Tonight I'm going to share one of my short stories with you. It's a 1500 word story about a man alone in a world that has gone mad. I wanted to see if I could write a well rounded tale in under 1500 words. I wanted to do this for several reasons.
1. To see if I could do it
2. There are a lot of request for short stories (Magazine's, competitions, Anthologies, etc.)
3. They are a great way to get your name out there.
So, here it is, A Dead Run. I hope you enjoy the story. (Let me know what you thought by leaving a comment.)
A Dead Run
A short story by Jeff
Jake
Copyright
© 2012 Jeffrey R. Jake.
This
ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be
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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
A jackhammer. That's what his
heart felt like. It was pounding against his rib cage with a ferocity that he
had never felt before. Jason was not unaccustomed to working out and was in
shape. But this was different, he was not just running, he was running in utter
and complete terror. The muscles in his legs were burning in protest against
the effort that was being demanded of them. His lungs felt like liquid fire,
acutely accented by the daggers of pain that accompanied each breath. Even his
arms hurt from the sustained pumping. His tongue felt like a thick piece of
felt in his mouth. Jason’s eyes burned and were wide with fear. It was like
they refused to blink, fearful they would miss something if they did.
His breaths became ragged and his
muscles began protesting by threatening to cramp. He needed water and rest. He
wasn't sure how long he had been running flat out. He did know that he had made
it to the other side of town. So he had been at a dead run for almost six
miles. As he approached exhaustion, he chanced a glance behind and was relieved
to see nothing. Out of immediate danger, he allowed himself to slow to slow his
pace. He had reached Main Street of his small town.
All around him, trash and debris
blew in the wind. Only a very few windows remained intact, those that were,
tended to be a second story window. It broke his heart to see his hometown like
this. To his left, the building that housed the town’s local paper was a burnt
out shell. Several cars lined the street. Some flamed out wrecks; others were
stripped down to their frame. Jason still couldn't believe that the world had
been turned upside down in only six short months. He shook his head. In just
three weeks the town would have been shutting down this section of road for the
fall festival that took place every year. Booths set up by churches and
organizations selling all kinds of food to raise money for the next year would
line the street.
He allowed himself a smile as he
thought of some of his favorites: Deep fried Oreo cookies, corn dogs, BBQ
nachos, and, of course, lemon shake-ups. He would usually gain a couple pounds
from all the food he would eat. Then he would hit the gym a few extra times to
burn it off. Shaking his head at the memory, he moved over to the wrecked cars
to see if he could find anything useful. He didn't have much hope, but it was
worth a try.
The search didn't yield anything
of use, so Jason decided to head for the Sheriffs office a couple blocks over
to see if he could get lucky there. He needed to find another vehicle so he
could get down the road. He had to abandon his truck at the Wal-Mart where he
had stopped and he sure wasn't going back there to get it. He was still mad at
himself. He knew the store would be completely looted, but he still went in anyway.
Like a fool, he had only brought his Glock. He never would have believed that
so many of them would have been in this small of a town. You expect them in a
large city, so you don't ever go there, but here, it was a surprise that had
almost killed him.
Now he had no supplies and no
transportation. This wasn’t a good predicament to be in with nighttime
approaching. Jason carefully checked a few of the buildings on his way to the
Sheriff's office. In the pizzeria, he found a small can of mushrooms that had
been overlooked. He smiled. he loved mushrooms. Searching under the counter he
found a plastic sack emblazoned with THANK YOU to put the can in. A noise from
the front caused his heart to stop. He ducked behind the counter. From the
dinning area he heard the rattle again. He slowly raised up to try to see. The
tables and chairs were strung out all over. The noise seemed to be coming from
the turned over salad bar.
Moving around the counter, he
edged towards the portable bar. Being sure to keep an eye out the front of the
shop also, he moved beside the cart. Something inside was moving around. The
cart shook each time he heard the noise. Pulling his survival knife, Jason
moved around the bar so he could open the door to the storage area of the
portable cart. It was on its side. He opened the door so he could use it for
cover.
Ever so slowly, he pulled at the
handle of the cabinet. Opening the door, the noise stopped. Jason waited a good
thirty seconds before he peered to look inside. When he did, he got a face full
of fur. With a screech and hiss, the raccoon jumped and hit him square in the
chest. In his attempt to back peddle, he fell over a chair. Jason landed heavy
on his back; unhurt. The raccoon skittered off to the back of the store and was
gone.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he
stood and checked himself over. The coon had left a few scratches but nothing
serious. Replacing his knife in its sheath, Jason examined the cart. He found a
bag of rotten tomatoes and the remains of a box of croutons. Another bust. He
picked up his sack and headed to the street. Before he exited the store, he
made sure the street was clear. With nothing in sight, he stepped out and
headed for the sheriffs office. He only had a little time left to find anything
of use.
When he rounded the corner, he
allowed himself some hope. In the sheriff’s office lot, there were two cars and
a truck that looked intact. He checked each one and was encouraged. They looked
in good shape. The truck was parked at the front of the building. It still had
the keys in the ignition. He allowed a small celebratory fist pump. Checking
over the truck, he saw that the shotgun was gone from the dash mount. He really
could use some weapons. He looked up at the doors to the office. Maybe his luck
would hold out.
He pulled out his knife and
headed into the station. In the foyer of the station, laid three bodies. He
started to turn and run when he realized they had all been shot in the head. He
took a closer look. One was a deputy and the other two were prisoners. The good
news was that the deputy had his gun belt still on, complete with gun and extra
clips. Pulling the belt off the dead cop, he couldn't help but notice the
partially pinned name tag: Officer Davis. Looking at the peeling and rotted
flesh of the mans face, it was obvious that he and he others had turned. He
would of never realized that this was his neighbor from three houses down if it
weren’t for the name plate.
Authorities had tried to help
organize in the panic that had ensued. The virus had spread so fast, no one had
time to respond. He remembered one news agency reporting that it was an
afflicted form of multiple viruses combined. The boyish news anchor, fear
clearly written on his face, said that it was thought to be a medical
experiment that had gone awry. He remembered the footage of the shuffling
creatures. He shivered. The last few broadcast of any type frantically spread the
word that the shambling creatures could be killed by trauma to the brain. It
was too little too late.
Belting Davis' gun holster to his
waist. He saw the injury that was most likely Davis' demise. The perfect semi
circled wound on his upper left arm. You could see each individual tooth
imprint. Pulling the gun he checked to make sure it was loaded. The bite to the
back of his neck came with such surprise and adrenaline that it almost didn't
hurt. Dropping down and spinning away, he was confronted by the decomposing
corpse of the town sheriff. A six and a half foot tall man in life, he was an
imposing figure. As a reanimated corpse, he was terrifying. Jason jerked the
Smith and Wesson 45 up and pulled the trigger until the clip was dry. At least
three rounds had found their mark, dropping the zombie sheriff.
He turned to run and both his
legs cramped so bad it dropped him to the floor. The side of his face smacked
the dust-covered tile. The impact knocked him unconscious. Hours later he awoke.
Standing, he was hungry. It's all he could think about; an insatiable and
driving desire for food. Sniffing the air, he moved off in search of human
flesh.
-Red
Twitter @Mortisg187
Email Jeff at author@jeffjake.com
