Life Isn't Easy

RATING: T

SUMMARY: ...But for Kit, giving up isn't a viable option, even in the face of an outbreak—of zombies, of death, of insanity—that shakes her world, turns it upside down, and gives her a new life.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Resident Evil; I am simple borrowing the characters for a short while.

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: This particular work has been slowly typed for a while… I hope only that it entertains you, Readers, and that it is as realistic as I can make it.

CHAPTER TITLE: It Begins…

I opened my eyes, finally deciding, after a long while of trying to go back to sleep to get up and get…dressed, somewhat. I dragged myself from my bed—a queen sized that was mostly taken up by random shit, and blankets. It only had a small area free on it that I slept on.

"Where the hell's my bra?" I grumbled to an empty room, then I spotted it—it was hanging on a lamp. I dunno how it got there, and I don't wanna know. I suddenly remembered how I'd gotten into bed last night—I'd flung all of my clothes off, frustrated beyond rage at my boredom, and I had gone to bed naked.

I didn't mind sleeping all natural, but I noticed, with distaste, that my door was unlocked. I never left my door unlocked, but I had cleaned the night before, and I had decided to practice picking my door's lock, and I had grown bored with that activity and therefore had wandered away from my door without re-locking it.

I felt disappointed with myself and slightly perturbed, and I re-locked the door. I was glad that nobody had come in here during the night, especially since I'd woken up with my covers mostly kicked off.

Honestly, I didn't care if people could have seen me naked—it was the fact that they could have entered my personal space with me unaware. I was very territorial about my space—if I didn't like a person or wanted them to not be in my room, I could be quite a bitchy person.

I grabbed a clean thong from a hap-hazard drawer. I frowned, and tried to push the messy drawer in. It only went in a few inches before refusing to cooperate, and I growled at it and left it—I was messy, I thrived with organized chaos in my living space. I found it extremely hard to sleep without clutter in my room, I did. It felt…too clean, almost sterile. Like a hospital—and I hated those places. They smelled of death, sickness, and disinfectant.

I shrugged that off and pulled a shirt on over my skin-coloured bra—a light blue sleeveless shirt that dipped into my cleavage enough to give me a reprieve from the Ohioan summer heat that was sure to be waiting for me outside. God, I hated Ohio in the summertime. It was downright sweltering, or it was just too cold to venture outside, rarely. Or it was miserable outside. There never seemed to be a perfectly warm, sunny day after the first week or two of summer.

I wished that I had complied with my parent's suggestion of being homeschooled when I was younger, because I wanted to study. I wanted to go back to school! It would, however, be a month or so of agonizing boredom before then. Even though I was sixteen I didn't have a license, and even if I did, I wouldn't have a car to drive—Mom and Dad both work quite a bit. Dad manages a pizza shop about an hour and a half away, and mom was director of nursing at some brand-spanking new nursing home.

Dad worked five days a week, or even more, and mom worked six days a week. We barely socialized together nowadays—whenever we were all together, in the same house, it always ended up in yelling at each other or by me locking myself in my room and listening to music on my computer to drown out the yelling.

Ahh…my computer. My eyes traced the form of my computer, sitting faithfully on the desk at the end of my bed. I've had it for about two and a half years now, really—it had been set back to factory condition three times, the hard drive replaced once, but for all the trouble it gave me I loved it dearly. If I had nothing but my computer I would be content—even if I was unable to play my video games.

I murmured a type of greeting to the pc, patting the monitor gently. Of course, I knew it was just a piece of technology—a piece which would soon become irreversibly obsolete—but it was more the memories and the usefulness it held for the present moment.

I sighed and then picked up a pair of light-blue jean shorts, with a belt threaded through its loops already. It wasn't like they were filthy—I'd worn them for all of three hours yesterday. I slipped them on, and then fixed the belt to the proper notch.

GOD I was skinny! Where'd all the pudge from winter gone? I didn't exercise all that much, even though I'm not quite out of shape. I could still run pretty well, I was really flexible—I could get both feet behind my head without injuring myself or otherwise having any discomfort—which was left over from when I danced. I guess being double-jointed helped out too. I could bend my fingers back into a ninety degree angle, maybe more, depending on the day. I could also pop the first bone in my thumb in towards my palm on both hands—it was quite useful.

One time my friends decided to handcuff me to my freakin' desk in English class—imagine their surprise when I simply did my little thumb trick, gave them the middle finger with a sleepy smirk, and then I had gone right back to sleep. English truly was a useless class—I could literally sleep the entire time I was in that classroom and my grade would suffer no ill effects, if I took the tests before sleeping, that is. Writing, reading—all too easy for me. I was far ahead of other people my age, being at a college-level of reading skill since grade school. I guess that happens when you learn how to read at age three and then have access to all the books you could ever want.

I sighed, and shook away the memories. Memories didn't just cause a wave of nostalgia—they hurt slightly and made me yearn for better times, which is why I was glad I was pretty good at forcing the damned flashes away.

I don't have any friends anymore…Truly, I don't. My best friend had moved away, and I'd lost contact with the other ones I had had—what few there were. I was left with nothing but me, myself and I for companionship.

And, I have to tell ya—it's hella boring.

"Socks, socks, socks, socks…" I hunted down a pair of white ones and slipped them on, then slipped on my black-and-white converse knockoffs over those. I sighed, then went back to by bed and flopped back down, an arm covering my face.

What the hell to do now? It was about nine, so both mom and dad were gonna be at work… Gah, shit. I got up and went upstairs, trying to think if there was any food that was halfway appetizing to me upstairs. I'd already eaten most of it, and Mom and Dad barely took time to sleep, much less go to the grocery store.

I finally decided on the last packet of Easy Mac—I really had to call mom later and demand—no, I'm not kidding—for her to get food on the way home. She drove right past the store, but she always complained that she was tired. Pssh. If she had time to go to a bar and socialize THEN come home, she had enough time to pick up some fucking food. They didn't realize the low supply of food at the house because they could just go out and get something to eat. I couldn't.

I popped the bowl with the water and pasta in it into the microwave, and I stared out the window. My eyes traced over the familiar hill, the one I used to sled on in the winters, back when I was a child…back when I allowed myself to play.

I sighed, and I cracked my knuckles before getting the bowl out of the microwave after it beeped. I mixed in the cheese powder after draining most of the water, and then headed to the table with a slight pause before I sat down.

We had a large table that could easily seat eight people, but it rarely had more than one person sitting at it. You would think that we had a lot of sit-down family dinners. Well, that was a load of bullshit. I haven't even seen my parents eat at this table since my birthday dinner, a couple of months back. I began to eat the cheap, quick food.

We had this tradition that, on the person's birthday, they got to choose whatever they wanted for dinner that night, no objections. I'd asked for T-bone steak and homemade fries, and an ice-cream cake. My sister had gotten one, so it wasn't a huge demand. What pissed me off was that mom got a regular cake after I'd talked to her on the phone AS she was getting the cake. Her reason? My grandparents didn't like ice cream cake. And then she had the gall to complain on how the decorator-person hadn't gotten the design right! Everyone else, on their birthday, got whatever the hell kind of cake they wanted, but me, it seemed.

God, it still pissed me off.

I didn't particularly like my mother anymore. The only reason I still called her 'mom' was because I didn't particularly want to get slapped around. She wanted to keep up appearances. We mostly ignored each other. After the emotional and mental neglect she'd done to me during my childhood, she knew I was gonna leave this house as soon as I could, and she tried to constantly gain control of me to keep me here longer. Pfft. As if. I wasn't going to subject myself to this kind of treatment for any longer than necessary. I loved my Dad very much, but I barely really knew him. I barely knew mom, too, but I knew her enough to tell she was a Negative Nancy who never fucking thought about others unless it was her job. She also just wanted me to be a mindless little pawn, but it didn't quite work out that way.

As soon as I moved out I was going to call her a bitch to her face. If I ever had kids, I was going to let them see her—but not without me there. I don't need her in my life, and she doesn't deserve to be in whatever kids I may have lives either.

I shook my head. It would be awhile before I even had the chance to have children. I hadn't even had my first kiss yet! Plus, I'd never really had a boyfriend. I'd been single for what…four years now? I couldn't remember. I laughed, suddenly and mirthlessly. You knew it had been too long when you couldn't fucking remember something.

I sighed, and then an idea formed in my head as I glanced at a doodle of a video game logo I'd done the night before I'd gone downstairs. 'Resident Evil…' I loved that game series. I was a true expert, if I could call myself that, on the games and information contained within. I just had too much free time.

Well, I had a handgun, a rifle, and a shotgun. Ever since I had played the first Resident Evil I had had my interest in firearms grow far past just wanting something to protect my home with and to be able to fire it. I had practiced long and hard with my aim and had gotten to a pretty damned good level. I also knew how to assemble, disassemble, clean, service, and repair my guns.

People had asked me if I wanted to go into a profession that used guns, such as law enforcement or maybe the army or some shit. When I gave them a negative answer they looked at me like I was bonkers.

I was a little insane, as was everyone. Artistically eccentric, I liked to say. It earned less weird looks. Even I didn't know why I had such an insatiable need to study firearms and how to use them, but I did.

I wasn't sure if I had any type of method to this madness.

I sighed, and then grabbed my attaché case that had my weapons and ammo in it, and I headed outside—time to practice.

I had discovered that gunfire wasn't really as loud as you'd think it is, once you get accustomed to shooting the firearms that made the sound. That's why the characters in the games never complained of hearing damage, I suppose.

I sighed, and took aim at the target I'd placed up on the hill and quickly got off three shots—square in the head.

"Uuungh…" I froze up, what the hell was that?

I glanced to my hands, holding the gun. I've been playing video games too much, yes, that was it.

I aimed again and I jumped as I shot off another round—a screech had interrupted my concentration. "HOLY FUCK!" I could feel the beat of my heart throughout my entire body. 'Calm down…calm down…' I turned around and quickly spotted a familiar figure, covered in blood from a bite to her neck. "Katie?" She went to my school, and she'd moved to live on this road a year or two back. We weren't friends, and we weren't enemies. We didn't say hi to each other. We were just…there…I guess, to the other person.

"Unnghh…" A milky-white eye swiveled towards me, and I felt my stomach churn.

"S-stop kidding around…it's the middle of summer, why are you dressed up for Halloween?" I tried to joke nervously, backing up, my handgun raised. She simply groaned again and limped towards me.

I made a decision, in that split second. I raised the gun and aimed, a small click of the safety coming through my senses. "I'm sorry, Katie."

BANG!

When one round to the head didn't faze the zombie, I shot three more times, all into the kill box. That did it. I swore loudly, and I secured my attaché case around my hips, and I hurried back to the house. I had to barricade myself inside, to make a plan, and quick. Upon getting in the house I turned on the radio that was kept near the door.

"Outbreaks of cannibalistic attacks have been reported from Coshocton, to Newark, and even spread to Zanesville and Cincinnati. Please, we urge everyone to stay inside and lock all entrances into the home. If you have a weapon to protect yourself, do not hesitate to use it against the cannibalistic individuals—they are characterized by having milky white eyes and the inability to speak or move well. We hope that everyone listening will be able to be safe and not contract this Cannibal Disease. Medical experts have warned to not get bitten, as this seems to be the method of transference. Animals can contract this disease as well."

"Aw, shit, man. This ain't good." I completely let go of my usually carefully articulated way of speech in sudden fright and uncertainty. What the hell was I going to do?

I picked up my cell phone—it was fully charged. I punched some numbers into it quickly as I went around and locked everything up. We'd gotten some decently tough glass installed in all of the windows in the house—god we had so many fucking windows—because we were tired of replacing them due to birds flying into it. I was pretty sure it would survive a lot of bashing from zombies. And…my eyes grew wide. Whatever else might come. Mom finally picked up, and she sounded frantic.

"Get her to the quarantine area! Gah, what the hell is this shit?"

At that, I gulped. Those poor, poor people. I really tried to not have any concern for mom, but I'm too good of a person. Damn my ways and my kind nature.

"Mom! Mom, what's going on?"

"There's some sort of cannibal disease running rampant up here." At that, my blood ran cold.

"Get yourself and anyone who is healthy, and not bitten into a windowless area with a strong door. Are you hearing me?" I ordered her, my voice for once overpowering whatever she was going to say. I knew that there was no time for pleasantries or chit-chat.

"Is that any way to speak to your mother?" Instead of ignoring her sharp-tongued anger I got pissed.

"Is the way you've treated me any way to treat your daughter?" I shot back instantly. I had no control over my tongue right now, and my temper was decidedly shortened. "Listen to me and get your and everyone uninfected's asses—"

"What did you just say?" I ignored her.

"Into a safe place and STAY THERE! Grab any type of weapon you can, or you're going to die and become one of those lunacy-riddled—"

"You can't be—" I got tired of waiting for her to finish her half-assed interjection and shouted into the phone.

"CANNIBLES, YOU BITCH!" I finally had enough, as she was trying to interject her own bullshit into my tirade. "I don't care what the FUCK I'm allowed to say or not say right now! I had to shoot Katie, that girl from down the way, before she tried to eat me! Now I need you to listen to me and SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Silence reigned on the other end.

"Do as I say. Please. Since…since we might not live much longer, I've gotta tell ya…I don't think of you as a mother anymore. You're just a stranger who birthed me. I don't love you anymore. The only reason I called you was because I'm too kind-hearted to let you just die stupidly easily. You've been a bitch to me ever since I grew half an ounce of self-awareness." I gave a dismal smile. "Or was it when I started acting independent enough to think about leaving you?"

She sighed. "I know…I know that I have…messed with your life. By sheltering you…Coddling you…Trying to control you so much…If what you say is true, I'm sorry. I'll always love you, and you'll always be my little girl." My breath hitched, but I felt no change in my feelings towards her.

"…I accept your apology. Thank you for being so mature about this." Usually, she acted more childish than I ever did, and that was a gentle way of putting it. "I wish you luck…" I bit my tongue, almost calling her by her first name. "Mom. I'm going to call Dad…To…to get closure from him. If any of us die… I want that much."

"Thank you Kit, and…B-bye." She hung up, and I sighed, and pressed the red button too. I typed in Dad's number quickly and put it to my ear.

Ring…

Ring…

Ring…

"Oh for fuck's sake, pick up…"I mumbled desperately underneath my breath. The more and more I thought about how under-fortified and vulnerable the pizza shop my father managed was the more anxious I became.

Ring…

Thoughts crowded my mind as the phone continued to ring.

Ring…

Zombies pushing the mostly broken back door open while they were busy…

Ring…

A zombie breaking through the front window, diving over the counter, grabbing the first person they can, driving their teeth deep into the flesh of that unlucky person's neck…

Ring…

I nearly froze with an even worse thought. Crows or dogs breaking through the front window.

Ring…

Oh, shit.

Ring…

A zombie pushing the front door open, my father trying to help him and getting bitten…

Ring…

Ca-Click… "Hello? Kit? What's wrong?"

"Dad, have you been listening to the radio?" I asked straight off. No time to mince words.

"No…"

"Turn it on. Now."

"Okay…" He was really, really confused, and he sounded slightly angry. He hated to be given orders, which was one of my pet peeves too, when not warranted. He still could dish out orders, though, and it grated on my nerves usually.

He listened to it for a few minutes, the broadcast from earlier on a loop. "Oh, shit."

"Exactly. I already called Mom. After I get off the phone, I suggest you call her too…for closure. In case any of us die." I winced at how nonchalant my voice sounded. Sometimes under certain types of stress I became cold, analytical. I ignored what I knew what proper behavior was as deemed by society and did what I had to.

He gave a shuddering breath. "Are…are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Uninfected, at the least." I shrugged, and sighed. "You know Katie, from down the road?"

"Yeah?"

"I had to shoot her before she got a chance to take a bite outta me."

"Oh…" He sounded slightly sickened.

"Dad, I need you to get out of there. The shop's not fortified well enough to survive this. Get yourself and as many other people out and get out of the area, drive if you have to, find a secure place that doesn't have windows and that has a strong door. No fireplaces, either."

"All right… I've gotta call my drivers, too. They need to abandon their routes."

"Too true…I have to go, Dad… I need to check over my guns and get ready for anything that may come my way."

HE stopped and chuckled mirthlessly. "I'm glad we had that strong glass put in."

"Me too…Be careful. I hope to survive this and meet up."

"Yeah," He sighed. "I hope I do too."

"Bye," I said softly.

"Bye." Click.

I sighed, and rubbed at my face with my hand, staring at my phone. God, that was difficult. I thought it would ease my nervousness a little, but it only agitated me.

'Do I need to call Sissy? Nah…' My sister was down in Florida. She was safe. Thank goodness. She wasn't even planning on coming back with her husband for at least another three weeks, so she was in the clear. I thought twice about calling her, weighing the pros and cons… If I did, she might call someone outside the situation to help. However, if the government or a company or someone with close ties and powerful friends were to be doing this on purpose, then I'd have effectively screwed myself, my pregnant sister, and her husband over. That scenario was ever the more likely. Shit like this didn't happen for no reason and no orchestrating.

No. I wouldn't call her. I wouldn't call anyone else. I figured it would be useless to call the police—what could they do? The police force may even be decimated for all I knew.

I shoved the plain black-and-silver phone in my pocket, grumbling to myself as I drew curtains over the windows, blocking out sunlight, hopefully so the creatures would think nobody was home. I then sat down in a kitchen chair, stiffly, and then I forced myself to loosen up as put on my holsters.

A shoulder holster for a large serrated survival knife my Father had given me for my last birthday, after my picky grandparents had gone home and my mother had long been asleep. My right leg holster for my handgun. I quickly threw my inch-down-my-ass-long wavy and curly hair up in a tight braid, then coiled the braid into a small bun, then clipped it with several small clips and put a few large bobby pins in it, assuring that it would stay stationary until I took it down. My dark almost—almost a dark crimson—coloured red hair was rather unruly, but I dealt with it. The shortest pieces were framing my face right now, too short to be put up. They curled attractively around my pale face, one curving down just to my chin, the other just an inch longer due to my side-part, which forced a little more hair to be on the left side of my head.

I blew at one, causing it to lift a little—then immediately come back and smack me in the face. Right. I tucked it behind my ear for now.

A loud tone on the radio made me flinch, and I looked towards it.

"Well, Zanesville is mostly overtaken…Do not enter Zanesville, I repeat, do NOT enter Zanesville… There are some infected people and animals surrounding the station now, but security is taking care of them…Just remember, listeners…Do whatever you can to stay alive, and try to help others unless they are bitten…"

I sighed. I looked around the house, realizing that I was sitting in a deathtrap.

A fucking deathtrap.

These walls could very well become my tomb, my eternal resting place—that was, until my corpse would probably be reanimated by whatever the hell was doing this. Most likely some kind of virus, a mad scientist's fantasy and worst nightmare come to life.

Even if I could stay here, protected, and ride this out, I had no food.

Maybe there's still survivors in Leighton…