Chapter Text
The abandoned city was quiet. Weeds grew thick as fields while vines climbed the skyscrapers. Birds sang high atop their perches, where they were safe from the utter chaos on the ground.
Old, ragged banners with "Decontamination Area" hung haphazardly from a dilapidated Starbucks. Spray paint decorated old storefronts with a red X or graffiti. The black skeletons of rusted cars were lined up in front of their forever traffic jam. Their shattered glass glittered beneath them in the sun. In the far distance, between two canyons of ruined skyscrapers, a pair of deer perked up and skittered off.
All of this was seen through Kennedy's eyes as she carefully pedaled her way down the crumbling sidewalk. Her eyes scanned the surroundings, her head on a swivel.
Being in the city was dangerous. She wanted to get in and get out. It was survival that brought her here in the first place. Supplies were running low. More medicine was needed.
Zekes would see her as an easy snack to spread their pathogen. Open wounds without antibiotics and first aid could kill you faster than a bite from a Zeke. The undead were scary, but Mother Nature was worse. She took no prisoners and took the weak with her. Too many of her friends, family, and acquaintances had been lost to both Zeke and Mother Nature. It was like some kind of punishment, people said...for fucking up the climate or fossil fuels.
That's what the old folks said, anyway.
They were the ones who were young in the days of the outbreak.
Before long, Kennedy was parking her bike in a musty, old CVS. The gray carpet was stained with a variety of colors, both brown and black; bloodstains were still sprayed on walls and busted shelves, and they pooled on the floor. Anything super useful had been looted in the early days of the outbreak. She and others were left to scavenge for scraps.
Herbal medicine had become commonly used among survivors and their descendants, but sometimes the modern conveniences of old were needed.
She drew her long, dark hair into a low ponytail, unsheathing the machete at her hip. Holding it at the ready, Kennedy treaded lightly through the toppled shelves.
Bile rose up her throat when she came upon a rotting corpse chained to the end of the aisle. It had ragged, stained clothes riddled with bullet holes. The corpse had recently come apart like a water balloon, with dark, viscous liquid pooling around its body. Acid churned in Kennedy's stomach as she skirted her way around the fluid, pinching her nose tightly. Even with her nostrils closed, the stench of rot still reached her.
Once she passed the corpse, she hurried towards the clinic at the rear and jumped over the counter. The tall shelves had been cleaned out, but she wasn't looking there.
Aha!
Down at the bottom, tucked away in an empty cubby beneath the counter, was an unopened first-aid kit. Somehow it had been completely missed. Kennedy found the unopened plastic box fully intact.
It was her lucky day!
The old license plates that she wore as armor clunked together in her haste to get moving, keeping her machete in hand just in case. She walked her bicycle back through the doors as quietly as she could. Broken glass crunched beneath her boots with every step.
Sunlight reflected brightly off of intact windows in the buildings, briefly blinding Kennedy. She averted her eyes and steadily pedaled her way back down the sidewalk. It was a soft noise that stopped her in her tracks.
Turning her head, she saw a Zeke lumbering down the street. The Zeke had been a woman with dark hair; her clothes were ragged and torn on her pale, rotting body. Clouded eyes focused forward as she meandered through the rusted shells of cars. A slight breeze blew the stench of her toward Kennedy. The smell was almost enough to make Kennedy vomit on the spot, but she covered her mouth to muffle the sound.
With adrenaline coursed through Kennedy's veins. Her heart raced in her chest. Instinct prompted her to kick it into gear and leave, but she remained still.
This was life or death.
Fate chose the latter. To Kennedy's horror, an animalistic roar pierced the silence. It sounded like one of the tigers from the long abandoned zoo, but that was the last thing she needed to encounter. She had her hands full.
The Zeke hissed, her head snapping toward Kennedy.
Kennedy kicked it into high gear and pedaled with all her strength. Her bike bounced and jolted as she sped over the crumbling sidewalk, dodging rusty bins and random litter. She didn't need to look back. The Zeke's feet shuffled over the concrete after her at full speed. Its hissing was gaining on her.
Around a corner she went, the tires skidding over the concrete. Kennedy panted hard, working her lungs to draw air in while she used up her energy, which was vital for survival.
On a split-second decision, Kennedy looked back to see how close the Zeke was. It was then that her front tire hit something, and she went flying off the bike. She landed with a thud and rolled into a rusting car. The machete skittered across the ground with a metallic clatter.
Pain bloomed all over her body, but she ignored it. Her palms were crimson with fresh scrapes, but she quickly climbed to her feet. She grunted, pushing herself to haul her bike on her back and swiping the machete in the process. The Zeke was closing in. Her limbs screamed to stop, give up, and let the Zeke kill her. But Kennedy wasn't a quitter.
She had made it this far, and this wouldn't be where she died.
Spinning on her heel, she slammed the back wheel across the Zeke's rotting face. The rotting corpse of a former woman was knocked off its feet, and Kennedy pounded the pavement in her escape. The accident drained her energy, but she had to push herself harder.
She had to!
Ahead, Kennedy spotted an old bookstore. It was a brownstone that seemed to be in decent condition for shelter, with an upstairs attached to it. For now, this would do until the Zeke lost interest. Seeing that the Zeke was still recovering, the limbs struggling to coordinate with each other, she barreled into the building and closed the door behind her. She set the bike down against a crate and moved a bookcase in front of the door. Her arms shook with her exhaustion as she powered through to barricade the door.
Once that was finished, she finally allowed herself to slump to the floor in front of the old, wooden counter. She dropped her machete beside her and hugged her knees close, catching her breath.
When she finally calmed down, she took in her surroundings. The bookstore surprisingly had mostly stocked shelves, much of them dusty while others had fallen to the floor where moisture had turned the pages to pulp. It wasn't the biggest place, but it must've been cozy and warm in the Before. The two parallel brick walls were covered in old posters and art; the floors were a dusty hardwood, along with various overturned tables and a couch towards the rear. Industrial lights that were mostly rusted and busted hung from the high ceiling. Even the counter was neat: a solid piece of wood with metal inlay around the edges and covered in peeling stickers.
"Wow..." she gasped, slowly making her way through the bookstore.
Kennedy found a staircase behind a door that hung by its top hinge, squeaking as she pushed it aside. She carefully crept up the stairs until she hit the landing, where another door was there. After a moment of listening for any noise that could be a Zeke, she turned the knob and entered the unknown space.
With a click, she turned her flashlight on and swept the beam around the room. It was a living room with a kitchen off to the left. A hallway branched off to the right, where she presumed a bathroom and bedroom must be.
The furniture was in good condition, albeit covered in a fine layer of dust. It was like the owners had left it just a few months ago. It was eerie as she moved to dust off the couch to set her backpack on it; she felt like she had seen a ghost. She wondered what it must've been like knowing the world was ending and the people who lived here had to abandon everything they knew.
It had to have been upsetting, and she could feel that in her gut.
Kennedy shook the feeling away and searched the bedroom, dusting off the bed and stripping the blankets and pillows. She took those to the couch, where she would sleep for the night. Eventually, she retreated downstairs to collect her bike, struggling to haul it up the stairs. It was still in good condition, despite the fall it had taken. Seeing it reminded her to check the windows for a sign of the Zeke.
There it was, the Zeke, back down on the street, back to shuffling along and acting like the run-in with Kennedy never happened. That was the good thing about them—they were forgetful.
The young woman finally called it a night after treating her wounds. She snuggled beneath the thick blue blanket and stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come. It wasn't long before exhaustion finally caught up with her.
At least in her dreams, she was perfectly safe.