Day 2.5
Darryl Braithwaite was freaking out.
The TV blared on about a quarantine zone around Exeter City, which meant fuck all.
That only stopped most people from heading into the City. And couldn't stop those that chose to anyway.
Our army isn't worth shit, police ain't any better. 999 was just a continuous busy signal for the last hour. Time to get your shit together Darryl. You don't have to be a Hero, but ya don't have to be a victim either.
But his flat had fuck-all to help that.
No handy broom handle when he had a vacuum cleaner.
No great big butcher knives.
No bloody great axes to swing around.
No garden shed full of....YES!
The Bensons garage on the other side of the house! They're always gardening and building stuff!
Of course, that would mean he would have to go outside.
Fuck!
Darryl crept to his front window. Just the empty driveway to see. Good.
Bad Bad Bad! A figure staggered past, but neither stopped or looked in his direction.
He would have to walk halfway down the driveway, flank by the side of the Bensons house and a hedge, then cut left at the front of the house. The view from the street was blocked by the front hedge from then on.
OK you can do this Darryl. Don't be a little bitch.
He eased open the door and waited. No sound. Like really no sound. No car noise, no distant factory drone of machinery. Not even fucking birds!
If a bird chirps right now, I'm gonna need a clean pair of pants.
Creeping down the driveway, he heard the first scrape of something being dragged. Not too close, but every 2 or 3 seconds the noise repeated, getting louder.
Move faster bitch. You wanna get eaten!
But he couldn't move faster. Just to keep moving forward at all took all his willpower.
1 2 3 scrape! 1 2 3 scrape!
He couldn't even tell which direction it was coming from, the sound tunnel of the driveway funnel the noise.
If it was a Deader coming from the right of the property while Darryl was in the driveway, it may miss him.
Not as Darryl rounded the corner of the house though. It would have a clear view of him.
His heart pounding through his chest, Darryl approached the corner, just as a Dead woman crossed the drive.
From the left side. Darryl froze, not wanting to even breath.
The Dead woman took a lunging step, then a stumbling step with her left leg, her foot dragging a bloody trail along the pavement.
Her throat was torn out, blood drenched her cloths
It was the woman from the car accident.
A turn of her head, and she would see her first potential victim mere metres away.
But she did not turn, but continued in her blind search.
His chest bursting for air, Darryl held on till the Creature passed. And slowly inhaled even after.
He had been far luckier than he deserved.
He made his way to the garage set in front of the house, a stand-alone structure.
A path lead between house and garage to its side door, the plant pot near the door hid a spare key under it.
Briefly panicking at the possibility of squeaking hinges drawing at undead to him proved unwarranted.
The Bensons took care of their property, hinges and all. The sidedoor opened in silence, Darryl's fat body sliding through the opening as soon as it was wide enough.
Closing the door behind him, he let his eyes adjust to the dim light.
And was greeted by a treasure trove of items.
Tools as expected, yes.
But the huge quantity of food boxes and canned goods was shocking! Who keeps this stocked up on food? Well, Mormons apparently.
Your in luck today Darryl-me-boyo. You gonna test that luck by standing here staring, or doing what you came for?
He slowly scanned the tools, picking out a rake he could remove the head off. And garden shears for its bayonet type blade.
He quietly set to work.
Day 2.75
Hours passed. The act of staying quiet dragged every task out infinitely, or so it felt.
He had stopped to drink some of the bottled water from the shelves of supplies, the heat in the garage climbing as the day wore on.
But he had made good progress.
He could now say he wasn't defenceless, armed with a spear made from the rake handle with a wicked garden shear point held on with wire.
The pairing shear blade was turned into a long dagger.
He was as set as he could be.
A crossbow would be nice. But having the same name as a badass zombie killer is all I got.
Packing canned meat and vegetables into an old backpack found hanging on the wall, He ventured back out into a suddenly deadly world.