FSE

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This here is 'Zombie Survival Horror'...part one. Yeah, it seems I'm nearly incapable of writing a story without having a series after it. Anyway, this particular chapter is a bit lax on zombies, survival, and horror, so I'm planning to amp up the second chapter. I figured I'd set it up as journal-esque, something the main character (me) writes to keep sane, as well as to leave some kind of legacy behind should the unthinkable happen. This is the primary copy, the one I revert back to if I absolutely HATE where the secondary goes to (which is often), so it contains a major batch of problems, including character misrepresentation. As in I totally fucked up Kumokasumi Akuma's character WAY back and never got around to fixing it.

Allaphro belongs to Kumokasumi Akuma, who granted me permission to use her.

(Please note: Allaphro is NOT a sabretooth tiger per se. It is, however, the only tag close to what she is)

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My house was almost devoid of food. My gas stores were almost nil. And I'd run out of TP that morning. I needed to go shopping. I hate shopping. Shopping is fuckin' dangerous, even at the best of times. These were not the best of times. I peeked through my several peepholes around the house, then, assured that I was as safe as I was gonna get, unlocked the deadbolt and threw open the door.

There was nobody standing on my doorstep. Thank God. I could hear feet scraping on the street, but since I was at my back door, I wasn't too worried. I'd built up a wall of cinder blocks and dug a trench on the outside of it

Paranoid? Maybe. But after having to put down several of my friends and loved ones, I didn't want to take chances.

I scouted my yard quickly, making sure there was nobody there, then hopped into my car and turned her over. She was a simple Crown Victoria, white with a few scratches on her, and a discoloration on the trunk, where I spilled a large cup of hot chocolate on it. My mom had been so pissed.

Yeah, I was driving my mom's car. She didn't need it, seeing as she, my stepdad, and my youngest brother were in North Carolina, visiting my aunt. And they would keep on visiting.

I hit the button hanging from the visor, and the metal gate behind the car slid open I quickly backed out of the driveway and hit the button again, closing my gate. I turned to look straight ahead and saw them. Two of them, staggering towards me like they were walking with cement shoes. I shook my head with a disgusted look, then hit the gas.

THUMP! BUMP! SQUISH!

Nasty. I made a face, seeing the trail of brains and goop left behind. One of them was still moving, but I'd run over its throat, crushing its vocal cords. No moans came from it as I shifted into reverse and backed over its head with a wicked grin. I shifted back into drive, put my foot on the gas, and took off down the highway, going 45 in a 40 zone. I could've gone faster, but that would've been unsafe. And any more unsafe behavior in town and nobody'd be going home. I slowed down as I entered the traffic jam, then, seeing a welcome sight that I hadn't noticed two weeks before (AKA the last time I left the house), I turned down a side road, where there were no cars, save a few at the curb.

I tried not to look at the houses as I went past. Ditto for the front yards. But, being a Noticer (a person who notices details even when they aren't looking for them) by nature, I couldn't help myself. Windows were broken out, doors broken in, bloody trails flowed down into the sewers while the owners of the blood lay dead in the overgrown grass. Terrible. I nearly swerved off the road when I saw a young girl sitting in her sandbox, holding a doll. I almost pulled over. Until I saw the rotted flesh on her arm, the gaping hole where once her throat had been, and the bullet-hole in the back of her head. A posed corpse. I forced my hard-won coldness to the surface, smothering my urge to roll down the driver side window and vomit. This was mostly because the driver's window didn't roll down. Stupid Florida car thieves.

I continued down 169, then turned to go across the bridge. A month previously, the bridge had been blocked by abandoned cars, but I'd borrowed a small Loader from the ASV rental store and forcibly moved the cars out of the way. There was now a pile of mashed cars to one side of the bridge. Yes, I'd checked the vehicles for survivors. No, there weren't any.

I traveled across the bridge and pulled into the River Road Market. My favorite store as a kid. The only place in town that sold the black licorice-flavored Crows gumdrops. Second in candy favoritism to Jawbreakers. I pulled up to the pump, popped my gas tank open, and filled the surprisingly fuel-efficient car with gas. I then pulled the machine up a bit further, popped the trunk, and filled the eight gas cans as well. Then it was time to pick up a snack.

I'd realized early on that, if I brought all the junk food the Market had to offer back to my place, my sweet tooth would get the better of me. Long before the creatures killed me, I'd die of diabetes. So I resolved to take only what I needed and leave the rest. This was also because I'm a big softie. Other people might be hungry too. Other survivors, anyway. I grabbed a bag from behind the counter, ignoring the half-eaten corpse of the last cashier, and went down the aisles slowly. A little caution never hurt nobody. I grabbed cans of mixed nuts, handfuls of Slim Jims, assorted medical supplies, a couple bottles of spring water, and a mini-pizza from inside the running freezer. I went over to what was supposed to be a Piccadilly Pizza counter (but for some reason had never really become one) and, after unwrapping the pizza, tossed it in the microwave.

I went back to the checkout counter, slid up and onto it, then reached overhead and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Malboro Light 100s. I didn't smoke often, and before this all came about, I'd smoked only twice in my entire life. But I'd found that a little smoke here and there helped keep my nerves calm.

Mindful of the store's policy on smoking, I stepped outside and prepared to light up. That's when I saw them. A whole mess of them. They'd gathered outside a house and were moaning incessantly, rotted hands reaching upwards.

Oh, I suppose I forgot to mention. They're zombies. The undead had overrun my town.

I looked up and saw, to my great surprise, a little girl, about six years old, huddled on the roof of the attached garage. I couldn't make out her face, but if she was really a survivor, I was obligated to help. I took my cigarette out of my mouth and popped it back into the carton. I went back inside, pulled my pizza out of the microwave, dumped it into a small box, grabbed my stuff, and hopped in my car. I put my stuff in the passenger's seat and turned the engine over.

I buckled my seatbelt, since it was definitely gonna be a bumpy ride, and slammed on the gas. The tires squealed as my car shot out of the lot and down the street. Then up onto the curb. Then over the collection of zombies, squishing them like bugs. A few bouncing body parts struck the windshield, and a crack appeared. I whipped around the corner and pulled into the driveway. I ripped off my seatbelt and pulled out my gun. I flung my door open and looked around, my .50 AE Desert Eagle (BIIIIIIIG bullets) following along. Seeing that no undead were forthcoming (at the moment), I holstered my gun and climbed onto the hood of my car. From there I could see the little girl. She sat with her knees to her chin, rocking back and forth softly.

I silently prayed I'd found a sane one. Many of the ‘survivors' I'd set out to rescue were dead in the head. Something about the constant moaning of the zombies causes some people to break down psychologically. My friend Dylan had been one of them. After I discovered that no matter what I did, he didn't react, I laid him to rest. I left his body in the cemetery. By the time I stopped actively searching for survivors, that cemetery was littered with bodies.

"Are you all right?" I asked. Her head shot up in fear and surprise. First time in a long time I'd gotten a reaction. She started to scoot away from me. I put my hands on the roof and pulled myself up. I knelt on the roof in front of her, a friendly smile on my face.

My day job, for those of you who are curious, was People Greeter at Wal-Mart. I stood around for up to eight hours a day saying ‘hi' and ‘bye' to people, checking receipts, and putting stickers on returns. Boring as hell. But for $7.30 an hour, I was willing to put up with the bullshit, especially with how shitty the job market was. I'd almost made it a year before the outbreak occurred. After a year I would've gotten a raise and medical benefits. Now all that time I'd spent being ignored by people when they came in was wasted. The only skills I'd been able to hone while on-the-job were my endurance (not allowed to sit down for long stretches of time; very painful) and my smile. I learned to smile big even when whoever came through the door was a total prick and I wished him burning diarrhea. The only people I ever really smiled sincerely for (besides friends and family) were the kids.

My sincere smile was the one I gave the girl, and it instantly had the desired effect. She scooted closer to me, seeking the safety my smile promised. Only when she got close did I realize she was a wolf, like me. Oh, I suppose I forgot that detail too. When you spend every day trying to survive, species doesn't figure into the equation at all. In fact, a lot of details that would seem extremely important for some were the norm for me, and somewhat boring. I reached out my arms to her and she went into my hug. I pulled her against me as she started crying. I pressed her muzzle into my hoodie, so that though she sobbed loudly, it was muffled to some extent. After a minute or two of rubbing her back, I gently pushed her away from me.

"C'mon, sweetie, we gotta get outta here," I said, glancing down at the ground before sliding back down to the hood of my car. I reached out my arms to her. "Right over here."

Wordlessly, she slid to the edge and I put my arms around her. With a careful tug, I lifted her up and brought her down to eye level. I leaned in and nuzzled her nose, a sign of familial affection among wolves, and turned to get down.

MMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNN!

The zombie's moan was really close by, and I hadn't seen it. I pulled my gun out of the holster and looked in the direction the sound had come from. About ten feet to the side of the garage, a rotted hand poked out of a window, scrabbling at the side of the building, as though one of the beasts wanted to get out. I quickly holstered my gun again and hopped off the car's hood. I quickly circled around to the side of the car, popped the backseat passenger-side door open, and set her gently inside. I slammed the door shut and hopped into the driver's seat. I switched the car into reverse, backed out, swapped back to forward and tore off down the street.

As I continued down the road to my previous destination, I glanced in my rearview mirror. The little thing looked both relieved and terrified. So I decided to break the ice.

"Hello," I said. "My name's...Demise. What's yours?" She didn't answer. She simply stared at me with wide brown eyes. I figured I'd better use a different tactic. "Are you hungry?" She nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off the back of my seat. Though it almost killed me to do it (I'm a pizza enthusiast), I grabbed the box with the mini-pizza in it and handed it back to her. Her straight, serious face broke into a smile and she took it gratefully, before opening the box and tearing into the pizza. I looked back at the road, but I could hear her noisily devouring every last morsel in the box. I grabbed a bottle of water from the bag, thinking that, if she was starving like this, she was probably thirsty, and handed it back to her.

"Drink it slowly, sweetie," I instructed. "Drink it too fast and you'll upset your stomach." This I had learned from personal experience. She listened to my advice, sipping slowly from the bottle.

Around the roundabout we went, then down Airport Road. I spared a single glance for the airport. Grand Rapids, my town, had an airport. But it was a tiny airport. No jumbo jets there. They had prop planes (mostly crop dusters) and biplanes. Occasionally, a transfer plane would arrive, which was small enough to land on the runway, and would bring people from town to Duluth for their flight somewhere else, or vice versa. The airport had been cleaned out almost immediately after the outbreak occurred. Any idiot who'd seen a movie with a plane in it thought they could fly like a pro. These people were why there were plane wrecks all over town.

I dodged a handful of zombie detox patients and made my way up the big hill. From there, it was a sharp right turn to a place that was both Heaven and Hell. Wal-Mart.

I broke the law when I parked in the fire lane in front of the grocery doors. After turning the car off, I turned around to look at my new charge.

"Are you gonna come in?" I asked. "Or are you gonna wait in the car?"

She didn't reply, but as I opened my door, she did as well. After closing the doors, I held my hand out to her. She hesitated at first, but eventually she took it. I smiled at her.

"Alright," I said. "You stick close to me, okay? There're lots of..." It occurred to me that she might not know what zombies were. "There're lots of bad people in there, so keep real close, and if I tell you to run, you run as fast as you can. Got it?" She nodded. I rubbed her head, tousling her brown hair. My hand felt greasy when I pulled it back, so I made a mental note to get some shampoo and fur wash while we were there. I took a steadying breath and drew my gun. "Let's go," I said. We went in through the grocery doors.

Before I go further, I'll tell ya about our Wal-Mart. See, it wasn't really a Wal-Mart anymore. It was a Wal-Mart Supercenter, or Super Wal-Mart for short. And ours was supposedly the biggest in the state of Minnesota. I dunno about that, but it's frickin' huge. And about half that is clothes.

We made it to the entry hall before one of the ‘bad people' showed up. One of the People Greeters I had worked with. It saddened me to think that, after all the time we'd spent together, she'd been turned. And no doubt her old dog, whom she talked about all the time, had keeled over waiting for her to come home (she'd told me her dog would sit up at night waiting for her to get home). As she stumbled away from the Red Box rental machine (which had been smashed open and all its DVDs taken), I raised my gun and pointed it at her face.

"Hi, Roberta," I said pleasantly, pulling the trigger. The shot echoed throughout the entryway, rattling me ears, and probably the girl's as well. Roberta the People Greeter's head blew apart, showering the back wall with congealed blood and gray matter. I pulled a cart out from the long string of them, and maneuvered it in front of me. As I pondered how I would move the cart and still keep an eye out for trouble, the kid stepped in and took hold of it. Though she could barely see over the handlebar, she seemed bound and determined to help.

I kissed the top of her head. "Thank you," I said. Her tail whapped me on the leg when she wagged it.

Time to shop.

Though the inner doors and into the store. The Super Wal-Mart had lights that were solar powered during the day, and when the sun was high, they dimmed to reduce the amount of electricity they used. Since it was an extremely cloudy day, the lights were shining bright. This was good, as it illuminated the zombies that skulked through the building. No moans were forthcoming, so we hadn't been spotted yet. Suddenly, I felt a tugging on my pant leg. I looked down at the little girl. She pointed to a spot a few feet away.

I moved over to the spot and looked down. Shell casings. The spent cartridges from a shotgun. And several headless corpses on the floor a few feet away. And one shotgun sitting on a corpse. I reached down and picked up a shell. It was still a little warm. That meant that whoever had fired it had been here not long before us. Because the zombies weren't moaning, that meant that the person was either gone or dead. And with the precision of the head shots, I was betting on gone. I turned around just in time to see a zombie, its throat torn wide, crawling slowly across the floor, reaching for the little girl. I ran over and booted the zombie in the head with my steel-toes. The force of the kick flipped it over (I have to refer to them as ‘its', because if I use ‘he' and ‘she' I'll break down and cry), and I stomped down hard on its skull, caving it in. Instantly, its struggles stopped. I pulled my booted foot from its face, then, seeing the gore now caked on, wiped it on the zombie's shirt.

"Alright," I whispered. "Let's go get some food." Her ears perked at the word ‘food'.

I led the way passed the bins of rotted fruits and veggies and into the first aisle. I ignored the breads, since they all had mold on them, and instead went for the peanut butters. I piled those in the cart, then moved on.

In the next aisle, they had ‘foreign' foods, like Ramen, soba noodles, taco shells and seasonings, and other things like that. I grabbed several bottles of soy sauce, six boxes each of both the stovetop and instant Ramen (in beef and chicken varieties), and all the boxes of rice and chow mien noodles they had, and into the cart they went.

The next aisle over I was almost, but not quite, surprised to see a zombie there. It had its back to us, and I used this to my advantage. I holstered my gun, reached behind my back, and pulled out my katana.

I know it sounds hokey. Midwestern guy, barely out of his teens, has a sword from Japan and knows how to use it. In the words of the Monty Python gang: "Pull the other one!" But it's true. My dad gave it to me a few years before, and I'd practiced with it. Only problem was, it was a training katana. The edge wasn't sharpened, so I couldn't cleave a person in half, but I still had a trick. I moved up behind the thing quickly and stabbed the sharp tip upwards into the base of its skull. I gave a twist and pulled the blade out again. The zombie dropped to the ground, dead again. I wiped my blade off on its blouse and sheathed my sword again. Then, seeing the aisle I was in, I grabbed several bags of toilet paper off the shelf. There was one crisis solved. I dumped them into the cart.

You must be wondering now, why I didn't just whip out my pistol and blow all those fuckers away. Truth is, I wanted to. But the .50 Action Express cartridge on my Desert Eagle only holds seven rounds at a time. Sure I had like four more clips in my fanny pack (don't laugh, it's useful for carrying ammo), but there could be more than a hundred zombies in the store. I didn't have near enough bullets to put down that many. Besides which, the Desert Eagle, when firing the big ass half-inch bullets, made a hell of a lot of noise. Which would attract more zombies. Get where I'm goin' with this?

By now, the cart was getting pretty full, so I motioned for the girl to follow me out, since we would have to load the car before we could go further. I started piling stuff into the car while the girl kept an eye out for zombies. As soon as the cart was empty again, we went back inside and back up to the aisle.

Systematically, we went though each and every grocery aisle, grabbing anything we wanted (including some ice cream that was still good, a rare treat) and loading it into the cart. We made three trips before we were finished with groceries. Then it was time for clothes.

The clothing area was a deathtrap, even before the outbreak. Any idiot could see that. So we looped around the area, going to the children's clothing, which was right on the edge. I looked down at her with a frown, realizing I didn't know what size clothes she wore.

"Do you know what size you wear?" I asked. She shook her head. "Can I check?" She gnawed her lip for a moment, then nodded. I took hold of the collar of her shirt and checked the tag. Then I repeated the process with her pants and, with some hesitation, her panties, before finishing up with her socks and shoes. Then, telling her to wait and make noise if something came, I picked my way through the kid's clothes, picking things out as I went. The only zombie I ran into was a morbidly obese one, flopped over on its stomach and unable to drag itself around or stand up. I performed a mercy stomp.

I went back to the cart with my cargo and deposited it in the cart. When this was all set, we went back to the car and loaded it again. I then pulled the car up to the pharmacy doors. When she made to get out of the car again, I stopped her.

"I'm gonna run in and run right back out. You stay hidden, okay?" She seemed reluctant, but she nodded all the same. She sank down behind the driver's seat and pulled a jacket over herself. I nodded in approval and made my way inside. The Greeter on the pharmacy doors was absent, which made me have a little hope.

Right up until I saw his corpse in the gated Family Fun Center. I could see the gun in his hand, and the hole where he blew his brains out. Poor Ray.

I quickly made my way around the corner, passed the pharmacy counter, and made it to the bath supplies aisle. Most people who came to the Super Wal-Mart made a beeline for the electronics section. It made sense that most of the zombies would congregate there. I took my time in selecting good shampoo, conditioner, and fur wash, then, as an afterthought, zipped across the aisle to the bath area and grabbed some towels. Now that I had everything I wanted, I made my way back to the doors.

As I walked toward the doors, I heard a whimper. I perked up my ear and listened. It came again, from the AP office. I reached out a hand and gently knocked on the door. The person on the other side gave a small scream. I cleared my throat.

"Anyone alive in there?" I asked.

The door opened a crack, and suddenly I was staring down the barrel of a shotgun, my eyes crossing as I stared at the metal nub that made the sight.. "G-go away," said the person on the other end of the gun, sniffling.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"I'm fine," spat the woman on the other end of the shotgun. "But you won't be if you don't back off right now!"

I cocked an eyebrow, eyes swiveling to survey my surroundings. No undead were on their way...yet. I looked back down the barrel of the shotgun, then noticed something odd about the ‘gun'. "Puh-leeze," I said. "That's not a shotgun. That's a piece of pipe." I reached out quickly, grabbed the pipe by the grooved end, and ripped it from her grasp, at the same time jamming a foot in the door, keeping her from slamming it shut.

"Go away!" she screamed through the crack in the door. Her cry echoed throughout the building and I cursed silently as the hunting moans of the undead filled building. Within seconds, several zombies staggered into view, their arms outstretched as they grasped for us with gore-coated fingers, their dead eyes staring straight ahead, unblinking. With adrenaline suddenly pumping through my veins, I forced the door open, the woman on the other side falling to the floor. As soon as it was open, I grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to her feet, even as she struggled to get away. But as the moans of the zombies grew louder and they shuffled closer, she stopped fighting me and allowed herself to be pulled out of the building and to the car.

"Get in!" I shouted at her. She didn't reply. Instead, she threw the door open and flung herself in the passenger's seat. I was only a moment behind her, and into the driver's seat I went. I turned the engine over and floored it.

We shot down the parking lot and out onto the street. I spared a glance over at the building and saw a small mob of undead stumbling out of the building. This was a good thing, in my opinion. The more of them outside, the less that would be inside when I needed to shop again. I put my eyes back on the road again, dodging abandoned vehicles and piles of debris as I made my way to the Movie Gallery. I pulled over next to the doors, then glanced over at my newest comrade.

She was a fur of mixed breeding, I could see. Her muzzle had a set of buck teeth, like a rodent, yet long, curved fangs like a saber-tooth tiger. And her tail...It was distinctly draconic. Altogether a strange looking creature. If she were a dog I'd say she was a mutt. But despite looking a bit malnourished and careworn (and she stank like all-get-out), she was fairly pretty. She turned her head to look at me and, I swear, if looks could kill I wouldn't be telling this story.

"I'm gonna run in and get some movies," I said, trying to ignore her murderous stare. "Anything you want?" Not a word, just a hardening of an already flinty look. "Alright then." I pulled the keys out of the ignition and got out. I immediately looked around, making sure there weren't any zombies close by. I drew my gun and quickly circled the outside, more for my passengers' benefit than my own. I knew there were no zombies inside, unless someone who had been bitten ran inside before they turned. I'd ‘cleaned house' a good while ago. I'd even cleared out the bodies and cleaned and disinfected the bloodstains on the carpet. The only reason I'd done that was because the Movie Gallery (formerly Video Update) was the only good rental place in town (despite having five or six rental places). Hell, Mr. Movies still had more VHS tapes than DVDs.

I opened the one-way door cautiously, alert for any shambling undead who might decide to try something. Of course, it's a bit difficult for them to get the jump on me in an entryway only four feet squared. I opened the second door and stepped into the store proper, reaching out a hand to click on the light switch. Silent as (pardon the pun) the grave. Or it would've been, if the overhead TVs hadn't been running. I hadn't been able to find the remote to turn them off, and there were no buttons on the faces. But damn, I hated walking in there when Movie Gallery was on its horror movie binge. Some of the shit I saw on the screens hit a little closer to home than I care to admit.

I carefully made my way through the stacks, looking every which way for any lurking undead. Once I'd made a complete circuit through the small building, I went to their New Releases shelf and grabbed several that looked good. Then I went to the Children shelf and grabbed a few for the girl who was, presumably, still underneath the jacket in my car. Then, finally, I needed a little something for myself. Into the separate Adult Section I went.

Yeah, I watch porn. So sue me. When your town is overrun with the flesh-hungry corpses of people who were once your friends and you need to relieve stress or you'll go insane, you can sit on your moral high ground and say masturbation is bad. But I'd rather jack off and keep my sanity than risk losing my mind when I inevitably cracked under the pressure. Blowing a load relieves some of that pressure.

I circled around behind the front counter and ran my DVDs over the Deactivator. After all, it wouldn't do to draw the undead to the store by setting off the alarm. I threw them into a bag and left the store, clicking the lights off as I left. I climbed back into the car and stuck my keys into the ignition. It was only then that I realized my newest passenger was holding stock still, and that a strange growl was coming from the back seat.

"What's going on?" I asked.

The woman in the next seat looked over at me, not turning her head. "I-I tried to hot-wire the car," she admitted. "But your damn dog attacked me."

"I don't have a dog," I replied, trying to keep from laughing. "C'mon out, sweetie," I said to the jacket in the back seat. It slid away to reveal the little wolf girl beneath. At the disbelieving look of the rat-tiger-dragon-thing, I gave a short bark of laughter. "You were viciously attacked by a little girl.." This got a giggle from the child, which made me smile. I could almost feel my heart swell, like the Grinch.

I ignored the glare from the rat-tiger-dragon...rattigon, and turned the engine over. My baby roared to life and began purring. I pushed the gas and we were off. For a moment, anyway. I stepped on the brake when I realized something.

"You both aren't buckled in," I said with a frown. The little girl immediately climbed onto the seat (shoving groceries out of the way in the process) and buckled in. The rattigon simply frowned. I deepened my frown, concentrating my gaze at her. "This vehicle moves not another inch until you buckle up."

"Fine," she replied, turning to face me. "Then I'll get out and walk."

I laughed hollowly. "And where will you go? You don't have a weapon anymore, you have no supplies, and you have no place to go."

"I-I have someplace to go," she responded weakly.

"Really?" I asked sarcastically. "'Cuz you sure don't smell like it."

She raised a hand and swiped at me, claws out. I caught her by the wrist and held her easily. Before she could even react, I pressed my muzzle against hers and gave her a kiss. She reacted the way I expected she would, freezing in shock as my nose bumped hers. I held my breath because, as I said before, she didn't exactly smell pleasant. She needed good food and a shower. Which one was needed more, I couldn't say. I drew away from her after a moment, and she sat there staring at me. Pleased at her reaction, I smiled.

"I have a nice house," I said. "You can have a nice, soft bed to sleep in. I have food and working appliances. You can have a hot meal. And I have running water. You can have a nice, hot bath. What do you say?" She didn't say anything at all. She simply nodded once, sank back into her seat, and clicked her seatbelt on. My smile widened and we were underway again.

Only a few minutes later, we were at my house. A short distance away, less than a mile in fact, I could see part of the massive chain-link fence that the military had built to surround the town. Even the mighty Mississippi had a fence through it, making sure no zombies could flow downstream. Soldiers patrolled the border day and night, and I'd lost a few comrades when they tried to climb out. For whatever reason, the military didn't want us getting out, but they didn't bomb us either. What a mystery.

I hit the gate button with one finger, then waited ‘til the gate opened. As soon as it had done so, I goosed the car through the gate, then hit the button again. Only when I was sure the gate was almost touching the bumper did it turn my baby off. She went to sleep with a soft sputter.

"Wait here," I said. The rattigon looked at me.

"Why? It's fenced in." She reached a hand for the door handle.

"Because I found undead in my yard yesterday, and I'd rather not be bitten, thankyouverymuch."

I opened my door and drew my gun, looking and pointing every which way. I made my usual circuit around the house, making sure everything was in order. None of the windows were busted out, and no doors were kicked in. The wall was about ten feet high, too tall for a zombie to get over. Hell, four feet was too tall for one of the undead to get over. They can't climb. Once I made it back to the car, I gave a thumbs-up for the all-clear. My passengers climbed out of the vehicle, and the little girl started grabbing groceries. I went over to her and rubbed between her ears. She murred and her tongue lolled ever so slightly.

"Leave it to me, sweetie," I said with a smile. "I'm gonna grab a couple things, then put the rest in the freezer." She nodded and went to stand by the rattigon. I grabbed a couple pizzas, a case of pop, and a pack of toilet paper. Then, kicking the door closed, I led the way up to the house. When I got to the screen door, I realized another thing. What a day for realizations! "Can one of you get the door for me?" I asked.

Helpful as ever, the little wolf ran up and pulled the door wide for me. With an ironic smile, I managed to get two of my fingers free and turned the knob . When it turned as far as I could get it, I threw my weight against it, popping it open.

Skitter, skitter, skitter!

"Down!" I shouted, even before my dog burst into view. When she did, she immediately tried to jump on me. "DOWN! DOWN! Down girl!" When finally she managed to contain her excitement, I maneuvered my way passed her and set my cargo on the counter. I turned around and watched to see what she would do next.

Coco, my Chocolate Lab, was staring at the little girl, as though unsure of what to do. When she came inside, Coco, a motherly thing, began licking her face. She started giggling as she shed her shoes. After a minute, the rattigon followed us inside. She too kicked off her shoes, then looked around. Not much to see, really. Just the kitchen, which was a little dirty (hadn't had a chance to get everything cleaned up) and the living room, whose carpet was supposed to be white but had faded to an off-gray shade. It was a nice house for my purposes, especially since it had a feature I absolutely couldn't live without.

It had a gigantic basement.

The rest of the house could've been falling apart at the seems and being swiftly devoured by termites, but if the basement was safe, I cared not. The basement, a very large affair, was my storage place, where I kept all my supplies that I didn't need on-hand. It had spare everything, and several gigantic freezers to hold things that wouldn't last without the chill. I'd converted it into my ‘last stand' area. If the undead managed to get in the house, I had several places I could go in the house that would dump me in the basement. From there, I could make my last stand against them. This was more for the benefit of my pride and ego than anything. The whole ‘if I'm gonna go down, I'm gonna go down fighting' mentality. If I was infected but made it to the basement, I would kill as many of the fuckers as I could before my body started shutting down. Then, before I could turn, I'd swallow my gun barrel. No zombie for me.

Anyway...After introducing to my new houseguests to my dog (her ‘sister' Lexi, a quiet Blue-Heeler, had bought it a few days before, trying to defend me from a zombie that had somehow gotten into my yard), I moved the groceries into the house. Everything was squared away in just a few minutes, and I'd gone as green as possible, using absolutely no bags to hold stuff in. It was easier to fill the car without them. Once everything was where it was supposed to be, I went back to check on my new roomies. The pup sat on the couch, stroking Coco's belly (she was an absolute whore for belly rubs), while the rattigon stood to the side, frowning. Her frown shifted to me when I came in the room.

"Well now, it's been a while since I had people staying with me," I said enthusiastically. Normally I don't mind being alone, but too much alone time gives me way too much time to think. When I think for too long, I get jumpy. And while a little paranoia can save you when zombies abound, it can also make you jump at shadows, which can drive you insane.

The pup looked up at me with a winning smile. Her teeth were yellow and I chewed my cheek a little. I knew I had to get her teeth brushed. No dentists (alive) in town, as far as I knew, so if her teeth rotted and fell off, that was it. The rattigon crossed her arms and frowned harder at me.

"When was the last time that was, huh?" she asked scathingly, so much venom in her voice. It was almost painful to hear, but it was to be expected. I had kissed her without permission. True, it had been more to catch her off guard than anything, but she was entitled to be pissed about it. Still, her question hurt my heart like nothing else could.

"...Two weeks ago..." I replied softly, feeling myself going far away, seeing what had happened.

My step-sister, going outside because she heard her ex-boyfriend's car. Me, following her out, pleading with her to stop. Her, ignoring me and going up to the gate to talk to him. Him, calling her awful names. Then, the kicker. A zombie head, tossed over the wall. She caught it. It bit her. Me, shooting at the bastard. I hit him, I knew. Him hitting the gas, but his car was still in ‘park'. Me, ripping the undead's head off my sister and throwing it into his car. His scream when it bit him. Him, taking off as fast as he could.

She was buried in the cemetery, one of the few housemates I had that I gave a decent burial to.

I found his car the next day, soon after burying my sister. The head had bitten his neck. He turned in less than an hour. I felt a sadistic pleasure in pointing my Desert Eagle at his moaning face and blowing it apart.

I heard a whine and shook my head. The little wolf-girl was standing next to me, hugging my leg. I smiled gently, then reached down and rubbed her head. She murred and smiled up at me. I turned my gaze to the rattigon. With total sincerity, I spoke to her.

"I really don't care if you stay or not," I said, my mouth a straight line. "If you want to leave, I won't stop you. I'm done trying to save people who are eager to die. The cemetery over there-" I pointed, "-is littered with the bodies of people I tried to help, but wouldn't listen. If you don't listen, you die. It's plain, simple, clear-cut, cut ‘n dry. There is no third option. Understand?" She growled at me, still with her arms crossed. I fought to control my temper. After a steadying breath, I spoke again. "Look. It would make me happy if you would stay here. I have food and water, actual running water. I have sources of entertainment and sleeping places for all. I built my home to be a fortress, in according with the Guide. It's nearly impenetrable." Except when some sick fuck pitches active zombies over the wall. I caught the bastard mid-toss the day before. Apparently, he was one of those people who thought this was some kind of Biblical plague, and that we should all be infected. He threw scripture at me right up until I blew his brains out.

She averted her eyes, then sighed, looking back at me. The rebellious fire in her eyes had been replaced with defeat. She gave up trying to fight me. This was good. "Fine," she said. "Can you show me to my room, then?" I smiled and nodded. Gesturing with my hand, I led her through the small kitchen, the tiny dining room, and into the long hallway. I stopped before a pair of doors, one on each side.

I turned to face her, then gestured with my right hand. "This room was my sister's. This will be your room now." If she caught the hint of sorrow in my voice, she gave no sign. To the little one (who still hung on my leg), I gestured to the room at my left hand. "This room was my little brother's room. It's yours now. He doesn't need it."

The rattigon looked shocked. "Y-your little brother? And...your sister?!" When she said ‘sister', I could feel tears just slightly well in my eyes. She saw this. "A-and your brother?"

I laughed, snorting back, wiping my eyes with a hand. "He doesn't need it, because he lives in Talmoon with his mom. He's out of this mess...I think..." That was a sobering thought. Had the outbreak spread?

The soldiers guarding the fence didn't say. I went out every now and then and talked to them from atop my wall. They didn't shoot at me, since their orders were only to prevent us from going through their fence. It didn't seem likely that the infection had spread. If it had, I doubt they would've left the town fenced up as it was. More likely, they would've carpeted the town with napalm bombs to make sure there were no survivors. But based on my experiences, I figured I had an answer. But I kept it to myself.

My housemates opened the doors to their respective rooms and took a look around. While they examined their new rooms, I went back to the kitchen to start dinner cooking. I flicked the oven up to 425, then went in the living room. I flopped down on the futon couch and Coco immediately set upon me, climbing all over me, groaning in happiness. I laughed and hugged her to my chest, rubbing her roughly all over, something she loves. But when I had enough of petting her (and having her butt keep hitting me in the face), I patted her on the side and said ‘enough'. She immediately laid down on her side, her head on my lap, with a sigh. She looked up at me, then spread her back legs wide, exposing her belly. I smiled and rubbed her warm belly a little. It was familiar, comforting. As long as I had my dog, I could survive.

An annoying rumble came from behind me and I sighed. And there was my sister's cat, Tommy. Annoying little thing. I kept her around mostly because, though she pissed my sister off sometimes, she was my sister's cat. And since Lexi, my sister's dog, had lost the good fight, I had to take care of Tommy. An un-spayed female cat, who just happened to be in heat. I wanted to kill her because of her perpetual whining at me (which was most likely because I was the only male in the house and I was SO not fucking her). I grudgingly reached a hand back and scratched behind her ears.

I heard someone clear their throat and I looked over to the doorway. The rattigon was there, watching me as I interacted with my animals. "Yes?" I asked politely.

"Umm...I-I suppose we got off on the wrong foot," she said with just a little hesitation. I moved my animals off me and stood. "C-could we start over?"

I went to her. "Sure," I replied with a half smile. I held out a hand. "I'm called Demise."

She arched an eyebrow. "So what's your actual name?" I feigned surprise and hurt, but she saw through it instantly. She laughed. "You said you were called Demise. But that doesn't mean it's your name."

I chuckled. "That's true. Maybe if we get out of this alive, I'll tell you my real name. But you'll be totally, utterly, and completely disappointed by it." She giggled. "And you are...?"

She held out her hand and took mine. "My name's Allaphro, not that it means anything to you. After all, it could be a false name like yours." We shook hands and I smiled, glad to have made a friend. When we dropped hands, she gazed up at me expectantly. "Sooo...where's the bathroom? I NEED a shower."

I laughed outright. "Follow me." I lead the way down the long hallway to the sliding door at the end. I slid the door open to reveal the small bathroom. She stepped inside and looked around.

"It's a little small," she said. I huffed. "But I suppose it'll do. Now get out so I can get clean." I took a step back and she slid the door shut. I heard the chain slide into place. Obviously not needed anymore, I went back to my brother's bedroom and looked inside.

And immediately cussed silently to myself. Before I'd gone out earlier, I'd been playing "Resident Evil" on my PS2. Nothing like shooting CG zombies in the head to vent rage and preserve sanity. The girl had the controller in her hands and was shooting the zombies, but her eyes were wide with remembered horrors. I stepped in front of the TV and turned off the game. She continued to click the buttons, but her mind was far, far away. I pulled the controller out of her hands and took her in my arms. She had seen worse things than I, I was sure of it.