IV. Rooftops

16 Hours Ago

"Looks like as good of a place to spend the night as any," said Amy.

"It'll work," said Druce and I.

"Ishmael what do you think?" I asked, turning to face him.

The boy was sitting in the back with Amy. He had been stoic and silent for the better part of our journey. We departed from the Motel after we buried Emma, there wasn't a eulogy or a gravestone. Just a hole in the dirt. But that's better than nothing right?

"Ishmael, you hear me man?"


"Okay then, this place it is I guess."

This place referred to an imposingly large house t on the outskirts of Boston. It was situated on a lonely road, inhabited by only a few more fellow houses, and a crumbling brick wall separating their backyards from the woods beyond. It was a dull red, that was becoming darker with each moment. Night was almost upon us, and we couldn't afford to rest out in the open.

Soon we found ourselves exploring the inside of the house, everybody holstering a weapon and prepared to face the former occupants of the grand looking home. We discovered nothing however, alive or dead, and completed a full search of the house with no incidents. Soon heavy furniture was moved to block all the entrances to the home and all the windows and shades were closed to guarantee that no curious zombies would be attracted to the home.

After a silent meal of canned foods and stale bread we all headed upstairs, Druce and Amy gave a goodnight before retiring to their own rooms. We were too paranoid, or too smart, to all sleep at once. So Ishmael grabbed the first shift of watch, and situated himself on the large balcony that overlooked the street and front portion of the property. I set my watch to four hours and promptly collapsed on the bed that I was to call my own for the night. Soon the chiming ring of my watch caused me to awake, and I grabbed my heavy coat off the floor and headed towards the balcony.

One benefit of the apocalypse was the amount of clothing that could be found in homes and stores all across the country. The materialistic culture of the US was working in my favor in this instance, as all the most expensive and heavy duty coats in the market were now available for me to grab whenever I felt like it. The fact that I was a borderline medium-large meant that the vast majority of clothing that we found could be worn by me. If there was anything we ever had in surplus in those days, it was extra clothes.

As I opened the door to the balcony I saw what I pretty much expected to witness. Ishmael was sitting there, a pistol in his lap, and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his own heavy winter coat.

"Ho, seaman Ishmael. Any sightings of the white whale?" I said, imitating a pirate as closely as I could.

"I haven't seen anything out here all night."

"Ah come on man, not even a chuckle?"

Ishmael turned and stared at me, a look of intense dislike and displeasure on his face. He was clearly the farthest removed from a jovial mood as was possible, even under the current circumstances. He didn't even make a moment that implied he was going to leave his silent vigil and let me take over.

"Look man, I'm so sorry about Emma. I really am. But you can't let all the pain and sadness consume yourself, we'll need to keep moving if we ever want to make it out of this nightmare alive."

"Have you ever thought about this disease? The one that transforms us into them, that bite. It must be a mental disease."


"If there's one thing a man owns it is his mind. The life of a man can be stolen at any moment in any place. His soul consumed in ideological fervours. His heart by a lover or child. On some day the yearning beasts of insanity or dementia may rise in him. Poisoned blood is still the man's, so is a poisoned mind still his. Under torture a man's body will betray him and the tongue will give away. But the mind remains the property of the man. A man is his mind. And if the only way to destroy them is to destroy their brain then it must be a mental thing right? I believe this disease, whatever it is, is some kind of mental disease. It activated the killswitch for all our higher functions and most of our primal ones, such as the feelings of pain. It just keeps the most basic drive, Hunger. It shows us what we really are, just beasts who devour and devour and devour without thinking. I mean, thats pretty much what we already were isn't it? Just a bunch of stupid monkeys, killing each other and slaving away so we could consume whatever the newest smart product or eat a bunch of fast food. We're no fucking different then them!" as Ishmael had continued with his speech, his voice had grown more intense, and as he finished the last word his face was red, his breath almost completely used up.

"Jesus Christ man, what the hell is wrong with you? Sure the human species is full of greedy bastards and bloodthirsty killers, trust me I've know them pretty well. But that doesn't mean we should just give up and start saying that we're no different from them. Look at us, we can actually think and feel and love. Like that girl Emma, you must have loved her as a little sister. That makes us so much more than them, can't you see that?" I said, horrified by what I was hearing.
"You don't even get to fucking mention her name! She was the best person I ever met, and she didn't deserve what happened to her. What the fuck would you know about love huh? That stupid fucking broad that you constantly talk with huh? You just want a lay before you die huh?" as he said this he gave me a shove. And I heard a gasp.

By the open door that lead to the balcony was Amy, who had come to see what was going on when she heard the shouting. Her eyes were wide with surprise, but also full of fury.

"You... you, gaah!" she said and lunged at Ishmael.

I put my arm out and stopped her from getting to Ishmael.

"Let me go! Don't protect this piece of crap!" she started shouting.

"I can't let you."

"But why not?" she said angrily.

"Just watch."

When my fist connected with Ishmael's face his body slacked and he collapsed to the floor.

Four Hours Ago

"What are we going to do with Ishmael when he wakes up?" asked Druce.

"I have no idea. But we're not going to just leave him in that car, especially if we're going to have to go through this." I said.

The road into Boston was littered with wrecked cars, which made the road impassable by car. The decision to head towards the city had been made last night, any chance of a government or people run group would be in the city. And so they had driven upwards towards the city, but the road had become more and more cars until the point of making the entire road impassable.

"Guys, guys you need to look at this!" the shouting from Ishmael was panicked and loud.

The group of us turned around and then we saw them. A giant herd was coming towards us, hundreds of zombies were marching towards us. Ishmael ran out of the car and began to sprint towards us, yelling "We have to get the hell out of here guys!"

All four of us began zigging and zagging in between the cars and running in the opposite direction of the oncoming herd. My mind was engulfed in panic, but something in my head was still active enough to get me to think about where we would go. There weren't many different buildings ahead, the giant boulevard that stretched ahead of us was several lines wide and had very few buildings nearby. One was a rectangular brick building, with a large flat roof.

"The big brick building guys, if we can get onto that roof we might be able to hold them off or hide!"

And that's how we found ourselves in the situation we were in currently. Zombies coming through the door, only so much ammunition among us, and a mysterious group of people with guns below us.