It was mid-day when Johnny reached the quarry. He got his motorcycle back and thought it would be a good idea to siphon some gas as well as pick up a few medical supplies, assuming the camp still had them. He stood atop the tallest hill and looked down below at what appeared to be a massacre. There were many empty vehicles about the dust and sand, as well as broken down campsites. Few of the undead remained, far enough away for Johnny to sneak in to the medical area. Many of the still somewhat fresh dead bodies lie in pieces spread all around, in nearly every corner. They hadn't turned, so Johnny thought, which must of meant they were torn apart by something large.
Johnny slid down the mound and quickly made his way to where he saw all of the signs with crosses on them. His eyes led to a turned to its side cooler, a dead body laying just next to it. He stabbed the dead guy in the head just in case, then tossed the body aside, then opened up the cooler and started stashing them in his pack. It was filled with meds, most of which he knew nothing about, but he took everything anyway. When he finished, he set back out, ready to head home.
"..h-hhelp!"
Johnny immediately equipped his revolver, dropping to the ground because that's where he deemed the sound came from. He saw a mound of dead corpses next to him, all bits and pieces of what were human beings once. Johnny stayed motionless, until he heard the cry again. Then he saw him. Under the mound was a man, bloodied all over and looking directly at him. "Helllp, I can't get out!!" Raising an eyebrow, Johnny crawled closer to the man.
"Are you..." Johnny started, not sure exactly what he should do.
"I'm not bit, nor scratched, nor poked, or anything of the sort," the man said, using his one arm that was forced next to his face to wipe some blood away. "I'm just...here. Stuck, can you help me, mate?"
"Umm.." Johnny rubbed his eyes, a headache starting to form in his head. "What happened?"
"I assure you I will fill you in on all the details," the man spoke, reaching out his hand so that Johnny may pull him out. "Can you, help me first? It's not safe here, they could come back."
"Who?"
"The ferals, the dead," he replied. "This place, the quarry, it was part of our base. They attacked us and I hid under some body parts. They killed everyone. Almost, almost as if instructed to."
"What do you mean?"
"Can you please get me-"
"No. Answer my questions truthfully, then I will get you out," Johnny said.
"Are you mad? The ferals are out there! A pack of them! 5 by my count!!"
"Yeah, well I killed one," Johnny took out a smoke and lit it up, as if he were staying awhile. "So that makes four. What's so special about them? I have grenades."
"They're not what you think. They stayed here awhile, I've watched them."
"Let me guess, they eat a lot?" Johnny said, laughing at his own joke.
"They're predators, hunters," he started. "That's obvious, but they're smart. They hunt us, and they can control the dead somehow, like a herd of sheep, the ferals brought them here. As if they were commanding them to attack. They flanked us on all sides. Before then, we noticed them watching us. They followed some of the runners back to us from the city, and they planned out the attack. We to thought they were just mindless creeps looking for flesh, and when they didn't attack through the night we figured they went on. We didn't know that the ferals were scouting the area for weakness, watching us. They moved in three nights later and took everyone down. Then they chased us, the survivors, to here. An ambush waited. They are very smart."
"What will you do, if I help you out?" Johnny asked.
"I will run," he replied. "I will run, and run some more. Until they catch me. There is no escape from them, I see that now. You have a group? They will come for you, to. Run, just keep running."
There was a moment of silence as the flare flew across the sky. He reached to the man's hand and carefully pulled him out, trying his best not to touch any more of him then he had to. The man wiped loads of the blood off of him and then gave Johnny a smile.
"You see, others need help as well," he told him. "We are not alone yet. I suggest we run in the opposite direction, as that army of undead was bound to have seen that."
"You do your runnin'" Johnny said, walking back to his bike. "Someone I know needs my help."
"If you head that way, you will die."
"We all gotta die sometime," Johnny replied, starting up his engine and giving the man a nod. "Goodluck."
The stranger waved, then headed back up the hill. "By the way, cover yourself in guts like me," the man said as he continued walking away. "They think you're one of them! You blend in." The man reached down and picked up a pistol that was on the ground, one of the many that came from his fellow community members. "What's your name? I'm Jack!"
"Johnny!" he yelled. They were walking further apart, yet still communicating. They knew that the walkers nearby were no threat to them, as they are only trouble in large groups.
"Johnny, well I lied to you," Jack yelled, stopping and turning to him once he reached the top of the hill. Johnny was moving slow on his bike at first, then stopped himself. "I'm not going to run, though I do recommend you do, highly. There's just...no point. Goodbye Johnny."
Jack put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Before Johnny could even react, he saw the man's brains shoot out from the side. Jack's body just slumped to the floor. Maybe he was right, there was no point. Johnny put his foot to the pedal and went forward anyway.
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Spiffy