The Undead Journey - Chapter 1

It was early Friday morning when I awoke in the basement of a flaming house. I could hear the fire as it crackled and popped above me, clawing at the ground to reach me and envelope me in its destructive warmth. I sat up, dazed and confused, and rose to my feet, unaware of the red stains on the ground around me. I stumbled to the stairs and climbed up them, pushing the door open. It led to a raging inferno, and opening that door wasn't one my best ideas, but at that moment it didn't really matter. I hissed and staggered through them, feeling the flames as they licked at my clothes, somewhat catching them on fire and singing my hair. Grunting, I hit the front door and felt the rush of the cool breeze of the early morning. It was still dark out; the moon was still high, so I guessed it to be about one, maybe a little later. I frowned when I took notice that I wasn't coughing like I should have been, that I wasn't choking on smoke. My eyes were watering, but there was no coughing. In fact, there was no breathing. I stopped cold and drew in a cautious breath. I could breathe, but it was no longer a necessity. A shiver crawled up my spine and dread gripped my heart. I wasn't sweating, either, which seemed strange to me; the flames had been rather hot, enough to cook me. But there was no sweat. My heart wasn't pounding at my chest in adrenaline. I paused and brought a shaky hand to my chest. My hand was scarred and had thin pink lines running through them. One finger seemed to be at an odd angle, and I peered at it a little closer. It was broken, but then again it wasn't. It was healing. How a finger could heal so fast was a mystery to me, but it still made me panic. A broken finger made me panic. Oh boy. I clutched at my chest and noticed for the first time that I only had on a jacket and jeans, no shirt, no socks, no shoes. I frowned and peeled the jacket from my shaking body. There was a large discoloration in the center of my chest, what seemed to be a .22 bullet hole. There were thick pink lines running along my chest and stomach. Knife marks, maybe? I wasn't sure, but they seemed to be healing. Shakily, I put my fingers to my throat, desperately searching for a pulse. Unfortunately, and to my terror, I found nothing. No pulse. No beating of my heart. Nothing. Now I was panicking.

"What the hell?" I whispered between clenched teeth. Growling, I checked the rest of my body. More pink lines greeted me, and a few more discoloration marks. Oh no. Oh no, please. I couldn't be dead. This wasn't happening; it couldn't be happening. Normal people don't walk around without a pulse. I took in another shuddering breath and let it out slowly. I stumbled awkwardly to the road, the cool breeze of the wee hours of the morning filtering around me. I heard a car engine, but it didn't register. My mind was fogged and I was dazed. Dazed with panic and uncertainty, it seemed.

Headlights surrouned me. I froze and took a step back, off of the road, allowing the car to pass. Instead of passing, it stopped directly in front of me and someone got out of the passenger seat. I frowned at them. Their face was lean and angry, and green eyes glared at me from their sockets. I shivered involuntarily. Who were these people? They certainly weren't familiar.

"You," the person snarled in an angry male voice. "How are you alive?"

I blinked. Alive? Was I alive? I wasn't so sure. But they seemed to think I should be dead. I growled and took a threatening step forward. "That's for me to know and for you to find out," I said sternly. I was crazy, I had to be. Why else would I be saying things like this? I normally wasn't considered to be a courageous person, though I was at times considered to be unwise. Now was one of those times, it seemed.

"You can't be alive."

"I am. What are you gonna do about it?" I asked, narrowing my hazel eyes. "Huh?" I was feeling different; I felt somehow in control and powerful, but maybe that was just me trying to hide the fear and the dread and any other feeling that I was trying not to feel. Ugh. What a night this was turning out to be.

The guy growled. "You got a lotta nerve, saying things like that."

I raised and lowered a shoulder. "Perhaps."

He growled and suddenly there was an explosion of sound, and something hit me hard in the stomach, exiting out of my back, knocking me off of my feet and throwing me back to hit the ground hard, my back breaking my fall. Dazed, I gazed up at the night stars as I heard his footsteps as he moved toward me. He didn't seem to be in a hurry, though. I was sure that if I were to have been breathing, I would have been having trouble. I brought my fingers to where the bullet had entered, expecting to feel the sticky liquid of my red blood, but there was nothing there. In fact, there wasn't even a hole, but it hurt. It hurt, so I could feel it. I was alive, as I was sure that the dead didn't feel pain. The guy bent down next to me. I stared at him, and he gasped when he saw that I wasn't dead. I sat up, making him squeak as he fell back, away from me. I grabbed his foot and pulled him toward me.

"Who are you?" I asked in a reasonably calm voice. He looked like death, what with his terrified pale face as he struggled to get out of my grasp. It was so damned east to tighten my grip and bring a gasp of pain from him. I smirked, and he must not have liked what he found hidden in it, for he cried out and tried once more to escape me.

Another car door shut, and another pair of footsteps hurried toward me. The driver. I brought my gaze to him just as he was smashing his foot into the side of my head. I cried out in pain, for it was a shock and hurt, and released the guy's foot. He struggled to his feet, tripping over himself in his rush to get away from me. The driver rushed after the guy as they both headed back to the car. Once inside, the driver fired three more shots from a small gun, though I couldn't tell what kind. One hammered at my leg, one hit my shoulder, and one hit my chest. White agony poured through me as I fell back and lay there, stunned. Little stars floated in my vision, and I blinked a few times to clear it.

Grumbling to myself, I checked over where the bullets had entered, but there was nothing there; no holes, no blood, no nothing. Not even a blemish from the 'wound'. I trembled as the car swerved away at a speed that I knew was against the law. I shook my head slowly, pondering what the hell was going on. Sitting up, I looked back at the house that was still aflame. Sirens alerted me that police and others were on their way to help with that, and probably they were coming because of the gunshots as well. I didn't feel much like being around when they came, so I staggered to my feet and stumbled down the road, thoughts racing freely in my mind. I wanted some answers. That was all. Was that really so much to ask for? Apparently so.

As I was walking by a parked car, I just happened to glance at the side mirror. Oh no...

Oh God.

No. Please. I was drawn to the mirror, desperate not to believe it. No, please.