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This is a small extract from upcoming novel, 'Countdown To Zero Hour'.
Enjoy.
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Why did she have to get bitten?
We were doing so well. It was a case of simply being in the wrong place, at the wrong time. It wasn't fair.
We'd been taking a walk. They allowed us to escape; to get away from it all. She always seemed more relaxed when we walked, but, still, there was always that edge, that part of her that didn't totally drop it's guard. But this was a good thing. We'd learnt from past mistakes that not being alert in the midst of an apocalypse isn't the smartest thing to do, and those were mistakes that we didn't want repeated.
It's funny how silence creeps up on you, and you don't notice it until something breaks it. We heard a noise. It came from the barn. Our eyes locked.
The barn was situated in an overgrown wheat field, about half a kilometer from home. We don't usually walk this far out. It's not safe. But it had stopped raining, and it was a beautiful evening. I guess we'd just let time slip away. It was used for storage now. Up until a month ago, we'd kept two salveged cars inside, but we were raided by a group of guys from near Vancouver, and they'd stolen one of the vehicles and completely trashed the other. I'd offered to help fix the one car we've got left, but the raiders had done a pretty thorough job, and it was beyond repair. We just keep supplies in there now, but nothing too valuable, in case of another attack. It makes me wonder sometimes,
Who's more dangerous? The people, or the Zombies?
Well, human or Zombie, something was moving around in the barn. We were both armed. When the apocalpse had dawned, an arms race began among the survivors. Gun stores were broken into, Police Stations were overrun. People were doing anything and everything to get hold of weapons, and many of these were turned on fellow survivors in the weeks afterwards. Law had no place in the Zombie Apocalypse, so there was no way to control the chaos. Most police were dead now, or worse, and if you were alive, you had to be armed if you wanted to stay that way. I carry a Browning Hi-Power 9mm pistol. It belonged to my father. He became infected during the first outbreak of the virus, but before he passed away, he gave it to me. I think he knew what was coming. Society took about two months to completely breakdown, and it was pretty easy to see from the start that shit was going to go down. I think Dad knew that, and that's why he gave it to me. Didn't tell me why, at the time, but there was that look in his eyes when he put it in my hands that needed no explaining. He knew.
I didn't have many shots to begin with. Just two magazines and a half empty box of shots. But since we set up in Chilliwick, and our group came across a boarded up gun store, 9mm rounds are plentiful, and I know for a fact that without this weapon, I'd be dead by now.
Chori used to carry a pistol; a Walther PPK, but she's begun to take a liking to weilding a woodcutter's axe. I've noticed that she likes the up-close-and-personal approach, which is fine, but more dangerous, and I don't really like the idea of Zombies getting close enough to rip my Girlfriend's face off, and whatever is in the barn isn't going to live long enough to get anywhere near her. By putting one finger to my lips I gesture to her to be quiet. I silently draw my pistol, and approach the barn slowly, keeping my head down and my sights trained on and around the main door. I reach the door. The padlock on the door is twisted, and the door was grazed with deep scratch marks, and I was hit by the stench of rotting flesh. Zombies. My back to the wall, I gestured for her to come over to me.
'Stay down', I mouthed. Chori crept over, quiet as ever, hands tightly gripping the handly of her axe, alert. Slowly, I sidled across the door, and looked into the barn.
Four. There were four of them, bent down in a circle around something, something torn and bloody, and evidently quite tasty. The feeding Z's passed handful after handful of flesh into their mouths. Disgusting. I turned away and looked at Chori.
'Four Zombies, eating something.. someone. We should radio the others.' I whisper. She shook her head.
'Radio's dead. We left it on last night when patrolling. I woke up this morning and it's completely flat,' She replied.
Eurgh, why does everything have to be difficult?
'Right, back up,' I whisper again, gesturing with my hand, 'We need to head back. They're big ones, and I don't think we can take 'em alone.'. She nodded, and turned around. Then I hear a gasp, your hand grabs my jacket, and you point out into the field, away from the barn.
To be continued...
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| Credit | Seska Rotan, Mel |
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Update #1 : by Seska Rotan 02/10/2013 1:47:29 pmFeb 10th, 2013
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"Who was more dangerous? The people or the Zombies?"
Great line. The first sentence was very hooking. :D
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