One - A Zombie Apocalypse NaNoWriMo Novel
Oh God that was so stupid.
I’m terrified, scared in a way I havn’t been since the first days, I’m running, stumbling breathless over a field, the fear propelling me across the long hummocky grass. Two fields ahead of me I can see Sleath Farm, if I can make it there ahead of the girl then I should be safe. Looking over my shoulder I can see the girl is following me, she isn’t quite a runner, but she seems to be moving just a bit faster than a stumbler.
I reach the gate in the first dry stone wall and perform an ungainly vault over it, my booted feet slamming down into the mud on the other side. With a gasp I shy away from the pile of gore lying close to the wall, a ewe, long dead and rotting, that scare would have been wryly amusing on another day, but today with the girl following close behind me it just adds to my terror. Before I can pull myself together I have run a few paces along the wall parallel with my original route, looking over the chest high stones I can see that the girl has altered her own path towards me, I turn away from the wall and run again towards the farm.
By the time I have reached the second gate the girl is still struggling to get over the first wall, her co-ordination seems pretty good when she’s walking, but getting her limbs organised enough to climb even the relatively easy face of the wall is presenting her with problems. Good, it gives me some more time. I take the time to climb over the second gate, no point now in risking an ankle injury. The girl has now scrambled on top of the first wall and as I watch she tips herself over and falls onto the ground, for a moment my hopes rise, perhaps she has broken her neck, perhaps she has killed herself in her headlong tumble. After a few moments though she begins to rise slowly, using her arms to grab handholds on the wall and tugging herself upright, getting to her feet takes her the best part of a minute, but I stand with my hands on the gate watching her scramble herself onto her feet.
I don’t recognise her, she’s in her mid twenties perhaps, but it is hard to tell, her face is discoloured and puffy, her hair twisted and matted with dirt. She looks dressed for walking, waterproof trousers and coat, hiking boots, a woollen glove on her left hand but nothing on her right. A lot of people tried to escape to the Dales when it started, when none of us understood what was happening, she’s probably one of those escapees who ran from cities thinking their meagre knowledge of hill craft might save them. They came with their rucksacks and tents, with whatever weapons they could find, with what supplies they could scavenge and carry. The roads leading up into the more remote Dales are still clogged with their cars and 4wd’s, with their bodies.