Awake: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel Page 3

  “Where to go to locate the name of a town when there isn’t anyone about to ask?” I asked aloud. The police station, of course.

  “And, where’s the police station?” I asked.

  I didn’t have an answer for that. I’d have to wander around until I found one. It couldn’t be too far off the main road, which I was pretty sure I was on.

  I headed back toward the downtown area, trying not to notice the bodies. Many lay tangled in a way that made it impossible to tell if they’ were fighting or trying to protect one another.

  By late afternoon, I found the police station next door to the library. Both were perfect locations to find the information I needed. The name of the station and the library told me the town was Dickson. The newspapers at the library and reports I saw in the station told me a story I couldn’t wrap my mind around in any way. I sat on one of the benches in a seating area between the two buildings for hours reading and re-reading the stack of papers I’d taken from both places.

  What I was reading couldn’t be right. It just couldn’t. Stuff like that didn’t happen in reality, could it? Though what did I know about the real world? I didn’t remember my name. I didn’t recognize my face. I didn’t know how I got any of the scars on my body, even the ones that looked years old.

  Even though I knew what many things were, I didn’t know everything about the world in which I lived. I knew I wasn’t, or at least I hadn’t been, alone in the world that long ago. There was a high chance that I was currently the last person on the planet. Having not found a sign of another living being since I woke up, made it highly possible.

  All of that meant that what I read could be real, had to be true. Newspapers reported facts, didn’t they? The images looked real. Police officers wouldn’t file false reports, would they? Not so many of them stating roughly the same thing. I couldn’t even convince myself that the event had only happened in Dickson. I was looking at a USA Today. I was looking at forwarded police reports from nearby precincts. The outbreak had occurred everywhere.

  How in the hell could I have woken up in the aftermath of the fucking zombie apocalypse? I couldn’t wrap my head around it. And, I refused to think about that damned finger. I wasn’t currently a zombie, so there was no way I could have been one before I woke. That just wasn’t possible. Even if I accepted that zombies had existed or did exist, I couldn’t believe one stopped being a zombie and became human again. That didn’t happen.

  “Okay, it happened in sappy teenage science-fiction romances, but not in real life,” I said aloud.

  “Zombies didn’t happen in real life either, idiot,” I scolded myself.

  I got up and paced the small courtyard, hoping that moving my body would make the shock of the news make more sense. It didn’t. I made myself get something to drink and eat, thinking that would help. It didn’t.

  I was going mad. I finally decided. None of it was real. I was lying in a hospital bed somewhere, doped out of my mind because I’d had a mental breakdown. That had to be it. There was no other explanation.

  Thinking that only calmed me for a short time. The realization that if I were in a mental institution, and that this was all in my head, and that I didn’t have a way of waking myself from the delusion, which meant I was stuck here, living in a dead world for God only knew how long wasn’t comforting.

  I screamed again. I didn’t worry about scaring anyone or possibly luring any remaining zombies my way. I didn’t care. If they came to eat me, I’d let them. I was living in a dream, after all.

  No matter how many times I tried to tell myself that was true, I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t living in a dream-world. I was living in the apocalypse.

  I picked up the papers and carried them back to the library. I put them in one of the glass cases by the front desk that showcased antique books to decrease the chances of them getting destroyed. I wanted others like me—if there were others like me in the area or passing through—to be able to find me and tell me what was going on in the world.

  I left Dickson after that and headed east on Highway 72 towards Alabama.

  I saw a bunch of nothing aside from decaying bodies as I walked. There was no way for me to tell if any of them were human or zombie when they died. I did run across some fresher bodies, but they were so mangled that I couldn’t make anything out of them either. I assumed that they were alive when the zombies ate them, but I based that on the idea that the zombies didn’t eat each other.

  The silence of the world around me was deafening. I couldn’t even bring myself to speak aloud because the sound of my voice was so startling. I also feared the noise would draw unwanted attention to me. Whereas, I wanted to know that I wasn’t alone in the world; I also worried about the type of person who would have survived the zombies. I couldn’t imagine anyone sane surviving.

  The landscape around me was shocking. Vehicles lined the sides of the road for miles in both directions. Someone had cleared the section I was on so that the road could be drivable, but even the evidence of that was old. Debris and bodies scattered the area. Whoever had moved the vehicles had left the bodies in them, which I thought was wrong until I realized that I wasn’t doing anything about them either.

  As I walked, I replayed all the stories I’d read earlier. The dates on the items meant nothing to me. The most recent newspaper date was June 26th, 2020. The latest police report was for a few weeks after that, and it was a hastily written message about finding a toddler eating his mother. The mother had called, stating her child had turned in his crib, and she didn’t know what to do. The officer had gotten to the scene too late, of course. He shot them both and left them. I’m glad there hadn’t been any photos with that one.

  I didn’t know how long-ago June 26th was. The weather felt like summer, June or July maybe. If it was the summer of 2020 or 2021 or 2022, I didn’t know. A larger town might have newer newspapers or something with other dates on it. The problem was the next large city was a few days’ walk from Dickson. I was both nervous and anxious to get there.

  The larger city would mean more bodies and more destruction. A big city would also suggest there might be live people. There was no way in hell I was the last person on Earth. Something like that just wasn’t possible. Was it?

  With that thought, I switched to wondering what I would do if I were the last person. Would I commit suicide? Would I bother to try to rebuild or wander from place to place, living off what I could find until I died?

  Neither option sounded like fun, but what other choices would I have if I were alone? I’d go mad in all of that silence, wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t anyone?

  “And what if you’ve already gone mad?” I asked aloud, startling myself.

  “I haven’t,” I answered once I regained my composure.

  “Are you sure? You are talking to yourself, after all?”

  “So what. People talk to themselves all the time?”

  “And how would you know? Do you remember seeing anyone talking to themselves?”

  “No, but…”

  “Then how do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  “That isn’t a real answer, and anyway, do you realize you are arguing with yourself? That has to be a sign of insanity.”

  “I do realize that. I’m sure it is a sign, but it isn’t the ultimate sign. I bet people argued with themselves a lot. Besides, who the hell else am I going to talk to? I need to use my voice so that I don’t forget how to talk.”

  “You don’t even remember learning how to speak, so what does that matter?”

  “It matters.”

  “Whatever.”

  My inner voice was pissing me off, so I stopped thinking and talking to myself for a long time after that. When I got hungry, which was often, I stopped to eat. When I got thirsty, I stopped to drink. When I had to use the bathroom, I found the nearest clean toilet and went. If I couldn’t find one, I chose a secluded place to go and went. I’m not sure why I hid. There was no one around to see me.

/>   My body didn’t seem to know how to deal with the food and liquids. I stayed hungry and thirsty, something I hadn’t noticed until I started walking. However, as soon as I took in the nutrition, it came right back out. I didn’t think that was a good thing. Higher protein items, like meat, lasted longer, but I didn’t have enough of that to sustain me adequately.

  I hoped the eating issue was a side effect of whatever had happened to me and would wear off quickly.

  When the sun started to set, I looked for a place to crash for the night. Houses were scarce along the road, but they were there. Most were home to dead and decaying bodies. Some were so trashed that I couldn’t bring myself to stay in them.

  I didn’t want to venture far off the main road, but I worried that I would need to or sleep outside or in an abandoned car. The last two options didn’t feel safe.

  Finally, just as it was getting dark, I found an empty double-wide trailer. There weren’t many provisions in it, but it had a clean bed, and that was all I needed. During the next day’s walk, I’d come to another small city. Hopefully, I’d be able to get supplies there and find a place to bathe. Surely, there was a river close by if I couldn’t find a facility with running water.

  I stowed my pack in the back bedroom, a room that I was sure had belonged to a teenage girl and searched the trailer. The toilet didn’t have any water in it. The fridge was as bare as were the cabinets. There was absolutely nothing to eat or drink. Most of the medical supplies were gone. There was enough when added to what I had to allow me to clean myself.

  At the medical supply store in Dickson, I’d found a few bottles of no-rinse soap that I vaguely knew people used for older adults who couldn’t bathe themselves. The cleaner wasn’t a replacement for a bath, but it, along with a bottle of water, would do for the time being.

  Once I felt as if I didn’t smell horrific, I changed my bandages. More wounds had healed. I didn’t think that was normal, but it meant less mess, pain, and supplies I would need.

  I had a small meal while I paced the girl’s bedroom. So many of the items I saw felt familiar. The room wasn’t mine, I knew, as the pictures taped to the vanity mirror were of someone who wasn’t me.

  I also didn’t look like a teenage girl. I was in my late twenties or early thirties. Had I been a teenager when the apocalypse happened? I didn’t think so. That would have meant things started at least seven or eight years ago. The world didn’t look as if it was that far into the apocalypse, but I couldn’t know for sure.

  I found a white-gold unicorn necklace hanging on the mirror and picked it up. I recognized it from somewhere, but I didn’t know where. I held it tightly and took a closer look at the vanity and the room. So much of the girl’s stuff remained compared to the rest of the house that I felt sure that either the girl had stayed behind when everyone else had left, or she was already dead.

  Both thoughts were too depressing to think about, so I made myself go to bed. I needed to get an early start in the morning. The trailer wasn’t home, and I wanted to find home.

  Chapter 4 – The Party

  That night’s dream most definitely was a memory and not my imagination. I was sure that the familiarity of the room I’d slept in and the necklace I’d found had conjured it.

  The dream started with me carrying a large box of party decorations out the back door of a house and into a large backyard that led to a dock and a lake or river—I couldn’t tell which. In the yard were long white tables with folding chairs around them. I sat the box on one of the tables and looked around, taking in the sunny, summer morning. I remember thinking that the day couldn’t be more perfect.

  Inside the box, the first things I found were bright colored tablecloths that I spread over each table. There was a pink one, a lime green one, a blue one, a bright orange one, a yellow one, and a light purple one. Underneath the tablecloths were grass skirts that attached to the tablecloths and hung down the sides of the tables. And underneath those were multi-colored paper plates, napkins, cups, and utensils.

  A woman that I didn’t recognize—but the “me” in my dream did—brought out another box of decorations. A man, who, again, I couldn’t name, but dream-me greeted, though I couldn’t remember what I called him, brought out the third box. The three of us began decorating the tables, yard, and deck. We were throwing a luau. For who or why I didn’t know.

  I remember laughing with the two people in my dream, making jokes with them, and arguing over where something should go. I think at one point that the woman and I had a heated discussion over what I was going to wear. The woman wanted me to wear a bathing suit under my sundress because everyone else would have on one. She wanted me to go swimming with the others when the time came. I had no desire to do so. I didn’t want to wear a suit, a dress, or to go swimming. I wanted to wear capris and a cute billowy shirt that I’d found the day before at a local boutique. I don’t know why I was obstinate about my clothing. My brain wouldn’t pull up the reason for it.

  The woman huffed but gave up. The man hugged her and told her everything would be all right if I didn’t wear a suit. He smiled at me over her shoulder before leading her away.

  Not long after that, a catering service arrived and began setting up in the backyard. I went into the house once I’d given them instructions on where to start setting out the food. The home felt familiar, but I don’t think I lived there or at least not for very long if I had. I knew my way around, but the things in it weren’t mine, had never been mine, I was sure.

  A bedroom in the back of the house held the clothes I would change into, but the room wasn’t mine. I don’t think it belonged to anyone. I believe it was an extra bedroom for anyone who was staying temporarily. The room had a bathroom, so I showered and changed.

  The person looking back at me from the full-length mirror in the bedroom looked a little like the person I saw in the bathroom mirror in the girl’s bedroom, but not. She looked healthier, thicker, which was probably why she didn’t want to wear the swimsuit. She didn’t look much younger than I currently was. I didn’t know how to take that information. Her hair was long, and it was a shiny auburn color. Her was skin a bit on the tanned side. Her eyes were bright and lively, and scars didn’t cover her body.

  My hair was dead and ashy. My skin was dark, almost leathery, from spending too much time outdoors. I was skinny. Too skinny. I looked sick with hollow eyes, sunken cheeks, and bones that poked out of my skin. My teeth weren’t in the greatest of conditions, but none had fallen out or chipped that I could tell. I hoped after a few months of brushing and a little dental work that they’d be all right.

  I didn’t think any of that in my dream, of course. Those thoughts came the next morning after I woke and examined the things I remembered from every possible angle, trying to bring up more memories.

  Dream-me studied herself in the mirror, hated that she wasn’t as pretty as the woman or the other people that would be coming to the party, but decided she wasn’t hideous either. And so what if she had a few extra pounds, at least she had boobs. Some of them didn’t. That thought put a smile on her face, and she went to put on the shirt that would accent said boobs.

  Party guests had started to arrive, but the person or persons the party was meant for hadn’t. Dream-me helped the man and woman greet people. I instructed the guests where to put the gifts and where the snack table was. I also gave them a brief rundown of the day’s itinerary. From that last bit, I gathered the event was a birthday party. But for who, I couldn’t recall.

  I woke before the guest of honor arrived. I was crying, and that was what had woken me in the early hours of the morning. Why I was crying, I didn’t know. Nothing in the dream had been sad. All of it had been happy, fun, bright, and vivid. Maybe that was the reason for the tears. The realness of it told me it hadn’t been something my subconscious had made up. The events in it had happened to me to some degree before the zombie apocalypse.

  I let myself cry until the exhaustion of the sobs forced me back to
sleep. The dreams I had then were the same as the ones I’d had the night before. The images and events came in flashes so quickly that I couldn’t grasp them, couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing, or they came surrounded by a fog that distorted sound and color, making the faces of the people in them look like Halloween masks.

  My sleep in that early morning was fitful, and I woke exhausted. My body wanted nothing more than to stay curled in the bed, but my brain refused to let me go back to sleep. It didn’t want to chance having any more dreams.

  While I nibbled on breakfast, I made myself recall the luau dream. I searched each scene for something that told me where that party had taken place. I knew I’d been in the house of the woman whom I was sure was my mother, but I didn’t know where her home was.

  I couldn’t pull up the image of a piece of mail with an address. I didn’t see any signs outside, nor could I remember the name of the caterer. Nothing in the dream-memory could tell me where that home was. The best I could do was continue toward Alabama. I was still a few days’ walk from the state line at the pace I was going. I hoped that the closer I got, the more vivid the dream-memories would get.

  My legs didn’t want to start the day’s journey, but I made them. I had to stop often to rest. I even took an hour nap in the back of a van around mid-day. On the plus side, my body seemed to be holding food better. I didn’t continually stop to relieve myself or to eat, which was a good thing because I was running low on food.

  The stretch of road I traveled was empty. The cars I passed had no supplies, only the occasional dead body. Judging by how empty the vehicles were, I could tell that I wasn’t the only traveler on the road. The houses were the same.

  I could have veered off the main highway, and would probably have to at some point, but I was afraid to in case I got lost. My map showed a town coming up, but I feared my pace was too slow to make it there before nightfall.