We waited outside the first shelter. Infected approach from the back and right.

“Remember, they can’t see us,” our leather faced guide named Scotty said to me. “If your quiet, you should survive if they surround us.”

Do you know how terrifying it is to stand still and quiet watching two men attached to horses walk feet from you. You know they are searching for you but you just stand there.

All the infected smell. A potent stench. An unchecked body odor mixed with urine. Centaur have a horse stench smeared in crap. That scent struck me hard as I stood three feet from the brown, round body of the centaur. The human chest and head growled and searched. It’s eyes pale.

The bus door behind me rustled. Fear shook my spine. The centaur stopped. He stepped toward the noise and me. I froze.

The big door shook a second time. Scotty pressed his hand against the opening door closing it.

The centaur turned toward the noise. He stomped his feet impatiently. The human chest followed. It’s head and arms stretched forward, ready to grab me.

A pair of infected overwhelmed a group of survivors. The centaur paused, because of the commotion, trotted away taking the stench with him.

Scotty banged on the bus door and a thin, short haired woman appeared. She motioned to enter the bus and I didn’t hesitate to follow.

The woman sat in the driver’s seat. She closed the door carefully and I made my way through thin trails between mountains of trash. Scotty and I weaved through the bus to the back door. Crude stairs lead to the bus station. I heard the bus door open and a group of survivors rushed into the bus followed by an earthquake that rocked the bus.

I looked out the windows of the bus station to find the centaur leading a mob of infected. The centaur rushed the bus, hitting it with his large body. The buried tires rose from the ground. The trash within the bus collapsed leaving the driver at the front of the bus and some of the survivors buried. The centaur put a good size dent in the bus.

Scotty and I began to dig through piles of trash. We pulled survivors from the mess and created a new path to the front.

At the front of the bus, the woman leaned against the bus door. The infected were targeting the door. Pounding ferociously. The door jolted forward.

The bus was rocked again by the centaur and then a second time. The trash and content in the bus was scattered again.

Scotty and I pushed on the door till the woman could close it. She immediately spoke to someone on the walk-in. She asked for help.

I found some large plastic tubs and shoved them in the stairs by the bus door.

I was sure they would bust the door in at any moment. Scotty, to my surprise began to bang on the walls of the bus. The windows. This increased the noise and the violence.

I will be honest, I freaked out. I screamed at this strange man, his face covered in leather. He looked at me for a moment. Pointed to the glass at the bus station then continued.

Some of the infected began to pound on the glass surrounding the bus station till they heard the banging and returned to the bus.

“Stat… stat..” I recall the woman screaming as the bus doors were thrown open.

“We can’t stay here,” I said. “We need to move. Go over the crap. Don’t go through it.”

I began to climb over the trash and prompted the others to follow.

The door broke open again after Scotty wedged it closed. The arms breached first. The infected fell in a bunch over the metal stairs. They fought to stand. No thoughts about their infected brethren. Crushed hands, faces… it didn’t matter… they were getting in. Prompted us to move faster. The trash was difficult to traverse but it was better then being beaten to death.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes:

<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>