Post-Apocalyptic Buddy System

By Crystal Bailey   

“Kytt! Wake up!”

A sharp slap of pain explodes across my cheek. My eyes shoot open, and I bolt into a sitting position.

“What happened?” I massage a throbbing spot on the back of my head. “My glasses! Where are my glasses?” Panic sets in; I’m as good as dead without my glasses.

“Right here.” Molly hands them over. I put them on, and the drab, zombie-ravaged world comes into focus. “They fell off when you passed out. Are you okay?”

Fuzzy memories slowly come into focus. We were running through the woods from some oozing zombies. I’m lucky I made it this far before passing out. One look at blood, guts, puke, rotting food, rotting zombies—anything icky—and it’s lights out for me. A dangerous problem to have when death and gore are everywhere.

Molly helps me stand, and I offer her a reassuring, closed-lip smile. Her gray eyes express concern… and fear. Always fear. Molly is the biggest scaredy-cat. The only reason she agreed to go on this supply run with me was because our colony threatened to kick her out if she didn’t start contributing. I volunteered because my thieving past means I have extensive experience getting in and out of tricky places. Colony scouts reported the town was clear yesterday, but if that changes, my wily skills will come in handy.

We arrive at the dinky little town an hour later, and I’m shocked to see how well-preserved it is; not so much as a street sign out of place. I expected shattered windows, crashed vehicles, and streets littered with decomposing human feet because zombies apparently draw the line at eating human feet. I suppose even the undead have standards. With newfound confidence, we approach Oasis Market, and Molly pushes on the sliding doors, but they won’t budge. I grab her customized hammer weapon and break the glass, wincing at the piercing sound. But a grocery store with a pharmacy is just too good to pass up. Once inside, we head straight to the pharmacy section, hoping to find meds.

“Jackpot.” A grin spreads across my face. I hastily grab various bottles and tubes and toss them into my backpack. Molly does the same.

Within minutes, we’ve cleaned out the pharmacy. “We got lucky, Molly.” I zip my backpack closed and turn to face her. “A find like this doesn’t come along every day.”

“I’d love to see the Council try to kick me out now,” she says, looking rather smug as she wriggles into her overstuffed backpack.

“They wouldn’t dare. Not after this. We’ll be local heroes, and they’ll—”

Thump.

The noise reverberates through the store.

I freeze.

“What was that?” Molly whispers, voice quavering, eyes wide.

Several deep, hungry moans and a collective shuffling fill the air. A whispered curse escapes my lips as I retrieve a sai from a holster strapped around my waist. Some zombies must’ve heard the glass shatter and followed the sound.

I quickly slide into my backpack and then reach for my other sai. I have an intense aversion to killing any living creature, including bugs, but zombies are different. They’re not alive. Not really, anyway. My bigger issue with battling them is all that rotting flesh. I can’t stab a zombie or even look at one up-close without fainting.

Molly grips her hammer with trembling hands. She’s not squeamish, but she seriously sucks at defending herself; I don’t understand how she’s survived this long. What a pair we make! Neither of us is getting out of here alive if it comes to fighting.

Something changes with the zombies. Their moans turn to vicious snarling. Shuffling turns to pounding. They must’ve caught our scent. A quick look around a shelf reveals a large horde headed our way, and moving fast.

“What do we do?” Molly whispers, frantic.

I roll my eyes. “Obviously find another way out.”

Molly scoffs. “Easier said than done, Kytt.”

I scan the store for another exit and spot one along the back wall. I point it out to Molly. “Run on the count of three.”

“One … two …” Molly’s head bobs as she counts. “Thr—”

“Wait!” I grab Molly’s arm. “I have an idea. If we’re forced to fight, I need you to be my eyes.”

She gives me a quizzical look.

I grip her arm, adrenaline surging through my body, excitement pulsing in my fingers. “You can’t fight them off, but I can—as long as I can’t see them. If I don’t see the zombie or the wounds I’m inflicting, then, in theory, I won’t pass out. So, I’ll take off my glasses and let you be my eyes.”

Fear clouds Molly’s face. She gulps and then nods.

I slide my glasses into my pocket and link arms with Molly. A deep breath, then, “Three.”

We make a mad dash for the back exit. All I can see along the way are blurry, indistinct shapes, so I let Molly guide my path. Suddenly, she stops short, drops her arm, and yells, “To your right! Three feet away!”

I turn and lunge, driving one sai straight into the zombie’s gut, slowing it down, then use my other sai to stab it through an eye socket, hitting brain. My plan is working! I see a blurry zombie figure, but no gory, blackout-worthy details. When the zombie goes limp, I yank out my weapons and hear a satisfying thud as its motionless body hits the linoleum floor.

Molly links arms with me again, and we continue running. We stop and repeat this buddy system method of zombie slaying two more times before we finally make it out of the store.

Once outside, Molly assures me the coast is clear. I put my glasses back on, and as we head home with backpacks full of medicine, I give my buddy a sly grin. “Molly, it looks like we have a new game plan for the apocalypse.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Crystal Bailey enjoys writing speculative fiction for teens (and adults who are still young and angsty at heart). You can find her short stories included in the following Twenty Hills anthologies: Wither and Bloom, Though We Bleed, and There Will Be Wolves. She lives with her husband and son in the beautiful Texas Hill Country.

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