Lilly's Island

Lilly woke at sunrise and immediately counted how many bullets she had left: six in her revolver and another four in her pocket.

Lilly could smell saltwater and rotten flesh on the air.

Poop! she thought. Of course they’re in between me and where I’m trying to go!

She caught another sour, musty scent in the air. She lifted an arm to smell her armpit, and made a face.

What I wouldn’t give for a bath! she thought. A bath and a big, fat, greasy turkey leg—the kind they have at Ren fair. Her stomach growled in agreement.

She’d been walking for days to get to the ocean and find a boat. She knew of an island about a quarter-mile off the coast, and she was determined to get to it—even if she had to swim there. There were a lot of places the zombies could get to, but they weren't smart enough to swim.

Lilly hefted her backpack of meager supplies and quietly crept to the edge of the roof she'd slept on the night before.

Stop, look, listen, and smell.

She could still smell the zombies, but otherwise there was no sign of them. Slowly, Lilly stuffed the revolver in her pants and crept down the fire escape. She took a few metallic steps, then stopped to look, listen, and smell. A few more steps. Repeat.

Still no sign of zombies, but they couldn’t be far.

At the bottom of the fire escape, she needed to lower the ladder. She took the weight of the sliding ladder into her hands and began lowering it one rung at a time. She winced with every little creak and squeak the ladder made. In the dead silence of dawn, each small sound seemed amplified by a million freaking decibels.

She froze with the ladder half-way down. A zombie wandered into her periphery at the street level. It jabbered and drooled, turning this way and that. It’s bloodshot eyes scanned the street. It hadn’t seen her yet.

Lilly’s arms burned from holding the ladder perfectly still. She bit her lip to keep from groaning.

The zombie was still looking around at street level. If it looked up, it would see her. Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look up, she silently pleaded. Lilly’s arms were on fire with the strain of holding the ladder's weight perfectly still. Sweat moistened her grip and tickled her forehead. Her glasses slid slightly down her nose, but she couldn’t adjust them.

After an agonizing few seconds that felt like hours, the zombie moved on and out of sight.

Lilly waited as long as she could, then lowered the ladder the rest of the way. She let out the quietest explosive sigh she could, then shook out her tired arms that now felt like rubber.

Stop, look, listen, smell...

The coast was clear. Like a spider down a spout, Lilly climbed the rest of the way down.

With her feet on solid ground, she pushed her glasses up her nose, drew her revolver, and began to sneak. She wasn’t too familiar with this quaint, coastal town, but she knew she was only a couple blocks away from the pier. She could hear the distant sound of waves crashing. She could smell the saltwater… among other things.

You are so sneaky, she told herself. You are a cat. You are a fart in the wind. You are—

She rounded a corner and made sudden eye contact with at least seven zombies at once.

“—so screwed,” she said.

Lilly RAN.

Running back the way she’d come, she tried to make it to the fire escape in time. But zombies cut off her access to the alley.

Ditching that plan, she ran around the block. She ran, taking three lefts and a right to put her on a direct path to the pier. More and more zombies trailed behind her. She needed to get to open water.

She spotted the pier in the distance, but there were two zombies in between her and where she needed to be. Fifty yards away. She pulled out her revolver. She was a good shot when she was holding still, but running full speed with a hoard of zombies amassing behind her?

Forty yards away.

She fired two shots at the zombies ahead of her. One shot went wide, the other only clipped one of them.

Thirty yards away.

Another shot—another miss. Her best chance at hitting these zombies at full speed was to wait until the last moment. The odds weren’t good, but it was her best chance.

Twenty yards—fifteen—TEN.

She raised her firearm, and with a scream she fired one shot directly into the forehead of one zombie, dropping it to the ground. The other one was on her. Grappling her by the hair, the zombie tried to bite her face. It was inches away from her nose. With all her strength she held the biter back with her forearm under its chin and fired two shots into its temple.

No time to celebrate. She kept running, a growing hoard right on her heels. Zombies tumbled over each other to get to her. She reached the pier, boots thudding on the boardwalk. Jabbering screams of dozens of zombies shouted behind her. She was exhausted—she could barely breathe—but she pumped her arms faster than ever. When she reached the end of the pier, she jumped up as high as she could, planted both feet on the railing, and sprung herself as far as she could into the ocean.

***

Her arms and legs were complete jelly from the swim. She collapsed on the beach. Her throat was full of phlegm, and she began coughing relentlessly. But she was on dry land. In spite of her exhaustion and hunger she felt elated.

I made it, she thought, and made the world’s weakest fist pump of all time. Woo.

When she finally stood up, she leaned over with her hands on her knees. “Not quite a bath, but I’ll take it,” she rasped.

She coughed, batted wet sand from her face, sniffed, and wiped her nose on her sleeve… then she sniffed again. And again.

Rotting flesh? They’re here too?!

Lilly counted how many rounds she had left: four in her revolver, none in her pockets.

“Whelp,” she murmured. “Let’s hope there aren’t more than four of you.”

Lilly shook the sand and seawater out of her revolver, clicked it shut, and pulled back the hammer. She adjusted her dirty glasses, lifted her trembling arm, and pointed her gun toward the sound of zombies growling and crashing through the brush towards her.