Necrosis

            “Fuck, fuck, fuck..”

Mae’s fingers curled tightly around the rusted, iron rod that was impaled into the left side of her abdomen.

The damp air felt suffocating. The sharp chilly breeze tried its hardest to soothe the burning that was fizzling in her blood.

Rain rushed down, rattling the moss-covered cars a few feet away.

She shakily brought her jacket up to her mouth, stuffing as much as she could. Her breathing was a ragged mess, the rise and fall of her chest sent a jolting pain down towards the puncture.

Without a second thought of hesitation, she ripped out the rod, her raspy voice scratched the inside of her throat as she screamed into her jacket. Her body spasmed uncontrollably, vision turning into a watery blur.

Barely being able to focus, she weakly chucked the rusted metal away from her, its jagged edges still glistening red, and tried her hardest to calm her breathing. She peeked down as she applied pressure with her right hand, a gush of warm, red blood spilled out between her fingers, soaking into her white shirt and pooling down her cargos.

Her backpack scraped against the gravel as she pulled it towards her. Blindly, she rummaged through, trying to feel for the familiar metal medical box. A sigh escaped her bruised lips, a puff of smoke curling into the air.

Mae cried out in pain as she tried to push her sliding body back up against the wall. Her fingers, thick and sticky from her blood clicked open the box and she felt the nausea whirl through her.

The box only had one rag. Just one.

Her lips trembled, a curse escaping under her breath.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears.

The rag was small, tattered from use, but it was all she had. With a grimace, she grabbed her half-empty water bottle and poured what little water remained over it, watching the dirt rinse away. The liquid was lukewarm, far from sterile, but it would have to do. Gritting her teeth, she pressed the damp cloth to her wound, the pressure sent a sharp pain through her body.

The blood seeped through the fabric almost instantly. The rag wasn’t enough – it wasn’t even close – but she managed to tie it around her waist, anyway, using the frayed edges to knot it tightly.

Every movement sent fresh waves of agony coursing through her.

Mae’s eyes darted to the shattered window, the faint sounds of the infected echoed too close by for comfort. She had to keep moving. She tried to ignore how much blood she’d lost or how much worse it might get.

She needed to find a med kit – somewhere, somehow.

*

            Mae staggered into the abandoned storefront; the broken glass crunched beneath her boots. Her hand was pressed to her abdomen, slick and warm with blood. Rain water dripped onto the floor from her edges of her knotless braids.

            Realisation settled into her as she remembered how harshly she pulled out the rod earlier in a panic.

Her breathing was too shallow, wound too deep, blood pooled faster than she could stop it.

Stumbling towards the counter, she dropped her switchblade and her trembling fingers, fumbled with the walkie-talkie clipped to her cargo pants. Mae yanked it free, her breath hitching as she pressed the button on the side.

“Eric?” she rasped, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat, wincing at the tight ache of her abdomen.

Static crackled in response, the harsh noise making her flinch.

“Damn it,” she muttered, pressing the button harder, as if sheer force would push her words through. “Eric, it’s Mae. I-I need help.”

The walkie-talkie hissed back at her, the emptiness of the sound chilling her more than the winter storm that was beginning to brew. She stared at it, her hand shook, before she brought it closer to her lips again.

“Eric, if you’re there, answer me for fucks sake,” she pleaded, her voice breaking.

Nothing. Just static.

Mae’s fingers tightened around the device until her knuckles turned lighter. She let out a shuddering breath as her head fell against the counter.

*

            “No, no, no..” Eric’s breath caught in his throat.

            The static from walkie-talkie grew louder, the distorted sounds feeding the eerie silence around him. The infected snarled, its attention now alert, its head snapped to the side, to the direction of the radio signal.

            It’s filthy ears twitched as if it heard something that he couldn’t.

The infected’s body trembled with a deep primal hunger.

            Eric felt his dark brown eyes widened as he watched the infected loom before him, its grotesque form towered in the dim daylight. It was massive – almost unnatural – its skin a sickly grey, stretched tight over bone and muscle, its eyed wide and hollow, black as pitch. The stench of decay clung to it like a thick fog.

            His stomach churned.

            Just how long had this one been alive for? It’s human features were no longer even here.

            It’s eyes locked onto the walkie-talkie now, sensing the faint echo of Mae’s voice, its bone-chilling form of primitive echolocation honing in on the noise like a predator scenting blood.

            He stepped back slowly, the grip on his shotgun tightened, but his hands were slick with sweat, his fingers threatening to slip off the trigger.

            He didn’t have time to aim – only to react.

            Eric fired, the shot rang through the alley, the blast reverberated off the cracked walls. The infected recoiled, momentarily thrown off as its left arm ripped off and splattered into a puddle of muddy rain. The impact was only temporarily. It let out an enraged roar, its clawed hand swiped the air as it surged towards him.

            He stumbled backwards as he quickly placed a single shell against the loading flap. With a click, he pumped the side backwards, forwards, then he aimed. And pulled the trigger.

            Eric spun on his heel, not allowing himself the chance to see whether his shot managed to land on the infected.

            Squelch, squelch, squelch.

            His boots slapped against the slick pavement as he sprinted through the storm. The downpour battered his face, the rain ran in rivulets down his jacket, but he didn’t dare slow.

            Behind him, even more infected joined in on the chase, relentless, their guttural growls echoed through the empty street like a macabre chorus.

            Eric’s heart thudded in his chest.

            The cold hair stung his lungs, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, fogging before him like clouds.

            His foot hit the curb, and he skidded into the next street, his eyes locked onto the pharmacy sign; the door was barely ajar.

            An infected lunged from the side before Eric could reach the door. Its rotting hands grabbed him by the shoulder and sent them both crashing to the ground. The force knocked the wind out of him, and he struggled beneath the infected’s weight.

            His eyes frantically looked up at its monstrous face, then to the group of infected running towards him, and then to the other side where his shotgun had slid to.