Eaters by Michelle DePaepe Page B

was car windows being smashed. I don’t think I’d want to make that drive in a makeshift convertible. That kind of ballsy act might work for Bruce Willis or Will Smith in a movie, but I’m not about to test my stunt driving and my luck.”
    Cheryl silently agreed. There were so many Eaters still roaming outside, it didn’t seem safe to try to leave.
    They took a vote, and by a narrow margin, it was decided that they should wait a little longer. There was still food and some soda, so they weren’t at risk of starving yet. But with this many people, they might run out in another two to three days.
    After declaring a truce and deciding that cooperation was their only chance for survival, Mark and Gary teamed up as leaders. They started organized shifts of volunteers to take turns watching out the window, listening to the radio, and attempting calls on the few working cell phones.
    Cheryl signed up for a window watch position, but she wasn’t sure why. She guessed that, despite the awful scene outside, it would be easier than trying to call out on a phone to people who weren’t answering or listen to bad news on the radio, since the announcer seemed to have more pessimistic things to say than hopeful comments recently.
    Early that evening, Mark left his makeshift command post behind the counter and came over to her spot on the bench. “Try and get some sleep. Your shift starts at 5 a.m.”
    “I’m exhausted, but I don’t know if I can sleep.”
    She curled up into a ball on the hard plastic bench and hugged her knees. A paper bag filled with napkins served as her pillow, and it was already soaked with her sweat.
    He reached down and patted her on the head. “You’d better get some rest while you can.”
    Rest? Rest didn’t seem like a real option when the world had gone insane, and their lives were in danger. Was this similar to what Mark had endured, trying to sleep in a war zone? She’d only been here a couple of nights, and the stress was already taking its toll. It was hard to believe that just three days ago, she’d been camping with Mark, lying under a glittering sky of stars and dreaming of their future together. Life sure can change in the blink of an eye…
    Eventually, she did manage to fall asleep. It was almost dawn when he woke her. He took her place on the bench, trying his best to make himself fit, but his boots dangled a good six inches off the end.
    She went to her post at the window, peeked through the blinds and saw just a tinge of pink in the eastern sky. There were a dozen Eaters milling about in the park across the street, and Cheryl was glad that she couldn’t see that well yet. She didn’t want to see the food stains, the bloody clothes, or their dead eyes. She was still baffled as to how human beings could turn into the walking dead—mindless vultures that ate slime from garbage bins and human flesh. It all had happened so quickly; it just didn’t make any sense. Despite Mark’s explanation of an origin for the virus, nobody seemed to have any clue how it had been transmitted to so many people so fast.
    Most of the group was still asleep behind her. Even so, there were very few quiet minutes without a slew of grumbles, moans, and complaints, because everyone was getting more restless and cranky. She supposed that was normal, considering the dwindling reasons for optimism. Some were strangely silent though, as if they’d made peace with their maker and were resolved to whatever fate awaited. Others, not taking the situation so well, sobbed softly to themselves.
    “I can’t sleep. It fucking stinks in here.”
    Another random voice scolded. “Shut up. Tell us something we don’t know.”
    Even though they’d put all the rotting meat in the cooler with the dead bodies, she could smell it too. Dead flesh . She tried not to gag thinking about it. She also tried not to think about the flies. How did they get in here anyway? She hadn’t remembered seeing any inside during the first