Chapter 7
Hunk limped down the alley, grimacing in pain, one hand gripping his bloody thigh and the other waving a pistol in front of him. It was so dark outside now that it was hard to see clearly. The alley was almost pitch dark, but there were streetlights at either end, giving him just enough light to see by.
He leaned against a wall and panted for breath. He was lucky to be alive, but unless he took care of his leg, that luck would run out. The hand holding his thigh was sticky with blood, and it was soaked into his pants. It was a bad cut, but it could have been much worse, given the circumstances.
When he saw that the streetcar was going to crash into the traffic jam, he did the first thing that came to mind, the only reasonable thing he could think of. He jumped out a window and prayed that he’d land on something soft.
He did his best to duck and roll when he hit the ground at almost 60 miles an hour, and was fortunate to hit soft grass instead of pavement. But the edge of the tracks was strewn with rocks, and his leg struck a sharp stone, gouging his thigh. It could have been so much worse, though. He could have severed his femoral artery and bled to death in seconds. Or broken his femur. Or fractured his skull, or broken his back, or impaled himself on a wooden signpost. Given the number of things that could have gone wrong, he considered himself incredibly lucky to have only suffered a single cut. The impact with the ground almost knocked him unconscious, but the wound to his leg was the only real injury he had suffered. He was banged up, but otherwise unharmed, which was more than he could say for the people who stayed on the streetcar.
When he finally came to, he saw the aftermath of the collision and doubted that anyone could have survived it. Even if they lived through the actual crash, Hunk saw that the wreckage was now completely surrounded by hundreds of zombies. The zombies were also coming in his direction, so he ran off as soon as he was able to stand.
Now, he needed some medical attention. He left the alley and crossed the street, looking all around for any stray zombies. He limped to a drug store on the corner and peered in the windows, but the place seemed empty. The automatic doors slid open when he approached and he entered the brightly-lit store, seeing rows of cosmetics, snacks, magazines, and other cheap products. He went through the store, looking for the first aid section.
A variety of adhesive bandages and pain pills lined the shelf, and Hunk sorted through them, taking some regular medical bandages and antibiotic cream. He also grabbed a soda and swallowed some ibuprofen to relieve his pounding headache.
To properly treat the wound on his leg, he cut open his cargo pants to reveal the extent of his injury. He dribbled hydrogen peroxide across the cut, then poured more onto a towel to wipe the excess blood away. He smeared antibiotic ointment on the uneven gash and then wrapped his thigh in bandages, tying them securely. It still hurt, but at least he could move around now without having to keep a hand on his leg.
A familiar groan nearby made him swung his gun up in self-defense. A zombie appeared at the end of the aisle, an elderly woman with a store uniform on. One of the store employees, apparently. She had no wounds that Hunk could see, so he guessed that she was part of the initial wave of zombies, the ones infected through the water supply in the early morning. He put a bullet in her forehead.
His pants had a gaping hole in them, so he wrapped the area in duct tape to protect it, and tried to think of anything at the store that he could use. Sadly, drug stores didn’t sell guns or ammunition, which was what he really needed.
He left the store and tried to think which way to go. He lost his bearings during the frantic ride in the streetcar, and wasn’t sure which direction the city park was. He walked out into the street and immediately saw an infected dog coming at him. He raised his gun, aimed carefully, and shot the dog right in the head as it ran across the street. It yelped once and flopped to the pavement, its bloody body glistening under the streetlight, and Hunk lowered his gun momentarily.
But before he had time to consider his next move, two more dogs appeared from a nearby house and immediately came running at him. Hunk braced himself and took careful aim, shooting one dog in the head and then swinging his gun at the other. He pulled the trigger just as the infected dog leaped, and the bullet blew the dog’s brains out. Hunk jumped out of the way as the corpse tumbled to the street.
He stood back up, his injured leg protesting, and looked all around, aiming his gun in front of him even though he knew that it was nearly empty. But there were no more dogs coming for him.
Something much, much worse was coming for him.
He froze in place as a creature like a giant skinned tiger stalked into the street from a store front plaza at the other end of the avenue. Hunk could see the creature clearly, even from here.
It was a Licker, one of the mutated creatures caused by the virus. The details escaped him, even though he’d read the reports, but looking at the creature was enough to freeze his blood in his veins. It was a nightmare made of sinew and blood, with teeth like steak knives, claws like razors, and a long tongue that whipped out of its mouth, giving it its name.
It snorted once and then immediately turned its gruesome head in Hunk’s direction, smelling him a block away. The creature growled and moved forward, its huge claws clacking on the asphalt loud enough for Hunk to hear.
The Licker bounded after him as he turned and ran. He didn’t even try to shoot it, knowing that a few bullets would barely slow it down. He bolted down the middle of the street, his leg screaming in pain, but he knew it was useless. He glanced back to see that the Licker had halved the distance between them and was gaining ground every step.
As Hunk reached the next intersection, he dove to the ground, sliding on his knees to the manhole cover right in the center of the street. With a shout of effort, he stuck his fingers into the handholds and lifted the heavy manhole cover up. He dove headfirst into the hole without a second thought.
The Licker jumped and swung a brutal talon at the edge of the manhole, missing Hunk’s legs by a fraction of a second. The creature howled and swatted aside the manhole cover, knocking it away as if it was a frisbee.
Hunk fell twelve feet down into the sewer tunnel and crashed to the ground like a pile of dirty laundry dropped down an elevator shaft. He covered his head with his arms and tilted to the side as he fell, so that he absorbed most of the impact with his upper body. The impact was enough to almost knock him out again, but he cried out in pain when his injured thigh slammed against the wet concrete, the pain keeping him conscious.
Dazed, he looked upward as the Licker jammed its narrow head into the opening and howled down at him. Its wide body would not fit and its jaws snapped angrily, trying to force its way inside.
“Go to hell,” Hunk muttered, gasping for breath.
Slowly, he rolled over and crawled a ways before trying to get to his feet. He needed to steady himself with one hand on the wall, but he was able to stand. He thanked God that he hadn’t broken his arm or his collarbone, although he was still in a lot of pain. Falling into the manhole like that could have broken his neck, but facing the Licker would result in an absolutely certain evisceration. Hunk was willing to risk a broken neck to avoid getting disemboweled.
The sewer tunnel was dark, but there were a few lights. On the plus side, he guessed that there were not any zombies down here, but it was far too claustrophobic for his tastes. If he did run into something, there was nowhere to hide. And he only had a few shots left.
Sighing in resignation, he began to limp down the tunnel. He might still be alive, but Hunk was fairly certain that eventually, his luck was going to run out.