The next morning, I slept in a little (until 8 o'clock.) I quickly got dressed, and got all of my gear together for our trip to the hardware store. We'd agreed to leave at nine, so I had plenty of time. As I was brushing my teeth, Will walked up.

"Hey, Matt. How's it goin'?" He asked brightly. I couldn't talk with my mouth full of toothpaste, so I flashed a thumbs-up.
"Cool." He said. After a second, I finished brushing, so I spat, then turned to look at him.
"What's up?" I said brightly. I was feeling pretty good.
"Not much." He said. Then, he paused. "Matt, this is gonna sound gay, but I don't mean it to. You look good man. Better than I've seen you this happy in a while."
"Um...thanks?" I replied sheepishly.
"I mean seriously, dude. You normally only look this good after you've been..." He trailed off. Then, a grin blossomed across his face.

"You DID, didn't you?!" He laughed. "You and Sarah? Niiiiiice, man!" He punched me on the shoulder. "Finally!" I smirked, and chuckled.
"Uh...thanks Will." I said. "Don't make a big deal of it or anything."
"Oh, suuuuuure I won't." He laughed again. "No, seriously, dude. I won't. Don't worry about it."
"Thanks." I replied, moving to go around him. He obliged, moving out into the hall. As I walked towards the stairs, I kept expecting him to yell something embarrassing. But, to my surprise. he didn't.


"Hey, y'all." I said as I entered the living room. They all nodded in greeting. From the looks of it, they'd started breakfast without me. Oh well.
As I sat down, I looked out the window for the first time. It was raining pretty heavily, and I could hear thunder rumbling. Now that I thought about it, the lights weren't on.
"Hey..." I said, grabbing a granola bar off the arm of the couch. "You guys still want to go out with it raining like this?"
"What's wrong, Matt?" Sarah said. "Afraid of a little rain?"
"No." I replied, smirking. "But why do it if it's raining?"
"Matt." Grandma said. "If someone as old as me can stand the rain, I think you can. C'mon; it's better to do it today than worry about doing it tomorrow."
"Fair enough." I said. "Miranda, you okay with this?"
"I was in the marines, pal." She said, laughing. "A little storm isn't gonna hurt me." I nodded, feeling stupid momentarily; I'd accidentally made myself sound like a wuss.

It didn’t really matter, though. We finished eating, then got everything ready. We checked out weapons and ammunition to make sure everything was set.
“Tape your barrels.” Miranda said, walking into the room with a roll of duct tape.
“What?” I asked.
“Put tape over the ends of the barrels.” She explained. “It’ll keep the rain out.”
“Oh. Good idea.” I reached over, and snapped off a piece of tape.
“C’mon, Matt. You hunt; I’m surprised you haven’t heard of that.”
“Sorry, nope.” I replied. Once all our gear was together, we went outside.

The rain was coming down fast and hard, soaking us in the time it took to get to the truck. We all squeezed it, with Mom driving.
“Hasn’t rained this good in a while.” Mom said absently, waving to everyone else who’d seen us off at the door.
“Rain is a good thing, mom.” I said quickly, smiling.
“Seriously, it is.” Miranda added. “I’m guessing you guys’ well was almost empty.”
“Actually, not really.” Mom replied. “It rained a few days before you and Sarge got here. Still, I see what you mean.” We all sat in silence for a minute as Mom pulled out of the driveway.
“How’s this work anyway, Matt?” Grandma asked. “You and Sarah are the only one’s who’ve been out before. I guess we all stay together, right?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” I said. “Normally, we leave one person to guard the truck. Any takers?”
“Um...I don’t mind doing that.” Mom said. "As long as I can sit inside."
"Of course." I said quickly. "No problem" Everyone seemed satisfied, so it got quiet again.

"Hey, Miranda." Sarah said after a moment. "I've been wondering; where are you from? I don't remember ever seeing you around here before."
"Actually, I'm from Nashville." She explained. "My parents never really had a lot of money, so I joined the Marines instead of going to college to help out."
"Cool." Sarah replied. "Sorry you couldn't get a scholarship or something."
"Oh, I could've gotten one." Miranda said. "I was a decent student. But, I couldn't get a FULL one, and we couldn't afford the rest. So, poof, Miranda the Marine. I met Sarge in PT, and well, the rest is history." She smiled half-heartedly. "Doesn't really matter now, I guess. Hell, zombies are walkin' around." She shrugged, looked out the rain-splattered window, and caught a glimpse of a zombie.

"Hey, do you think they feel pain?" She said. "I mean, I don't think they'd just lose all feeling or something."
"Good question." Grandma said. "I've been wondering that, too."
"Honestly, I don't think they do." Sarah said. "I've emptied buckshot into their chests without them moving. I'm sure y'all have too. If they felt pain, they would have least flinched or something, y'know?"
"I agree with ya, Sarah." I said. "Plus, in all the classic zombie stereotypes, they don't feel pain."
"This isn't a movie, Matt. Stereotypes don't apply." Mom said, slightly annoyed. We had entered the town now; the burned-out stores and restaurants were exactly like I remembered them. Luckily, we'd cleared out the cars in the road on our last trip through, so we didn't have to bother with that again.

"...Where do you think they really DID come from?" Mom asked after a moment. I heard Grandma mutter something about "end of times," but I ignored.
"Honestly, Mom, I think it was a virus." I said. "That would explain a lot of things. How it spread so fast, the fact that antibiotics didn't work, and other stuff."
"But what viruses could make these things?" She asked, gesturing out the window. There wasn't an overly high amount of zombies, but still, they were there. Also, it was raining ever heavier now; I heard thunder rumbling.
I actually didn't have an answer as to what virus. Luckily, Sarah did.

"Well, there's rabies. Mad cow, maybe. They could've mutated into a new strain or something. I honestly don't know. I can't exactly ask my science teacher." She said sheepishly.
"Didn't you shoot him two days ago?" I asked. I remembered her saying something about it on the roof during one of our sniping sessions.
"Oh yeah, that's right." Sarah replied thoughtfully. "And from the way he looked, I wasn't the first one to try to." She chuckled. I had noticed a change in her sense of humor; it was pretty dry now. Of course, with all the near-rapes and zombie killings, it could be worse.

Mom slowed gradually as we approached our destination; Hobart's Hardware. It was a large-ish building, with overturned lawnmowers and tools out front. The door was hanging wide open. Judging from the slice that I could see, the store had been ransacked; very few things remained.
"Alright, guys. Let's go." I said, starting to open the door of the truck. "Mom, we'll probably be back in five or ten minutes. We don't want to stick around too long. There are probably lots of zombies around. Ready?" Everyone nodded. "Okay, go!" I flung open the door and hopped out.

I spun around, aiming my rifle and trying to take everything in. Up and down the street, it was pretty much the same thing; broken windows, corpses, and empty stores. Actually, at the end of the street, where the Texaco Station had been, there was just a burned husk. Someone must've set off the tanks. My guess was that it had been Bashman and his crew.
However, I was more concerned with looking for threats. Here and there, a zombie loitered in the road; by my count, there were around fifteen of them. A few had noticed us, and were starting to approach, but the rest weren't a threat.
Sarah, Grandma, and Miranda all swiftly dismounted and joined me. Sarah lifted her shotgun, and aimed at one of the approaching undead.

"Sarah, don't!" I said. Unfortunately, my voice was drowned up by a blast of thunder at that exact moment.
"What?" She said, without looking up.
"I said don't shoot!" I replied. "Gunfire might attract more of them. Only shoot the ones that was have to." In reply, Sarah turned and looked at me, rain streaming down her face.
"Matt, how many shots have we fired on the roof of your house? The number of zombies never really increases. I think it's safe to say that shots don't attract them."
"Oh..." I said. I hadn't thought about that. "Good point."

"Still, Sarah, don't shoot 'em." Miranda said. "We need to conserve our ammo. Only shoot if we have to."
"Fine." Sarah said, lowering her Browning. "Fair enough."
"Um, guys?" Grandma said. "Can we go inside now? We aren't getting anything done out here.
"Yeah." I said, somewhat sheepishly. "She's right. Let's go get us some fencing."

Upon entering the store, I did a quick assessment of its state. Several shelves had been knocked over, spilling what meager merchandise was left onto the floor. Most of the tools and lumber were gone; here and there, a 2X4 or box of nails lay on the floor. I could see a bloodstain up near the checkout corner (which, of course, was missing the cash register.)
"Hold on." I muttered before we'd taken more than a few steps in. Then: "HEY!" I shouted, looking around for any sign of movement or noise. There was none.
"Nice, we're clear." I said. Watch your step; there's lots of nails and glass on the floor."
"Where would the fencing be at?" Miranda asked, peering around.
"Um..." I racked my brain, trying to remember my last trip in here, immediately before the outbreak. "I think it was in the back of the store, next to the storage room. I'll see if I can find it; y'all just see what you can scavenge." With that, I began picking my way through the broken glass and overturned shelves. Miranda, Grandma, and Sarah spread out, looking for anything of value in the wreckage.

"I've got seeds." Grandma said, holding up two packs of cucumbers. "If we make a garden, these'll come in handy.
"Two shotguns shells." Sarah called out. "Birdshot, it looks like. They had rolled underneath the shelf. Still, better than nothing."
"Jackpot." Miranda said. "I found gloves and duct tape."
"Great, guys." I said. "Keep looking." I reached the back of the store, and began looking for the fence. I was greeted with splintered pieces of wood, loose pieces of rebar, and a chainsaw blade. But, no fence.
"Damn, where is it?" I murmured, pushing a store shelf out of my way. All it hid were cockroaches.
"Goggles." Grandma said from across the store. "Two pairs."
"Great." I replied, beginning to get annoyed. I couldn't find the damn fencing. "Guys, give me a hand here. I don't see any fencing. Look around the store." At that moment, two sounds pounded into the shop. One was a crack of thunder; the other was the crack of a rifle. I looked up, alarmed.

"Mrs. Harrigan!" Miranda called, peering out the door. "You alright?!"
"Yeah." I heard Mom come back. "He was just getting a little too close. Don't worry about it." Miranda nodded, then joined us in looking through the store. We found a few more minor things, but no chain-link fence. A quick look out the back door revealed nothing. Feeling defeated, we gathered back in the store.
“Damn, nothing. “Sarah said.
“Meh, it’s no big deal. We‘ll find some.” I looked around. “Let’s saddle up and get out of here.” We began to make our way to the door when, surprisingly, my cell phone rang. I was alarmed; it hadn’t rang in weeks.
“Hmm, who’s calling?” I muttered, taking it out of my pocket and glancing at the screen. It was Will.

“Hey, Will.” I said as I put the phone to my ear. “What’s up?”
“MATT!” Even through the phone’s tiny speakers, his voice rang in my ear. “Get back here now!”
“Why, wait, what’s going on?!” I sputtered, motioning for everyone to move quickly out the door.
“There’s a dozen of them!” Will yelled.
“Wait, raiders?!”
“Yeah! They came up the road. Oh, Matt, we need you back here, man. They’ve got us pinned down!”
“Is everyone alright?!” I shouted.
“Matt, what’s wrong?” Sarah asked.
“Shh!” I said sharply. “Will, is everyone okay?” I asked again, stepping out of the store.
“Um...”
“ANSWER ME!” I bellowed.
“...You’re dad’s been hit. He isn‘t moving.”
“S*it.” I muttered. I felt grief, but I was too overrun with adrenaline to feel it really bad.
“Matt, get back here now!”
“I’m coming, man, I’m coming.” We’d reached the car. I motioned for Mom to move; I was driving. “Just hold out for five minutes; We’ll be there!”
“I sure as hell hope so!” He replied. There was a pause. “Oh s*it! He’s got a Molotov!”
There was a click, and the call was gone.

I tore through the streets in the truck, cutting and swerving around vehicles and zombies. Rain pelted against the windshield, making it difficult to see. I didn't care, though. I was driving on pure instinct and rage.

"Matt." Miranda said, holding on for dear life in the back seat. "Don't you think we should have a plan or something?" I'd explained the situation to all of them as I drove.
"Yeah," I said, jerking the wheel to get around a parked car at sixty per. "Get home, rescue everyone, and shoot anybody that gets in the way."
"Um...How 'bout a plan that doesn't get us all killed?" Sarah murmured.
"Be quiet, Sarah." I said without looking at her. I felt her gaze burning into me, but she fell silent.
"Matt, you need to calm down, really." Mom said.
"I'm calm." I said quickly.
"No, you're not." She replied. "You're doing the same thing you always do when something happens. Getting mad and acting on rage."
"It's worked before." I replied curtly.
"Maybe so." She admitted. "But there's no guarantee it always will. You don't think I wanna go in guns blazing? Of course I do; my husband -your father- might be dead. But getting myself killed won't help. You've got to calm down, and actually come up with a plan." I opened my mouth to argue, then shut it. She was right.

"Yeah, I guess." I relented, beginning to calm down slightly. Then, as an afterthought: "Sorry for telling you to be quiet, Sarah." Even though thunder blocked out a few of my words, she got the message.
"So," I began, slowing down the truck to a more manageable speed. "What should we do?" There was silence for a moment. Then, my grandmother answered.
"Run 'em over." I turned and looked at her.

"Come again?"
"You heard me." She said, her eyebrows rising on her wrinkly face. "Eyes on the road, Matt." Quickly, I turned around and watched the road. She continued.
"Think about it. From what you told us, Will said one of those guys had a firebomb. Even in the rain, the house is most likely on fire. So, here's what we do: You let us out a little ways up the road, and we'll go help with the house. Put out the fire, get the supplies in the trucks, something like that. Meanwhile, you drive around and run over any raiders you can find. It's less dangerous than shooting at them." She chuckled without humor. "Listen to me; instructing my grandson to run over people. What's this world come to?"
"Don't worry," Sarah said. "Matt can put all his time playing Grand Theft Auto to use."
"Okay, NOW this is weird." I said, smiling despite my anger and nervousness. "My grandma and my girlfriend are both telling me to kill people." Then, I thought about it, and quit smiling; it wouldn't be the first time I'd killed someone.

"So, yeah..." Miranda said after a minute. "That plan could work. Anyone have anything to add to it?" Nobody did, though I noticed they'd all relaxed a little; I guess they weren't afraid I was going to crash the car.
"Alright, good enough for me." I said. The prospect of killing someone to protect our group didn't repulse me anymore; I was past that. "Initiate plan Crazy Vehicular Homicide, or whatever the hell this is."

By the time we were a few hundred yards from the house, several things were apparent to us. First off, there was an SUV parked in the road in front. Second, several guys were taking cover around it, periodically popping up and firing. However, Will had said that there were a dozen of them, so the others must have been around there somewhere. Finally, the house indeed was on fire; I could see the murky smoke curling through the rain up into the sky. This hit me pretty hard; after all the work we'd done, it was now, literally, going up in smoke.

I pulled over to the side of the road, keeping my eyes on the raiders up ahead. Everyone except me got out as quickly as they could.
"Okay, I'll keep them busy. Y'all get up there and help our guys out." They nodded, and took off into the woods.
I eased the truck back onto the road, taking care to get it centered. Then, without warning, I gunned the engine. If I was gonna distract, by God, I was gonna make it spectacular.
"Alright, you sons of b*tches." I yelled to nobody but myself. "Here I come!" The truck flew down the road, picking up more momentum the further it went. The raiders noticed me, of course; they spun and began firing out me. However, their shots were haphazard, and most missed; the ones that did hit caused little damage. Still, I kept my head low, to lessen the chance of a hit. With the truck going at full speed, I chose my first target; a red-haired man in his twenties carrying some semi-automatic rifle. When he saw that I was going after him, he attempted to dive out of the way. I corrected, and kept bearing down on him. Then, in an instant, he went under the truck with a thunk.

"That's one." I muttered. It was odd; I didn't feel a moment of remorse. He was trying to kill us, so he had to die; it was that simple. I saw another raider, again a man in his twenties, go running across the road, looking for cover. I gunned the engine, and raced towards him. He fired off a shot from a handgun, which impacted on the passenger's side mirror. I was undeterred; the truck hit him, and he went under.

"That's two!" I slowed, turning the truck around to look for more targets. Then, I heard a pop, and the wheel jerked. S*it! They'd gotten one of the tires. The truck could still run, though. I finished my turn, and looked for the shooter. It was an older man with a bolt action. I started towards him, but he was dropped by a bullet coming from the house. I glanced over, and saw Gramps in one of the windows, working the bolt on his rifle. He saw me looking, nodded, then disappeared. I smiled despite myself, then took a moment to look at the house. Despite the pounding rain, the fire was spreading through the house. It had already taken over most of the left side. I hoped everybody had gotten out okay.
A crack of thunder brought me out of my thoughts. No, not thunder, a shotgun. I looked around, and saw a man and a woman taking cover near a tree. As I roared towards them, the windshield cracked, then shattered, showering glass everywhere.
"Ow, damn!" I yelled, covering my eyes. I could feel pieces of glass cutting into my cheeks and arms. But, I was alright. The truck continued forward, lagging slightly because of the messed-up tire. Still, it doesn't stop me from striking the woman and sending her sprawling.
"That's three!" I hollered, spinning the wheel. The man attempted to jump, and was caught low. He was sent flying over the hood. "That's FOUR!" Then, I ducked as I heard a pistol popping behind me. I glanced in the rearview mirror, and saw an older, bald man attempting to climb into the bed. Acting on instinct, I jammed the pickup in reverse, lurching backwards. The truck rammed bed-first into a tree, jamming the man between them. The results weren't pretty.

"THAT'S FIVE, motherf*cker!" I shouted, blood pounding behind my ears. Over in the woods, I could see two dead raiders; looked like my boys were still putting up a fight!
"Alright!" I said, twirling the wheel and hitting the accelerator. "Who's next, you sons of bi-" My words were cut short as the SUV slammed into the side of the truck.

It was a bone-jarring impact. The truck crumpled on the side, and nearly tipped. My neck was whipped around, and I tasted blood in my mouth. I found out later I'd nearly bitten off my tongue. I shouted in pain, and turned to look at my assailants. There were four of them in the vehicle, three men and a woman. All of them were armed and quite pissed off.

"Futh!" I said, my words garbled because of my swollen tongue. Then, I ducked as the two men in the front raised their weapons. Rounds rocketed over my head, deafining me for a second. Beginning to panic, I drew my handgun and fired blindly, hoping to God that they wouldn't wise up and aim through the door instead of the window. I thought I heard a shout of pain, but I couldn't be sure.
Click! The hammer fell on an empty chamber as another volley of shots went over me, even closer this time. It felt like my ears were exploding. Cursing, I reloaded with my left hand while spinning the wheel with my right. The truck shuddered, but failed to move.

"S*it!" I fumbled around, trying to figure out what to do. Something was dripping down my head; whether it was blood or rain I didn't know. I risked poking my head up, and saw the two in the front readying to shoot again. I swore, slapped at the door release with the gun, and rolled out just as a series of holes were poked through the door; had I not moved, I would have been perforated.

As I fell out of the car, I could feel both heat and cold; heat from the fire at the house, and cold from the rain that seemed to seep into my bones. Ignoring the aches and pains all over my body, I took cover behind the front wheel of the truck, the engine separating me from the gunmen on the other side. I'd remembered reading that it was the only good cover you could get on a vehicle.
On the other side, I heard doors opening and people began to shout.

"Come on out! We've got you surrounded!" A husky male voice said. I looked around, then cursed myself when I realized that I'd left my rifle in the truck; no time to get it now. Begrudgingly, I made sure my 1911's mag was full, then tried to figure out what to do.

From behind me, I heard a rifle crack several times. As the raiders returned fire, I turned and saw Mom ducking back into the garage. Taking the opportunity she'd given me, I popped up and fired off three shots at the first thing to come into my sights. It was a man in his forties with a Bass Pro Shops hat and a red flannel shirt; he fell, blood erupting from newly-formed holes in his chest. However, I didn't stop to notice this; it just stuck in my memory as I dove back to the ground.

"He got Brandon!" I heard a woman's voice yell, pain and anger in her voice. I tried to think quickly; there were three of them now, and they knew where I was. It would only be a few seconds before they came around and took me down. After what seemed like ages, the only logical solution kicked in.
I ran like hell.

Keeping the engine between me and the raiders, I kept my head down and sprinted backward, looking for something that would make good cover.
"There he is!" A man yelled. Without looking back, I stuck my pistol in the direction of the sound and fired as fast as I could. When it clicked empty, I tossed it aside and dove downward, my face digging into the soggy Earth. In retrospect, this was a bad decision, but I couldn't think of anything else to do. But, I did figure that momentum would keep me alive; I rolled to the side, just as mud was kicked up from where I had been.

"I got him!" Another voice, a new one, hollered. It had barely sunk in before I felt the bullet hit me. It was like a sledgehammer blow, knocking the breath out of me and sending electric spikes throughout my body. I lay there gasping, knowing I should get up but not being able to.
"He's down, he's down!" The same voice whooped, though I couldn't see the shooter. A gunshot rang out, and I braced myself for another impact. But, I wasn't hit; rather, I heard a gurgle from the direction of the voice, and the thud of a body hitting the ground. As black began to overtake my vision, I heard a reply of gunfire from the raiders. Then, a barrage of shots came from back towards the house. Gurgles and shouts of pain erupted from the remaining raiders, and I heard a lighter smack when they fell in the mud.
Just as I began losing the consciousness battle, I heard a female voice shouting my name.
"Matt! Matt! Maaaaaaatt!" But I couldn't answer. Blackness enveloped me.


"Matt! Maaaaaatt!" The shouting continued.
"Huh?!" My head shot up off the desk. I looked around groggily, trying to figure out where I was.
"Am I that boring, Matt?" Mr. Langley, my history teacher, asked. He was staring intently at me through thin glasses, his bushy eyebrows matted in annoyance.
"What?" I asked again, still confused. I heard people snicker around me.

"You fell asleep, dude." Will muttered next to me. I turned, wiping drool off the side of my cheek. He was smirking, one hand supporting his head.
"I...whuh?" Everyone laughed. I turned to look around; everybody in the class was happy and healthy. I couldn't believe it; hadn't there been a zombie outbreak?
"Yes, you fell asleep." Mr. Langley said, his voice dry. "I want you to stay after class, Matt."
"Uh...sure." I muttered absently. Across the room, Sarah was sitting in a chair with her textbook in her lap, her blond hair forming a curtain behind her. Like everyone else, she was grinning slightly. But, it was free of the familiarity I had grown used to. She was laughing as acquaintance, not a girlfriend. Feeling the shock and weight of the situation, I slumped backwards in my chair, trying to take everything in. Looking around the room, I focused on the chalkboard; it said "Quiz Tuesday" and there were notes about the War of 1812.

"Matt, are you okay?" Mr. Langley asked, concern replacing annoyance. "You seem...out there. D'you need to go to the nurse"
"No, yeah...I'm fine." I said, still not believing it.
"Well, okay then." He shrugged, then started lecturing about treaties or something. I didn't really pay attention.
"Will," I whispered. "Dude, tell me you remember."
"Remember what?" He whispered back, scribbling nonchalantly in his book.
"EVERYTHING!" I blurted. Again, everyone in the class turned to stare at me. Mr. Langley glared at me.
"Something you'd like to share, Matt?" He asked.
"Ah...no sir." I replied glumly. Everyone laughed. Mr. Langley continued to glare at me for a moment, then returned to teaching.
"Seriously!" I whispered to Will. "You don't remember all of it? The zombies, Bashman, your mom dying. Don't joke around, dude; you have to remember." Will stared at me, a confused look on his face.
"Matt, I swear to you man, I have no idea what you're talking about. Are you sure you're okay? You don't look so good." I didn't respond, I just raised my head and looked towards the ceiling. It just couldn't be true. But, yet, it was. All of it had been a dream.
　
　
　
Awwwww, come on guys! Do you really think it ended that way? Hell no. Give me more credit than that. My English teacher always said (well, before she probably either died or became a zombie) to make your writing fun and cliché-breaking. So, that's what I'm doing: just having a little fun. Although, I guess, if you're reading this, you made it through the zombie apocalypse just like I did, so you would know it was a joke. Anyway, it seemed worth a try.

Also, while we're at it, mind if I mentioned something? Sorry to say, but any dramatic tension in what I write is basically moot. If I'm around to write my damn memoirs, I obviously survived. Therefore, if there's any situation where it looks like I could die, I'm not going to. That's kind of like in TV shows where somebody holds a gun on the hero; obviously, he isn't going to die fifteen minutes into the third episode of the second season, or something like that. But, I digress. Y'all are reading this to hear how I survived a zombie outbreak, not to hear me muse about failures of drama.
Finally, to anyone who thinks you shouldn't address your audience in an account of your life, lighten up a little. I did it before (when I introduced myself on page 1, and at several other moments,) so...yeah.
All the "it was a dream stuff" was crap. Here's what really happened.
　
　
　

When I woke up, the first thing that hit me was pain. As I eased my eyes open, I felt my body aching all over. My left shoulder was throbbing, with a bolt of burning pain stabbing into it about every second. Similarly, my head felt as if it was about to explode. I reached up (ignoring a rough discomfort on my arms) and felt it gingerly; to my surprise, a good portion of one side was bandaged, the heavy gauze yielding when I touched it. I felt the other side of my head, to discover that my hair had been cut. It had been getting longish, but now it was buzzed.

Slowly, my pain-addled brain put everything together. I'd been shot; that much I remembered. That was most likely the cause of the invisible knife that seemed to be embedded in my shoulder. I remembered cutting my arms badly on shattered glass, which was probably the scratchy pain I felt. The head injury, however, was lost to me. I imagined I'd probably hit it somewhere, but had been to hyped on adrenaline to notice.

Then, all at once, it all fell onto me. The gunfight, the fire, the car crashes. Panic began to sweep onto me, as I wondered if everyone was okay. Hopefully, they'd all gotten out in time. Sluggishly, I dug my hand underneath the cover (where had the bed come from?) and put it to my hip. My gun wasn't there. That was REALLY a bad sign. Then, a question hit me. It probably should have been my first thought, but it had been slow in coming.
Where the hell was I?

I tried to sit up, but it felt as if my head was burning, so I begrudgingly lay back down. Easing my head around to avoid injury, I took in my surroundings. I was in a small but well-appointed bedroom, and there was a glass of water on the nightstand near my head. I picked it up, and drained it. Looking around, I saw that the room was, for the most part, dark, and was lit sparsely by a few scattered candles. Across from me, there was a TV on an entertainment center, and a dresser was pressed against one wall. The sole door in the room was open, revealing nothing but a dark slice of hallway. Finally, there was a window, but it was heavily boarded-up. Still, I could see that it was dark out, and I got the sense that I was on the second floor.

Ever so slowly, I removed the covers from over me, wincing when I put weight on my left arm. It felt terrible, but I guessed that it would heal over time. I inched my way upward, and eventually reached a sitting position. Still, I braced the pillow between my skull and the headboard. My head pulsed with pain, but I gritted my teeth and tried to ignore it. Glancing down, I noticed an alarm clock on the nightstand; it read 8:51.
"Hello?" I tried to say, but my words were a little garbled. Then I remembered biting my tongue. However, it wasn't that bad; it pretty much sounded like talking through a mouth guard. Either way, I heard a giggle. I glanced up in time to see a young girl peeking out from the doorway.

"Uh...hi." I said, not really sure what to do.
"Hi." A voice came from around the corner.
"Um...can you come in here, please? I've got some questions." Though my words were slurred, I got the point across. Indeed, a second later, the girl poked her head through the door, then walked in. She was about four or five, Hispanic, and wearing a Taylor Swift T-shirt.
"Are you okay?" She asked, looking at my pained expression.
"Yeah, I'm fine." I said, weakly forming the "okay" sign. "Where am I?"
"Danny's room." The girl replied.
"Who's Danny?" I said, forming a mental list of questions.
"My big brother." She answered, smiling. "But, he's on vacation."
"He is?" I was confused.
"Yeah. There was some bad men outside, and Danny went out and made them go away. So Daddy let him go on vacation." Oh ****. I thought. I assumed that "bad men" meant zombies, and "vacation" was really...well, you get the idea.

"I see..." Was all I managed to say in reply. "And what's your name?"
"Rebecca." She said proudly. "Rebecca Dañ o. I can even write it!"
"Good job." I said, smiling a little. Even in a world like this, the fact that some things were the same was comforting. Now, I had some business questions. "How did I get here?"
"Oh, you came in yesterday. Daddy said you was hurt bad, but he helped you."
"He did? Is your daddy a doctor?"
"Yep. He hasn't gone to work in a while, though. But that's okay. I get to see him more." She smiled sweetly.
"That's good. Hey, can I have some more water please?" I asked. She nodded, then took the cup and scurried off. A moment later, she came back with the cup full. Again, I drained it in one gulp. Man, it felt good.
"Thanks. Now, Rebecca, do you mind if I ask a few more questions?"
"Sure." She came and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Okay. When I got here, were my friends with me? It should have been nine people."
"Yeah, they brought you here. One other man was hurt too; but Daddy said he'll be okay." My heart leapt. Everyone was okay! And apparently, Dad was okay.

"Great." Despite the fierce pain I still endured, I was elated. "Now, you said there was some bad men outside?"
"Yep."
"Have there been lots of bad men? Did they walk funny, or make weird noises?"
"Yeah. There've been bunches of 'em. Mommy and Daddy always tell me to hide whenever we see any. Then, they go out and make them go away. But, then more of them come."
"Hmmm." I thought. "So, it's just you, your mommy, and your daddy then?"
"That's right. I'm kinda sad, though; Mommy won't let me go outside and play anymore. And I never get to see my friends. It's not much fun anymore." She stuck her lower lip out.
"It'll be okay. Don't worry; eventually, all the bad man will go away, and you'll be able to play again." I didn't really believe this, but why make her upset by telling the truth?
"What?" She asked. "You're talking funny." I cursed mentally. Damn tongue injury.

"Nevermind." I said as clearly as I could. "Where are my friends at right now?"
"They're downstairs, in the livin' room." Rebecca replied.
"Can you go get them for me please?"
"Sure." She said, and again scurried out of the room. I leaned back against the headboard. Thankfully, the pain was beginning to ease off. Still, I had some questions Where were we? What had happened to the house? And, most importantly, where were my guns?

"HE IS?!" A shout tore through the house. It sounded like Sarah. I grinned to myself as several pairs of feet came pounding up the stairs.
"Matt!" Sarah yelled as she sprinted into the room, her pretty face nothing but a bucket of joy. She jumped onto the bed, and wrapped me in an embrace. Unfortunately, she landed right on my gunshot would.

"OOOOOWWWW" I moaned. Sarah looked down in fear, then jumped off me.
"Sorry, sorry!" She said, as everyone else entered the room. They all looked to be okay, and all were beaming. However, I felt a knot of apprehension when I didn't see Dad.
"It's fine." I said, cracking a smile. "Just glad to know you're happy to see me." Sarah laughed, then gently hugged me. Afterwards, she backed up to let everyone else take.

"Hey, dude, howya feelin?" Will asked as he and John walked up.
"Meh, I'm alright." I replied, holding up my fist. He bumped it with his own. "Good to see ya, man. How've you been holding up."
"Oh, y'know, surviving." He smiled. "Don't worry; you didn't miss too much. We'll fill you in later.
"Sounds like a good plan." I chuckled.
"Matt, I just want to say, I'm impressed." John said. "You did good. I never would've gone against that many people."
"Oh, I've seen you go up against more than that!" I replied.
"Yeah, but those were zombies." He admitted. "Either way, good work. Glad that you're okay." With that, the two of them stepped aside, letting my mom and grandparents come up.

"Oh, Matt!" Mom beamed, tears forming in her eyes. "I'm so glad you're alright. You got SHOT! Imagine if..." She broke down.
"Hey, pal." Gramps said, reaching down to shake my hand as Grandma comforted Mom. "Glad to see you're doing alright."
"Aw, you know me: I'm like syphilis. It takes a LOT to get rid of me." Everyone who heard it laughed, even Mom.
"I gotta tell you, Matt." Gramps said. "That was some DAMN fine work. You did good."
"Yeah, sure I did. I got shot."
"But you survived, didn't you?" Grandpa said slyly. "You want up against about a dozen people almost by yourself. That takes courage." He clapped me on my unwounded shoulder.
"Thanks, Gramps." I said. "Hey, um...where's Dad. I know he got hit, but Rebecca said he was okay. So, is he...?"

"Oh, I'm coming, I'm coming" I heard my dad shout from the hallway. Immediately, my face lit up. Sure enough, a minute later, Dad hobbled into the room on crutches, aided by a Hispanic couple in their mid-30s. I smiled; they must have been the owners of the house.
"Dad!" I shouted. "How're you doing?"
"Oh, I'm fine!" Dad said. "They just nicked me!"
"Oh, no they didn't." The man helping him muttered. He then explained to me: "He got hit in the leg. But, it didn't go all the way through; it just bounced off the bone. Still, it cracked it. I set it, though, and he'll be fine."
"Ah, got it." I replied. "Thanks, Dr. Dañ o."
"Oh, you can call me Robert. It's fine. All of us are in the same boat here. This is my wife, Carla." His wife, an average-looking woman with short hair, nodded in greeting.
"Nice to meet you both. Thanks for patching us up, and letting us into your house."
"Oh, it's no problem." Robert said. "I'm still a doctor, so I'll help anyone who needs it. Also, you guys have made defending this place a lot easier. With just Carla and myself, it could get pretty difficult.

"Glad we could help." I replied. Apparently, my speaking had improved in just the few minutes we'd been talking, as they had no problems understanding me. "Hopefully, we aren't wasting all of y'all's food."
"No, it's fine." Robert said with a wave of his hand. "You guys brought plenty of food with you. You haven't eaten any of ours yet."
"Really?" I said, wondering how much stuff we had with us. I added that to my list of questions to ask later. Next, I turned to Sarge and Miranda, who had been silent.

"What's the matter with you guys?" I asked them. "Is somethin' wrong?"
"No, of course not." Sarge said, smiling. "We just didn't interrupt anything."
"Umm...okay then." I said. "Well, how are you guys doing?"
"Matt, you've only been out a few days. We can't really have changed but so much." Miranda said, chuckling. I shrugged, then winced when it caused my shoulder to ache.
"Fair enough." I admitted. Then, a question flew back into my mind from a few minutes ago. "Hey, where are my guns?" When I asked this, Miranda burst out laughing.

"Pay up, sucker!" She shouted at Sarge. In response to her, Sarge sighed, reached into his pocket, pulled out a handful of bullets, and handed them to her.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"We had a bet." Miranda said. "I said that your first question about what had happened would be what happened to your guns. Not where we are, or how we got here, but what happened to your guns!" I felt a little embarrassed, but couldn't help but laugh. It seemed they knew me pretty well.

"Glad to know that my near-death experiences provide good gambling." I chuckled. "But, seriously, where are they?" To answer me, Will walked over to the door, and opened it slightly. Sitting against the wall was my Marlin. My 1911 was on the floor.
"Ah, thank God." I said, doing an over-the-top sigh. "I got worried there for a moment." Everyone laughed. "Now, can I have something to eat, please? I'm starving."


Ten minutes later, we were all sitting in the living room of the house. It was neat and tidy, with a recliner, couch, and entertainment center. On the wall were a few family pictures, which showed a slightly overweight boy about a year younger than me. I guessed that he was Danny. It was a shame that I never got to meet him.
All of us were sitting in various places, as the room had not been designed to hold so many people. Well, most of us anyway; John was on guard duty. I was sitting cross-legged on the couch, devouring a can of Pork and Beans. After a dizzy moment or two, I'd found that I was able to walk fine, despite the pain still present in my shoulder and head.

"So, what's the story?" I asked, wiping my mouth. "What happened to the house? How did we get here?"
"Well..." Mom said. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"Uh..." I thought back. "I remember hearing the last few raiders get shot. Who was that, by the way?"
"That was Sarge and I." Sarah said. " We saw you go down, and I...kinda went a little nuts. I shot two, and Sarge hit the last one." She smirked.
"Good work." I said. "So, anyway, what happened?"

"Well, the fire took most of the house. We couldn't stop it." Mom continued. " I guess we should have bought some extinguishers or something. But, we realized we couldn't really stop it, so while you were fighting the raiders, we loaded stuff into the cars. We actually got quite a big; most of the food and water, most of the guns and ammo, and some other basic stuff. Well, it was about the time that you got hit that we finished loading. So, after Sarah and Sarge finished off the last few raiders, we scooped you up and took off."
"Why didn't you at least try to stay?" I asked, confused. "I mean, we had so much stuff there."

"Well, Matt, the house was ON FIRE." Will said dryly. "Try as I might, I can't control flame with my mind. No sense sticking around to guard a bunch of cinders."
"There was something else as well, Matt." Sarge said. "Think about it; we were attacked twice in, what, three days? We were marked. Any looters in the area knew where we were; it was better to get out than deal with them every few days."
"And, in case y'all forgot." Dad said. "Matt, both you and I were hurt really bad. We had to find a doctor."

"Okay, I get it!" I muttered. "Staying at the house was a bad idea. What happened next?"
"Well, we drove around for a while, looking for someone to help us. On the first day, we didn't have any luck. Everywhere we went was the same thing; zombies, empty stores, and no people. We slept in an abandoned Domino's. You actually woke up for a little bit then. You don't remember it?"
"No, sorry."
"That's okay. You just kept rolling around and yelling 'I'm sorry!' You actually smacked into a wall at one point, and got knocked out again."
"Oh, thaaaat's where this came from." I said, pointing towards the bandages on my head."
"Yeah," Robert piped up. "I think you have a small concussion. Your head's hurting bad, right?"
"Yep." I replied. It was odd, though; I'd grown semi-used to it.
"Thought so. From the looks of it, you'll be okay. There's not much I can do, really."
"I know what you mean." I said, then turned back to Mom. "So, then what happened?"
"Oh, not much really." She admitted. "The next morning, we drove around some more. We'd just about lost hope when we came across Robert and Carla here." She gestured over to them.

"Yeah," Gramps said. "They saved our asses, big time." We all laughed. However, Carla shot Gramps a glare, then gestured to Rebecca playing on the floor.
"Oh, sorry." Gramps said quickly. "Pardon my language." Carla nodded.
"Speaking of which..." I said, turning to Robert and Carla. "What's you guys' story? You seemed to be doing pretty well. How've you survived?"

"Luck, mostly." Robert admitted. "Warrenton isn't a big place; there weren't too many zombies around."
"Warrenton? Is that where we are?" I asked. It was a town about forty miles West of Dalton.

"Yes, that's right. Before all this, I worked in a hospital in Nashville. Since I'm a doctor, I could tell pretty quick that all this was going to be an epidemic. So, I used up all my saved vacation time, and took a week off. I got the house boarded up, and bought some guns." He gestured to the Mossberg 500 in his lap and the Taurus .38 on his hip, then to Carla's matching set.
"Just wondering: why'd you go with those in particular?" I asked, my gun-nut brain refusing to quit even in the face of a concussion.
"Oh, I just asked the clerk at Bass Pro Shops which guns would be best for defense. He said these would."

"Hmm, he actually made some decent choices." I said. "Normally, the clerks at Bass Pro don't know jack-" I caught myself, glancing at Rebecca. "from Jill when it comes to guns. But, anyway, how'd you know to buy guns if you thought a viral epidemic was coming."
"I'd seen the effect the disease had on people. I've heard of zombies before. I'm not an idiot, Mr. Harrigan." He replied, a not-so-subtle apprehension in his voice.
"Sorry," I said quickly. " I didn't mean any offense. It just seemed like an odd jump to me. 'Oh, there's a virus. I need guns.' I didn't mean to insult you."

"Ah...it's fine." Robert said after a second. "I see what you mean. It is a bit of a jump. Don't worry about it."
"Okay, so...you're a doctor, right? So, d'you think all this was caused by a virus, or what?"
"Yes, virus would be my first guess. The general method of infection, the speed of which it happens, and several other things all point to a virus."
"Got it. Now, I've been wondering; are we all already infected? I mean, is it airborne, and we already have it? We just don't become zombies until we die?"

"Actually, yes, I think so." Robert replied. "I've seen zombies with no marks or injuries anywhere; they hadn't been bitten or infected. I guessed that they died of a heart attack or something like that, then came back. It was the only thing I could think of."

"Man, that sucks." Will murmured. "If we're all already infected, aren't we just waiting to die?" Immediately after his last word, a shot rang through the house from the roof. However, there were no more, so it was probably just John killing a stray zombie.
"Will, don't talk like that!" I snapped. "Don't even THINK like that. We're not waiting to die; we're gonna stay alive for as long as we can."
"Yeah, I mean, I get that." Will said. "But we're still all going to become zombies eventually." I wasn't really sure what to say. Apparently neither was anyone else, as an awkward silence followed. Luckily, it was punctured by another gunshot.

"That's another thing." Mom said. "Why don't we attract them when we make noise? You'd think that would make them follow us, or something."
"Believe it or not, I have a theory about that." Robert said, smiling. "Sure, they hear us when we make noise. But, they're not smart enough to know what it is. Think about it; if microscopic organisms had eaten out the major parts of your brain, do you think you could tell which sounds equal food? I doubt it. I've actually done experiments with noise; basically, I hooked up a battery-power radio and played it full-blast on the roof for an hour. I didn't see any increase in zombies. No, I think they hunt mainly by sight and smell."

"Got it." Mom said. "Thanks."
"Sure thing." He said. Again, a moment passed where none of us really knew what to say. I took my 1911 out of the holster, and began absently dismantling it.
"That's actually something else I've been wondering." Sarge said, nodding towards my pistol. "Where'd you get good with a handgun, Matt? I understand that you've used the rifle for hunting, but what about the handgun." I chuckled as I inspected the slide of my pistol. There was some residual mud left in it, so I wiped it off.
"Before all this went down, I competed in some USPSA tournaments. I actually won a few local ones. Back in '08, I came in fifth in the under-18 division of the state shoot."
"Really?" Sarge said, his eyes widening. "Impressive."
"Geez, Matt." Miranda said. "It seems like you've been training for this your whole life, or something. What next?! Are you national karate champion or something?" Everyone laughed.

"No, not quite." I admitted. "Although, I am decent at boxing. You're right, though; I have been preparing. Just, before the outbreak, it was called by different name. Y'all call it track; I call it cardio workouts. Y'all call it taking engineering classes in school; I call it learning how to fortify a house. Get my drift?"
"Yeah, I got it." Miranda said.
"That's our Matt." Will laughed. "We think he's just a well-rounded young man. In reality, he's training to become a zombie-killing machine." We cracked up again.

"So..." I said, looking around. "What's the plan? Robert, I don't want to take up too much of you and Carla's time and resources. When do you want us out of here?" Robert sighed, then smiled.
"Thank you for saying that, Matt. I'm glad you understand. It's not that I don't want you guys here; don't think that. I've just got to look out for my family. If you guys wouldn't mind, I'd prefer if you just stayed long enough for your wounds to heal."

"Wait a second." Will said. "You're gonna kick us out? We can stay long enough for Matt and Mr. Harrigan, but then we have to leave?"
"Will, you've got to understand." Sarge replied slowly. "These people let us in here without asking for anything. We owe it to them to leave when they ask."
"I know, but..." Will turned to Carla and Robert. "Listen, guys. You yourself said we're all in the same boat here. Therefore, we owe it to each other to help each of us survive."

"I understand that." Robert said. "And I helped you all survive. I fixed up Matt and Paul. Honestly, I think that's more than enough. Please, Mr. Campbell, understand. We don't want to be hostile or anything; we just need to survive."
"But I..." Will started, but then noticed several of us glaring at him. He must have realized that he wasn't going to win, as he just shook his head. "Never mind, you're right. You're right. Forget about it." He sat backward but, as I was sitting right next to him, I heard him mutter "f*ckin'' a*sholes." From the looks of everyone, nobody else heard it. Although, Sarge glared at him perhaps a second longer than anyone else. Odd; I made a mental note of it.

"Well, is there anything else we need to discuss?" Robert said. There didn't seem to be. "Well, okay. I'm going to go ahead to bed. Make yourself at home, guys." With that, he stood up, and walked towards the stairs.
"Yeah, that seems like a good idea to me." Gramps said, yawning. "I'm gonna hit the hay, too. Goodnight, guys." He and Grandma both got up and disappeared down a hallway.

"Hey, before too many people go off to bed, I've got one last question." I said. "Um...I'm trying to think of how to put this. ...Uh, why do you guys, like..., I dunno, listen to me? Why am I kinda the leader in all this? I mean, I'm sure that Sarge and Miranda know more about fighting than I do. Dad, you and Mom are my parents. I'm supposed to listen to y'all. So, why does everyone listen to me? Seriously, most of my decisions have wound up bad for us. So, why do you guys follow me?" Everyone was silent for a moment, and I could feel the tension in the air.

"Well, to be fair, I've always been behind ya, Matt." Will said. "I'll follow you anywhere."
"Thanks, man." I replied. "That I can understand. But what about everyone else? Sarah, why do you let me boss everyone around?"
"You try bossing me around, Matt Harrigan, and watch what happens." She laughed. "But, no, I get your point. I didn't know you very well in school. We only talked, what, around a dozen times?"
"Eight." I said automatically. I was slightly embarrassed to say I remembered every one of them.
"Okay...er, eight." Sarah smirked. "But, anyway, there was something that was apparent. I'd heard it from other people, and gathered it myself. If you put your mind to something, you can do it."
"Well, not really." I admitted. "Before the outbreak, I couldn't get you to go out with me."

"You never asked, idiot." She replied. "I would have if you did. Anyway, I thought that if you put your mind to killing zombies and keeping us alive, you could do it. That's why I came to your house. And, from the looks of it, I was right. You kept us pretty much safe."
"Yeah, tell that to Mrs. Campbell." I muttered.
"That wasn't your fault." Sarah replied. "Still, you get my point. You've gotten the whole zombie thing pretty much covered; you'll do alright."
"Thanks." I said. "Mom? Dad? How 'bout you?"

"Matt, we told you on the night before all this happened." Dad began. "We'd listen to whatever you said. You'd been preparing, you had a plan, you basically knew what to do. We didn't, so its only natural. Trust me, Matt, you're better suited to leading than me. You knew about the zombie thing before. That's good enough in my book." Mom nodded in agreement.
"Okay, fair enough." I turned to the last two. "Sarge? Miranda? You guys, most of all, would probably be better leaders than me."

"I doubt it." Sarge replied. "When we met you, sure, we could have said 'We're Marines! Obey us!' But, you guys were better off than we were. You had a house, food, defenses, the whole sha-bang. What did we have? Nothing. Plus, everyone already listened to you when we got there, so it wouldn't have worked. Most of the things you do, I agree with. Specifically, when you killed that guy with the messed-up face. I knew then that you would do what you needed to in order to help everyone. As long as keep doing that, I'll follow you."
"Not to mention that you saved our lives." Miranda added. "We owe you one."
"Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it." I said, standing up slowly. My head and shoulder still hurt, but it felt dulled where I'd grown used to it. Either way, I found I was exhausted. Of course, I imagined being shot and knocking your head in could take its toll.
"Oh, what?" Will said. "Now that we're done stroking your ego and spouting cheesy sentiments, you're gonna go off to bed? Prima Donna." I couldn't help but chuckle as Sarah and I began to look for a room to sleep in.

"Hmm..." I scratched my head, pondering the question. "I'd probably have to say...Zachary Levi. He sorta looks like me, I guess."

"Yeah, I can see that. Actually, you're probably closer to Jimmy Stewart, but he's dead." Will said, cocking his head to the side.
"Well, to be fair, Ewan's probably dead too."
"Oh, you know what I mean." He replied. "How 'bout me? Who would play me in a zombie movie?"
"Justin Bieber, of course." I said promptly.
"Oh, f*ck you!" He said, jokingly shoving me.
"Awright, awright." I considered. "I could see Jamie Kennedy. He seems to have the same general attitude as you."
"Who's that?" He asked.
"Uh...Randy in Scream."
"Got it. Yeah, I agree with ya there." We both laughed.

It was the next day, at about nine in the morning. Will and I were perched on the roof, just watching the neighborhood. There were about a dozen houses within our view. All of them showed the usual signs of damage: smashed windows, bullets holes, burn marks here or there. With the exception of a few zombies, there was no movement.
It was a nice day, with a few scattered clouds in the sky, a breeze blowing in from the East. It WAS getting pretty hot outside, though; now that I thought about it, it had to be close to the end of June. I'd long since changed into a pair of cargo shorts instead of jeans. Of course, that did make me think of something: what were we going to do for clothing once winter came? However, that was still a while off, so I wasn't too worried.

Honestly, I was having a pretty good time. I hadn't had many chances to hang out with Will recently. So, it was good to just joke around with each other. Also, I was happy to be feeling a little better; my head and shoulder still hurt pretty bad, but I could get around with little difficulty. All in all, I figured it would be okay.


"How 'bout Sarah?" Will continued on. "Who should play her? I was thinking that Hayden girl from Heroes."
"Hayden Penattiere? No, she's too fat. Sarah's a lot taller and thinner." I leaned backward, thinking. "Tricia Helfer, maybe. She's a little old, though. I dunno. There aren't many famous actors and actresses our age."
"Yeah...Y'know, it's kinda weird." Will mused. "We're talking about who should play us if they ever made a zombie movie about our lives. Um...from the looks of it, there ain't going to be any movies made for a while."

"Probably not." I chuckled. "Oh, I got it! That girl from Species. Natasha something."
"Natasha Henstridge?" Will asked. "Sorry, man, I gotta disagree there. Sarah's hot, but she isn't THAT hot."
"Oh, FINE." I said, folding my arms in false grumpiness. "Hmm, who else? Oh, Neve Campbell would be good for Miranda."
"Yeah, probably." Will agreed. "Of course, if Miranda were Neve Campbell, you wouldn't let her out of your sight."
"Oh, shaddup!" I laughed. "I'm over that now."
"You were obsessed with her for TWO MONTHS, man. After you saw Scream."
"That was a year and a half ago, dammit!"
"Whatever..." Will shrugged. We both just sat there for a second. Then, a question came to my mind.

"Hey, Will." I asked, turning to him. "Did something happen between you and Sarge while I was out? I noticed him givin' you the evil eye last year."
"Oh, that? Sh*t." Will muttered. "It wasn't my fault, man."
"What happened?" I asked again.
"It was nothin', really. Just one comment. To Miranda."
"What'd you say?"
"Well...I asked her if she wanted to f*ck." Upon hearing this, my jaw dropped.
"Literally?!" I asked incredulously.
"No, dipsh*t. Not literally." He muttered, anger creeping into his voice. "I just mentioned that there weren't to many people around, and that we may need to-" He winked. "-repopulate. Miranda laughed, but Sarge got all bent out of shape about it. So, he's pi*sed at me now." He rolled his eyes. "How was I supposed to know they were together?"
"Um...it was pretty obvious, bro." I told him.
"Whatever. I really don't care. Anyway, he got all up in my face about it, yelling and crap. He kept saying that he could kick my ass 'cause he was in the Marines, or something."

"Uh-huh." I said, only about half-believing him. Will had a tendency to exaggerate about this kind of stuff. Also, Sarge's statement that he could beat Will up was true enough. I made a mental note to ask Sarge about what had happened; getting both sides of the story would be best.
"So then..." He continued. "I told him if he was so tough, to go ahead and f*ckin' do it, then. He rears back like he's gonna hit me, then my dad comes between us. He tells us that we're both being as*holes and to back down. Well, Sarge did, so I did too. And here we are."
"I see." I murmured pensively. "Sorry to hear that."
"Meh, don't worry about it. Just don't expect me to work with Sarge on anything." It seemed as if the subject was closed to him, so I didn't press any further. We both just sat there for a minute. Then, I saw Will's eyes go wide.

"Holy sh*t!" He yelled, standing up and pointing. "What the f*ck is it doing?!" He was pointing down the road, to a single-story house with white siding and a wrecked SUV in the yard. A zombie had just emerged from behind the house. Physically, it looked "normal"; it had been a man in his forties, now clad in nothing but rags. A latticework of wounds, scrapes, and holes covered its body. However, like Will said, what it was DOING was the important thing.

"Ah, I'd say it's running." I said calmly. Well, to be exact, it wasn't really running; it was more shambling at a brisk pace. Somewhere around the same speed an average person would jog.
"They aren't supposed to run! They're supposed to be ******' slow."
"Oh, don't worry." I said, picking up my rifle. I wasn't overly concerned; I'd heard reports of running ones before, and I knew what to do. I aimed carefully, following the creature as it "sped" down the road. When I felt like I had the right shot, I fired.
Crack! Immediately after firing, I called a hit. The zombies crumpled in a heap, its hip destroyed by 170 grains of lead.

"What the hell?" Will asked as I levered my rifle.
"Hip shot. Brings 'em down." I smirked, then shot again. The round connected with the skull, and sent chunks sliding across the pavement. "Trust me, Will; shamblers weren't the only thing I prepared for."


Twenty minutes later, Will and I climbed back into the house through the window. Honestly, it felt good to be out of the growing heat.
"Anything interesting happen, guys?" John asked as he passed us in the hallway.
"Not really." I said. "Keep an eye out, though. I killed one that was moving faster than normal. If you see many more, tell me."
"Gotcha. No problem." He nodded, and began climbing out the window.

We made our way down to the living room. Sarge and Sarah were playing chess, Dad was reading a magazine, and Carla was teaching something to Rebecca. Math, I guess. Anyway, Gramps, Miranda, Robert, and my grandmother had gone to scout the surrounding houses for supplies. Up until this point, Robert had been reluctant to leave his family alone, but now, with so many more people, he seemed okay with it.

"Hey guys, what's up?" I asked.
"Not much." Sarge said, looking up. "Sarah's cleanin' my clock here."
"Really?" I asked, looking at the board. Sure enough, Sarah was winning handily.
"Matt, you act surprised. I'm insulted." Sarah said, chuckling as she moved a knight. We all laughed.

"Hey, Matt." Dad said, looking up. "You're the zombie-killing guru; I want to know what you think on an issue."
"Sure." I replied as I sat down in a chair. "What's up?"
"Well, like we were talking about yesterday, we're gonna have to leave here soon."
"Again, sorry about that." Carla said, glancing up. "It's nothing personal."
"It's fine, we understand." I replied. "Go on, Dad."

"Anyway," He continued. "I was trying to think of a place we could go to that's nearby. Do you have any ideas?"
"Hmm..." I considered the options. I'd been in Warrenton numerous times; it was just a matter of remembering what was there.

"How about holding up in a gun store or something?" Will suggested. "We wouldn't have to worry about ammo."
"Noooooooo." I said, turning to him and giving him a quizzical look. "C'mon man, think. When everything went down, that would have been the first place that was looted. If we go there, the best thing we'd find is an empty gun store."
"And the worst thing?" Sarah asked.
"30 psychos with a gunshop full of ammo." I muttered. "Any other ideas?"

"Another abandoned house?" Sarge offered.
"Doubt it." I replied. "Most houses that haven't been fortified like this one have been broken into by now. Trust me, you DON'T want to have to find replacements for all the doors and windows."
"Fair enough." He admitted, looking back down at the board. Upon seeing his position, he grimaced.
"Okay," I said, more to myself than anyone else. "We need somewhere that most people wouldn't think to loot; that will be easy to defend; that is pretty secluded; and that will preferably already have supplies. Supermarkets and stores won't work." I fell silent, just pondering. Then, an idea came into my head. I'd never been there; I'd just seen it on the road. However, it fulfilled nearly all of the criteria.

"The STORAGE SHEDS!" I shouted happily, causing everyone to jump slightly and look at me.
"Huh?" Dad asked.
"The self-storage units on the edge of town!" I said. "What're they called? Um..."
"Moore's Storage?" Carla offered.
"Yeah, that's it!" I said happily. "Think about it; tons of stuff that could be helpful. It's protected by a fence and a bunch of locks. The doors on all the units are sturdy. And most people probably wouldn't really think to look there. What do y'all think?"

"Sounds good to me." Will said.
"Oh, you just love the possibility of tons of free stuff." I said, laughing.
"Why not?" He said. "Don't people sometimes store guns and tools and stuff in there? We can always use more firepower."
"Oh, God." Sarah said. "Will's turning into a less-badass version of Matt." We all laughed again, though Carla shot Sarah a look.
"Oh, sorry for the language. Forgot." Sarah said quickly.

"Well, anyway..." I continued. "That place could probably work. It isn't too far away; we could get there in about 20 minutes really." The gears were cranking, and I was rolling. "We've got, what, a week of supplies left? That could hold us if we made it there. And we could-"
"Matt, hold on!" Dad said. "Think this through. You and I are still both hurt."
"Aw, I'm fine." I said, ignoring the pain I still felt in my head and shoulder.
"Well, you might be, but I'm not!" He said, gesturing to his leg. "I can barely walk. So, I don't want to be clearing out a new area or anything."
"He's right, Matt." Sarge said. "Carla and Robert said we could stay until y'all got better. It'll take...how long?" He said, turning to Carla.
"Oh...probably around a week or so."

"Okay, then." Dad continued. "Let's just wait until we've gotten better, and leave then."
"I still don't see why we have to leave!" Will complained.
"Shut up, Will." Sarge said. "It's Robert and Carla's choice."
"Hey, did I ask you?" Will replied, turning. "I don't think so. So kindly f*ck off."
"Will!" I snapped. "Watch your mouth!" I jerked my head in Rebecca's direction.
"Oh, whatever." He huffed.

"Guys, guys, calm down." My dad said, glaring around the room. "No need to argue over this."
"Agreed." Sarah said, looking down at the board. She moved a knight. "Checkmate." Sarge started, and looked down at the board. After a moment, he smirked, and threw his hands up in the air.
"No fair..." He said, chuckling.

"Well, anyway. The storage sheds will work. Let's check with the others when they get back. If they like it, we'll do some scouting over the next few days." I looked around. "Any objections?" Will started to raise his hand, then thought the better of it.
"Good." I said. "Now, Will, can you and Sarge promise not to kill each other in the next week?"
"Fine." Sarge shrugged. "It's not like he could take me down anyway." Will started to object, but I cut him off.

"Sarge, you can't know that. If we've learned one thing from the dead rising, it's that we can all do stuff we didn't think we could."
"Yeah," Sarah said. "Like running people over, or nearly beating them to death with a rifle stock." She laughed.
"I suppose." I countered. "Or shooting two guys who were fighting your boyfriend." In response, Sarah just shrugged.
"HEY MATT!" A shout tore through the house. It was John. "Get up here! You'll want to see this!"


I sprinted up the stairs, with everyone else in tow (save Dad, who took a while to get up.) We met John as he came running down the hallway.
"What's goin' on, John?!" I asked.
"Just look outside!" He said, turning and hurrying into the nearest room. It was actually the bedroom that I'd woken up in the day before. We ran to the windows on the wall, and peered out.

There was a black SUV barreling down the road, its engine roaring as it swerved around cars and smashed into zombies. At that moment, I guessed it was probably three hundred yards down the road. Even from that far away, I could hear music blasting from the speakers. A man was leaning out of the passenger's window, taking potshots at zombies with a large pistol (it was too far away for me to identify.) I watched in confusion as the SUV approached, then randomly swerved, and entered into a power slide. With a metallic screeching noise, it ground to a halt directly outside of the house.

"Crap." I murmured.
"Do you think they know we're here?" Sarge asked.
"Probably. I think they saw me when I was on the roof. Sorry, guys." John answered.
"It's alright." I replied, staring out the window. The music that emanated from the vehicle was some death metal that I wasn't familiar with. Really, it was nothing more than screaming and drums. Either way, it stopped a second later. The doors in the front of the vehicle popped open, and two men hopped out. When I saw them, my heart sank.

"Aw hell," I said. "Mall ninjas."
As I said, there were two of them. Both looked pretty young; maybe mid twenties at most. The driver was about 5‘10, with an average build. I could make out a scowling, ugly face, with beady eyes and a stubbly beard. He wore a flannel shirt, a huge belt buckle, jeans, and boots. To top it off, he wore a ridiculously large, white cowboy hat. He looked like one of those guys who dresses up as a cowboy for Halloween. On his belt, he had a variety of knives, and a pair of holsters that matched the two single-action revolvers he clutched in his hands. I couldn’t see a longarm, but I guessed he’d left it in the SUV.
The other guy looked even stupider. He was pretty tall, but also quite fat. His face looked like melted wax, and he had a bushy, unkempt beard. Despite the heat, he was wearing a black hoodie and fatigue pants. Also, I could make out a tattoo of a pot plant on his neck. But, that wasn’t the kicker. The one fact that assured me that he was an idiot was his gun. In his left hand, he held a Desert Eagle. There was another pistol in a belt holster, but the fact that he was using that monstrous handgun automatically made me think that he didn’t know much about guns. That, along with his clearly-costumed friend made me question how this “dynamic” duo had survived that long.

“Matt?” Sarah said, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“What’s a mall ninja?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s a term for someone who plans, in the event of a zombie-type thing, to go around doing stupid stuff and using weapons that make no sense. The one idiot has a Desert Eagle. And the cowboy freak is clearly a fraud. Watch; if they start shooting, bet you 10-to-1 he dual-wields.” As if to support my point, the pair began shooting at a few zombies nearby. Sure enough, the cowboy whipped up both revolvers and began firing, without bothering to aim either of them. The guns burped, but no zombies were even close to being hit.
His friend was even worse. He held the Deagle one-handed and, for the love of God, TURNED IT SIDEWAYS. He yanked the trigger, and the thunderous boom of the gun rang in our ears. However, like the cowboy, he didn’t hit jack sh*t.

“Told you.” I muttered.
“How in the world have these guys survived?” Mom asked.
“No idea.” replied. “Wait a second; where’d you come from? You weren’t here earlier.” Then, I changed my mind. “Nevermind, don’t worry about it.”
“What should we do, Matt?” John asked as the gunshots continued outside.
“Hmm...” I considered. "They seem like they know we're in here; but they didn't just start shooting at us."
"They couldn't have hit us anyway." Will chuckled.
"Fair enough." I said. Then, I made up my mind. "I don't think they're raiders or anything. I'm gonna go out and talk to them."
"I'm going with you then." John said. "It's my fault that they saw us."
"I'm going too." Mom said. "Matt, you're hurt. You're in no shape to be dealing with people."
"Oh, I'm fine Mom." I said. "But, you guys have to stay here. If a bunch of us go out, they may get jumpy and open up. If it's just me, there's less of a chance they'll shoot.
"But Matt-" Mom began.
"Mom, trust me!" I interrupted. "Just keep watch up here. If it looks bad, smoke 'em. Okay?" Everybody must have seen that I'd already made up my mind, so they didn't object.
"Fine, Matt." Mom said. "But, be careful out there!"
"Yeah," Sarah agreed. "It's been proven that you're not bulletproof. Let's not prove it again."
"Okay, sounds fair. Sarge, keep me covered." I stood up, rubbed my shoulder, then weaved through them towards to the door.


"You going out there, Son?" Dad asked as I walked through the living room.
"Yeah."
"Well, good luck." Without saying so, I mentally thanked him for not trying to stop me; he seemed to understand that there were some things I just had to do.

I picked up my Marlin from where'd I'd left against the wall, then thought better of it and set it back down. If I walked out with a rifle, they'd probably panic or something. My pistol would have to suffice.
I walked up to the door, and took a deep breath. Then, without any more hesitation, I removed the barricades on the door, and stepped out.


The SUV was in the road about thirty yards ahead of me. However, the only cover between myself and the two guys were a few bushes and what remained of a fence. I could see bloodstains on the ground, which I assumed to be from the zombies that the family had killed over time. However, that wasn't my concern. The two guys up ahead seemed not to have noticed me yet; they were both too concerned with shooting.

"Yee-haw! Down he goes!" The cowboy yelled when he managed a lucky shot on a zombie. I could tell immediately that his accent was fake. The other man didn't say anything; he just kept shooting.
"Uh...hello?" I called out to them. I figured sneaking up on them would get me shot. Still, even when I called out them, they wheeled around and pointed the guns at me.

"Don't y'all move!" The "cowboy" shouted. "We don't want to shoot yew, but we will! Put yer hands up in th' air."
"Aw, c'mon guys, do I have to? We're all friends here."
"That's for me to decide. Put 'em up, ya f*ggot." I sighed, and complied. If it would avoid a shootout, I could take a few insults.
"Good." The man drawled. "Now, don' try anything funny. We're coming over there." He spammed a series of shots at one of the last zombies around, and actually managed to kill it. He guffawed, then strode towards me. His friend followed suit, slamming a full magazine into his Desert Eagle. Within a few moments, they were standing in front of me.

"Listen guys," I said, my hands still in the air. "We don't want any trouble."

"Oh, y'all don't, eh?" He elbowed his buddy. "You hear that, Alex? He don't want any trouble. Guess we better go ahead on our way."

"C'mon, guys." I pleaded. Then, I decided to lie. "We only have enough food for a few more days. Please, just leave us alone."

“SHUT UP!” He said, lurching forward to push me. Unfortunately, he hit me where I’d been shot. I let out a groan, and bent forward. “Oh, did that hurt? Listen to me, son. I’ve killed people ten times tougher than you. So, when I say to hand over all your food, YOU DAMN WELL BETTER HA-” His words were cut off as my fist connected with his throat. Even though I was weakened where I'd been shot, it was still more than enough to shock him. But, I wanted to be sure; without pause, I jerked up my right leg, with the toe of my shoe connecting squarely with his nuts. As he began to collapse, I pivoted to Alex, who was scrambling to draw a bead on mine. By the time he did, my gun had met him.

“Don't try it!” I warned. He still didn’t say anything; he just kept holding the f*cking gun sideways.

“Son of a b*tch!” The cowboy yelled, gagging and wheezing on the ground. His voice was slightly higher, and his accent was completely gone.

“Oh, be quiet!” I said without looking at him. “Just because you and Silent Bob here think you’re badasses doesn’t mean you actually are! Next time, if you threaten someone, actually c*ck the goddamn gun.”
“Go to hell!” The “cowboy” said, though he didn't do anything else.

"Okay, guys." I said, keeping my voice calm despite a knot of fear I had in my throat. Alex was still aiming at me. "There's two ways we can do this. Either you drop your guns and come with me, or we got us a shootout. In the house behind me, I guarantee there are at least three guns on you right now. Even if you kill me, it won't be pretty." I glared at them both. "Choice is yours." The exchanged glances, and didn't say anything.

"Well, what's it gonna be then, eh?" I muttered. If my guess was right, they'd fold. I'd taken down the cowboy, and Alex didn't seem to be one to take the initiative.

"Is there a problem here?" A deep, rumbling voice asked off to my left. I recognized it instantly.
"No, no problem Gramps. Find anything good?"
"Meh, a few things." He answered from where he had emerged from the bushes, his rifle aimed squarely at Alex's chest. Miranda, Robert, and my grandmother had all done the same.
"Who the hell are you guys?" The cowboy asked from where he still sat on the ground.

"Oh, just some friends and relatives." I grinned. "C'mon, guys. Drop the guns; let's go in and talk." Again, the pair looked at each other.
"...You win." Alex said, speaking for the first time. He set the Desert Eagle down on the ground. He then removed his other pistol, and did the same.
"Yeah, you've got us rooked." The cowboy agreed, sliding his revolvers across the ground. Still, if looks could kill, the glare he was giving me would've caused a mass extinction. Either way, I nodded, and lowered my 1911. I walked over to the cowboy, and extended my hand. He didn't take it; instead, he shakily got up.

"What's your name, man?" I asked.
"Shut up, man. I'm not gonna tell you anything." Obviously, he was still pissed because I'd kicked him. Oh well.
"Well, I'm Matt Harrigan. C'mon, let's go inside." I scooped up his revolvers, then watched as Miranda did the same with Alex's guns. Then, something caught my eye; Alex's other pistol was a Sig Sauer P226 .357 Sig.

"Nice gun, Alex." I commented. "Why don't you use that instead of the POS Deagle?" In response, he shrugged.
"Didn't seem as cool." Despite himself, he smirked.
"Whatever you say." I said, then lead them inside.

Our little group led the two guys through the house.
"Hey, Gramps." I called over my shoulder. "Did you find anything good?"
"Aw, same old, same old." He said. "Y'know, food, water, batteries, etc. Oh, we found a pair of bolt-cutters like you asked." That was good; I figured if we were going to the storage sheds, we'd need something to cut the locks with.
"Glad to hear it. You find any guns?" I heard chuckling from behind me; my gun obsession was still good for a few laughs. Also, Cowboy snickered to, but I just shoved him forward.

"Just a Glock 9mm in a nightstand. It ain't as big as the one we have."
"It's a 19." Miranda added, casually inspecting Alex's Desert Eagle as she led him down the hallway.
"Nice." I answered. "Hey, Robert, where do you think we should put these guys?"
"What the f*ck are we? Cattle?" Cowboy snarled.
"Hey, based on how you dress, you're either a steer or a queer." I replied. Cowboy just grunted.
"I'd put them in the garage." Robert said after a second. "Don't think they could do much from there."
"Awright, cool. Thanks." We walked through the living room, which had the stairs to the second floor. I looked up to see everyone else hurrying to the stairs.

"Everything okay, Matt?" Sarah asked.
"Yeah, we're fine. Everyone, meet Alex and...what's your name?" I asked Cowboy.
"Jack. Jack Sh*t." He muttered back. I sighed.

"What's his name, Alex?" I asked, turning to him. I was guessing that Alex was going to be pretty much compliant.
"Seth. Seth Rourke." He answered. Seth, in turn, glared at him, but Alex just shrugged.
"Okay, good enough for me. Everyone meet Alex and Seth. They just learned that they ain't the toughest folks still alive." I chuckled, and everyone sarcastically waved to them.

"Hey, I need y'all to do me some favors." I said after a second. "Gramps, would you and John go through these two's car and see if they have anything we can use?"
"Hey!" Seth said. "That's our stuff!"
"Didn't you just say ten minutes ago that you were going to take everything we have?" I dug my gun into the small of his back. "Not too much fun when it's the other way around, huh?" I then turned back to everyone. "Anyway, can y'all do that?"
"Sure, no problem." Gramps said. The two of them headed towards the door. My grandmother decided to help them, and followed along.

"Okay, next, Will, I need you to do me a favor. Can you take a tally of all the guns and ammo we have? I need to know?"
"Aw, c'mon man..." Will complained. "Do you really need me to?"
"Yeah..." Then, I had an idea. "Tellya what; you do that, and I'll let you have that Desert Eagle. Unless Alex has any objections...?"

"I...no, I guess not." Alex relented. He was apparently quite the wet blanket. "Do whatever you want."
"Thanks for your permission." I replied with a smirk. "That a good enough deal for you, Will?"
"Hell yeah!" He yelled, and stalked off into the bedroom where we'd stored our weapons.
"Well, if there's nothin' else, let's take these guys into the garage. I wanna ask 'em a few things."

"What is this, an interrogation?" Seth spat.
"No, nothing like that." I laughed. "Well, actually, I dunno. Sarge, you got any interrogation experience?"
"Nope, sorry."
"No problem. Let's go." I grabbed Seth's collar, and turned him towards the garage.



"So..." I said, leaning against the hood of the car. "What's you guys' story?"
We were in the Dañ o's garage. It was pretty good sized, but there was no AC, so it was stifling in there. The space was dominated by a large minivan, who's hood was serving as my seat. Along one wall were various tools and containers. We'd managed to find some rope, and had used it to bind Cowboy (I had decided that I didn't like the name "Seth") and Alex to a pipe running along the wall. They had a fair amount of movement, but wouldn't be going anywhere in a hurry. Now, it was just them and I. Still, Cowboy wasn't exactly in a friendly mood.
"**** you." He said, glaring at me. I sighed; he was REALLY annoying me.

"Look, Cowboy, I want you to understand something. I've already established that I can outfight you, and-"
"You sucker-punched me!" He interrupted.
"While you were claiming that you were really tough. You were asking for it really. Also, I want to show you something." I tugged down my shirt, to reveal the wound in my shoulder. My entire arm was still very red and blotchy, and there was a neat bullet hole in the center.

"You see that? I got shot two days ago, and I can still kick your ass. So, drop the 'I hate you 'cause I'm tough' routine and just talk with me. I could've shot you outside and-"
"With your parents watching, kid?" He snorted. "Not likely." In response, I just shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not. It wouldn't have been the first time. Look, I was being honest when I said I didn't want any trouble with you guys, and I don't. I just wanna know what you've been through; is that too much?"
"He's got a point, Seth." Alex murmured.
"You shut up!" Cowboy whipped around and stared at him. "You've already sold me out and gone along with this son of a b*tch, so I really don't care what you think."
"Honestly, he doesn't seem like a bad guy." Alex replied. "You WERE threatening him."
"Thanks." I said.
"Whatever." Cowboy huffed. "I can see that you're gonna tell him whatever he want, Alex. So it doesn't really matter what I say."
"It's not that I don't understand you, man. We've been through a lot in the past few months. I just see where...Matt, right?"
"Yeah."
"Where Matt's coming from too." Cowboy didn't say anything in response; he just flipped Alex off.

"Oh, whatever." I said, sighing. "Anyway, Alex, like I said, what's y'all's story?" Alex sighed, as if he was going to start talking for a while.
"Well, we were roommates at William and Mary before all this sh*t happened."
"In Virginia?"
"Yeah. Anyway, when we saw everything goin' on, we buckled down. When everyone else was leavin' to go see their families, we just stayed put."
"Why didn't you go see your families?" I asked.

"Both my folks were killed in a car crash when I was younger. I was living with my aunt and uncle, but we didn't really get along. So, I just decided to hang around campus."
"Oh, I see. What about you, Cowboy?"
"Didn't need 'em." He spat. I rolled my eyes, then turned back to Alex. "Please continue."

"So, anyway, we stayed on campus. We bought a bunch of food, water, and other stuff. I had a bit of cash saved up, so we went to the gun shop. Honestly, I'm not much of a gun guy, but I'd seen the Desert Eagle before, and I figured it would work. Seth always loved westerns; Clint Eastwood and all that. So he got those revolvers." I glanced over at the pair of Ruger Blackhawks sitting on the hood next to me.
"Heh, I'm surprised he didn't get a .44 then." I muttered.
"He tried; the store didn't have any." He glanced over at Cowboy.
"Why the hell are you telling him all this?" Cowboy asked. "Are you TRYING to make me sound like an idiot, you ******* traitor? Your damn handcannon is no better."
"Okay, he's got a point there." I admitted. "You really could have made a better handgun choice, Alex. You shot it much?"
"A little. It kicks like crazy. But, it worked well enough for threats." He shrugged. "So, we just kinda hid out for a while in the dorm. We found a few other guys who'd had the same idea with us, and stuck with them. After most of the others had left, we barricaded the doors and everything. Also, we did our best to wreck the staircase; the zombies didn't seem like they could climb, so we thought it would keep most of them out."
"Good thinking." I commented.

"Thanks. We were okay for the first few weeks. But, then these guys in an Army truck showed up and started drivin' around, shootin' the hell out of anything that moved. Two of our guys went out to talk to them, and ended up getting shot. We were hoping they'd go away, but they started camping out in the dorm across the street. We tried to keep hidden, but it seemed like they were gonna find us. So, we snuck out one night, and booked it down the road."
"This was just you and Cowboy here?" I asked.
"No, there were two other guys with us; Logan and Mark. They were pretty cool."
"What happened to them?"

"Logan got bitten by a zombie in a Safeway near Bristol; he wound up shooting himself. Mark, well...we don't know. He just took off one night; we have no idea why. So...yeah, here we are. We've been drivin' across the state, just looking for food and supplies. When Seth was trying to get your food, he meant it; we were down to about two day's worth."
"I see..." I considered. "I got two questions. Number one: where'd you get the SUV?"
"Oh, at a car dealership. I couldn't believe it was still there; there were only a few cars left. We found the keys on a zombie inside."

"Gotcha. Number 2; where'd you get the Sig?"
"The what?" He asked, confused.
"The other handgun you had."
"Oh, we got it off a cop back in Virginia. He was in a cquad car on the highway. He had that, and a shotgun; it's in the back of the Hummer."
"Oh, cool. Happen to know what kind?" In response, Alex just laughed.
"You really do love your guns, don't you?"
"Hell yeah." I said. Then, I considered for a moment. "Y'know, you seem like an okay guy. Wanna come out and grab a bite to eat?"

"Uh...sure, I guess so." So, I got up, Drew my knife, and cut the rope holding him to the pipe.
"Thanks." He said, standing up and dusting himself off. "No hard feelings 'bout tyin' me up. I understand why you did it."
"Yeah." I replied. "Y'know, I may have pegged you wrong when I called you 'silent Bob.' You're talking quite a bit." Alex shrugged; I noticed that he did that a lot.
"Whatever, dude." We turned to walk back into the house, when Cowboy cleared his throat.

"So this is how it is, huh?" He asked, addressing Alex. "You're gonna buddy all up to this fa*got, you f*cking traitor? After all the sh*t we've been through?"
"Sorry, man. I'll bring you back some food." We turned and walked towards the door. I'd made it about three steps when I felt the impact.

It was a dull thunk, with something heavy impacting with the back of my skull.
"What the f*ck?!" I shouted involuntarily as pain exploded in my head. It felt like burning nails were being driven into my brain. I couldn't even see. However, before I could react, I was hit again, this time in the small of the back. My back arched, and I reeled. As I screamed and cursed in pain, my feet caught on something on the floor, causing me tripped. My shoulder smashed against the side of the minivan, and I tumbled to the floor, moaning in pain. I put my hands up in defense, but it did nothing; more blows struck me.

In a millisecond, despite the fact that it felt like my head was being split open, I put it together; these guys weren't mall ninjas at all. It was just an angle they played to get inside. And, like an idiot, I'd played right along, even letting Alex loosed. Sure enough, once I was able to look through my watery eyes, I glimpsed Alex standing above me, holding Cowboy's revolvers by the barrels; that was what he'd been using to hit me. Without thinking, my hand went to my 1911, only to discover that it wasn't there.

"Looking for this?" Alex said, holding up my pistol. He laughed, and tossed it on the minivan. Then, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a pocketknife.
"Here." He said, throwing it to Cowboy. "Cut yourself loose."
"You son of a b*tch!" I shouted, starting to stand up despite the fierce aches all over my body. Alex responded by smacking me in the forehead with one of the revolvers, again sending bolts of pain through my skull.

"Aw, shaddup!" He said, looking down at me. "Did you really believe we were little idiots, you arrogant prick? Did you really believe all that "I hate you" bullsh*t from Seth? I'm a terrible liar, and I still fooled you. You see, the thing is that-"

"Alex, look out!" Cowboy said, pointing towards the open door to the house. My vision had just about returned at this point, so when I turned, I saw a shadow along the wall, indicating that someone was coming. Alex started to dive for the 1911 on the van, and I saw my chance. I lashed out with my foot, catching him the knee. He let out a pained moan, and fell to the floor, his fat form slamming into the concrete. I knew I only had a few seconds, so my hand frantically fumbled around on the floor. I found whatever I had tripped on, grabbed it, and crawled over to Alex.

"You bastard!" Alex said, starting to get up. However, I simply brought down my weapon in his chest. It was only at that moment that I realized it was an axe. Alex screamed, and I felt blood splash up on me. I raised the axe, and brought it down three more times. Each time, Alex's screams got louder, and more of his blood covered me. Finally, the screaming stopped, and he was silent.
Wearily, I set the axe down on the ground, only to frantically reach for it again when I remembered Cowboy. Sure enough, when I looked up, he had cut his way out of the rope, and was coming towards me.

"Oh sh*t!" I said involuntarily. Cowboy was less than half a second away, and was holding the pocketknife like an ice pick. He'd all but reached me when a deafening boom rang in my ears. Cowboy reeled as a bullet struck him squarely in the chest. He fell to the ground, and didn't move. Slowly, Sarge entered into my field of vision, his Judge held in the ready position. He checked Cowboy, seemed satisfied, and nodded.

Within a few seconds, I was surrounded by all my friends and family, making sure I was alright.
"Matt, you okay?" Dad asked.
"What happened man?!" Will shouted
"Are you hurt?" Sarah asked.
"I'm fine, I'm fine." I said. To be fair, my body was aching and my head felt terrible, but I figured I was okay overall.
"Oh god..." Mom said. "Did you...do that?" She was looking at Alex's mangled body.
"He did what he had to." Dad replied.
"Yeah, I guess so." I muttered, fatigue setting in. "Thanks for the save, Sarge."
"Don't mention it, buddy. You'd do the same for me." He reached through the mass of people and shook my shoulder. I winced in pain.
"Oh, sorry." He quickly took his hand away.
"Uh...can we go in the house and just sit down?" I asked tiredly. All the adrenaline I had was gone, and the pain was getting worse. They all agreed, and gently led me out of the now-bloodied garage and into the house.