[google-font https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Jost] [size15 [Jost He lived in a blur more so than he did before the outbreak. Everyday was the same shit. Wake up, kill, steal, drink, sleep. Kill, murder, rob, drink. All days a blur, smudged along with morality. Whoever the fucker was in charge of the releasing the virus, didn’t really care about the rest of humanity... or, as his drunken thoughts lead him to think, maybe it was to save it. Regardless, Patrick was alone and there was no one left to save him.
So why should he care about anyone else?
The blood dripped in a pool around his combat boots, fighting to catch his breath as he stared blankly at the white board. Someone had drawn an inappropriate male body part and scribbled some girl’s name beside it. Probably before the bastard was eaten alive. He probably would have had a good career, wife, kids. Maybe a dog. Pomeranian-
Something coughed behind him and Patrick slowly came out of his thoughts. Back into the classroom. Back into reality. Back to the motherfuckers who dared to mug him in daylight. He turned, eyeing the last human wheezing on the lilonium. Every breath was a gurgle making him seem like a dying fish out of water. Patrick tilted his head. [i That helped.]
Patrick lifted the shovel so quickly and with such ease, the man on the floor didn’t have time to scream. The skull popped with a satisfying crunch and Patrick felt a shiver of pleasure. That felt a little better. He brushed his clean hand through his thick hair before dipping into the pockets of the small gang of idiots who dared to fuck with him.
The young man exited the barricaded school with more than he expected. By now it was late afternoon, spending longer than he hoped in that pathetic excuse for a hideout. Taking the entrance stairs by two, he swung the shovel over his shoulder and briskly made his way through the suburban neighborhood hauling the overflowing gym bag in tow. It dragged heavily across the sidewalk but he wasn’t exactly worried about attracting the attention of undead visitors, not this far out from the city.
Factions claiming land in the capitals were just a bunch of brainless pride seekers. Making too much damn noise fighting amongst themselves for basic necessities. The zombs were eventually going to overrun them. In every town he visited, they always did...
Patrick continued his trek, walking through and past the modernized homes back into the surrounding park area that led to a hiking trail. Damian- no, Caesar- would have thought this was stupid. Living all the way out where no one could find him was like begging for abandonment, begging for death. Was that so fucked? He liked being alone.
The gym bag dropped heavily on the porch, Patrick unlocking the door and sliding the loot across the faded wood. He latched all six of the door locks before allowing himself a moment to relax. [i Safe]. The young man poured himself a hearty drink before unloading the weapons and putting away his newly obtained goods.
Patrick kicked off his military boots, peeled away the stained flannel and laid across the couch with his head towards the floor, staring at the dead leaves curling on the wood. As the liquor settled, he wondered not for the first time what it would be like to curl up like an autumn leaf and die.
Patrick shot up grasping his throat, his eyes frantically moving from the coffee table to ceiling beams to try and calm the surge that twisted in his chest. He closed his eyes and focused on calming his breath, frustrated again that his subconscious wouldn't let Caesar go. It’d been over a year, this was fucking ridiculous.
He pushed himself off the floor and checked the time on his watch. 11am. That was enough time to make it there and back for a new set of clothes.
[i Doesn’t matter what you wear.]
Patrick bit back the memory. He grabbed a water, popped an ibuprofen and made his out and down the hiking trail. The fresh scent of nature filled his nostrils, rejuvenating his mood from the dark reaches it often took. Caesar would have given up already.
The utility belt clanked against his side as he hurried down trying not to waste seconds of daylight. Maybe he would find something with a bit of color.
[i Black is your color.]
Patrick reached the town plaza at around one with only a few biters he greatly enjoyed chopping down to size. He stepped through the shattered glass of an Old Navy and glanced around cautiously. Choosing the hand axe as he crept forward, keeping every step light and his breathing softer. Then there past the men’s jackets was a tuff of brunette hair.
Patrick ducked down, feeling he was being watched. If that was the case it was human- not dead. This was not the time for an axe after all. He peeked through a few blouses, spotting the boots from across the department. He pulled out the pistol this time, choosing threat as the strategy for the day.
Patrick stood, flipping his long dark hair back and met gazes with the stranger. The man was rugged, built, a specimen worthy of taking Patrick on if he so chose. Time to start with a friendly introduction. “Hello fruit top,” he nodded, flashing a crooked smile. “Leave the mannequins be and I promise I won’t put in a bullet in that head of yours.” He nodded towards the broken display window. “Leave.” ]]