A Zombie Apocalypse Story - Chap 1

Prologue:1

Sometimes darkness can be soothing, even welcoming. Sometimes, all you crave is the dark, to conceal your sins, to bury harsh truths in, or to simply hide within. That’s the only darkness that I know nowadays. The kind you grab and pull over your head to shiver in, while praying that the monsters out there don’t see you.2

Because the monsters are real. They’re real and they’re out to get you.3

I sometimes wonder who I might have been had the world not gone to hell in a handbasket; occasionally stop to wonder, am I the person that I was always meant to be, shaped by my own strength of will and personality? Would I have inevitably wound up being the person I look at in the mirror no matter what? 4

Or am I simply a product of my environment, forged in the searing fires of the hell that I’ve lived through? Am I only a bitter, dark husk of the person I should’ve been? It scares me to think that perhaps I would’ve been this person no matter what. 5

My old name was McKenna. It was a nice name, I suppose. But to me, McKenna is as real as Jack and Jill or Hansel and Gretel. She is a story, an old tale that brings bittersweet memories of backyard swing sets and barbecues, sticky fingers from peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, treks to school with hair tied in twin pigtails. 6

McKenna isn’t real to me. She’s a fading remnant, a small, previously-bright blot in the corner of my mind. 7

Besides, in reality, names aren’t all that important anymore. After all, who cares what others call you as long as you can live another day? Most people just take on whatever name it is that fits what they’re best at. I’ve known six Finders in the last three years and several Hiders. I’ve even met a Hunter and a Soldier or two. 8

But me? Me they call . . . Shooter.9

* * * 10

Chater 1:11

You know, it’s not the big things that will drive a person insane. It’s not like a big clash and bang, and poof- you’re suddenly nuts. It’s the minuscule and annoying that finds a way of sinking deep and burying tiny, ice-tipped claws in your brain. It’s those damn, tiny, irritating things that really get to you. 12

My tiny irritating thing was a six year old boy named Austin. 13

Austin was too young to remember the Hell Day, as I called it. So to him, this was life. It was normal to huddle with strangers who eventually became a unit somewhere between an army and a family. It was normal to hide during the day and only come out of our carefully hidden constructs at night, and he didn’t think twice about it.14

Austin liked dogs and peppermints and the color green. He wanted to be called Soldier when he grew up and be big and brave like the men he knew. Austin did not like having to sleep with his mother still because he was a big boy and thought he should have his own room. 15

I was going to kill Austin.16

“So what’d you do next, Shooter?” he piped, all cheer and sugary energy. “How did you escape?”17

I resisted the urge to reach for my trusty .45 caliber semi-automatic, which rode my hip in it’s customary spot. It was what I normally reached for when highly annoyed. Except, I probably shouldn’t traumatize little boys with it.18

Sighing, I brushed a strand of hair from my eyes. “I shot them, Austin. I shot all of them in the head and I got the hell outta there.” No pride in my voice. Just the simple, stark truth. 19

“Was it bloody?” the boy demanded, his brown eyes bright as he crawled across my mat to sit closer to me. 20

I inched a little further away. I hated to be touched, but he wouldn’t understand that. “No, it wasn’t bloody,” I snapped, a little harsher than I meant to be. “Don’t they teach you anything in those classes they give? Their hearts don’t pump blood anymore, so it’s not fresh, kid. It was just messy. And it smelled bad. Like a sweet-sour musk. Like mulch.”21

“Ohhh ...” he murmured, nodding solemnly as if he understood.22

I knew he didn’t. He’d probably never been that close to a shootout before. Praise God for that, at least. I didn’t bother with sugarcoating the truth to the kid. I never did with anyone. 23

Reality was a harsh and painful master and I wouldn’t disrespect any kid by watering down what I’d been through in my life. They would likely have to do the same to save themselves or a loved one someday. The zombies didn't care if you loved someone. They were the ultimate humanitarians- they'd eat anyone.24

“So what happened next?” the boy asked. He raked a hand through his wild hair. I would never admit it, but I adored the afro of rough curls that adorned the boy’s head.25

“Didn’t you hear me? I got the hell out of there. Everything was dead-- again-- and there was nothing left to shoot,” I snarled. “Don’t you have a mother to get to?”26

“I told her I was coming to talk to you,” the boy replied blithely. “She don’t mind.”27

I rolled my eyes and shuffled a few more inches away when the kid slithered even closer to me. He propped his foot up on my bed, with his dirty sneaker no less, and proudly displayed his knee.28

“See what happened to me in our tumbling class yesterday?” He pointed to the neon bright Mickey band-aid “I didn’t cry or nothing.”29

The kids’ tumbling class was actually something I approved of. It sort of melded play with a work out and helped kids get nimble and quick so that if they needed to move quickly, they knew how. I sat forward and squinted at Austin’s knee carefully. Squaring his shoulders with pride, he silently waited for me to get a good look at the scrape. 30

“Not bad,” I admitted. “What happened?”31

“Well, stupid Randy Watson pushed me because he wanted to try to roll forward next, ‘cept it wasn’t his turn. So I pushed him back. Then his brother pushed me and I fell. Right onto a rock.”32

I nodded, approving. “Same thing I would’ve done.”33

“It’s gonna be a big scar,” he bragged. “My mom was all freaked out at the blood.”34

I shrugged a shoulder. “Not as big as this one.” I peeled the collar of my shirt down a bit to show him the upper curve of my shoulder where raised, white crescent marks marred the smooth gold-brown of my skin. Something had once thought I might be tasty before I could blow it’s head off.35

“How about this one?” Austin yanked off his grubby sneaker and tossed it away, before thrusting a dirty little foot into my face. “Took the skin clean off when I took a ride on Uncle Rider’s bike with him once.”36

I waved his foot away. “Try this one out for size.” I held up my forearm, turning it in the feeble light of my lone lamp. The skin was rough and shiny; fire was not kind to skin and a flame thrower was not a delicate weapon to handle.37

“How about this one?!” The boy yanked up his shirt to show me a tiny puckered scar on his belly.38

“Ha! That’s nothing.” I started to yank my shirt up to reveal the long-healed scars that dribbled across my ribcage when there was a rough grumble of a male clearing his throat from my doorway.39

Both Austin and I leaped up. Austin looked slightly guilty, but I just had to keep from pointing my semi-automatic at the man’s face since it had magically appeared in my hand. 40

I was not a good candidate for any future surprise parties.41

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Rider asked, his dark eyes twinkling in amusement despite the habitual frown that rode his thin lips.42

“No, Uncle Rider,” Austin replied, in a much more subdued tone than I’d ever gotten from him even at the worse of my insults.43

“Get outta here, Austin. What did I tell you about bothering Shooter?”44

The boy yanked on his discarded shoe as he hopped towards the big man, arms held wide and expressive. “I can’t help it! She’s just so cool!”45

Rider jerked his head and the kid waved a hasty goodbye to me before shooting out of my room. “See ya later, Shooter!” he cried as he raced away, his voice echoing down the halls.46

“And stay out!” I shouted back, just to keep face. 47

I turned back to find Rider watching me with those amused eyes again. “You need to put a leash on that damn kid,” I growled, settling my gun back onto my hip since I didn’t plan on killing Rider today. “He’s so freakin’ nosy.”48

Rider laughed, which was enough of a surprise that I actually froze for a millisecond. I had been to many Holes, the places where humans huddled during the long hours of the day, but I had never met a leader like Rider; seemingly without a sense of humor at all. He was the most dour, surly, and straight laced guy I think I’d met, always on the job. I actually liked him, which was rare for me.49

“What do you want?” I finally demanded, folding arms across my chest. 50

He matched my stance, although he had a sizeable gut to put his arms across. Despite the large middle, he had some impressive arms that said that his abs might not get much of a workout, but he wasn’t a lazy guy. “I need to talk to you.”51

“Then talk.”52

“This is your private space,” he finally said, eyes flashing meaningfully around my small room. 53

I followed his gaze. A simple bed mat took up most of the space, although the blankets and pillows were of very good, clean quality. They were bright burgundy, which I assumed was supposed to be cheerful, but it only made me think of blood. 54

Other than the battered third-hand dresser and the lamp, it was a bland dull room without any personality or warmth. I didn't know how to nest; I was a fighter. This was a place to sleep and that is what I used it for. 55

“Are you joking?” I finally replied.56

“I would be more comfortable, if you don’t mind, if we stepped into a more common area.” 57

I waited for a moment to see if my admittedly-occasionally bruised brain would come up with something, and finally just shook my head. I was constantly amazed at Rider’s sense of decorum. There had never, ever, ever been even a hint of sexuality between us. The idea of him and me being alone in a room and doing anything other than talk was truly ludicrous. Although I guess we could arm wrestle or something. 58

I shrugged. “Sure, Rider. Whatever.”59

He nodded, turned neatly, and strode out of my room. I patted my gun, trusting it more than anything, and followed him out. For having such an ungainly body frame, Rider could move like cat. It was a trait I could appreciate because when adrenaline was pumping in my veins and I was looking for something to kill, I was an awkward, bumbling fool.60

He said nothing as we passed other citizens of his Hole. They nodded politely to Rider and I could see it on every one of their faces- they trusted him completely. Rider was a good leader, had been in charge of this Hole since close to the beginning. I had seen a lot of Holes and this was one of the few good ones, without the constant scrabbling for power or petty political games. This one operated like they all should.61

Rider nodded back to the men, smiled at the women, but it was the children that made him lift his shoulders a little. It didn’t take a genius to see that he viewed every one of the kids in his sect as his own. They all called him Uncle Rider, and they all respected and adored him. It was nice.62

At least, it was nice until they caught sight of me. Then, faces changed. Kids were either awed or frightened. The women just stared, not exactly antagonistic but not warm either. Some of them were warriors like me and others just mothers or caretakers, but their faces were all identical. 63

The men, however, were more of a mix. I saw admiration in some. They’d heard the stories– probably grossly exaggerated– and were intrigued and curious. Others were openly hostile, wary of someone who didn’t stick to one Hole. And others felt like their dominance was being challenged, that their own place in the Hole wasn’t secure enough to allow a stranger like me in. Whether I actually wanted to be in it or not.64

I glared back at everyone who would meet my eyes. I had killed a lot of things in my life, but I had never actually shot a fellow human. However, I was willing to try anything once. 65