Breathless, she bounded toward the house and leapt onto the abandoned truck that was partially hidden by weeds as though nature had claimed it as its own. She reached to the branches above and hauled herself up into the tree, her feet finding familiar purchase on the bark. When she reached a safe distance she allowed herself a moment to catch her breath and peered down between the leaves to spy her pursuers. The Dead crowded the truck below, moaning and reaching for the meal they could no longer see.
"So fucking stupid," she muttered, reprimanding herself for being so reckless as she edged along the branches and climbed in the open window of the house. Hunger can make you desperate and it had felt like fate when the deer had placed itself in her view just as she was foraging for berries. She had slowly raised her shotgun and calmly pulled the trigger. Her aim was true and the doe had stumbled blindly before its legs buckled and it fell to the ground. She ran towards her kill, knowing she had to work quickly to fillet a portion of the meat before the Dead started to arrive, drawn to the sound. It was not her lucky day. Immediately, one of the Dead had shambled out of the bushes to her left and managed to grasp her shirt in its hand. A hard shove had given her enough time and space to draw her machete and drive it through the eye socket into the brain. More Dead began emerging from the undergrowth so she had reclaimed her machete and ran. Ran for her safe haven.
In the confines of the empty house she felt her pulse slow and her muscles relax. This had been her home for four weeks now, since she tripped over a fucking corpse and sprained her ankle. She had needed somewhere to set up camp and heal, and the house had provided that. After amassing supplies from the kitchen and blocking the stairs, she could get in and out through the window and never worry about the Dead. She hadn't slept this well for months and although her ankle was fully healed, she was reluctant to leave. But leave she must, and soon. She'd never make it to her father in New York by hiding here. As soon as her supplies were well stocked she'd have to hit the road again.
She wandered into one of the other bedrooms, the room she slept in, and started to strip off. It was so fucking hot. Even after living in Florida for the last two years, she couldn't get used to the incessant heat. She had just removed her ripped shirt when she first heard the noise. A subtle scrape and a thud coming from the other room...the room with the open window.
Silently, she reached for her machete and flattened herself against the wall next to the door. Was she imagining things? It was so quiet now but just as she was about to put it down to paranoia, she saw a shadow slowly creeping down the corridor towards where she was hiding. Fear rose in her throat as she raised the machete higher, ready to inflict some serious damage. This thing didn't move like the Dead, but experience had taught her that you also had to fear the living.
It was nearly upon her now. It was as silent as the grave, which scared her more than the moaning, shuffling hordes of Dead. It was time. She took a deep breath for courage and rounded the corner, machete raised high. Everything was a blur. This thing moved just as fast. She stabbed blindly with the cleaver and felt it connect with tissue. At the same time, a white hot burst of pain erupted from her left shoulder as she felt something sharp pierce the skin and embed itself within. She targeted the head and brought her machete up to the throat, but froze before she had time to slash as she felt a blade against her own jugular. Stalemate.
They were both breathing hard. She looked up from the hunting knife at her neck and her green eyes locked with his blue. As well as the knife he had a crossbow slung over his shoulder and a look that said he had seen his fair share of bloodshed. He was sweaty, dirty and obviously aggressive, but this was no dead man...
To be continued.
