Dead Endz

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1

John Doe?

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His head hurt.

A lot.

He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the gravel in front of his face. Clenching his teeth against the throbbing pain, he sat up and brushed away the tiny pebbles of sand from his cheek.

Where the hell am I?

It wasn’t every day that he woke up in an alley, sprawled out in the dirt. Nothing looked familiar and the silence was deafening. It was eerie how quiet it was; there weren’t any sounds from traffic, no hums from any of the nearby air conditioning units, not even a single bird chirping from the trees. He felt like he was in an old black and white episode of the Twilight Zone.

He looked around, relieved to be alone in such a state of mind. Scratch that – there was a crow picking at a headless body nearby, and three zombies, about fifty feet away, staggering toward him.

What the f**k?!

He stumbled to his feet, watching incredulously as the figures, along with their pungent smell, edged closer.

So maybe he’d lost his freakin’ mind?

His mind was foggy; in fact, he couldn’t remember anything – not why he’d been unconscious, why a headless man was lying next to him, why dead people were walking above ground. Most importantly, he couldn’t even remember who the hell he was. From the pain in his head, he’d obviously been hit in the melon and it was making him forget all of the important details.

The nasty stench drifted closer – a mixture of rotten eggs and fresh dog s**t. Yes, he could definitely smell, which meant he wasn’t dreaming, and from the look of things, kind of screwed.

One of the zombies moaned its excitement and it sent a chill up his spine. The damn thing was staring at him as if he was a succulent piece of Kobe steak, served extra-rare.

He grunted.

I don’t think so, buddy.

As the distance between them closed, its face twisted into a sickly grin. From the hungry stares of all three zombies, and their outstretched arms, they definitely wanted more than a hug.

He shook his head and smiled humorlessly. The walking f*****g dead...

Well, the two men and one female were beyond dead with their rotted flesh, missing appendages, grayish skin, and bloodshot eyes. But their hunger was alive and obviously not sated.

Sighing, he looked around for something to defend himself with. What he found was nothing short of a miracle – an ax, leaning up against one of the garage doors. He walked over, picked it up, and moved toward the zombies.

***

Twenty minutes later, he was taking a cold shower in an abandoned house. The electricity wasn’t working, but fortunately, the water was. After locking the doors and locating a few toiletries, along with some clothing, he began washing the bloody grime from his body.

Cold showers sucked but it was better than nothing.

He closed his eyes as the icy water sprayed over his face, sighing as brief flashes of images popped into his head. One in particular was starting to really piss him off. Some soldier, a blond guy with a cocky grin who’d threatened someone close to him. Someone named... Tex?

His mind went blank again and he smacked the shower wall in frustration. He was so close to something just dangling at the edge of his brain – something about Atlanta. He knew with certainty that it was vital he get to Atlanta.

Was he in Atlanta?

He had no idea which city or state he was in. He’d have to look around the house for bills or other clues.

He finished the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and then located some acetaminophen in the medicine cabinet. When his headache became manageable, he dressed in the faded Levis and a T-shirt he’d located in one of the man’s chests. Fortunately, they fit, although the shirt, which had a pair of owl eyes and announced, “I Love Hooters,” was a little snug.

He smiled and shook his head. He might not remember exactly who he was, but he certainly remembered eating wings at that particular restaurant.

Thinking of buffalo wings, his stomach began to growl, so he headed down to the kitchen where he found a single can of ravioli. He washed the meal down with a warm bottle of beer he’d found in the fridge and belched his approval. Then he grabbed the ax and went into the garage, where he located another lifeline. Someone appeared to be looking out for him.

“Nice,” he said with a nod, admiring the black Harley V-Rod the homeowner had abandoned, a key on the ground next to it. It was in excellent shape and had obviously been someone’s pride and joy. Now it was his ride to Atlanta, and hopefully, to some answers. Amazingly enough, even with his memory loss, he was quite confident of his riding abilities; he definitely knew bikes.

Fifteen minutes later, after locating a map, he got on the motorcycle and headed toward his destination, which luckily, was only an hour away.