Serena Sanders knew something was coming, so she was prepared when people started coming back from the dead. She leaves the city and goes to the campsite by the quarry where she and her brother used to go. For a few days, everything is quiet. Until one day, a group shows up, looking for someplace safe. Now that she has company, Serena is finding herself in the middle of conflicts, drama, and confused feelings, and making sure those with anger issues don't kill each other. All while trying to stay positive and keep the group positive, even though it seems the world has ended, because she knows that when it seems there is nothing left, you've got to have hope.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, only my OC.
This is my first attempt at fanfiction. If there is anything you think I should work on in my writing, please let me know! Thanks for reading!
It was a slightly overcast Tuesday afternoon. I was standing at the register of Harry's Sporting Goods.
"What's the less you'll take for it?" I asked, admiring the crossbow I held in my hands.
"Three-fifty," Tom said. "Do you want it?"
That was fifty dollars less than the listed price.
"Let me think about it," I mused.
It was a really amazing crossbow. It was a Horton Scout 125 HD camo print. It was made just right, and was so reasonably priced, how could I pass it up?
I had nearly made up my mind when a bell at the front of the store rang, signaling another customer.
"What kind of crossbows do you have?" asked the guy that had just walked in.
I looked up at him when he spoke. He was good looking in a ruggedly handsome kind of way, his brown hair cut short, a bit of facial hair on his upper lip and chin. He was wearing a red flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off, worn-out jeans, and hiking boots, and he spoke with a southern accent.
"This young lady right here has the last one that we've got in stock," said Tom.
The guy looked over at me. "You plannin' on buyin' that?" he asked.
"I was thinking about it," I said.
He turned back to Tom. "You gonna get any more of those in stock?"
"Nope, sorry, that was our last shipment of those. We won't receive any more of them," Tom said apologetically.
The guy huffed and looked down at the floor in irritation, then around the shop. "You ain't got any more?"
"Sorry, like I said, this young lady has the last one," Tom replied. "However," he added. "If you want, you can give us your email or phone number and when we get anything you might be interested in, we can let you know."
"No thanks."
"What's your name?" I asked him.
"None of your business," he said irritably.
I ignored this and stuck out my right hand, holding on firmly to the crossbow with my left. "I'm Serena Sanders, but if you want, you can call me Rena."
He glanced down at my hand, and then looked back up at me indifferently. After a moment, I let my hand drop by my side.
"What's the matter? Too good to tell me your name?" I pressed.
He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Daryl," he answered shortly.
"Was that so hard?" I asked with a smirk. "Anyways," I continued, "I'll be willing to make a deal with you."
Daryl raised his eyebrows. "What kind of deal?" he asked.
I looked to Tom. "You said you were willing to take three-fifty for that compound bow over there, right?" I asked, nodding towards a black bow hanging on the wall.
"That's right," Tom said, nodding in confirmation.
I looked back to Daryl. "Depending on how badly you want this crossbow, I'll pay half on it, if you pay half on that compound bow."
"That's kinda stupid, don't you think?" Daryl said.
"How so?" I asked, cocking my head to the side.
"How much is the crossbow?"
"It's three-fifty."
"We're still both payin' three-fifty, either way."
"Well, you kinda have a point there," I admitted, and looked at the crossbow longingly. After a moment of thought, I finally said, "Alright, if you want it, it's yours," and held the crossbow out to him with a sigh.
He looked at it for a moment, then took it.
"Alright then, Tom, I've made up my mind," I said, moving on. "I'll take the compound bow, fifty of your best arrows, and fifty of these broad heads." I pointed at a lethal looking broad head that was shown on display.
"You sure about that?" Tom asked. "The bow has a one hundred and fifty pound drawback, and with the cost of having the arrows cut, plus the broad heads, on top of your other purchases, it's going to be pretty pricey," he said, looking at me in surprise.
"Yep, I'm sure," I said, nodding. "The cost doesn't mean anything to me, and as for the bow's drawback, I can handle it."
"Okay, if you're sure," Tom said.
He gave me my total, and I took out my checkbook from my capri pocket, and wrote out a check.
Tom took it and called over his shoulder, "Devin!"
A guy that looked to be in his late teens ran out of a back room. "Yes, sir?" he asked.
"I need you to take some measurements, and get Rena fifty arrows cut to the right length for her."
"Yes, sir!" said Devin. "Follow me," he said to me.
I followed him into the back room, and he pointed to a chair and told me to have a seat while he got my bow.
When he came back a few moments later, he took the measurements, then told me to go back to the front of the store while I waited for my arrows to be cut.
I made myself comfortable in the padded chair, stretching my legs out and crossing them. It would be at most ten minutes, maybe more since Devin was fairly new to working here.
I used to work in this same shop during my high school years, and I knew that it could be tough sometimes, so he was probably still getting the hang of things.
I sat quietly for a bit, but then I couldn't stand the silence anymore. For the record, I blame the three energy drinks I've downed in the past two and a half hours.
I uncrossed my legs and tapped my foot on the floor, trying to find something to occupy myself with. My eyes landed on Daryl, who was staring out at the street, waiting on Tom to get paperwork together.
"Nice shirt," I said to him.
"What?" he asked.
"Nice shirt," I said again. "The ripped sleeves are kind of cool."
He didn't say anything. He just went back to staring out of the glass doors.
I looked in the direction he was, and panic and anger shot through me.
I jumped up out of my seat and stormed out the door, saying to Tom, "I'll be right back."
"Hey!" I yelled furiously to the guy that was poking and prodding at the motorcycle I had strapped into the back of my old Chevy. "Hands off!"
"What? Is this yours?" the guy asked, stepping away from my truck and gesturing at my bike.
"Yes it is, s please, don't mess with it," I said, stepping towards him.
I had just bought it today, and I didn't plan on it getting dirty any time soon.
He laughed at me and took a few steps in my direction. "Oh, I see, you're one of those biker chicks. I hear they're a lot of fun to hang out with, if you know what I mean." There was a suggestive look in his eyes that made my stomach churn.
"Yeah, I do know what you mean, sicko. Now back off, don't take another step near me, and leave my bike alone," I snapped at him.
He continued walking towards me. "The name's Marco. What do you say you and me take a trip back to my place?"
He was directly in front of me now. He reached out a hand to touch my cheek, but I swatted it away.
"Don't touch me," I snarled.
"Sorry, didn't hear that," he lied, and reached out towards me again.
This time, I didn't swat his hand away. Instead, I jerked my knee forward into his groin sharply. "I said, don't touch me."
He lurched over in pain and looked up at me angrily. "You're gonna regret that!" he said through gritted teeth.
"Will I?" I said, pretending to think for a moment. "Nope, don't think I will." I shrugged carelessly and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up and throwing him against the building roughly. He was so scrawny it didn't take much energy. "How about you just go away before I'm forced to do anything worse," I suggested.
"What could you do? You're just a stupid..."
He never got to finish his sentence. I punched him in the stomach, hard. He dropped to the ground.
I knelt down and said curtly, "I don't make idle threats, so believe me when I say keep it in your pants, or I cut it off. Got it?"
"Yes," he groaned. Just like the other guys that think they're tough and scary, using their words to intimidate others, but they're really just cowards. Just another stupid, perverse punk, thinking he can get his way around women.
I snorted and stood up.
I walked back inside and sat back down, feeling eyes on me the whole way.
Glancing up and looking around, I saw that Tom and Daryl were staring at me; Tom in shock, Daryl's expression unreadable, a lifted brow the only indication of emotion.
"What?" I asked them. "What are you looking at me like that for?"
Daryl was the first to speak. "All that, over a bike?"
"It was an expensive bike. I didn't want him putting fingerprints all over it."
"Why'd you beat him up though?" asked Tom.
"He was making inappropriate comments, and I didn't appreciate it," I stated simply and shrugged.
"You're crazy," Daryl muttered.
"Mess with me and crazy is an understatement." I smirked.
"Rena, your arrows are ready," said Devin, coming out of the back room and placing my things on the counter, oblivious to what had just transpired.
"Thank you," I said, rising out of the chair and stretching.
I walked over to the register, grabbed my items, and headed for the door. Turning back for a moment, I looked over to Daryl. "It was nice to meet you, Daryl. Take care of that crossbow."
He nodded to me and went over to speak with Devin.
"Have a nice day, Tom," I called, leaving the shop.
"You too, Rena," he called back, just before the door closed.
I went to my truck and pulled my keys out of my pocket, unlocked it, and got in. I put the bag and box on the seat next to me, put the key into the ignition, and started the engine. Pulling back onto the highway, I headed for the grocery store. I had a lot of shopping to do in the next few days.
But, if the rumors were true, all of the money I've put out, from the weapon license, to the large amount of weapons and ammunition I had purchased including the nearly six thousand dollars I had spent to have a pair of custom designed katanas made and delivered, it would pay off.
I just hoped that the rumors weren't true.
One Week Later
I awoke to the sounds of total chaos; cars crashing, gunshots, and people screaming.
I jumped out of bed and I ran to the window. What I saw made my stomach churn.
There were cars everywhere, some peeling down the street with tires squealing, crashed into others, some were even crashed into houses. There were people lying dead on the street, battered and bloodied, while others were running around in fear, trying to get to their vehicles. But what they were running from was a horrible sight.
They were people that had blood running down their chins, their clothing torn and bloody, and others that had stopped by the dead bodies, ripping them apart, pulling out their insides, and, it seemed, eating them. They seemed rabid, mindless.
A car suddenly spun out of control, hitting one of the crazed people, if they could still be called people. He was struck dead on, flew through the air, and hit the pavement, bounced, and tumbled ten feet. The car hit an electric pole, the front crumpling like it was made of cheap plastic, and a cloud of steam rose. The driver got out, stumbling slightly, and tried to run.
Tried, because the man that was hit got up from the pavement, arm bent at an odd angle, leg twisted nearly backwards, and came towards the woman at a pace impossible for someone that had just been hit by a car. He grabbed her hair, twisted her around, biting her shoulder, and ripping away a piece of flesh. Blood spurted as she screamed. I could hear it from where I was watching in wide-eyed shock. I wanted to cover my ears, but I was frozen, unable to move.
The woman made an attempt to escape the man's grasp and fell. The man got down on his knees, reached out to her, leaning closer as he did so, as if he was going to kiss her. His mouth went to her throat, and like a lion with a fresh kill, he clamped down with his teeth and violently ripped away more flesh, and chewed. She started convulsing, blood pouring onto the ground. More of those things joined the man in feasting on the poor woman. The sight was terrible. Something out of a horror movie. I couldn't watch anymore.
I turned away from the window in disgust, bile rising in my throat, and hurried to my closet. I didn't know what to think of what was going on. Part of me wanted to panic and hide under the bed, but the more sensible part of me knew I couldn't do that. I had to keep my head and focus on getting away from here, to somewhere safe.
I went to the closet, pulled out a pair of jeans and a black and grey striped shirt, quickly dressed, and ran downstairs, thinking over my plan for leaving the house quickly.
I had heard rumors two weeks ago that there was some military/government project going on.
I never listened to rumors, but when the government was involved, I didn't know what to believe. I knew they were capable of a lot of things. Sometimes I get the impression they withhold information from the public, things we should be aware of. I assumed something was going on, that maybe war was about to break out, and they were working on a new weapon. I just never imagined that their project would be something like this.
At the moment, I had no other theory for the cause of what was happening outside.
I sat down on the bench by the door and pulled on my socks and boots.
As an after thought, I went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife in case I was attacked on my way out.
Hurrying out the door, I ran to my truck and got in, started it up, threw it in reverse, and backed up straight to the open door. With all the chaos around me, my actions went unnoticed.
I jumped out and ran back inside the house, straight to the spare bedroom nearest the door that I used for storage, and grabbed three of six large grey duffle bags, and ran to the open door, and threw the bags into the back of my truck.
I went back and got the other remaining three and did the same with them.
Once more, I went back inside my house for the last time to retrieve a medium-sized duffle bag hanging from a hook on the wall, and my twin katanas, then ran outside, got in my truck, and pulled out onto the road.
It took a lot of focus to keep from crashing into someone, or running over people, dead, alive, or insane.
I drove to the small area of woods ten minutes from my house where I had an old, rusted, but still fully functional, U-Haul, hidden away, full of food, bottles of water, and other items I would need, hooked it up as quickly as I could, and peeled back onto the road.
I thought quickly about where I could go. I had to go somewhere where there were none of those psychos. Somewhere secluded. Somewhere I could feel safe.
There was only one place I could think of to go; the campsite where me and my older brother used to go. The quarry, high up in the mountains, far away from the city.
After driving for nearly an hour and a half, my travel slowed by so many accidents happening around me, and avoiding people who ran out in front of me, I finally made it to the quarry. I pulled to the side of the dirt road and stopped, shutting off the engine.
I got out and took a deep breath of the familiar fresh mountain air, assessing.
The campsite was a circular clearing, with small hills here and there, with deep forests surrounding the area, and if you look to the direction of the road, you get a nice view of Atlanta, off in the distance. My favorite part of the campsite lied at the bottom of a short path down the hill.
It was a large lake, perfect for boating, fishing, swimming, and what I needed, a source for drinking water.
I was glad that my brother had shown me how to make a fishing pole out of fishing string and safety pins (both of which I always had with me in my glove box in case of emergencies), and a long, sturdy stick, easily accessed from the woods.
I didn't have a boat. I could make do without one, however, and there was a lot of other things more important to do and to worry about.
Making this campsite livable after over ten years of neglect for starters.
It didn't look too bad, considering, as if other people had been up here, which wasn't an impossibility, since word had gotten around that this was an excellent camping and fishing spot.
It was still a mess though.
"This could take a while," I muttered to myself, looking around at all of the broken tree limbs and twigs and occasional garbage, such as paper, glass bottles, and aluminum cans that lay on the ground. "Might as well get started."
It took some time, but I soon had the campsite looking quite decent.
Looking at my watch I saw that it was nearly noon.
Time for lunch.
I went to the U-Haul, where I had it backed up into the edge of the woods, tucked away and covered with brush, unlocked it, and opened the door. Looking around, I decided on some canned fruit.
I sat down on a log and opened the can. I didn't have any silverware with me, so I just sipped the juice and poured the fruit into my mouth, thinking about the situation at hand.
I knew I would be staying here for a long time. The amount of chaos in the streets could only be a minimal part of what's going on in the rest of the city, perhaps even the country.
If it was a military super-weapon, what was it? Was it a failed attempt to make a better soldier, inspired by Captain America? If so, how did it affect the public? How did it get like this? Was it a parasite? A disease that spread like a cold? Was it injected through a syringe or needle? Or was it airborne?
Or was this a new kind of flu? Something akin to mad cow disease?
Whatever this is, whatever the cause, it's a problem, and it's bound to get worse. There was no way something like this could be resolved in a timely manner. If this was widespread, it could take a long time to fix. This could take months. However, though they were strange, even scary, I had settled into a calm acceptance of the circumstances.
I wasn't afraid. Staying in the woods for a long period of time didn't worry me in the slightest. I could handle being alone.
Getting water wasn't an issue, and food wasn't going to be a problem for a while, since I had enough to last for at least up to a year, maybe longer, if rationed properly. To make it last even longer, and when I ran out, I could hunt.
I wouldn't go crazy from lack of things to do, because there was plenty of activities. Daily chores, such as maintaining my truck, which would be my shelter, and transportation if I needed to leave for any reason; making sure my weapons remained in working condition; maintaining my camp's security by scouting, ensuring I wouldn't have any surprise guests; and I had brought some books, literary, coloring, and crosswords, notebooks and journals, and a few packs of pens, pencils, and crayons, for relaxing. These were luxury items, not essential for surviving, but I liked to plan ahead. Going insane from boredom wasn't on my agenda.
The only thing that truly concerned me was what lied ahead.
Would things eventually get better and return to normal? Or would there be total, apocalyptic destruction?
