but hesitated. He fought with his hand to pull the trigger, the rifle making audible clicking sounds from his shaking. Wayne raised his crosshairs to little girls head, her eyes turned his direction. He saw Emily’s blue innocent eyes. Wayne let go of the rifle with a sob as it clattered loudly to the ground some fifteen feet below.

Wayne cupped his face in his hands and cried. He cried for the loss of his Mary and Emily, cried for his lost friends and family, cried for not being there. Wayne wished he could have been with them, to help in some way. He wanted to go back and change everything. Wiping his face, he tried to compose himself. Wayne had to be vigilant, he had to protect what he had left, the people he now called his family. Wayne took a shaky breath as he looked into the quickly fading light of night fall. It was filled with so many stars that he hasn’t seen since he moved into the city. He stood slow as to not buckle his knees and bent down over the edge to see where his rifle had gone. After some time he spotted it, during the fall it clipped the container and fell a little ways into the street. Wayne walked carefully to the ladder and was starting to climb down when he looked over into the city. What he saw next terrified him to the core. Before him was an endless sea of pale pupilless faces of the undead slowly marching up the street. His heart sank. HIs mistake when the gun fell had brought them here. Quiet as a whisper, a force of death making its way for them. From this distance he couldn’t see the end of this sea of monsters.

Wayne stepped down two rungs of the ladder then jumped the rest of the way to the asphalt. He ignored the throbbing pain in his ankle and started running. Glancing quickly around the street, his eyes locked onto someone still outside. It was boy the from earlier retrieving water from the collectors. Wayne rushed over, grabbing him by the shirt. In his haste Wayne shook him yelling.

“Horde! Tell everyone to get into the basements, now!”

The boy's face blanched and pulled back from Wayne. The shock of the situation and fear was evident on his face. “No no no!” The boy exclaimed and turned to run for the house.

Wayne started to run for his house, they had time, but not a lot. He shook his head angry at himself for letting down his new family. If he had not looked out when he did everyone within Blenheim Street would be dead, or even worse become undead monsters. Wayne ran into his building, starting the necessary perpetrations. He had to hold out in the basement for a night, maybe two. If everyone could stay quiet, they might all just survive the next coming days.