Uh... trigger warning for gore?

Jayson

Elko, Nevada

Nevada sucked balls. The entire state was one long ass freeway meandering from one end of the state to the other, with a smattering of tiny towns and maybe a couple of cities, excluding Vegas and Reno. The landscape consisted of endless desert among mountain ranges, dotted with sparse vegetation and cacti.

Despite the smaller population compared to Arizona, providing relatively safe travel, the drive was lonely. Too late to say sorry and unable to communicate lest those government creeps trailed him, Jayson was officially on his own. Well, unless he counted the stray animals and rotting carcasses on the side of the road.

He'd driven well into the night and all the way into the morning until the sun rose above the mountains. If not for the need to refuel, he would have pushed on despite his growing fatigue and constant migraine.

Staring at the eerily silent city ahead, Jayson sighed. A population of twenty thousand wasn't any less deadly than that of one and a half million. All it took was one bite. One bite, and he'd be a mindless Soapie like the rest.

Abandoned cars littered the freeways, doors open and personal belongings spilled onto the asphalt. Dried blood smeared cracked ground and dented metal alike; small streaks of red barely visible beneath a thin sheen of morning ice.

A crow picked at an unidentifiable lump ahead, and Jayson tilted his head, watching in both fascination and disgust. Oblivious to his presence, the bird plucked something from the mound, unaffected by the disease.

Huh.

Storing this immunity in the back of his mind for later, Jayson observed the animal until its head shot up. A crash nearby made him jump, and the crow immediately took flight. It didn't go far; a gray cat with open sores and blood matted to its fur darted across the hood of two adjacent cars, leaping into the air and catching the bird. A loud squawk cut short echoed in the heavy air as the cat landed and tore into its prey.

Jayson froze, keeping one hand on the rifle in the passenger seat. His first instinct was to put the Soapie out of its misery, but a gunshot would only attract more.

He held his breath and waited for the animal to finish eating as feathers scattered and blood soaked the pavement.

Groans joined the noise of teeth tearing into flesh, whether from the smell of fresh meat or the cat's snarls acting as a lure, followed by Soapies emerging from the shadows. Men, women, children, and elderly, all in tattered clothing and various states of decomposition — eyes missing from sockets, bone showing beneath sinew and muscle, and chunks of flesh torn off — approached the animal with hunger reflecting in their milky white eyes.

Okay, this was officially a bad idea. Jayson didn't need gas this much. There had to be another gas station somewhere on the outskirts, a hole in the wall station that wasn't so densely populated.

Engine still idling and foot still on the brake, Jayson shifted the vehicle into reverse. Then he eased the pressure on the pedal and prepared to turn. So far, so...

"Jesus!"

He glanced to his left out of habit to check for obstacles and jumped. A Soapie, a man dressed in a flannel shirt, bared his rotted teeth and growled. Deep gashes marred right half of his face, and the bottom half of his nose looked like it had been chewed off.

As Jayson fell toward the center between the seats, his foot released the brake, causing the vehicle to continue in reverse and leave the angry Soapie behind. Undeterred, the man gave chase, hobbling on his left leg twisted at the knee.

Scrambling back into the driver's seat, Jayson pressed the gas and spun the wheel, maneuvering the truck in a sloppy three-point turn. The back end made contact with the Soapie, jolting the vehicle as Jayson sped back down the way he came.

In his side and rearview mirrors, more Soapies gave chase, abandoning the cat for better prey. One by one, they disappeared as he created more distance between them, and Jayson took a deep breath, relieved by his narrow escape.

The reprieve was short lived — a tire on the passenger side popped, sending the vehicle swerving on the ice. Jayson moved the wheel in the direction of the skid, trying to regain control, but the truck continued to spin until it went off the road.

Letting go of the wheel, Jayson reached for his seatbelt, preparing for the worst as the uneven terrain jostled him around like a puppy with its favorite chew toy. He struggled to click the belt in place, cursing when it refused to lock. A sign loomed ahead, and he squeezed his eyes shut at the last second.

His mind was woefully blank as the truck slammed into the post, pitching Jayson forward into the wheel. The airbags deployed with a bang, smacking him in the face. Pain beginning in his nose quickly spread behind his eyes while something else pounded into his temple.

Every part of his body throbbed, his heart raced past unhealthy levels, and his head spun in dizzying circles. The act of breathing hurt, stabbing his ribs with a white hot poker of agony.

At least the Soapies didn't get me, he thought to himself before succumbing to the overwhelming fog blanketing his mind.

A pair of fingers pressed into Jayson's neck, pulling him from his stupor. His eyes snapped open, only for him to squeeze them closed again. Something hot and wet obstructed his left eye, and his cheek felt like it had grown to the size of a grapefruit.

Whoever touched Jayson removed their fingers and touched his face instead, forcing the right eye open and shining a small light onto it. Jayson feebly swatted at it, gasping as his rib screamed at the movement.

"Hey, it's alright," a masculine voice whispered. "I had to make sure you haven't turned."

"Huh?"

Oh, right. The Soapies and all that. Why couldn't the universe just let him die? First, hallucinations, and now this?

"Just leave me," Jayson rasped. "I'm not worth saving."

Not worth saving, not worth redeeming. No one should waste their time on a fucked up man off his meds in the zombie apocalypse. He'd probably endanger people before he offered any real help.

"I don't believe that," the man replied, ignoring Jayson's request. "Can you move your neck?"

That was a good question. Even in his confused state, his training clicked inside the back of his mind, reminding him about the dangers of moving someone with a head injury. However, with the apocalypse reigning supreme, medical attention was unlikely, and this stranger probably felt compelled to move him anyway.

Slowly, Jayson turned his head toward the source of the voice and opened his right eye. Squinting in the sunlight, he identified a young man with bronze colored skin and a short beard — no older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight — stared back at him with concern lining his smooth forehead.

Immediately, Jayson's first thought was this man had been cheated. He had his entire life ahead of him to achieve brilliant things and experience the milestones that came with age, only to have it ripped away by a stupid zombie pandemic.

The genuine distress in the stranger's gaze reminded Jayson of Taylor. He, too, was a gentle soul, too good for this crappy world. And though Jayson knew nothing about this man or if he truly was a good samaritan, he couldn't help drawing comfort from the reminder.

He didn't deserve to think of Taylor or to wonder how he was doing, but deep sadness settled over Jayson's heart anyway. Already, he desperately missed him, wishing more than ever he could apologize.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, alright?"

Jayson didn't answer. There was no point, and this man was going to do whatever he wanted anyway.

"Hey, Billy!" the stranger called. "He's alive. Help me get him out."

"You sure he ain't infected?" the other man cautioned. "We don't need another outbreak, and we're already short on food."

"Ma would have taken him in," the man snapped.  "She would be ashamed if she heard you say that."

"Well, Ma ain't here no more, is she?"

"Really, you can leave me," Jayson said, too tired to listen to the men bicker. "You need to think of yourselves."

"Ugh, not you, too." Slipping his arms beneath Jayson, he continued. "I ain't leavin' anyone behind. We have a small group nearby at one of the motels we cleared out. It's not far, and there's plenty of room for one more."

Jayson couldn't respond, except to scream as a second pair of hands joined the first and pulled him from the vehicle. It was as if he was being crushed from the inside out, hammering against every bone in his body.

He was then placed in the backseat of another vehicle, and the odor of stale cigarettes and marijuana invaded his nostrils, joining the dust of the ratty cloth seats beneath him.

In what seemed like minutes, the first man slid into the back with him and placed a rolled up piece of cloth under Jayson's neck. The second man, Billy, climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door. He dropped something into the passenger seat with a thump before turning the ignition.

He said nothing as the car rolled forward while the second man shifted to face Jayson. His eyebrows furrowed as he maintained his vigil, making Jayson chuckle despite the pain.

"You should see the other guy," he joked.

The young man's lip quirked upward at the corner, revealing a dimple in his left cheek. "You look awful."

Yeah, he probably did. Jayson wouldn't win a beauty contest any time soon; not unless he competed against boxers after a vicious fight.

"What are you talking about? I'm fabulous."

The other man chuckled and shook his head. "You're well enough to make jokes, so I guess that's good. What were you doin' out here all alone in a military truck?"

"Found it on the side of the road." A half-truth. It wasn't like the soldiers Jayson had left behind needed it now.

Exhaustion promising to pull him under again, Jayson closed his good eye. A bump in the road made him wince, but he had no energy left to voice his discomfort.

"We'll be at the motel soon," the stranger promised. "We can patch you up there."

"If he makes it," Billy muttered.

"Man, shut up! We wouldn't be alive without our friends, and you know it. The least we can do is return the favor."

The sudden shouting made the pounding behind Jayson's eyes worse, and his stomach churned with nausea.

When he groaned, the other man sighed and dropped his voice. "Don't mind him. My brother don't trust easily."

"I wonder why," Billy said in a dry voice. "If it wasn't the cops before all this shit went down, it's gangs out for themselves, actin' a fool and havin' zombie fights or killin' for no reason. You're too trustin', Eli."

"Well, it ain't like he can fight back," Eli retorted.

"And what's gonna happen once he's better? Did ya forget the last person we tried to help?"

Silence descended between the pair, and Jayson wondered what happened to make Billy so paranoid. Not that Jayson blamed him — he'd been wary of the government the entire time he'd been at the facility. But in a post apocalyptic world where community could make or break survival, Jayson had hoped a sliver of humanity had remained.

Apparently it hadn't.

Forcing his eyes open, Jayson reached for Eli with a trembling hand. "I don't know what you've been through," he said with a cough and gasping through a new wave of pain, "but I don't plan on hurting anyone. I can be on my way once I'm better."

"You won't get anywhere in that condition," Billy intoned with a snort. "Still, I'll be keepin' an eye on ya, so don't try nothin' crazy. I ain't afraid to put a bullet between your eyes if it means protecting our community."

Fair enough. Jayson would have felt that way too if his friends were still with him.

Eli rolled his eyes. "I have a good feeling this time, Billy. Let him get better and prove himself. You'll see I ain't wrong."

If Jayson could have laughed, he would have. Eli definitely reminded him of Taylor — in his eyes, there was good in everyone. The world wasn't the horrible place everyone warned him about, and not everyone was out to screw each other over.

The conversation dissolved after that, and the steady thrum of the car on the road quickly lulled Jayson back into a restless slumber. He was safe for now, and regardless of his survival chances, he took comfort in Eli's presence. At least if Jayson died, he wouldn't be alone, and though he knew Eli wasn't Taylor, it was nice to think someone else in the world still cared about others.

Perhaps hope wasn't lost after all.

Hi hi!

It's been a hot minute since my last update, and I apologize. My ferret passed away in November, and even though she was old as hell, her screaming seizures hit too close to home. Add work and Covid (again), and I really haven't been up to the task of writing.

Anyway, Jayson has been on my mind a bit, and I wanted to revisit his redemption arc now that he's out in the world of the undead. After all, this is a zombie story.

What do you think of Eli and Billy?

Any thoughts on what to expect?

Anything y'all want to see moving forward?

Let me know in the comments! If you loved this story, don't forget to vote. Thank you all so much for reading!