Truck Oil
Zombie Apocalypse Series – Members Feed
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The constant moan of the undead kept him from sleeping. It had been a few days maybe, Maybe even weeks since he could remember not being tired. “Dead tired…” he smiled to himself with that punch drunk gallows humor that everyone had developed.
It was a defense. That walling off of emotion. That detachment from reality that made the horror of this current world livable.
The smell of motor oil dripped into his reality from the bottom of the truck he was hiding under. It reminded him of his father’s workshop where they had made things. Things like birdhouses and clocks. They also fixed things, like lawn mowers and pipes. He wished he had made some weapons, and he wished he had them now.
The things out there weren’t very smart, but they were wild. Wild, animal things. They had lost most of their higher brain functions, their intelligence, their ability to determine wrong from right. This somehow enhanced their latent animal senses. They seemed to be able to sense him and smell him.
He was glad of the industrial smells of the truck. Eventually they would find something more interesting and go away and he could get the hell out of here. If he could just stay awake. If he could just stay sharp enough to hang on to the bottom of the truck and not get sniffed out by the buggers.
His arms were shaking and sore from the effort of squeezing himself up against the truck’s underside but he was used to it. Used to the fatigue that came from being hunted every moment of every day.
It was the noise that got to him. The half-human snuffling and grunts of that dirty army of lost souls. Occasionally there would be gun shots somewhere a few blocks away and they’d all scuttle about. It was like they were trying to decide if they should run towards the sounds or hide away.
Some lost human part of their brains doing the social calculus of gunfire in a forgotten world of wandering freaks. Some were smarter but it seemed like being smarter wasn’t necessarily an advantage in this world. The smarter ones, the ones that remembered their humanity couldn’t do the things necessary to survive.
Sometimes he’d hear screams. The screams of women and children running for their lives from a pack of the devolved spawn of this place. He couldn’t help them. He could barely help himself. The world was full of innocents, but it was also full of wolves.
He was one of the lucky ones? He thought about it. Maybe not so lucky. He had the fever the same as everyone else but he hadn’t lost his mind. He came out of it aware and thinking. Not very many did. Now he ran and hid from those who didn’t.
It wasn’t like in the movies. There weren’t interludes of peace where he could get a character study built. There were only the groans and snuffles. There was only fitful, scared moments of sleep and rest between the hiding and running and hiding and running.
One of the things came close to the truck snuffling at the night air. He could see its boots and hear its breathing. It sat down using the rear wheel as a backrest. It was inspecting something, some piece of trash, maybe looking for food.
He hugged higher into the truck and tried to still his breathing and calm his heart. From the boots it appeared to be a man. It was mostly men now. The old and young had been bashed out of existence by this new animal nation.
In the first weeks there had been a tremendous battle for resources that had quickly killed off the weak and infirm. Without its trucks and distribution centers the modern world could not support the mass of humanity that lived in its cities.
These things could not plant corn and beans. These things couldn’t tend cows. But they could swing a bit of pipe or sharp stick when there was food to be had. He figured it would take about a month for the vast majority of them to run out of resources. And then what would happen?
They were hungry now. And they were angry. They saw others as threats. They attacked first with animal hatred and didn’t have the cognitive ability to ask questions.
He had seen some small packs or gangs of them. It would make sense. Humans, even with their intellect stripped away, were still social animals. One strong individual with some flicker of mental ability retained could lead a small crew. They could fight better as a group and command more resources.
He hugged hard and high into the truck’s undercarriage as the thing sniffed and shuffled around in the trash.
It wasn’t like in the movies. Humans were hard to kill. They were designed to be hard to kill. With those big arms out front grasping and fending off blows. With that thick skull bone. It took a lot of work to kill a human.
It was especially hard to kill a human who had turned into an animal. Without their big brains to get in the way they were surprisingly tough fighters. When desperate and mean they fought like devils.
He had managed to beat back a few in the short weeks he’d been on the run. Most of the time you didn’t have to kill them. You just had to hurt them and they would retreat like the wounded animals they were.
Lost in his thoughts he drowsed a bit and his hand slipped, just a little. He caught himself quickly and was startled alert with that quick dose of adrenaline you get when you pull yourself back from the edge.
He held his breath. From the corner of his eye he watched the thing. It froze too. It rolled over and lay with its face close to the ground. The face peered under the truck.
He watched the face for that moment of recognition or surprise or anything that would indicate that it could see him. It was, or had been a young man, maybe early 20’s. It was hard to tell now with the dirt and grime of the world coloring its scraggled growth of a beard.
It was missing a couple teeth in the front and dried blood caked its chin. He hadn’t seen any overt cannibalism so far but maybe it was getting to that. Or maybe this remnant of humanity had gotten into a tussle and ended up on the wrong end of a shovel.
He knew it was dark under the truck and he was dark too. These things weren’t that smart and it might not see him there. But it might. It might smell him or sense him. He held his breath and clung still as death to the axles.
Then he saw it. That angry recognition flash across his pursuer’s countenance. That flash of knowledge. And he knew it was time to fight or run.
He let go of his purchase and dropped to the road as the thing hissed at him and made a grab at his jacket. As soon as he hit he rolled out the other side and tried to clamor to his feet. One of his legs was asleep from the cramping of the hiding place and he fought the pins and needles to stand erect.
The thing was up too on the other side of the truck bed. It snarled over at him and decided to come around the back at him. He moved in the other direction, away from it, playing a macabre game of keep away.
This would keep him alive but soon others would come and there would be a melee. His leg was shaking out now and he felt like he could run if he had to.
“Come on you fuck!” he said to it. “Leave me alone! I haven’t done anything to you. Just get the fuck out of my face and nobody gets hurt.”
It considered this. Stopping a bit to process the words that no longer held any meaning for it. As if searching for something lost. Then it decided it didn’t like the words and came around the truck at him with renewed snarling anger.
“This isn’t going to end well, Buddy.” He warned and skipped around the truck in the opposite direction keeping a few feet ahead.
He was looking around for something to throw and grabbed an old metal gas can from the bed of the truck as he scooted by. He swung it overhand as hard as he could when the thing came around the back corner of the truck at him.
It did it’s best to duck and threw its hands up to block. The can bounced off its forearm and shoulder. It made a sound that could have been “Oww!” in more civilized times but came out as an accusation of hatred. He had slowed it down by a couple steps but it was now super pissed off at him.
Why were they so angry? What was it about this disease that made them all want to kill each other? He didn’t know and didn’t care. He was one of the ‘Lucky’ ones who got to be chased around by these murderous, crazy wrecks of humanity and this one wanted his blood.
He thought about climbing into the cab of the truck, but then he’d be trapped. With the noise they were making there would be more soon and he had to get out of here. Time to make a run for it? Maybe. He’d look for his opportunity.
Meanwhile he kept an eye out for something else to throw. The thing that used to be a young man looked to have about 30 pounds on him and had that feral craziness so he really didn’t want to fight it. He had a knife in his jacket but didn’t want to go there.
Then he saw by the fence a piece of wood. Maybe something from a construction project. The next circuit around the truck he made for it and the thing came after him just a few feet on his rear. The thing tripped and stumbled a bit on the curb and that gave him enough space to crouch and grab the piece of wood.
It seemed to be a broken bit of 2 X 4, maybe 3 feet long, shattered on one end like it had been run over, it came to a jagged point. It seemed heavier than he remembered. Maybe it was some sort of special pressure treated wood. Didn’t he remember someone saying those were treated with arsenic?
He’d have to worry about slivers later because the thing had rolled to its feet and was coming at him fast and low. He swung the blunt end of the length of wood down onto its back and shoulder as it lunged for his feet. That seemed to get its attention and it rolled to the side in a frenzied horror of pain and madness.
He backed away slowly with his impromptu club raised. ”See? Fucking hurts doesn’t it? Why don’t you just go away now Buddy?”
It considered this. Parsing the sounds that used to be words. It stayed low and snarling just outside the reach of his club as he backed away.
“Great.” He thought “Now this fuck is going to follow me around like a mad dog all day.”
“Come on! Go bother some other asshole.” He made a feint at it with the raised club and it retreated to the side eyeing him with hatred.
He continued to back down the sidewalk. Maybe he could find a house to cut through or something to climb on top of to shake this asshole.
He kept his focus on it. It looked like it might make a run at him at any second. It was crouch-walking low like it would leap on him at the slightest opportunity.
He didn’t see the bottle. It just caught under the side of his boot and he was falling backwards before he could catch himself.
The thing sprung at him sensing an opportunity to take its prey. He didn’t have time to think. He was trying to roll out of the way but it was already in mid leap. He turned his club to fend it off.
It happened so fast that he had trouble piecing it all together later. When that thing came down he brought the jagged end of the wood up. Not because he was trying to skewer it. It was just a quick reaction to put something between him and the horrid snarling man that was descending on him like a wild animal.
The jagged end of the wood tore into the man’s neck and up though his jaw and cheek as the weight of his body fell into the attack. There was a momentary pause then a shrieking, howl of pain from the thing as it rolled around clutching its mangled face, smearing and gurgling blood.
He scrambled backwards, away from it as it ran in circles wailing. He rolled to his knees, got to his feet and dropped the board in one motion and was running down the street as hard as he could. That thing wouldn’t be chasing him anymore but its screams would bring others and he wasn’t going to be here when they came.