Day 9

We start early. I would guess more due to the fact that we could not sleep well rather than wanting to get to the van earlier. This morning is the first time I see the zombie I killed. Its head ends at the nose, the rest spread over the asphalt. I feel disgusted at the thought that I had done such a thing. It is horrifying. Josh says nothing, but I can tell he is disturbed by it. It doesn't matter. I did what had to be done. Even if I went over board. 

The cars are, for the most part, empty. In one, Josh had found a bag of beef jerky and were happily share it between us. I am still so hungry and the MRE did little for my appetite. We do not see any zombies for the hour long walk. I am surprised I had made it so far with the weight of Josh and the bike. 

We reach a bend in the road as the air warms, the sun still peaking through the tall tree's, and hear voices. Distant, but still there. I look at Josh and he stares at the van, nearly one-hundred yards away. 

"They're looting it," he says, shocked. "They're taking all of our stuff."

I lay the bike against a tree about one-hundred yards into the forest. The CZ 750 and both bags I stash with it, and only take my rifle, and several clips, shoved in my pockets. Josh is still waiting on the side of the road, watching the gang of looters dig through all of our supplies. 

"They have a cart that they're loading everything on."

Let's move up a bit and get a better look. As we sneak closer my mind races. Shooting zombies is one thing. They are violent, seemingly relentless creatures. They are not human. Not alive. Before us are living breathing humans, looting a car they assume to be abandoned. Who are were, really, to take those belongings from them? But we need them. If we are to have any hope of reaching Dawn and my kids we need those supplies. 

The group contains all men. All carrying Sub-machine guns and there is something in the way they behave that they did not obtain the weapons in the same manner we had. I look at them. The first living humans we've come by since Reno, several days previous. 

I look over at Josh and can tell he is contemplating our options. It is unlikely that we will be able to over power them, and I am sure they would know this. They, I knew, would have no problems in killing us. This belief is confirmed as two begin to argue, and soon fists fly. They continue this was for several seconds with the others simply watching until was is beaten to the floor. The victor pulls a pistol from the back of his pants and shoots the man. First in the knee and then in the head. 

"Did you," Josh starts, but just stares. There is something sick about it. Something carnal and much more deadly than the zombies. These men have weapons and are competent. At least in comparison with the zombies. 

"I think we should go," I say, looking behind us, back towards the bend in the road. Josh nods and both of us slowly back away from our lost van. 

There is a siren directly next to me, causing both Josh and I to jump violently from where we had been crouching. The alarm of the car next to me was blaring in my ear, but I did not look towards the car, but rather the men now staring in our direction. I hear one of them yell something and they all begin to run towards us. 

"Come on," I hear Josh yell, pulling my arm, and I swing around behind him and run. I grip my rifle hard, holding it in front of me and pump my arms. My right hand is throbbing from the breaks but I force myself to ignore it. I can hear shouts from somewhere nearby behind us and look back to get an idea of how far away they are from us. It isn't far. Maybe one-hundred feet.

There are gun shots. A quick rat-a-tat of the automatic fire that lasts for a second or two. I hear the bullets connecting with the metal of the cars and I, along with Josh duck, hoping for some cover from the sea of surrounding cars. 

We pass the turn and I look, briefly, in the direction I had taken our bike. I cannot see it, and hope that they do not see a glint of yellow from its paint. I watch as Josh moves to my left and turns, firing several shots. I can tell he was not trying to aim, but hoping to slow them down. I look. The shots had caused them to duck behind cars. We gained some distance. 

I look at Josh, and he at me. "Bike."

I can only hope that he understood, because he does as I hoped. He runs into the forest and away from me and away from the chase. As he does I fire more rounds towards the men, aiming at the cars around them, hoping to keep them down until Josh is hidden within the trees.

I keep firing. 

Finally, once I feel he is hidden I run through the cars once again. Hoping they follow me. I look behind me and can see that they are following and as far as I can see none go into the trees in pursuit of Josh. 

They fire again, the spray of bullets whine past me; one hits a car parked in front of me, only two feet away. I need to get them off of me.

I run, still crouching until the firing is at a lull for nearly two minutes. I look back and see them making their way back. Back to the van and back to where I hoped Josh had headed. I needed to stop them and I needed to stop them now. If I waist any time they would be there while Josh was still unloading our supplies--as much as he could, anyway.

I put my elbow, holding the barrel of my gun on a car and look through the scope taking careful aim at one of those walking away, wishing I had the CZ 750 with me. I fire two quick rounds and the screams confirm what I hoped. I had hit him. I had aimed for a shoulder, and hoped that was all I had hit. I didn't not want to know what had happened with that bullet. Instead, I took aim again and aimed near another. I fired. It hit his head. I saw the spray of blood as it exited out the back. 

"No!" I cry. I stare, not looking through the scope but above where my gun rests. I had not meant to kill him. I had not even meant to hit him. I felt my heart beat quicken and my mind race. I heard yelling from the group of men and saw them start chasing after me. I could not dwell on what had happened. I needed to get away, away and back to the bike, where Josh and I are to meet. 

There is a turn ahead of me and I run through the cars as fast as my tired feet could handle, needing to get to the curve before they got too close to me.

The curve moves to the right, and so, after passing through it I move directly to my left, the side of the road I had moved my bike onto. I run through the woods while listening to the cries of the men. I run until the road is hard to see behind me and make my way back up towards the bike. I can still hear them, but only faintly. 

I slow to a walk after nearly a mile past the turn to catch my breath. I look behind me every few seconds, but there is no one following. I've lost them. Now I can only hope that Josh makes it back to the bike before they get to the van and find him there, which is much more likely now than before. 

I get to what I think is the curve in the road where we hid the bike and walk back to the road. Looking up towards the van I see no one. Maybe he's already there . . .

Looking down I can see the group of men, one being helped along by another. The one I'd killed was not there. They'd left him. If I ever see his body, if we pass it going down, I would apologize. I feel sick and throw up. 

After some seconds after I  go back to the bike, making sure to keep as quiet as possible. 

Josh is not there. I look around the area but cannot see him. 

"Damn it," I whisper, sitting down at a tree near the bike. There is no movement anywhere. I watch for some hours, but there is nothing. I eat another MRE, look around the forest near the bike and finally make my way to the van. There is no one there. No men, Josh is nowhere to be seen. I walk towards it slowly to find it empty and stripped of any supplies. Either Josh or those men had taken what the could and moved on. I see not heard any indication that there were zombies about but still worry for the worst as to what has happened to Josh. No gun shots, not cries for help. Nothing.

It isn't until nightfall that he shows up at the bike. In his hands, on his back and dragging behind him are bags--more bags than we had had in the van--dragging in a chain on the ground, holding all of out supplies.