Free Dead Eyes: A Tale From The Zombie Plague by James Dwyer Page B

upon me, the anger and bitterness still visible behind those hateful clouded eyes. “They should throw you into the stake pit with the other scum.”
    “Enough!” I said, standing up and walking around the room.
    I had to take my mind off things, to clear this menace from my thoughts. Willing him away would not work. I focused on what was tangible, the reality around me.
    The tent I had been placed in was some sort of holding area, with four canvas bunks. There were no personal belongings here, no signs of anyone having made this their home. I noticed a patch of darkness on one of the beds and moved in closer. It was a bloodstain. Someone had tried to clean it and had removed most of the gore. The reddish tint to the stain gave it away.
    My thoughts travelled back to Maggie and what she had said when I came in. That they had found a cure for the disease. The hunger. Could it be possible? Some way to prevent the infection spreading? If they had found a cure for the zombie plague, perhaps there was a hope for me. If you could prevent the dead from rising, surely you could prevent someone from going blind?
    This realisation, this small glimmer of hope, relaxed me a great deal. All thoughts of my breakdown disappeared from my mind.
    There was a small plastic window in the tent, just at the top between the roof and the wall. I decided to take a look at the camp, not having had much of a look around upon my arrival. Unsure if I was allowed to leave the tent or not, I pulled across one of the beds and climbed up on top so I could see out the window.
    The area outside was a hive of activity, with uniformed survivors moving busily back and forth. I couldn’t see the survivor’s uniforms clearly through the plastic window. They didn’t appear to be military or have any identification marks. More like army fatigues salvaged from somewhere.
    Most of the activity was focused on two large 4x4s. Each of the jeeps had been modified to hold a dangerous looking metal guard on all sides. An improvised way to keep the zombies at bay. Seemed to me that the camp felt large sharp weapons were the best way to defend against the undead menace. It must have worked for them so far.
    I spotted a group of survivors led by what must have been the camp leader walking towards me and quickly ducked out of sight. I moved the bed back to where it was and sat down where Maggie left me. This time I would make a good impression.
    The canvas door was pulled back and a stern, grey haired man entered followed by three new faces and Maggie. I moved to stand but he gestured for me to stay seated. He looked me up and down as he walked towards me, stopping a few feet away. Keeping a safe distance. “Are you carrying any weapons?” he asked.
    “I have a pistol and some tools,” I said, reaching around to my backpack.
    It was gone. Impossible. I began searching through my things, embarrassed that I had lost the weapon, my lifeline on so many occasions.
    Maggie laughed and reached to the back of her belt. “I have it here,” she said, producing my service pistol from behind her back.
    “Sorry for the deception,” said the grey haired man,  “A small test to judge your character. If you had hidden the weapon from us, there would have been complications.”
    “So I passed?” I asked, a little irritated that I had been pickpocketed so easily.
    The grey haired man chose not to reply.
    Maggie walked over and handed my pistol back to me. “You could have just asked me for my gun,” I said, “I didn’t travel all this way to cause trouble.”
    “We couldn’t know that.”
    The grey haired man took a seat on the bed opposite, relaxing slightly as he came down to my eye level. “My name is Captain Stone. I’m not really military or anything, it’s just a nickname from the other survivors that has stuck. I am in charge of this base and responsible for everyone inside. That now includes you.”
    I offered him my hand to shake. “I’m sorry, no physical