Trying to Survive

Posted on Mon Sep 23rd, 2024 @ 11:08pm by Amythyst

3,529 words; about a 18 minute read

Mission: The Road Ahead
Location: NYC
Timeline: September 9th 05:57am - to late afternoon.

**September 9th, 05:57 AM**

The first rays of dawn pierced through the thin curtains draped over the floor-to-ceiling windows of the small bedroom where Amy had finally found some rest. The light felt intrusive, breaking through the dimness and drawing her from the first deep sleep she'd had in weeks. She blinked awake slowly, her eyes adjusting to the brightness as she shook off the remnants of exhaustion.

For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to savour the rare sensation of safety. The room was eerily quiet, the only sounds her own breathing and the faint rustle of the curtains. Amy sat up, her muscles stiff from the tension she carried even in sleep, and listened carefully. The apartment was silent, offering no immediate threat—but she knew better than to trust silence. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cool floor, then slipped on her worn sneakers, tying the laces in double knots out of habit. Quick movement could be the difference between life and death.

Rising to her feet, Amy padded over to the window. The city lay before her in a state of decay, a stark contrast to the vibrant, bustling metropolis it once was. Smoke spiralled into the sky from the direction of the wharves, blackening the horizon. The river beyond was choked with the hulks of burning boats. She sighed. Those boats might have once been an escape route, but now they were just another symbol of lost hope, either sunk or seized by the desperate.

She stepped back from the window, the harsh reality settling over her again. Moving with caution, she began to unblock the door, slowly pushing the heavy tallboy she had wedged against it the night before. Inch by inch, she paused, listening for any sound from beyond. Silence. After what felt like an eternity, she had the door clear and opened it a crack, peering into the hallway.

Her makeshift barricade of furniture and debris in the hallway still stood firm, reassuring her that she hadn't been followed or discovered during the night. Satisfied, she returned to the bedroom and made her way to the bathroom. The tap groaned as she turned it, but to her relief, a trickle of water remained in the cistern. She used it sparingly, washing up as best as she could before heading to the kitchen in search of food.

The cupboards were nearly bare, but a box of Cheerios caught her eye. She grimaced. She had always hated Cheerios, but there was no room for pickiness now. She tore open the box and ate a few handfuls of the dry cereal, the bland taste doing little to ease the gnawing hunger in her belly.

Once she had eaten enough to dull the hunger, Amy stepped out onto the terrace. The cityscape below was both familiar and alien, with the slow-moving figures of the undead shambling along the streets. From her vantage point, she noted how they rarely collided with one another, and when they did, it was a grim battle of wills, ending only when one fell motionless—truly dead this time.

Amy moved cautiously along the terrace, her eyes darting between the rooftops and windows of nearby buildings, always alert for danger. The fence separating her terrace from the neighbouring one was low, easy enough to slip over. With a final glance around, she hoisted herself over the fence, landing softly on the other side.

The neighbouring terrace was cluttered with the remnants of the previous occupants' lives. She scanned the area, senses on high alert, when a faint sound caught her attention. A low, raspy groan—unmistakable in this world—sent a shiver down her spine.

Amy tightened her grip on her machete, holding it ready as she moved toward the noise. Near the sliding glass door, she spotted it: a figure, hunched and swaying, its back to her. Once a man, now just a walking corpse, its skin grey and rotting, patches of hair clinging to its skull.

She knew what had to be done. Taking a deep breath, Amy approached slowly, each step deliberate and silent. The undead man didn’t notice her until it was too late. With a swift, practiced motion, she swung the machete. The blade sliced cleanly through bone and brain matter. The groan ceased instantly, and the body crumpled, lifeless once more.

Amy stood still, catching her breath. The kill had been quick, but it always took a toll. She struggled not to throw up. Nudging the body with her foot, she ensured it wouldn’t move again before turning her attention to the sliding glass door. She peered inside, scanning the dim interior for any signs of movement. Satisfied it was clear, she carefully slid the door open and stepped inside.

The apartment was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight. Dust hung in the air, illuminated by the few rays of light that seeped through the cracks. The place had been abandoned in a hurry—drawers left open, items scattered across the floor. She moved quietly, searching for anything useful.

In the kitchen, Amy found a nearly full bag of rice, a can of beans, and a half-used jar of peanut butter—nothing fancy, but a feast in these times. She stuffed the items into her backpack, grateful for the small bounty. In the living room, she found a thick wool blanket draped over a couch. It was worn but clean, and she knew it would be valuable during the colder nights ahead. She rolled it up tightly and added it to her pack.

Further exploration yielded a box of matches, a few candles, and a half-full bottle of water. Small comforts, but they could make a big difference. She also grabbed spare pillowcases from a linen closet, thinking they might serve as makeshift bandages or extra storage.

Satisfied she had gathered everything she could, Amy returned to the terrace. She glanced at the chicken coop again, the sight of the clucking birds filling her with a renewed sense of hope. The apartment had provided her with supplies—and now, with the chickens, perhaps a shot at something close to stability.

Standing on the neighbouring terrace, she realized the chickens would be too difficult to manage if left here. She needed them close by, where she could easily tend to them and keep them safe. Moving them to her own terrace, where her small garden already thrived, was the best option.

Approaching the chicken coop, she examined its structure. It was a simple, makeshift creation—hastily assembled wood and chicken wire, but sturdy enough. The coop was light, designed to be portable, but moving it alone would be no small task, especially without disturbing the birds too much.

Amy took a deep breath, steeling herself for the effort ahead. She unlatched the coop door and reached inside, her movements slow and deliberate. The chickens clucked nervously but didn’t resist as she carefully lifted them, one by one, into a cardboard box she’d found in the apartment. The roosters were more stubborn, but after a few tense moments, she managed to secure them as well.

With the birds contained, Amy turned to the coop itself. Testing its weight, she found it manageable but awkward. She would have to lift it over the low fence between the terraces, navigating through debris. After clearing a path, she positioned herself at one end of the coop, gripping it tightly. With a grunt, she lifted it, balancing its weight as she shuffled toward the fence. The coop wobbled, but Amy kept her focus, refusing to let it slip. Reaching the fence, she paused to catch her breath before manoeuvring the coop over the barrier. She set it down gently on her terrace, a sigh of relief escaping her when it was safely on the other side.

Next, she retrieved the box with the chickens and roosters, carefully climbing back over the fence. She placed the box beside the coop and opened it. The birds clucked and rustled inside, unsettled by the move, but unharmed.

Amy positioned the coop near the garden, where the chickens would be sheltered by the surrounding plants. She refilled their water and feed troughs with what little supplies she had scavenged. It wasn’t much, but it would suffice until she could find more.

Finally, she released the chickens and roosters, watching as they cautiously explored their new home. The birds pecked at the ground, their curiosity mingled with caution. Amy felt a small smile tug at her lips—a rare feeling in these times. The terrace, with its modest garden and now the chicken coop, felt almost like a sanctuary. It wasn’t much, but it was hers.

As she stood back, admiring her work, Amy felt a surge of pride. She had secured a steady food source, a small victory that could make the difference between surviving and merely existing. It wasn’t just about the eggs or the chickens themselves—it was about what they represented. In a world so full of loss and despair, this small victory gave her something to hold onto, a reason to keep fighting.

With the chickens settled, Amy turned her attention back to the horizon. The day was still young, and there was much to do. But for now, she allowed herself a brief moment of peace. The future was uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, it didn’t seem quite so bleak.

As she began to organize her new home, Amy considered how she might eventually get some of these chickens to Dante's group. She began by going back to the neighbour apartment to block it off from the internal stairs and a deeper examination of the items there.

It didn’t take her long to block off the door that led into the internal stairs and other apartments below and beyond. She shoved furniture into place and made sure the base was sturdy before adding to the pile.

As Amy carefully searched the neighbouring apartment, her eyes landed on a small closet near the hallway. She hesitated for a moment, then opened it cautiously. Inside, she found a mix of clothing hanging neatly on hangers and folded on the shelves above. Most of the garments were a bit dusty, but they looked clean and intact—something that had become a rare find.

She sifted through the clothes, noting the variety in sizes. There were jackets, shirts, and pants that looked like they had belonged to different people—a family, perhaps. A sturdy leather jacket caught her attention first. Though it was slightly too big, she knew it would provide extra warmth and protection against both the cold and the occasional undead threat. She slipped it on, the weight of it comforting on her shoulders.

Amy also grabbed a few other items: a pair of cargo pants that fit snugly around her waist, a thick sweater in a neutral colour, and a smaller jacket that might be useful for layering. She even found a few oversized t-shirts and sweatpants that, though too large for her, could serve multiple purposes—extra fabric for bandages, makeshift bags, or even just to sleep in when she needed to feel a bit more comfortable.

In the back corner of the closet, she discovered a small bundle of children’s clothes—clearly outgrown and forgotten. She paused, her mind briefly wandering to what had happened to the family that had once lived here. Shaking off the thought, she added a couple of the more durable pieces to her growing pile. They could be bartered with someone else down the line, or perhaps given to Dante’s group if they had any need for them.

With her arms full, Amy made her way back to the bedroom in her claimed apartment to sort through her findings. She packed away the new clothes, mentally ticking off the necessities she still needed to gather. The find was a good one, giving her a sense of readiness and preparation she hadn’t felt in a while. Now, she had options—not just for herself, but for whatever lay ahead.

After a few hours resting and sorting the clothes into groups, she moved back to the fence line and looked past the other terrace to the third on the far side, which was north to her south.

There were 5 apartments on the top floor. Three facing east, two facing west. She considered the third apartment on the east side of the building and then she chose to do something daring. She pulled down the fence between her apartment and the middle apartment, and then wearing the gardening gloves she had found she dragged the rotting corpse to the edge of the terrace and carefully so not to get blood on her, she hefted it over the edge and down to the street before, setting off a feeding frenzy in the street, well away from the alley where the fire escape led to. With the dead gone, she stripped off the gloves and checked her skin and clothes, no blood.

Then she moved to the next fence. She was going to make the top floor of eastern side of the apartment building a secure area. And if that meant she had to blockade all three apartments then that was what she was going to do. Maybe she would speak with Dante about using this as a halfway point for his group, a place where newcomers could be assessed and she could maintain the area for them. She slid the fencing back slowly, and as silently as she could. But it hit a can by the fence sending it rolling across the tiles. She gripped her machete from her belt and crouched as she listened.

Nothing. She didn’t breathe easy though. She knew better than to relax. Amythyst stood and walked slowly over the tiles looking around. More gardens, vegetables in planter boxes. Ignoring the plants she moved to the corner of the building, looking around it to the northern facing terrace section. A water tank, and a Greenhouse. Amy bit her lower lip as she considered the situation. A water tank was such a great boon. And the greenhouse… Slowly Amy moved to look into the greenhouse, external threats were more important than any locked inside the apartment. As she pressed her face to the glass, she saw it. Two of them. She drew back. Both were lurching around the greenhouse as if they had no idea how to get out. Which, was probably right.

Drawing back, Amy considered her options. These were fully grown adult undead, and she was a 15 year old girl. Though she was alive, they were dead. But the greenhouse was a boon she needed to clear out so she needed a plan. She moved back further and looked towards the apartment. If there were undead here, would there be more inside? Possible. Maybe her good run was coming to an end…

With her machete in hand, she moved to the door. It was open, and not just open but widely open. She swallowed and considered toeing off her shoes but chose the speed of having shoes on her feet over the quiet of bare feet. She entered the cool interior and paused just inside. Listening. Nothing from close by. Slowly, carefully she moved into the large open planned living and dining area. The kitchen was empty, and there was no blood so she figured that the two in the green house may have been locked in there by the family when they died.

It didn’t take her long to explore the 3-bedroom apartment, finding no living or undead. And the door to the interior was locked. She chose not to unlock it. She was not about to face whatever was deeper into the building. At least not without support.

As she came back to the terrace she considered the problem of the two undead. If she could funnel them to the edge of the roof... topple them over the edge? Or maybe she could reach out to Dante and ask for help?

Amy sat down on the now warm flagstones and let her mind mull over the options. She could not leave them there, it was too dangerous. If someone came upon her they might unleash them at her. She looked at the machete and took a breath. Maybe, she should risk it? Try and kill them herself? Was it worth it? It was she knew. Three secure places to store stuff, herself and maybe one day, more? She stood, gripped the machete.

Then with determination on her face she walked to the greenhouse. That greenhouse was a place she wanted. It would be a good place to grow food for both her and the chickens and no walking corpse was keeping it from her. Not either of them.

Amy stepped cautiously toward the greenhouse, the afternoon sun casting long shadows that danced around her feet. The two undead figures shuffled aimlessly inside, their moans a haunting soundtrack to her determination. With her heart pounding in her chest, she peered through the glass, assessing the situation. They were both tall, their limbs awkward and stiff, but their eyes were void of any recognition, just an endless hunger.

She tightened her grip on the machete, the cold steel reassuring against her palm. “I can do this,” she whispered to herself, drawing in a breath that steadied her nerves. The goal was clear: get them to the edge and topple them over.

With a plan forming in her mind, Amy moved to the side of the greenhouse, making sure to stay out of sight. She picked up a small stone from the ground and hurled it toward the back wall. The sound echoed sharply against the glass, drawing the undead’s attention. They turned in unison, the eerie choreography of their decayed bodies sending a chill down her spine.

As they staggered toward the noise, Amy seized the moment. She slipped through the door of the greenhouse, heart racing, and quickly positioned herself between the nearest undead and the exit. The creature stumbled toward her, its rotting hand reaching out as it growled.

“Just a bit closer,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, her pulse roaring in her ears. She could see the other undead lagging behind, turning to follow the first.

With a swift motion, she sidestepped and swung the machete at the nearest one, aiming for the neck. The blade connected with a sickening thud, and the undead stumbled, momentarily disoriented. Amy wasted no time; she pressed her advantage and struck again, this time severing the head cleanly from its body.

Before she could catch her breath, the second undead lunged at her, its jagged teeth snapping dangerously close. Amy dodged to the left, narrowly avoiding its grasp. She could feel the air rush past her as she pivoted, bringing the machete down in a wide arc. The blade caught the creature across the shoulder, and it howled in frustration, stumbling back.

“Come on, come on!” she urged, her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her veins. She needed it to follow her, needed to steer it toward the edge.

With a burst of adrenaline, Amy darted back toward the entrance, the undead in hot pursuit. She zigzagged through the greenhouse, glancing back to ensure it was still on her tail. As it stumbled over a potted plant, she seized the opportunity.

“Now!” she shouted, leading the creature closer to the edge of the terrace. With a powerful swing, she struck again, the machete cleaving through its skull. The body lurched forward, momentum carrying it over the ledge.

Breathless, Amy watched as the second undead fell, colliding with the street below, the sound of shattering glass echoing into the air.

She stood there, panting heavily, adrenaline surging through her. She had done it. The greenhouse was finally hers. Amy felt a wave of triumph wash over her, pushing aside the dread that had lingered in her thoughts.

With a newfound determination, she stepped back inside the greenhouse, surveying the space. Plants grew wild, tangled vines reaching toward the glass, and the sunlight poured in, illuminating the potential within. She could cultivate her own food here, nourish the chickens, create a sanctuary in a world of chaos.

“This is just the beginning,” she whispered, smiling to herself. “I’ll make this place thrive.”

But as she moved deeper into the greenhouse, her eyes caught on the shadows that lingered near the far wall. Was there another undead, or perhaps something more sinister lurking in the corners? Tension coiled in her stomach again, but she would face it, just as she had faced the others. She would not let fear control her.

With renewed resolve, Amy picked up her machete, stepping forward into the light, ready to conquer whatever challenges lay ahead.

OOC: Authors note: Dice were used, to help with the finding of things, and I tried very hard to have her face issues.

 

RSS Feed