Lost Kid

By Alexis Arinze

My name is Crystal White. I live in a zombie-infested world. I was no one before the outbreak occurred and remain no one after. I'm simply a kid who's fighting hard to not become one of them. I'm also fighting hard to find a way out of the maze in my head.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543447200

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

MEDITATION

I AM SITTING quite uncomfortably on a motel mattress. The world around me becomes blurry once I take my glasses off. I can barely see anything, one of the many perks of being legally-blind, but the outside noises remain prominent in my ears. I focus on finding some sort of inner peace while sitting cross-legged in a meditative state. It seems that all I do nowadays is meditate or sleep.

The next step, when my vision is gone, is to tune out the low grumbles coming from outside the motel window. Though I find it extremely difficult to ignore the horrible sounds. How can one ignore the sounds of brainless monsters who wish death upon you?

I let out a sigh of frustration and reach for my glasses. A successful meditation is only successful when one is able to forget everything. It clearly isn’t working because I still remember.

Forgetting will be almost impossible. A while ago, before the outbreak of course, I was told I inherited a perfect photographic memory from my birth parents. Like really perfect.

I grimace as the images of what happened two months ago invade my thoughts again. Blood is everywhere. They didn’t deserve to die like that. None of them did. The memories are too much for me to handle and silent tears stain my face. No amount of meditation can make someone forget the horror.

My group was massacred. They didn’t have the right equipment or bravery to survive against a pack of walkers. I had been with them for just a couple weeks after we crossed paths. They had actually felt bad for me. I couldn’t blame them. My petite frame and incredibly thick-rimmed glasses hinted at the fact that I was weak. That I needed them to survive.

I, unbeknownst to them, was used to being on my own. I preferred it in all honesty. I wasn’t even planning on joining the group to begin with. I had tried to continue on my way after our unexpected interaction.

A lot of good that did.

They begged for me to join them until I reluctantly agreed. I knew that growing attached to them would make it much harder when they died. I say when because I could see it in their faces as they were convincing me to join them. This life just wasn’t meant for them and I knew that. I think they knew that too.

I abruptly stand up to dust off my jeans. I then look down at the mattress. It’s starting to attract flies. I have to hold back a gag as I walk backwards from it.

It was either this motel or a walker-infested hotel. Can’t really complain.

Once the outbreak hit Arizona, everyone assumed barricading themselves in big hotels would be enough. Little did they know that there were people with bite marks amongst them. The unsuspecting inhabitants never stood a chance when a dozen people they had been cozying up with suddenly had a craving for flesh. Going inside one of those places now is like asking for a death wish. They’re practically crawling with walkers.

My body goes rigid when my phone suddenly starts to buzz in my duffel bag.

What the hell?

My phone stops buzzing but I can’t bring myself to walk over there. I stand mere feet away from the bag with a confused expression. All the phone lines are supposed to be down. Not to mention, none of my text messages have gone through to anyone. They never will because the cell towers have all been destroyed by infected.

How the hell is someone able to call me?

How weird, I murmur, licking my lips with nervousness as I make the first few steps over to my duffel bag.

Maybe the FBI or the government somehow fixed the signal problem. Maybe all the text messages I sent to my foster parents did go through. My mom’s likely overwhelming herself in grief, positive that the infected had gotten to me. I can imagine my dad getting frustrated while trying in vain to calm her down.

There’s no saying how guilty she must feel. After all, I’m only in Arizona because she sent me here for boarding school. This was while they stayed in Washington D.C., our hometown.

I don’t want my parents to feel guilty but I still can’t contain the jealousy I have. They live in a place full of powerful people. They likely have an entire military personnel right down the street, ready to protect them at the drop of a pin.

Meanwhile I’m stuck here without anyone to protect me.

I reach the bag and bend down to pick up my phone from one of the compartments. Disappointment rushes over me when I look at the screen. The buzzing was to indicate low battery.

I bite my bottom lip, feeling a bit irritated with myself for having hope. The phone lines will never magically start working. These brain-eating creatures are never going to cease to exist. This is the reality I’m living in. I need to lose what little shred of hope I have and just keep on surviving.

My phone buzzes once more before completely cutting off. I couldn’t call or text on it but having it around gave me comfort. An unexplainable sadness creeps over me at the thought of getting rid of it.

It’s just a phone, Crystal. Don’t be so dramatic.

It was also my last real connection to the old world. The world that had structure and order. The world that was supposed to guarantee us safety.

You’re not living in the old world anymore, are you?

I’m also not living in the world of sanity anymore, I whisper to myself.

I run my thumb across the red flip phone, memorizing every intricate detail about it. Every crack and dent I feel reminds me of how clumsy I used to be. Of how I still am. I feel like the phone itself tells a story about me. A story that can only be appreciated if analyzed closely. A story that sums up the life of me, Crystal White, as a quirky and clumsy mess of skin and bones.

I still remember how annoyed my parents would get each time they saw a new dent in it. And no matter how many times I complained about flip phones being outdated, they never bought me a new phone. They were always old-fashioned like that.

Why did they have to send me away to boarding school in stupid Scottsdale? If not for that, I would still be there with them.

A slight thump from behind the door travels inside. It doesn’t take me long to stride back to the mattress and grab my machete. The weapon is considerably large in stature. I get a good grip and listen closely for any more odd noises.

The noise doesn’t repeat and the machete loosens in my grip. I let it fall back on the mattress when a sudden fatigue sweeps over me. My body plops itself down on the mattress. Sleeping spells are especially dangerous to fall under. Sleeping means vulnerability.

I look down and notice I’m still holding the flip phone. I raise up my hand and hurl the phone at the wall. It shatters instantly. Now, along with my group, my phone is dead. Just like those walkers out there. Just like me.

I think of myself as already dead because I haven’t been feeling very alive lately. I’ve never felt alive either. Not even at my old school.

Arcadia High School was the school I went to back in Washington. The school itself drained the life out of me. The only joy I had there came directly from the library. I was very obsessed with reading anything in the supernatural genre at that time. My obsession quickly turned from reading to watching the entire Paranormal movies. From there, I even remember buying an Ouija board.

My infatuation with the supernatural arts had become evident to almost everyone. It wasn’t even considered serious for me until my parents caught me dabbling in some black magic. They called it witchcraft and wondered why I was ‘such an oddity.’ It struck deep when they said that but an immediate apology was said afterwards.

Though I can understand how weird the situation may have looked. Walking in on your teenage daughter lighting candles while trying to read from a book titled Dark Arts is not an average sight to a parent. I think it was my obsession and introverted ways that led them to send me to school in Scottsdale. That had to be the reason.

I, when looking at how the world is now, can hardly believe I used to enjoy reading about things such as creatures who craved for human flesh. It was all mindless fun to read about on the pages of a novel. Not so much when fiction became reality.

The deprivation of sleep catches up to me. I decide to cross my legs and go back to a meditative state of mind. The distant growls of night walkers sound further away this time. The entire world feels a million miles from me.

A smile touches my lips.

Finally.

CHAPTER 2

WITHOUT LOOKING BACK

A PUNGENT ODOR begins to waft around the room, stinging my nostrils as it does so. The source of the stench is my own doing. I, because of the lack of running water in most places, have not had a proper shower in what seems like years. I also found it hard to want to be clean after the massacre. Seeing so much death makes it hard to want anything.

Pack walkers are infected people who all clump together and happen to walk in a pack. No one hardly stumbles across them though. Infected typically like to hunt for ‘food’ when alone.

I cringe in disgust as the odor in the room continues to get more foul. I probably smell worse in comparison to the decaying bodies of my friends. Friends. I had never really had a lot of those throughout my life. I had never really known how it felt to be included in something beyond me and my books.

Anyways, it doesn’t really matter how the room smells. Or that the only group I managed to acquire is all dead. The motel room was just a temporary safe haven. It was something to protect me from the walkers. So was my group. They provided me with temporary safety. It obviously couldn’t stay that way forever because nothing is guaranteed anymore. It’s best to keep moving without looking back.

I grab my duffel bag and head over to the bed to get my machete. In the middle of doing so, I cautiously look through the motel windows. The early morning rays illuminate the sky, casting out a stunning orange-red color. It looks absolutely beautiful but one can’t be fooled by this illusion. What’s really out there doesn’t resemble our reality at all. I will be much more pleased if the sky is pitch black and the clouds emit non-stop rain and lighting.

I back away from the window, swing the bag over one shoulder, seize my machete, and walk over to the door. Breathing suddenly feels harder. An inkling of fear also captures me. I don’t know why I’m currently feeling this way. Stepping out into the unknown should feel normal by now.

With one hand on the doorknob, I look around the room to double-check if I have everything. It seems rather redundant considering the duffel bag, its contents, and the machete are the only things of my possession.

Never hurts to check though.

I take in a deep breath and twist the lock.

Click.

The sound of the door unlocking leaves an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’ve been through this moment more times than you can count so I should be used to this feeling. But I’m not.

I hurriedly open the door and step out before I get too invested in my fears. The cool morning breeze doesn’t catch me by surprise. It’s currently nearing the end of October, meaning it’s around that time where winter yearns to break free. Which means I’ll have to stock up on winter supplies: coats, blankets, canned foods, and more ammo of course. I only have two guns in my duffel bag but my ammo seems to be dwindling by the second.

I take a couple steps forward. An empty parking lot and the main office building are all I see. No walkers in sight.

My feet carry me towards the trees behind the office. It will be better to get where I’m going in the camouflage of the trees. It definitely beats walking along the open road where people or walkers can spot you.

I make it towards the trees and venture further onward. Whether it be out of fear, or adrenaline, I can already sense a walker before it comes into view. I immediately stop in my tracks to take cover.

The sluggish sound-movement of the walker becomes evident. What follows next is a tirade of twigs crunching under heavy feet. The sound is close, too close.

I let out an almost war-like cry and come up from behind the tree. The machete smashes down into the skull of the walker of its own accord. It happens too quickly for me get a clear look. I don’t bother when removing the machete from the walker’s skull. Probably better I don’t look.

The trees become no more. An old, run-down gas station comes into view. There doesn’t appear to be any infected around here. I squint to get a better look. I can barely see inside the store windows and a panic arises inside me. I don’t want to miss an opportunity to get food supplies. However, if my eyes can’t see through the windows, who knows what’s even in there?

My blindness is going to be the death of me, I mumble, continuing forward.

The sky seems to be getting clearer at an intense speed. It won’t be too long before the new day begins and survivors start roaming around. I need to avoid bumping into any of them at whatever cost. Given my bad luck, they’ll probably end up all dead just like the last group.

The automatic doors