Dead Eyes - A Blind Perspective of the Undead World
Chapter 1
My name is Felix and I am alone in the dark... Except for Libby – my golden retriever, and my useless eyes.
As I woke up to the gentle nudging of my dog, Libby, short for Liberty, I noticed it was much colder than the morning before. Another winter was coming, and I wasn’t prepared for the last one.
“Libby, fetch my cane,” I ordered her, as I begrudgingly got of bed to start another dank morning, grabbing the cane from her mouth. Guiding myself to the only working refrigerator that, I know of left in town, to get whatever of the little food I had left to begin breakfast. I keep the power running in my home through using bicycle-powered electric generators, quiet, efficient, and they keep me in shape. In the refrigerator I had a jug of tea I had “brewed” using a tea mix I had found, some ketchup and other condiments, and three cans of Dr. Pepper, one already open, but no food. I take the already opened can of Dr. Pepper and guide myself towards the cupboard. Feeling around for the handle of the cupboard I pull out the last can.
“I guess we’re having this for breakfast today Libby,” her pads tap the floor, “we’re going to have to go out and find more food.” I walk towards the counter towards the propane camping stove I have set up; the normal stove went out a while ago. I grab the box I have set next to the stove and light a match to start cooking. I take a sip of the Dr. Pepper I took out of the fridge as the contents of the can heat up, which must be beans from the sweet smoky smell. I scrape half the beans into a bowl I have set under the stove for Libby and leave the rest in the can for me to eat.
After scarfing down our minor breakfast I start towards the door and call Libby to me.
“Libby get a pop out of the fridge,” I tell her, I’ve got to take out for the road.
She returns with it as I reach onto the coat hanger for her vest that I had fitted with canvas sacks. I put it on her and I adorn my thick leather duster, my sling backpack, and my steel-toe boots, leaving my cane leaning on the wall. I then reach and grab the two most important items for our trip, Libby’s leash and a heavy crowbar that I have made a duct-taped handle for. I put on her leash and we head out the door.
We walk into the yard and Libby is quiet, as usual. I open the latch on the creaky gate of the picket fence, and walk through. I make sure and close the latch behind us; I don’t want any surprises after the way back. I head down the main road to the left of my home. We walk down the uneven cracked surface that had to be a side walk, we walk for what has to be around forty minutes or so when Libby stops, then I smell it, the rotting of a corpse directly in front of us. It had to have been just a corpse otherwise Libby would have growled to let me know. I cover my mouth and nose with my t-shirt as I try not to gag while I walk around the poor rotting soul. Good thing that I can only smell the body, it had to have been around for much too long. I keep my shirt over my face until we are completely passed the horrid smell.
We reach a place with a slight incline as I walk up towards it, and the sweet burning smell of gasoline is everywhere as I learn that I am in the lot of a gas station. I have no use for any gas, but the station itself may have a convenience store which may have food and hopefully some Dr. Pepper to feed my “small” caffeine addiction. “Libby find the door,” I order her hoping that the gas station has a store. Libby stops, I reach out and feel the smooth texture of glass, realizing I must be at either the door or the window; I reach around for a handle. I find it, but it’s locked. I grab my crowbar from where I had it strapped to my backpack, and try to wedge it into the door. It won’t fit. I reach under where I found the handle and there is another small pane of glass, considering that Libby hadn’t seen or heard anything so far, I bash it open.
As I crawl flat-palmed, trying not to get glass in my hands, through the small gap I had created for myself and Libby my hands start to feel sticky. I don’t smell anything as I stand up, that must mean there’s no corpse. I sniff my hand, it has the sweet smell of chocolate, and I realize that I just crawled through what had been old candy wrappers. I wipe my hands on my jeans. I feel for the near shelf and start feeling for supplies. Walking through the first aisles of the store I find nothing but a large jug which was filled with what smelled like orange juice. I put them in Libby’s packs. The next two shelves held absolutely nothing. But the forth shelf is where I got lucky. I found three armfuls of candy bars, just short of a dozen tin food cans, a can of shaving cream, and a pack of cheap razors. Next to check is the beverage coolers, I find nothing again in the first three and luckily find four twenty-ounce sized bottles. I put them into my backpack because I had entirely filled Libby’s vest.
I then feel the sudden urge to alleviate myself. “Libby, find the bathroom,” I order her. As I walk towards the bathroom a horrid smell fills my nose, another corpse. I push the door open, and start to gag. It had to be close. I bump into a sink on the far wall of the room; I trip, falling in the lap of what had to be the corpse. A hard metal object gashes my forehead; I stand up quickly hoping that the slash isn’t bleeding profusely and to make sure that the item was not covered in zombie blood. I feel around the lap of the carcass and find the item, it’s a revolver, and it’s dry. I try to open the chamber and all the bullets drop to the ground. I reach down on the ground looking for them, I find five bullets, one casing. The person had shot them self, they locked them self in the store, filled with supplies and a safe place to sleep, but they just couldn’t handle the loneliness, or guilt, or something. I start to vomit; the urge to use this tomb of bathroom is gone. I call Libby back to me and we leave this cursed gas station.
We walk back to the house, I approach the front gate on the same crumbled sidewalk as always, but this time something doesn’t feel right.
Libby follows close behind, her steps become soft and stiff. I stop as I push open the gate, it’s unlocked.
‘No…. It couldn’t be unlocked…”
I hear glass shatter and shuffling inside, accompanied by shouting.
“F***! F***! F***!” I murmur pissed. Thieves had made their way into my house and are ransacking all of my belongings. I begin planning all plans as to what I should do.
‘Do I go in there? How many are there? Do they have guns?’
Every possibility runs through my head. I go with bursting through the front door crowbar at the ready.
I kick open my front door, there’s complete silence as the looters cease rummaging through my home. It doesn’t last long before they’re on me striking me with fist and with must be a baseball bat or a board, surprisingly none but the one are armed. I retaliate with swings from crowbar, I only manage to land a couple of hits, Libby begins tearing at them, I hear cloth rip and bones crack in the chaos of the fight. Right after I shatter one of the thieves’ leg with a low blow another loud crack comes from the other end of the house, the hoodlums stop beating me, even Libby stop attacking.
A series of footsteps break the silence, they’re followed shortly by the screaming of one of the thugs.
“Holy S***! Is that a f***ing sword?! Cleveland! Mac! Let’s get the hell out of here!
”Grab the stiff’s bag and scram Lou”, another thug answers. It’s followed by the other bandit grabbing my pack and ripping it off of my back, my crowbar is knocked out of my hands. It clangs against the oak floor. Libby chases them to the front yard, her nails graze against the floor.
I begin tearing up, they had taken and destroyed everything I owned. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m still in danger, the threat that had caused the hoodlums to run was still in my house and closing in on me.
I feel cold steel against my neck; it digs into the side of my throat.
“Why didn’t you run like the rest of them?” The voice sounds young, around my age, with a soft tone to it. “Or are you just trying to play tough guy? Why shouldn’t I kill you?”
I swallow hard “I-I live here.”
There’s a pause, I feel the pressure of the sword lessen. My nameless savior lowers the blade.
“Well then. You’re lucky that I stumbled in here when I did otherwise they probably would have taken your life along with all your stuff.”
He reaches a hand towards me, I clumsily accept it.
“Funny how civil we can be after that, I’m Felix.” I shake his hand.
“Nice to meet you Felix, I’m Kenny. Sorry we couldn’t have met under better circumstances but hey, this is life now. So….”
“So….? We should get what’s left of my stuff and get out of here, they’ll probably be back with guns and more people.”
“Oh, oh.... You’re right. Have any other bags or anything to carry everything out of here?”
Libby clacks her way back into the house.
“Follow me,” I tell him, “I’ve got some things upstairs that you may like.”
I lead him up the stairs to my bedroom that I had lost all use for besides storage.
“Grab as many as you can and meet me back down stairs,” I point to the bedframe with a large pile of firearms and ammunition covering it. “There should be a duffle bag around here somewhere, fill it with what you can. I’ll see what’s left for food.”
“How did you get all these?”
“Don’t ask, just grab them, and let’s get out of here. Oh, and toss me that pack on the foot of the bed.”
I catch the bag and head down the stairs to the kitchen. Just as I had thought the looters had taken all of my food and ripped apart my refrigerator and cabinets in the process. The refrigerator door lies on the floor, now worthless.
I make my way to the den and begin filling the bag with a few books from my personal shelf, probably the only items of any entertainment value I still own, them and the old Ipod I keep in my pocket and never use in the city, for safety reasons. I leave space in the bag incase I’d need to stuff it with newly scavenged supplies.
I place myself on the recliner, Libby sets her head in my lap, I stroke her. I call upstairs, “Kyle! Er... Kenny! You done yet?”
“Almost! Give me a second.” I hear him grunt followed by a massive clatter.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Just kind of... dropped… some stuff.”
“Well, I’m packed down here. Try and hurry.”
“Will do.” Another clash.”
I pat Libby another time.
“Libby, can you find my crowbar?” She lifts her head and trosts off as if we were playing fetch.
Kenny clomps down the stairs, hefting the weapons as he nearly drops them again, just as Libby drops the prybar in my hands. I stand up and meet Kenny at the front door.
“Ready to go this time?” I kid him, even in our dire situation.
“More like are YOU ready?” He slaps a pistols into his hands.
“I can’t use this.” I push it back into his hand.
“Well, why the hell not?”
“You haven’t noticed yet?”
“What do you mean I haven’t noticed yet?”
I gesture to where I had left my cane before I had taken the now pointless trip of gathering supplies, then to my eyes.
There’s a pause.
“You’re blind? How? What? How did I not notice? How are you even still alive? How…?”
I stop his curious questioning. “Shouldn’t we be going?”
“Uh… Yeah.” His reply is delayed and awkward.
We leave my home, both of us speechless, Libby glad to see another friendly face.
I lock the gate one last time.
MORE WILL BE POSTED AFTER I GET SOME REVIEWS :3
