Part V...The Sweet Taste of Air

I stepped out through the door, and felt the gust of wind as it swung shut behind me. There was a calmness about this street. It had been so long sense I had tasted this sweet of an air, and I mean truly tasted it. Tasted it with a long slow breath, the flavor not tainted with fear or urgency. It was strange that I wasn't afraid. I was utterly and hopelessly surrounded by germs, and where they couldn't reach there was sure to be the undead. Yet, I walked at an easy pace, with no fear, tasting the cool clean air of the street for the first time. How was this? Was it simply that girl's doing? Did the simple act of being needed lull me into this gentle security? I felt my hand grace the spot on my arm she had grabbed. The simple act of being needed. A moaning began to drift up into the air, and, suddenly, it had a viciously bitter taste. I searched around for the source, for a hide out, for a plan. I saw it, down the street. At first one, then two. So many of them now, all drawn in by a similar sweetness in the air. Drawn in to me, by me. I didn't want to merely turn around and waltz right back to that girl. I wasn't actually sure why I left...Maybe it was the idea of being needed...The idea that I had to be strong...That she thought I was strong...I set my mind across the street at the myriad of shops. I decided on a thrift store across the street. I knew we would need food soon, and it was placed right next to the gun store, in case I needed help to make my escape back to the pet store. I sprinted straight across the street as the moaning grew loader and the air more bitter. I grabbed the handle of the door and pulled, but it was locked. The Moaning was even loader, accompanied by an army of shuffling feet. It was at this moment I realized I did not have my hatchet. Somewhere in the pet store my hatchet sat abandoned and alone. The air was no longer sweet. I could see the germs on the door...I had to get through, though, no matter what...I had to be strong. I grabbed a large rock from the sidewalk and swung at the glass door panel. Glass flew everywhere in an explosion of red. Pain shot up my arm, as what I assumed to be thousands of tiny cuts, all of the swarming with germs. Millions of diseases entering my blood stream. I unlocked the door and rush inside, alarms ringing in my ears. I needed to disinfect my hand, I needed to keep these horrid germs away from me. I grabbed the nearest thing I could find, a large bottle of bleach, and dumped it on my bleeding hand. I could hear my own flesh burning as I cried out in agony. The bottle of bleach hit the ground...I needed to bandage my wound now...I ran down the isles, wincing from the pain of my burning hand, for something to wrap it up...I found gauze. I tenderly wrapped it around my hand, each little contact felt as if I was being stabbed with a knife, over and over. So what's next? I decided Food, it was why I was here after all. I went to grab a shopping cart to carry it all when I saw some plastic bags. I quickly jimmy rigged a sling for my arm and went about my shopping. After clearing out several isles of food, filling a cart and two hand baskets I came upon an isle of cleaning supplies...Tons of wonderful sterile items...The air was sweet again. I loaded up a backpack I had found with several cans of disinfectant, sterile gloves, some special sterilized saran wrap and several cans of germ neutralizing wipes. I turned to leave, and as I headed out toward the doorway I realized I was cornered...by that damned post man...

To be continued