Sergei Marysh by A Zombie Apocalypse Novel Call Me Human

Author:A Zombie Apocalypse Novel Call Me Human [Call Me Human, A Zombie Apocalypse Novel]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-07-19T11:27:18+00:00

XI

That unlucky day, I stayed behind in our shelter in the company of Valentine and Masha. Our two antagonists had been away roaming on their own for a few days already. Alex was away, too: we had a recce rota, and that day it was his turn to investigate the neighborhood. He’d discovered a relatively quiet settlement due west that looked perfect for our first transit stop on our exodus route.

Alex used every opportunity to revisit it and get a decent shelter ready for us. Valentine believed he was jumping the gun as Masha’s condition remained rather unpredictable. But Alex just couldn’t wait, so we agreed to let him go ahead with his exodus activities.

That day didn’t promise to be any different from so many before it. Valentine had his hands full looking after Masha. As for myself, I expropriated the rooftop hammock and gave in to daydreaming, trying to visualize a better future for all of us, provided we delivered Valentine to some research facilities safely and succeeded in creating the anti-zombie vaccine thanks to our walking and talking lab sample. I didn’t for one moment question the positive outcome. Now, finding adequate experts could prove somewhat difficult in this ransacked world of ours; finding some that were still alive and, hopefully, lucid.

Let’s assume, for argument’s sake, that we’ve safely (a big if) delivered Valentine into their expert hands. They come up with the vaccine. Now what?

The infrastructure was in shambles. Population numbers had dropped to one percent of what it had been before the outbreak. What were we facing, then — a new stone age? Alex’s horror stories of all those Hospitallers and White Brothers just showed you how ugly humanity could get, given half a chance. I really didn’t want to find myself in society controlled by mad sectarians or cannibalistic jailbirds.

A loud racket downstairs interrupted my speculations. Apparently, my sworn “friends” were finally back, yelling like hell. I couldn’t tell whether they shouted at each other or at Valentine, as he virtually never raised his voice.

I descended and found all three in the dining room. They were indeed all arguing, and the two convicts didn’t spare their voices. Valentine, pale but cool, attempted to answer back, but with little success.

It took me some time to work out what it was all about. It seemed those two had stumbled across a group of survivors, including some women, children and injured in need of urgent help. According to them, the survivors were hiding in an abandoned building less than half an hour’s hike from our place.

These newly-minted good Samaritans pressurized Valentine into accompanying them back there. When they saw me, they demanded I went, too.

Valentine’s doubts about their story were written all over his face: little wonder, as charity hadn’t been their strong point. But their agitation as they interrupted each other to offer us new details of what they had seen, made me question their lying nature. Their excited speech, nervous movements and their apparently earnest concern would have convinced anyone.

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