As Melody lay in the field enjoying the sun’s warmth, she thought she might be happy for the first time in months. Winter had been hard and dismal, but she’d survived. She was blissfully enjoying the moment; not thinking of the dead or the past or the hardship; just enjoying the sun and the chirping birds. Then a twig snapped and her revelry disappeared in a heartbeat.
She was on the move, jogging slowly beneath the weight of her pack, wondering how she could have let one get so close. Her legs had never been as strong as they’d been in the fall, but the winter’s inactivity turned her soft. She’d have to get back in shape. No workout routine was required. She would either get stronger or die. It was that simple.
She’d been jogging for about an hour before she felt she had gained sufficient distance to rest. She broke open her pack and pulled out a candy bar that she ate slowly, enjoying each bite, not knowing when she’d find another. As she ate, she watched the Shambler slowly cross the field. Occasionally, it would trip, but it always stood back up, coming toward her with an insatiable hunger.
She didn’t think of them as men, not anymore. Now they were Shamblers. Why the disease only affected men was a mystery no one ever solved before the Great Unraveling. Initial reactionaries thought it had to do with testosterone, but the more prevalent theories dealt with the smaller Y chromosome. Her college roommate once joked that she could never trust a man because he was born missing part of his DNA. Maybe she was right.
None of that mattered now. Science and theories were replaced with running and scavenging. It wasn’t the strong who survived, it was the swift.
Melody had been on the run for three years. Sometimes it was house to house, other times town to town; sometimes alone, sometimes with a group, but she was never all that comfortable with others. Groups often had their own weird power structure and as the newest member, she was always suspect. They rarely listened to her if she disagreed with their direction, so she’d inevitably slip away to be alone again. The one exception was Dana. Melody met Dana six months after the Great Unraveling and they instantly hit it off. Even though Dana was ten years older, they got along like sisters. They survived their first winter together and during the spring thaw, they ventured into Randall Park Mall on a scavenging run. They ran into a horde of Shamblers that forced them in opposite directions. Melody returned to their former hideout and waited a week, but Dana never showed. Melody had to believe she was dead. Why not? So was everyone else she knew.
Melody hadn’t seen another living soul in a year and she was beginning to think she might be the last person alive. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore. But after eight months of isolation, Melody missed the simple comfort of a conversation.
She finished her candy bar and resumed jogging. She was feeling every ounce of the weight in her backpack and the once soothing sun was now burning hot, but she managed to maintain a comfortable distance. Unfortunately, her shambling friend had found some company. There were now five Shamblers following her.
Finally, she made it to her destination. Fox Springs was a small town, just a few dozen buildings, in the middle of nowhere. Melody’s supplies had dwindled to nearly nothing in her old hideout so she needed to resupply. She hoped this would be her new home. At least for a while.
Looking back, her pursuers were gaining. She headed for the nearest building, but changed course when two Shamblers stumbled through an open doorway. Making as much noise as possible, she broke to the left and weaved her way between a few buildings. She needed to attract every Shambler in town if her plan was to work.
It wasn’t long before nearly a dozen Shamblers were slowly following her up and down the streets. It wasn’t hard to keep ahead of the Shamblers, but she was hungry and tired and eager to complete her plan. Melody had already spotted the perfect building, a church at the end of the street. Now that she had herded them all into one group, she would lure them into the church through the front. She would escape out the back, lock the door, then, while they clawed at the exit, she would circle around and lock the front entrance. Once they were all trapped inside, she would have free reign over the rest of the town. It was a maneuver she’d perfected with Dana.
Satisfied that the town’s Shamblers were all following her, though wondering why there were so few, she reached the front steps of the church. She waited till the group was closer before she opened the door. Melody stepped inside, ready to dash across the room when she heard something move. A mottled hand appeared on the back of one of the pews and behind it came the Shambler’s head, its eyes hungry. It groaned, and now a dozen more starving faces appeared. A second later and she realized the entire room was filled with them.
Quickly, she retreated, but the other Shamblers were almost on her. She ducked right, but didn’t have time to close the church doors. That meant that every single one in the church was now free and she’d easily seen more than forty hungry mouths yearning for her flesh.
With an entire horde now on her heels, this once beautiful day was turning ugly.
Fox Springs was a trap that she needed to escape, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep running. There were plenty of cars, but she’d long ago given up relying on them for escape. Too often they didn’t start and after the long winter of disuse, many were looking the worse for wear. As panic slowly crept over her, she tried to sprint. That’s when her leg cramped.
The pain was so sudden and sharp that Melody first thought something had grabbed her. She let out a yell, then felt foolish. She needed to stay calm, to think. Taking a deep breath, she told herself not to panic.
The cramp slowed her down to a limp as she hobbled her way to the nearest house. Too many months of sitting around doing nothing! She’d let herself go and now she was paying the price. Melody knew that if there were any Shamblers inside, she was dead.
She ran through the front door, turned and locked it. She looked out the front window and watched some of the Shamblers wandering past the front door. She pounded on the glass to make sure she had their attention. She could hear them stumbling onto the porch, clawing at the door. A window crashed as she limped toward the back. She hurried before they trapped her inside. She pushed through the backdoor and was about to step off the porch when something caught her eye. Sitting on the porch was a bicycle.
The tires were flat, but that didn’t matter. She jumped on and pushed off down the hill, letting gravity do most of the work. A few Shamblers saw her and followed, but she was too fast. The bike carried her down a long, gentle slope until it flattened out as she rolled her way to freedom.
Melody peddled onward, pushing for whatever lay ahead. She preferred to plan her forays ahead, but she knew she would have to improvise until she had time to check the maps she carried in her backpack. Right now she needed to find a safe place to spend the night.
A few miles down the road she found a lone house. She checked for inhabitants, living or dead, but it was empty. She pulled the bike inside and locked the doors. She took a deep breath and laughed in relief. Then she cried.
She found several cans of peaches and creamed corn in the pantry. It was her first hearty meal in months. Before the Great Unraveling, Melody had hated canned food, but now she was certain that these peaches were the most delicious thing she ever ate.
Melody nervously passed the night, and at first light, she left. The house was too close to town and she was certain the Shamblers would find her. She gathered what she could and headed south.
Riding on nothing but rim was incredibly bumpy and uncomfortable, but she didn’t care. Riding along the roads, passing open fields and covering distances that would normally take her hours to walk was exhilarating.
As she rode, she wondered what day it was. There had been a calendar hanging in the house where she spent the winter, but it was two years old. It was hard to believe that at one time, days and dates and times seemed important. Calendars and clocks no longer mattered. All that mattered now was the next town and the next meal. She needed to find both.
She checked her maps and decided on a town called Willoughby Hills. It was a larger town than she normally liked to approach, but her bike’s rims were taking a beating and she worried they would soon be useless. She needed to find a bike shop.
It didn’t take her long once she found a house that had a copy of the old Yellow Pages. Melody never used anything other than her phone to look up information, but Dana taught her the old ways, which were once again useful.
She cautiously made her way through the streets until she found the shop. She had spent the night imagining how she would care for her tattered bike which saved her life, but once she entered the shop, she gave up on the idea immediately. Before her were dozens of brand new bikes just waiting to be dusted and oiled. Once she found her new ride, she tricked it out with everything she could: saddlebags, a basket, even a little trailer meant to carry a toddler which she used to load all the food she had scavenged. She also made sure she had plenty of spare inner tubes, oil, wrenches, a nice bright light for the handlebars, and a pump with an air pressure gauge. The ride was unbelievable. Compared to the constant shaking and shuddering of her previous bike, this felt like heaven.
For the first time since the Great Unraveling, Melody left town not knowing or caring where she was going.
That night she dreamt of Lake Chautauqua and the summer cottage she and her family visited when she was a little girl. They would go for two weeks each summer and Melody realized these were some of her happiest childhood memories. When she woke up, she resolved to go there. It was hundreds of miles away, but what else was she doing?
As a pedestrian, she avoided the highways; they were too open and often remote. A Shambler follows tirelessly if he can see you, so open spaces were avoided. But now it was the easiest, most direct route to get her to New York so she made her way to Route 71 and headed north. The asphalt was still in good shape and the miles melted away. She rode an entire day without seeing a single Shambler.
That night, Melody lay awake beneath a vast array of stars, stars she had never before seen when electricity still ran. She worried returning to Lake Chautauqua might stir up too many memories, but she told herself not to worry about it. Having a destination was enough.
Melody started early the next morning, but by midday, the scent of rain permeated the air as she watched dark clouds roll in from the north. She was traveling in a very rural expanse so she stopped at a remote gas station to wait out the storm.
She checked the place for supplies, but it had long since been ransacked. She left her bike beneath an overhang and went inside. An hour passed before it started, but it was a downpour. Melody was glad she had a safe haven.
She unrolled her sleeping bag and lay on top of it as she listened to the rain and before she knew it, she drifted off. By the time she awoke, the rain had passed. She could see the dark clouds moving south and a rainbow arched across the sky. She was about to step outside when she heard a noise that sent her dashing for cover. It was a quick noise, but it startled her. When she dared to look out the window, she realized that it wasn’t a Shambler she heard, but the sound of another bicycle!
Melody’s heart pounded as she dashed outside, but her bike was still there. Looking down the highway she was stunned to see a small figure getting smaller. Another rider!
Whoever it was hadn’t noticed her parked bike or they would have stopped to scavenge her supplies.
Melody stood next to her bike, uncertain what to do. The longer she hesitated, the further away the stranger rode. In a moment, they would be gone.
It could be anyone, she told herself. Murderer, rapist, thief; someone only too happy to take everything she had so painstakingly gathered.
Fuck it. She would follow.
Melody’s bike was heavily laden with supplies and for a long time she wondered if she would ever catch up. Her legs were getting stronger, but they were sore from the constant exertion. Discouraged, Melody was ready to give up when she realized the rider’s pace was slowing. She pressed forward until she closed the bulk of the gap.
As she approached, Melody wished she could see who she was dealing with. She had learned to tell a lot about another survivor by what they carried and she wanted more information. Like her, the rider carried a massive backpack so she couldn’t make out any features from behind. What did it matter? Whoever it was they were alive.
Melody wondered if she wasn’t crazy for following a complete stranger who could just as easily shoot her the moment she spoke. She was debating how to introduce herself when a familiar sound came to her ears. The rider was whistling!
She recognized the song; it was an old one she learned in grade school. For whatever reason, this put Melody more at ease and now she had an idea. She waited for the tune to return to the chorus, then softly, so as not to startle the stranger, she sang along, “Summertime, and the livin’ is easy. Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high.”
A woman’s voice sang back, “Your daddy’s rich and your ma is good-lookin.’ So hush little baby, Don’t you cry.”
Then they sang in unison: “One of these mornings, you’re going to rise up singing. Then you’ll spread your wings, and you’ll take to the sky.”
Both riders slowed and came to a stop. They leaned across their bikes and awkwardly embraced, trying not to fall over from their heavy packs. Melody wouldn’t let go and she found herself shaking as she let the tears fall down her cheeks. After all the months, and the doubts, and the dreadful fears, she couldn’t believe it.
Dana was alive!
END.
by Samson Stormcrow Hayes
Author of the critically acclaimed graphic novel Afterlife (YALSA quick picks selection), screenwriter of “The Deal”, a ghost writer on a Steven Seagal film (advance apologies if you’ve seen it, I was following the producer’s instructions), and author of numerous stories and poetry. Hayes has written for Nigel Lythgoe (producer of American Idol), The Weekly World News, and his epitaph. Originally from Cleveland, Ohio, he now resides in Los Angeles where he expects the smog to slowly kill him. He can be found in old parking lots, abandoned malls, or at www.Stormcrowhayes.com.
As Melody lay in the field enjoying the sun’s warmth, she thought she might be happy for the first time in months. Winter had been hard and dismal, but she’d survived. She was blissfully enjoying the moment; not thinking of the dead or the past or the hardship; just enjoying the sun and the chirping birds. Then a twig snapped and her revelry disappeared in a heartbeat.
She was on the move, jogging slowly beneath the weight of her pack, wondering how she could have let one get so close. Her legs had never been as strong as they’d been in the fall, but the winter’s inactivity turned her soft. She’d have to get back in shape. No workout routine was required. She would either get stronger or die. It was that simple.
She’d been jogging for about an hour before she felt she had gained sufficient distance to rest. She broke open her pack and pulled out a candy bar that she ate slowly, enjoying each bite, not knowing when she’d find another. As she ate, she watched the Shambler slowly cross the field. Occasionally, it would trip, but it always stood back up, coming toward her with an insatiable hunger.
She didn’t think of them as men, not anymore. Now they were Shamblers. Why the disease only affected men was a mystery no one ever solved before the Great Unraveling. Initial reactionaries thought it had to do with testosterone, but the more prevalent theories dealt with the smaller Y chromosome. Her college roommate once joked that she could never trust a man because he was born missing part of his DNA. Maybe she was right.
None of that mattered now. Science and theories were replaced with running and scavenging. It wasn’t the strong who survived, it was the swift.
Melody had been on the run for three years. Sometimes it was house to house, other times town to town; sometimes alone, sometimes with a group, but she was never all that comfortable with others. Groups often had their own weird power structure and as the newest member, she was always suspect. They rarely listened to her if she disagreed with their direction, so she’d inevitably slip away to be alone again. The one exception was Dana. Melody met Dana six months after the Great Unraveling and they instantly hit it off. Even though Dana was ten years older, they got along like sisters. They survived their first winter together and during the spring thaw, they ventured into Randall Park Mall on a scavenging run. They ran into a horde of Shamblers that forced them in opposite directions. Melody returned to their former hideout and waited a week, but Dana never showed. Melody had to believe she was dead. Why not? So was everyone else she knew.
Melody hadn’t seen another living soul in a year and she was beginning to think she might be the last person alive. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore. But after eight months of isolation, Melody missed the simple comfort of a conversation.
She finished her candy bar and resumed jogging. She was feeling every ounce of the weight in her backpack and the once soothing sun was now burning hot, but she managed to maintain a comfortable distance. Unfortunately, her shambling friend had found some company. There were now five Shamblers following her.
Finally, she made it to her destination. Fox Springs was a small town, just a few dozen buildings, in the middle of nowhere. Melody’s supplies had dwindled to nearly nothing in her old hideout so she needed to resupply. She hoped this would be her new home. At least for a while.
Looking back, her pursuers were gaining. She headed for the nearest building, but changed course when two Shamblers stumbled through an open doorway. Making as much noise as possible, she broke to the left and weaved her way between a few buildings. She needed to attract every Shambler in town if her plan was to work.
It wasn’t long before nearly a dozen Shamblers were slowly following her up and down the streets. It wasn’t hard to keep ahead of the Shamblers, but she was hungry and tired and eager to complete her plan. Melody had already spotted the perfect building, a church at the end of the street. Now that she had herded them all into one group, she would lure them into the church through the front. She would escape out the back, lock the door, then, while they clawed at the exit, she would circle around and lock the front entrance. Once they were all trapped inside, she would have free reign over the rest of the town. It was a maneuver she’d perfected with Dana.
Satisfied that the town’s Shamblers were all following her, though wondering why there were so few, she reached the front steps of the church. She waited till the group was closer before she opened the door. Melody stepped inside, ready to dash across the room when she heard something move. A mottled hand appeared on the back of one of the pews and behind it came the Shambler’s head, its eyes hungry. It groaned, and now a dozen more starving faces appeared. A second later and she realized the entire room was filled with them.
Quickly, she retreated, but the other Shamblers were almost on her. She ducked right, but didn’t have time to close the church doors. That meant that every single one in the church was now free and she’d easily seen more than forty hungry mouths yearning for her flesh.
With an entire horde now on her heels, this once beautiful day was turning ugly.
Fox Springs was a trap that she needed to escape, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep running. There were plenty of cars, but she’d long ago given up relying on them for escape. Too often they didn’t start and after the long winter of disuse, many were looking the worse for wear. As panic slowly crept over her, she tried to sprint. That’s when her leg cramped.
The pain was so sudden and sharp that Melody first thought something had grabbed her. She let out a yell, then felt foolish. She needed to stay calm, to think. Taking a deep breath, she told herself not to panic.
The cramp slowed her down to a limp as she hobbled her way to the nearest house. Too many months of sitting around doing nothing! She’d let herself go and now she was paying the price. Melody knew that if there were any Shamblers inside, she was dead.
She ran through the front door, turned and locked it. She looked out the front window and watched some of the Shamblers wandering past the front door. She pounded on the glass to make sure she had their attention. She could hear them stumbling onto the porch, clawing at the door. A window crashed as she limped toward the back. She hurried before they trapped her inside. She pushed through the backdoor and was about to step off the porch when something caught her eye. Sitting on the porch was a bicycle.
The tires were flat, but that didn’t matter. She jumped on and pushed off down the hill, letting gravity do most of the work. A few Shamblers saw her and followed, but she was too fast. The bike carried her down a long, gentle slope until it flattened out as she rolled her way to freedom.
Melody peddled onward, pushing for whatever lay ahead. She preferred to plan her forays ahead, but she knew she would have to improvise until she had time to check the maps she carried in her backpack. Right now she needed to find a safe place to spend the night.
A few miles down the road she found a lone house. She checked for inhabitants, living or dead, but it was empty. She pulled the bike inside and locked the doors. She took a deep breath and laughed in relief. Then she cried.
She found several cans of peaches and creamed corn in the pantry. It was her first hearty meal in months. Before the Great Unraveling, Melody had hated canned food, but now she was certain that these peaches were the most delicious thing she ever ate.
Melody nervously passed the night, and at first light, she left. The house was too close to town and she was certain the Shamblers would find her. She gathered what she could and headed south.
Riding on nothing but rim was incredibly bumpy and uncomfortable, but she didn’t care. Riding along the roads, passing open fields and covering distances that would normally take her hours to walk was exhilarating.
As she rode, she wondered what day it was. There had been a calendar hanging in the house where she spent the winter, but it was two years old. It was hard to believe that at one time, days and dates and times seemed important. Calendars and clocks no longer mattered. All that mattered now was the next town and the next meal. She needed to find both.
She checked her maps and decided on a town called Willoughby Hills. It was a larger town than she normally liked to approach, but her bike’s rims were taking a beating and she worried they would soon be useless. She needed to find a bike shop.
It didn’t take her long once she found a house that had a copy of the old Yellow Pages. Melody never used anything other than her phone to look up information, but Dana taught her the old ways, which were once again useful.
She cautiously made her way through the streets until she found the shop. She had spent the night imagining how she would care for her tattered bike which saved her life, but once she entered the shop, she gave up on the idea immediately. Before her were dozens of brand new bikes just waiting to be dusted and oiled. Once she found her new ride, she tricked it out with everything she could: saddlebags, a basket, even a little trailer meant to carry a toddler which she used to load all the food she had scavenged. She also made sure she had plenty of spare inner tubes, oil, wrenches, a nice bright light for the handlebars, and a pump with an air pressure gauge. The ride was unbelievable. Compared to the constant shaking and shuddering of her previous bike, this felt like heaven.
For the first time since the Great Unraveling, Melody left town not knowing or caring where she was going.
That night she dreamt of Lake Chautauqua and the summer cottage she and her family visited when she was a little girl. They would go for two weeks each summer and Melody realized these were some of her happiest childhood memories. When she woke up, she resolved to go there. It was hundreds of miles away, but what else was she doing?
As a pedestrian, she avoided the highways; they were too open and often remote. A Shambler follows tirelessly if he can see you, so open spaces were avoided. But now it was the easiest, most direct route to get her to New York so she made her way to Route 71 and headed north. The asphalt was still in good shape and the miles melted away. She rode an entire day without seeing a single Shambler.
That night, Melody lay awake beneath a vast array of stars, stars she had never before seen when electricity still ran. She worried returning to Lake Chautauqua might stir up too many memories, but she told herself not to worry about it. Having a destination was enough.
Melody started early the next morning, but by midday, the scent of rain permeated the air as she watched dark clouds roll in from the north. She was traveling in a very rural expanse so she stopped at a remote gas station to wait out the storm.
She checked the place for supplies, but it had long since been ransacked. She left her bike beneath an overhang and went inside. An hour passed before it started, but it was a downpour. Melody was glad she had a safe haven.
She unrolled her sleeping bag and lay on top of it as she listened to the rain and before she knew it, she drifted off. By the time she awoke, the rain had passed. She could see the dark clouds moving south and a rainbow arched across the sky. She was about to step outside when she heard a noise that sent her dashing for cover. It was a quick noise, but it startled her. When she dared to look out the window, she realized that it wasn’t a Shambler she heard, but the sound of another bicycle!
Melody’s heart pounded as she dashed outside, but her bike was still there. Looking down the highway she was stunned to see a small figure getting smaller. Another rider!
Whoever it was hadn’t noticed her parked bike or they would have stopped to scavenge her supplies.
Melody stood next to her bike, uncertain what to do. The longer she hesitated, the further away the stranger rode. In a moment, they would be gone.
It could be anyone, she told herself. Murderer, rapist, thief; someone only too happy to take everything she had so painstakingly gathered.
Fuck it. She would follow.
Melody’s bike was heavily laden with supplies and for a long time she wondered if she would ever catch up. Her legs were getting stronger, but they were sore from the constant exertion. Discouraged, Melody was ready to give up when she realized the rider’s pace was slowing. She pressed forward until she closed the bulk of the gap.
As she approached, Melody wished she could see who she was dealing with. She had learned to tell a lot about another survivor by what they carried and she wanted more information. Like her, the rider carried a massive backpack so she couldn’t make out any features from behind. What did it matter? Whoever it was they were alive.
Melody wondered if she wasn’t crazy for following a complete stranger who could just as easily shoot her the moment she spoke. She was debating how to introduce herself when a familiar sound came to her ears. The rider was whistling!
She recognized the song; it was an old one she learned in grade school. For whatever reason, this put Melody more at ease and now she had an idea. She waited for the tune to return to the chorus, then softly, so as not to startle the stranger, she sang along, “Summertime, and the livin’ is easy. Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high.”
A woman’s voice sang back, “Your daddy’s rich and your ma is good-lookin.’ So hush little baby, Don’t you cry.”
Then they sang in unison: “One of these mornings, you’re going to rise up singing. Then you’ll spread your wings, and you’ll take to the sky.”
Both riders slowed and came to a stop. They leaned across their bikes and awkwardly embraced, trying not to fall over from their heavy packs. Melody wouldn’t let go and she found herself shaking as she let the tears fall down her cheeks. After all the months, and the doubts, and the dreadful fears, she couldn’t believe it.
Dana was alive!
END.
by Samson Stormcrow Hayes
Author of the critically acclaimed graphic novel Afterlife (YALSA quick picks selection), screenwriter of “The Deal”, a ghost writer on a Steven Seagal film (advance apologies if you’ve seen it, I was following the producer’s instructions), and author of numerous stories and poetry. Hayes has written for Nigel Lythgoe (producer of American Idol), The Weekly World News, and his epitaph. Originally from Cleveland, Ohio, he now resides in Los Angeles where he expects the smog to slowly kill him. He can be found in old parking lots, abandoned malls, or at www.Stormcrowhayes.com.