Free 36 Hours by Anthony Barnhart Page B

Jack’s room splintered open. Snarls. Growls. Snorts. They were in. Cowering behind the bathroom door, I heard their feet running about the room, tearing at the walls and furniture, knocking stuff down. They hadn’t grabbed the door yet. I looked at the window, ten feet away. So far. So long. From the rooftop, Les yelled at me to hurry up, the noise resounding in the bathroom. The infected in the other room, I imagine, heard the noise and ran to the door, grabbing the knob and viciously tearing with incredibly rage. I could hear the doorknob rattling, and could feel the door bulging. The window. So far.
    Les: “Austin! Where the heck are you! Come on! ”
    I bolted for the window. I don’t know how I did it. My feet just carried me. It’s like when you don’t really want to do something, but know you should, or that you’ll be mad at yourself if you don’t, and without any reason or rhyme, you just end up doing it. Like you’re on auto-pilot. I think this is what happened to me. Because I don’t remember running across the bathroom floor and because I don’t remember climbing into the window, I think this must be what happened. And I don’t remember the door splintering apart as an infected busted a hole through it with his head, arms dangling out, torn and bloody, screaming Anthony Barnhart
    36 Hours
    53
    through those mangled, yellow teeth. I just remember them coming at me. And I kicked them. Arms grabbed my arms and pulled. But I kicked too hard, and my body twisted. Their arms came loose and I fell, flailing. The window fell away, and I could see Hannah and Les on the roof, gaping down at me as I fell. And I can remember watching them dwindle, and thinking, I’m falling. I’m going to hit. This is going to hurt. What a suck-filled way to end it all. Then I thought, Typical. And my back smashed into the deck, pain streaking through my body like pulsating lightning; and I caught the sensation of deck boards snapping all around me, splinters flying; then darkness, cool earth. Rolling. And I found myself bleeding all over, hiding underneath the deck. I had rolled away from the hole. I didn’t know if I could move, didn’t want to try. The pain was so intense. Warmth covered my back, and I knew it was blood. Because the soggy dirt under the deck was chilly. Light came down in a shaft from where I had broken through, illuminated rolling dirt and mud, some brambles, a large spider crawling through the sheared splinters and chunks of wood. The spider was big. I didn’t care. Closed my eyes. Just wanted it all to end. Pain. Pain. Pain.
    I could hear Les and Hannah’s voices, shouting down. And hurried footsteps over the deck. Right above me. The planks quaked, and dust fell down on me in currents. I kept completely still. It wasn’t that hard. I didn’t want to move at all. Light came down through the cracks, and several cracks across the deck blurred and shimmered as people walked across. The infected were looking for me. It wasn’t long at all until they found the hole. They knelt down next to it, and I could see hands sweeping down. I began to shake. The pain intensified. But I couldn’t stop. The hands swayed back and forth, pulled up. The blurred light faded, the footsteps disappeared, and the infected were gone.
    But I didn’t move.
    And I didn’t hear Les or Hannah’s voices.
    Had they fallen? Had they been killed? Had they met a violent end? I could see them, a splinter in the mind’s eye, running around, drunken with the disease, with sunken eyes and curled lips and a vehement aura. Only wanting one thing: to kill. I saw Les, one of my best friends, turned into a monster. And Hannah’s beauty transformed to disgust, her peace-loving and gentle touch now shaking with a lust for murder. Those thoughts. Tears swelled. I sniffled. They began to Anthony Barnhart
    36 Hours
    54
    crawl down my face, then came down in streams, and then I was sobbing. Just like Hannah.
    I remember people saying men need