Give me some time to finish getting my life settled down. Seriously, it's just one more week and then I can just coast for a while. It's just getting through this last week that will make my already graying hair get even grayer.

Until next time, good luck with life.

    They Don't Have Lights (Pt. 1)
    Insubordination (Pt. 2)
    Of Rats and Men (Pt. 3)
    Obedience (Pt. 4)
    Coincidence (Pt. 5)


    "What time is is?"
    "It should be around 8 a.m." Was Danny's response to my sister's question.
    "Then why the hell is it just as dark as it was five hours ago?" She wasn't the only one wondering that, she was just the first to voice it. We had been walking for a good seven or eight hours now and if anything, the sky just seemed to be getting darker. There were no clouds either, not above a wisp of one anyway. The shrieking that we had been hearing intermittently had steadily increased to an almost constant cacophony.
    More than anyone, John seemed like he was the least afraid of what was going on, but he had also been the most silent. In fact, he hadn't really spoken since we all had our introductions. The only action he portrays that even seems to give any idea of emotion are the nervous glances he keeps giving back at my sister. I know that she doesn't look very comfortable with that gun in her hand and I'm fairly sure she has never had to fire it before, but I have a feeling that it wasn't the only thing he was worried about.
    "Oh, shit! There's another one!" Danny exclaimed suddenly. I raised my tire iron and wheeled around to face the direction that Danny had pointed only to find nothing there. "Is it still alive? Jesus, somebody, shoot at it!" I continued searching for whatever he must have been talking about. The lack of daylight certainly wasn't helping, but I was still quite certain that nothing was there. I glanced at Becca who was just staring and shaking uncontrollably at the direction Danny was pointing. Still, I saw nothing. John silently walked over and bent down beside a trash bag.
    "No, it's dead." He finally said kind of calmly. "Just like the other one"
    "You guys have seen one of those things before? What the hell are they?" Becca could barely stutter out the words between the quivering of her lips and the almost violent shaking of her body.
    I couldn't take it anymore.

***************

    It seemed like Travis was just about to shout something when they came. I'm not sure what he was going to say, but if I could guess, I would say that it seemed as if he couldn't see the monster lying on the ground. He must have been the only one. Danny made it quite obvious that he saw it, and I think Becca commented on it, but all Travis did was stare at us like we were crazy. Then they came, more of these mutated, deranged, zombified human beings. Their stench is intolerable, the yellow color of their skin is unnatural, and they all seem to have a case of mange. I never quite saw how Danny died, all I know is that he did. There was the big scuffle, and he was really holding his own quite well, but something must have taken him by surprise. Travis and Becca, siblings, I don't understand. The zombies carried them away, still very much alive. Becca continues to give off the invisible flames.
I just don't know what to think anymore. Although, who really thinks when nothing makes sense. Chicago was never a safe place to be, these streets were never safe. Nothing has really changed. It's still Chicago, just with zombies.
    They didn't eat Mr. Hosch. That is unusual, by their standards.
    "Fuck this" I say out loud. I take off my mask and start walking. I'm going to follow these kids, I owe it to Travis. My name is John Boyle, I am Travis Redden's psychiatrist, and I am completely out of my mind.



... to be continued.

    They Don't Have Lights (Pt. 1)
    Insubordination (Pt. 2)
    Of Rats and Men (Pt. 3)
    Obedience (Pt. 4)

    Throughout history, running has always seemed like a decent and respectable solution to a majority of problems we come across.  Certainly, no exception was to be made here.  The difference right now, is that I'm not exactly sure what I'm running from.  Sure, I'm obviously running from hordes of mutated human beings with a craving for blood, but in actuality, I can't help but feel it is more than that.  I feel like I am running from my past.  I feel like I am making another excuse for when things aren't going the way I had envisioned.  It seems as though by running, I am taking out some kind of frustration at everything that has gone wrong that I can't fix.  I was always selfish like that.
    It was refreshing, however, to see my sister look like she actually cared about me.  Too often she was "stuck" with me.  Tasked with the arduous chore of supervising me while my parents went off to one of their social gatherings.  Here though, we were running.  Running down the streets that I had only ever seen before out of the window of the mini-van.  We were both alive, and maybe that was it.  She was being nice to me now, because I was the only thing that was still familiar to her.
    When the two men with the masks appeared in the distance they didn't take long to notice my sister and me.  They quickly picked up their pace in an attempt to meet us.  When they were close enough, they both paused rather briefly.  I figured they wanted to make absolutely sure that I wasn't going to lunge at them and bite their faces off.  To my surprise however, instead they both exclaimed, almost simultaneously:  "Travis!"
    There were now three very confused people around me at this point, my sister, who looked at me and then them, attempting to make the connection, and the two men who stared at each other both seemingly completely shocked.  The masks belonged to Mr. Boyle and Mr. Hosch.  Mr. Hosch was my 6th grade teacher, one of the most patient people I knew, certainly a step above my parents.  Then there was Mr. Boyle, the psychiatrist that me parents felt that I desperately needed.  He was always a little out of the park in my opinion, and sometimes it really felt like he was the one who needed to be on the sofa.
    "You two don't know each other?"  My sister finally said.
    "Not in the slightest."  Mr. Boyle answered.  "I am John Boyle, I'm Travis' psychiatrist here."  He had a limp in his right leg.
    I'm not entirely sure how excited I was that Mr. Hosch was now learning that I had a psychiatrist, but I don't think that really mattered anymore.
    "and I'm Danny Hosch, Travis' teacher."  Mr. Hosch confirmed.  "Is this your girlfriend Travis?"
    "It's my sister, Becca."  They all shook hands, as they did though, I noticed that Danny did not seem to have full control of his left arm.  The formality sickened me.  Who really needs that right now?  It's somewhere past midnight.  We are in the middle of a hostile environment, and there are no safe looking places for miles.  The decision to remain together as a group was unspoken and unanimous.  We all started to move on toward a destination that my two mentors said they had in mind.  The occasional squeal in the distance reminded us of where we were, and the occasional rustle of some debris on the road reminded us of how scared we really were.  The only person who paused was Mr. Boyle.

*****************

    Travis noticed me pause.  I don't know if he could see what I was seeing, and in fact, I'm not even sure if what I was seeing is real.  It was Travis' sister.  While the girl herself seemed perfectly fine, but there was something wrong around her.  It seemed like the ground, wherever she moved to, was being blackened, charred.  It is so weird for me to say, and I don't even know how to describe it.  The only time I have ever seen anything like it before was that creature that Danny and I had seen dead on the side of the road, not even these zombie like creatures seemed to emit these - I'm going to call them invisible flames.  Heh, Danny, we didn't even know each other's names until we found Travis.  What a coincidence.
    She glanced at me, and I at once began moving with the group.  I hope she does not notice that I am beginning to sweat.  I hope she does not notice that my hand is a little tighter on the trigger of my gun.

 

    ... to be continued.