Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Story

I could barely breathe. My legs ached, my head was pounding, and I could feel my throat burning with every breath I took. I'd been running for nearly an hour, and it felt like there was someone sitting on my chest. Checking over my shoulder for the thousandth time, I saw the sun hanging low in the sky. It would be dark soon, I needed to find somewhere safe.
My fleeing took me to downtown Singleton. Or, downtown what-was-once-Singleton. Paint had started to chip long ago. Fragments of glass from shattered windows lay on the sidewalk. Inside of the stores, shelves were tipped over from the hysterical public. Nearly any edible food had been expired for months, and weather had taken its toll on most places that could be used as shelter.
I had spent the last year and a half on my own. The hordes got to my family, and any of my friends that survived the initial attacks had fled. During the few trips I'd made into the city, I had never seen another living person. In the panic, everyone piled into their cars and drove, trying to get as far away as possible.
The irony of that, of course, was that it led to their deaths. Traffic was so congested that they weren't even out of the city before the hordes got to them, and by the time they realized that, it was too late. Their cars were still in the road, bumper to bumper, their doors hanging open, their seats stained with blood.
I went home, while everyone was running away. I never really understood their fear of staying, it always confused me. There was food at my house. I know the layout of my house. There were guns and knives and phones and radios at my house. It was the safest place to be, not in a car trying to drive as far away as possible. But nobody else knew that, so there I was, alone.
I suppose my house wasn't all that safe. A little over an hour ago, they got to me. They must have heard me or smelled me, knowing I was the only living human for miles. Narrowly escaping by jumping from my window, I ran towards the city. I know the city, and it has food and supplies.
By now, I was just walking the routes that I used to walk when things weren't so undead. Looking to the East, I saw the sun halfway set over the horizon. I had no food, no shelter, and no plan. I needed to get at least two of these three things before the sun completely set. Turning, I headed towards the closest grocery store. If I could find some food, then I would be alright.
The door was locked, but the window wasn't. The window was also broken, so that was helpful, too. I heaved myself into the store. I hadn't been in this store before, but I knew what I was looking for. Glancing down the aisles in the dying sunlight, I found the canned foods. This was one of those gimmicky stores, where they sell everything you need in the same aisle, so there were also can openers. It was convenient for me.
After shopping for a few minutes, I'd decided that a can each of sliced pears in light syrup and fruit cocktail would be my dinner for the evening. The next aisle over was plastic utensils, so I grabbed a box of crystal-cut plastic forks and opened my fruit cocktail. It was the kind with cherries, so I was pretty happy.
I sat there in silence, eating my pears and watching as the last rays of sunlight died away. Soon, I was in total darkness. I reached into my pocket, and pulled out a small flashlight. The light was dim, but it was better than nothing.
Then, a few minutes after the sun had completely set, I heard a sound. Not the sound that a mindless member of the legion of the undead would make while stumbling around in a grocery store, and not the sound that an animal would make. It was a sound that I hadn't heard in a very long time.
The rumble of a car engine reverberated through my ears. I thought that I was surely going crazy. I jumped up and ran to the window, climbing out of it. I looked down the street, and surely enough, I saw two headlights racing towards me.
It was a van. An old van. A van that was probably made in the 90s, the kind of van that gets really bad gas mileage, the kind of van that inspired and empowered soccer moms to have seven kids and have them all join some sort of league.
By the time I'd thought of all the eloquent things that this van was, it was nearly upon me. I leaped out of the road, as it sped by me. When I got back up on my feet, I saw that it had stopped. Staring curiously at it, I began to walk towards it. Suddenly, it raced backwards, stopping again when it was near me.
The window opened. Instead of seeing what I was hoping to see, which was an extremely attractive guy with billowing blond locks, who may or may not be wearing a suit of armor, I saw a gun.
I'm no gun person, but I knew that it was a shotgun, because I used to watch Elmer Fudd. Also, this gun happened to be pointed at my face.
"You get bitten?" Said a surprisingly feminine voice. The gun-wielder was a woman. Why did I assume it was a man? Am I sexist?
"Er. No. I haven't been bitten." I said. It had been a long time since I'd actually spoken to a real person. My voice sounded strained.
"What's your mother's name?" Said the voice.
"Marie. Roberts." It took me a second to remember her whole name.
"And what's yours?"
"Charlotte Roberts." I remembered mine, though.
The gun-wielder motioned for me to come forward. She looked behind her, nodded. and the side door of the van opened.
"Get in." It wasn't a sweet gesture of kindness, it was a demand.
"Why?" All I could muster was that little syllable. I was in shock.
"There's a mob of mindless zombies following us, and if you don't get in, you'll die."
This seemed like solid reasoning to me, so I climbed into the van.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. It smelled like gasoline. Like the entire van was doused in it, which didn't seem very safe. After I got over the smell, I noticed the people.
There were five of them, including the driver. There was a tall, dark-skinned man with a bald head. He was impressive, in that he could tear me in half. A short girl sat by his side, her pale complexion a striking comparison to the larger man. In the back corner was another man, this one tanned, with tattoos up and down his arms. The last person, also a man, was dressed as though he were going to work in an office. It was odd seeing him amongst the others. His lined eyes looked at me patronizingly from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Suddenly, the van lurched forward and the driver called to me.
"You from around here, Charlie?"
"I've lived here all my life. Even after the hordes came." I figured these people and I were the only people around, so I decided to be honest with them.
"Tell me how to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible."
I gave her directions to the freeway, which would take us south.
"Good. Now, Ana," the small woman looked up, "Check her for bites."
Ana nodded, stood up, and started towards me.
"My name is Anabel," she said, "And I'm sorry for this." She reached towards me, and lifted my shirt up.
This concerned me for many reasons. Mostly because there's no telling what can happen in the lawless wastelands of post-apocalyptic Michigan, but also because my mother used to tell me that this would happen if I got into a stranger's van. And I used to hate it when she was right.
She looked up and down my body. She called towards the driver,
"No blood, no torn clothing. And she remembered her mother's name. She's clean."
Thankfully, she spared me by not taking my pants off in front of three men.
The three others now seemed less guarded. The older, business man extended his hand to me.
"I'm Thompson," he said. He pointed to the tall, dark man. "This is Dr. Kingman, we just call him King. The human canvas is Rusty, and you already know Ana."
I looked an nodded at the people respectively.
"And I'm Natalie," the driver said. "But you'll call me Nat." She added, a bit stricter.
"My name is Charlotte. I guess you can call me Charlie, if you really want to," I said, remembering Nat's earlier comment.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, as I took the contents of the van in, and as the contents of the van took me in.
The far-back seats had been removed. There were a few pillows piled in one corner, against which Rusty leaned. Opposite the pillows was an impressive collection of weapons stowed where a spare tire would usually go. There were countless rifles, knives, and to my surprise, a few machetes. The smell of gasoline was coming from the passenger-side front seat, where there was a collection of big, red canisters.
"I'm going to assume you aren't a traveling band of minstrels that plays songs about love." I said, motioning to the guns.
"You would assume correctly," Rusty said, "We mostly play songs based on animals and how much they inspire us." He winked at me.
"You could call us travelers." This was Thompson. "We're all survivors from all over. Nat's from the West coast, and after the outbreak, she made her way east, eventually picking us all up for one reason or another."
"Reasons like what?" I asked.
"Well," Thompson started, "King is a doctor. He's been very helpful. Rusty is a mechanic, sure as hell knows his way around a car. Ana can make pretty much anything taste fantastic, and I was in the army for twelve years."
As all of this information struck me, I tried to think of something I could do that would help them. I couldn't come up with anything.
"What exactly are you... well, doing? Why drive around the country picking up survivors?" It didn't make much sense to me.
"We aren't just driving around aimlessly. We're looking for something." This was Anabel.
"And what exactly is there to find amongst the mobs of the undead?" This explanation threw me further into confusion.
Anabel started to speak, but King motioned for her to stop. He began to talk in a deep, almost comforting voice.
"I come from Los Angeles, California. When the virus broke out, the army ushered us into a stadium, in attempt to keep us safe. The people in that stadium survived for weeks, until we ran out of food and water. There was a riot. I tried to calm the crowd, but they beat me, and left me. When I awoke, Nat was standing over me. I was the first she brought with her.
"Before the hysteria spread across the stadium, we heard through the radio that there is a facility that is working on a way to neutralize the virus. Before we got a name or place, the people I was with went insane and fled from the safety of our home. If we can find that facility, we will have a large group of survivors to live with. We will be safe. But we haven't found it yet."
"But how can you be sure the facility wasn't taken by the virus?" I asked.
"We can't," said King, "but it's the only chance of hope that we have."
I swept the red hair from my eyes.
"Can I... can I come with you guys? They got my family and I was the only one left back there. They got into my house and I have nowhere left to go."
"We picked you up for a reason, firecracker." Nat called from the front seat.
Realizing that they intended to have me all along, I couldn't stop myself from grinning. Ana, Rusty and Thompson smiled back at me, while King just gave me a knowing look.
"So, then, where are we headed?" I asked, climbing up to the driver's seat.
Natalie's looks surprised me. Her skin was lighter than King's, but still dark. Her hair was cornrowed and tied into a ponytail. She was muscular, but pulled off an air of femininity at the same time. She was wearing a black tank top, army pants, and a vest with too many pockets to count. Her chocolate-brown eyes glanced into mine. She smiled and winked
"I hear Pittsburgh is nice this time of year."