Runner 5

Sam had left a note for me last night for the other runners to give to me, but I hadn't seen it until this morning. I had fallen into my bed face first and didn't wake until a shaft of light blinded me into consciousness. I was reading it when they approached me.

Dr. “Call me Maxine” Meyers startled me with her cheerful greeting. She was overeager to seem happy to have me in the township. “We need all the help we can get” and all that.

I turned to see Sam sheepishly looking at me, then to Maxine. He agreed with her, but seemed hesitant to complete his thought. It sounded like he wanted to ask something of me, but didn't want to impose. Maxine didn't look like she had any problems with asking.

She said the township had made a mistake and had sent some runners to a warehouse for supplies. They had failed to see incoming dead in time and their runners had to set fire to the warehouse to get away, leaving many of the runners out of commission due to smoke inhalation.

I could hear it coming, but it didn't make me feel any less bothered. I don't even get a day to rest. There had been zero time to process anything that had happened to me. How much time had I lost? What happened to me? How did I get here? Why were people shooting at the helicopter I was in? Why did the pilot push me out to save me and not themselves?

I had expected at the very least for whomever was in charge to question me. For the doctor in front of me to look me over. (I had not only come from the scene of a traumatic chopper crash, but came very close to being zombie chow. I guess your priorities change when every day is a new trauma.)

Signing food in Sam's direction, seemingly as a group, he appeared to lead us to the kitchen. I guess the ASL “food” sign is rather self-explanatory (touching the fingertips of one hand together, then bringing it to the mouth twice in a small movement as if mimicking eating).

As I picked up a tray with my breakfast on it, we sat down at a wooden bench as the radio operator took over where the good doctor left off. “We need everyone to be as fast as possible,” Sam says as he glanced at me. I guess that takes me out of the running. (HA!)

I can barely walk on my own without my crutches. Before everything went to hell, I'd use my wheelchair for long distances. It just wasn't feasible for me to use my “sticks” over long distances. It was exhausting, and I would always get blisters on my hands. Not to mention the pain everywhere else. Pain may be just a part of my life now, but I had no wish to increase it. I don't remember what it was like without it. The SI belt I woke up with does help, but I can't wear that all hours of the day.

They droned on as I looked out over their settlement. It had been pretty early when I'd left my lodging, and the breeze was still slightly cool. I had never been out of the continental United States, so I had no idea if this was normal weather or not for this area. I still wasn't entirely positive where I was, aside from “not in Kansas anymore.”

A couple kids threw a ball, hitting the bench near my leg. Throwing back the ball, I looked to my companions. “…we're going to start with a 10-minute walk, just around the rec yard.”

What‽ My eyebrows furrowed as I looked from Maxine to Sam. They can't be serious. Mind reeling, I started signing all the reasons why that was a stupid idea, but Maxine didn't even appear to be looking at me. Her gaze was off into the distance, flying into the damn clouds, I guess. To be a runner, I would need to wear a headset to keep in touch with the township. Did Sam even have a headset I could use?

I noticed the ones he and the other runners wore had one ear cup with a microphone attached. But it was for the left ear. That wouldn't work for me. The headset I had run (more like limped) to Abel Township with was damaged as I made the last dash to the gates. In the chaos, the guards had knocked into me as they tried to rush me through the gates. When I handed them to Sam, one of the ear cups came completely off.

Sam stood from the bench and offered me his hand. I looked at it a moment before my hand slid into his. His hand was warm, soft, and seemed so much stronger than mine. His fingers slowly closed over mine, and he gently pulled me up to stand with him. Maxine appeared to be running on autopilot behind us, chattering about training schedules. I'm not entirely certain she's even really looked at me since I've arrived.

I couldn't help but notice how much taller Sam was from myself. He seemed to hunch his body in, making himself seem smaller, less threatening. Either that had been a problem in the past, or perhaps he had issues with confidence? He appeared to be a good person, regardless. I've been proven wrong before, but I hope this wasn't one of those times.

The training yard appeared in front of us, a dusty area off to the side of the rest of the township, near the gates. Crude chalk lines drawn in a circle to make a track for the runners to race along. To the side, there appeared to be a tire obstacle course.

Maxine continued to drone on, giving instructions on how to go about running around the track. As I began to do as she bade me, Sam took a place at my side and smiled gently at me. He did as I did, following Maxine's drills with me.

Half an hour or so later, the doctor released me from the circle of hell that was training drills. Sam laughed and mentioned he'd managed to get me a hot shower, which was greatly welcomed after the cold one I'd experienced last night after the crap show I'd been through.

Maxine seemed extremely surprised and was incredibly interested in how he'd managed that, until he mentioned persuading a man named Rajit. Sam promised Rajit that he would read the novel Rajit has been peddling around the township in exchange for a hot shower for me. I don't understand why he would do that for me, a stranger. Especially when they both inferred that the novel in question the equivalent to a bad horror movie.

They gave me the novel as a “reward”. I'm trapped here with smart asses.

After I stopped messing with my phone, I turned my attention to the helicopter pilot's mouth to help me figure out what she was saying to me.

The headset she wore partially obscured her lips – not enough to make it completely impossible, but it was still a pain in my butt. I had turned toward her, and as I did, I finally realized she was speaking to someone at (presumably) our destination, not to me. Her lips formed what I later learned were the words “Mullins Military Base”, but I'd always had a hard time figuring out when others said L-words, so my mind stopped processing words at that point. (Lip reading is hard at the best of times, you try it after all the crap I've been dealing with!)

I turned my gaze to the view below. Lush greenery greeted me, seemingly at odds with the bones of the buildings dotted among them. Burned-out vehicles lined the roads, and I thought I occasionally spotted what the remains of humanity had morbidly dubbed “zoms”. I still expect to wake up laughing that I'd dreamed I'd lived in a zombie movie. Still waiting on that, honestly.

The pilot, whose uniform informed me her name was Barnaby, started speaking to me as if I knew what was going on. We were dropping supplies off to a group that called themselves Abel Township, but the military had lied about the amount, and I had a secret mission? Maybe my lip-reading was off, or I processed the information incorrectly, which wouldn't be the first time.

But ultimately, deciphering her speech didn't matter. The helicopter shook violently as Barnaby began speaking hurriedly to whom I assumed was the township, telling them that the helicopter had been fired upon. I felt the helicopter shudder throughout my body as the sound of a great boom registered in my good ear. Hell, I think I even heard it in my bad one, but everything happened so fast I couldn't be certain.

I registered the pilot telling the township that a rocket launcher hit us: then she unbuckled my safety belt; put my hand around a pull tab on a strap on my uniform; pushed me to open the door on my side; then pushed me out!

The ground rushed to greet me as I almost belatedly remembered the tab in my hand. I pulled it as hard as I could, then my entire body was jarred as my descent slowed exponentially. The wind was so loud, everything was white noise, and it felt like every nightmare before this was nothing.

My eyes were heavy and dry. My hand grasped at my face, making sure my glasses were still there. Wouldn't that be my luck? To survive this only to find myself unable to see where I'd landed!

Thankfully, they were still there, but I grabbed them in my fist, knowing that my meeting with the ground would likely knock them off. I quickly found myself banging into trees.

The noise from the crash agitated the surrounding dead. When I landed, the voice in my headset (I later learned his name was Sam Yao, I must've missed his introduction in my panic) encouraged me to head for a tower I could see in the distance. I could feel a SI belt around my hips and waist; the thoughts flashing into my head how long was I out and how did they know‽, but I violently shelved them, or I would collapse under the stress.

As I made it to the tower, Sam then directed me to a sawmill. He was right, I could see faded red signs that directed me to it. Thankfully, the way led me away from the cemetery of civilization, but there was still a fairly large amount of risen dead wanting to make my acquaintance.

I was almost halfway to the mill when another voice sounded through my headset. She said she was the township's medic. She and Sam started arguing with each other, and honestly, I had checked out of the conversation. I'd spotted more street signs and almost stopped moving in my shock.

I'm not in America. I'm not in America. I'M NOT IN AMERICA! Where the hell am I‽ Yes, everyone I'd heard since I'd awoken on that cot had an accent, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

I checked back into the conversation when I heard the medic mention a hospital. She wanted me to run into the Underworld itself to gather supplies, or they wouldn't allow entry to their group.

Did I want that? Ever since I was picked up by my country's military, everything had been muddled and confusing. Where was I? How'd I get here? How am I going to get home?

I changed direction and moved toward the hospital. I am in an unfamiliar place. If I want to get out of here alive, I'll need to learn more. I had a better chance of that if I cooperated. At least for now. Besides, I knew hospitals. Maybe I could find something useful.

As I made my way there, Sam seemed to chatter anxiously to me. “I’m gonna call you Runner Five”, he said. Apparently calling me by the call sign of his deceased sort-of girlfriend Alice is okay now in the zombie wasteland apocalypse… Am I making that into a bigger thing than it needs to be? I don't even know anymore.

Sam wanted me to find an “official-looking file” for “the Doc” (I guess I missed the part when she said she was a doctor). Lovely. That's not vague at all.

Ducking between two cars, I hedged my way silently past the parking lot and made my way through an open side door of the hospital that was wedged forever open by a body. The disconnect of how cheerily nonchalant the voices on the other end of the com do their damnedest to convince me to run headfirst into this mass open grave are sharp. I nudge the body to make sure it won't try to eat me if I stepped over it.

The inside of the hospital was even worse. I… I am not ready to describe it here. Except to say, that I will forever feel gratitude and sorrow to the person whose backpack I'd taken from their body to carry my supplies. May your memory be for a blessing.

I grabbed anything of use. It was clear that not many had braved the army of Hades outside. Or perhaps they'd joined the ranks if they had? I tried not to think about it.

On the third floor, I spotted a black binder with the words “Centers for Disease Control” on it. That looked pretty “official-looking” to me! I grabbed it and picked my way back the way I came. The less time spent there, the better.

Sam piped up once I'd left the cursed place of healing; and the medic (Dr. Meyers, I think her name was now that I'm thinking about it) talked down to me like I was an idiot who wouldn't know important if it bit me. That's fine, being underestimated can be used as an advantage. It's just infuriating.

The horde from the parking lot had followed me. I had tripped on my way back out of the side door, and they must have heard me? Meyers said I wasn't too far from Abel Township's gates, and they'd send people with guns to meet me, which, in hindsight, sounded like she threatened to murder me.

Maybe she was, and I am too traumatized to recognize it.

Sam broke me out of my thoughts as he started anxiously rambling about how the zoms were running and how they never run. Then lost his mind when he realized the one closest to catching up to me was the old Runner 5. You know, his “sort-of” crush (possibly?), Alice.

At that point, a smooth and sonorous voice interrupted Sam. He said he was Runner 7, head of runners. They were sending people to guide me in, I guess? By that point I wasn't paying much attention, “old Runner 5" was getting too close for comfort. My legs were burning and shaking, and I wanted to grab my back but knew it wouldn't help, so I kept my hands tight to my chest. I was certain there were crescent-shaped marks on my palms with how tight I had my fists clenched.

I could hear the groaning rattling through her voice box. She still had her headset on, so the sound amplified. I would've felt bad for Sam if I didn't have to worry about “old Runner 5" biting me.

I was ushered toward the gates by someone who may have been a guard, but I'm not sure. He had a rifle, so maybe. Though, potentially everyone has a gun here? I don't know. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility, considering what is happening.

They shot my deceased pursuers, and I could hear an inconsolable Sam through the headset.

There were so many people waiting for me once the gates opened. I pushed the headset off of my head and around my shoulders. As the crowd surged around me, I saw their lips moving but could hear no sound. It was just a loud din of white noise.

The crowd parted reluctantly, and I got my first glimpse of the voice on the other side of the headset. Gorgeous… Just… I can't. Straight black hair flopped into the man's dark eyes as he brought his hand nervously to his neck. An orange hoodie was partially unzipped to show a black shirt underneath. He wore dark jeans with red Chuck Taylor All-Stars shoes. He cracked a joke about meeting me in the flesh, and the both of us visibly winced at how bad it was. (It was a pretty bad dad joke.) I heard someone mention what the pilot called my secret mission, but didn't see who said it when I looked.

I was so relieved to just have the world—if not stop—just slow down, that I threw myself into Sam's arms to hug him. His arms hovered just above me before tentatively closing around me.

I drew back, then signed thank you in ASL as I quietly voiced it. Then realized like an idiot they probably don't use ASL here. If they knew sign language at all, it was probably BSL. And I don't know that. Oh well, I thought. Not much to be done for it. It is who I am, and I won't hide that anymore.

Anyway, I was making my way southwest toward where the last of my known family was when I was picked up by a military convoy.

It was all pretty grim. They wouldn't talk to me, and because they had all the guns, and I was looking rough, I decided it was more prudent not to argue. I'd lost my forearm crutches in a desperate run from the dead a few weeks back, and was just so worried they would mistake me for a shambler.

I must have been in better shape than the dead they'd seen. It couldn't have been by much, though. I was dirty and covered in dried blood. Without my crutches, my back bent as my hands pushed into my upper thighs, trying to stay up and moving.

I sat in the back of a large covered truck. The benches were hard and cold, but the surrounding soldiers didn't look like they'd give much sympathy if I'd complained. The soldier across from me stared blankly at me with dead brown eyes covered with black paint I'd only seen in movies. A curl of dark hair could be seen from under the camo-covered helmet, the lighting was not good enough to discern the exact color and I didn't think he'd tell me if I'd asked.

We seemed to drive forever. I didn't dare take the phone out to check… I had a feeling I'd never see it again with that bunch. I must have fallen asleep at some point, my head fell forward with a jerk when the truck stopped, and my neck and back screamed in pain. My back is always screaming, but my position on the bench had made everything worse.

I was practically frog-marched to their leaders. Maybe I should've paid more attention to my Dad when he talked about military ranks when I was younger. A severe-looking older man and a purse-lipped woman stopped speaking when I was “escorted” into the room. I… don't remember much after that.

When I opened my eyes next, I was sitting on a cot. I was clean (and I was trying really hard not to freak out about that) and wearing a different military uniform than the ones I'd originally seen.

The room was filled with people speaking with British accents, urging me to get to a helicopter.

That's where I am now. I guess they didn't see the phone as a threat and let me keep it? I don't know. Ugh.