If two months ago someone would've told me that I would end up leading a group of three other people cross the country with nothing but my wits and a shotgun keeping us alive, I would've laughed myself into a coma. I'm not the type to hold a gun let alone fire it. The most important thing I've ever led was a costume team in a school play.
Yet here I am.
The green flu had spread quickly through the south. The media could barely cover it as fast as it was being spread and evactuations were so hasty and poorly executed that many people were left behind. I was one of those unlucky people. But I didn't just lay down and wait for the horde like many people who were left for dead. I picked up my father's shotgun and set out to find other survivors and maybe...just maybe...make it through this.
-The Recovered Journal of Morgan Ambrose, dated October 16th, 2011.
Morgan stepped over the smouldering rubble of yet another abandoned car. Her bare legs were sticky with dry blood and dirt, the hem of her cut off shorts a little higher than was tasteful. But who was around to see? Her cowboy boots crunched the broken glass beneath her. She was on edge, no longer finding comfort in silence. Perhaps walking along the freeway had been a bad choice. It was unbearably hot and she could feel her shoulders burning.
She turned and walked down the nearest exit ramp, eyes alert to every shadow. A trash can fell over to her left and she turned quickly, her loose blonde braid whipping off her shoulder. She cocked the shot gun and rushed toward the sound. A human shape, slumped over. Her finger found the trigger.
"Please don't shoot!" A frightened male voice choked.
She lowered the barrel and looked up. "Get in the light so I can see you."
He shuffled a bit behind the can and stepped out. He was wearing a hoodie and black boxers with red Converse on his feet. A bit pale, tall and lanky with a scruffy black beard and matching hair...possibly homeless but oddly cute. "My name is Alan...please don't kill me."
"I'm not out here to kill survivors." She laughed, holding the gun in one hand against her leg. "Morgan, good to meet you. Got a weapon?"
"I found an axe..." He replied, holding up the sharp fireman's axe.
"Good, that'll do for now. You coming with me or holding down that uhh...trash can?" Morgan asked, a smirk on her lips as she gestured to the pile of garbage.
"It isn't what it looks like...I was thinking about going into the gas station but I heard a noise and ran away. Then I tripped over the trash can." Alan replied, laughing a little.
"You didn't go inside to check for supplies?"
"No."
"Then let's go. I'm on my way to see if my friend made it. I could use a med pack or food. Hell, anything really."
"You're going to go in there? I heard a noise, and not a good noise like a kitten. It was a bad noise, like a gurgle."
"Boomer." Morgan said, holding up the gun. "Easy kill."
"Boomer?" He asked, following after her with axe in hand.
"A special type of infected. Fat and all around nasty to look at. They spew nasty bile that attracts infected. It isn't something you want on you." She explained, walking toward the station with wide strides.
"We should just forget about it!" he pleaded, holding his weapon nervously.
"I don't think so. All that processed garbage keeps well and is loaded with sugar...caffiene...delicious."
My childhood was spent watching horror movies. Now I was in one. When the Green Flu hit, my parents and I were at the movies. It was an average Friday night, family night. We had just finished dinner, and we were in line when the first horde hit. We had heard about the undead pushing forward. The military said they were going to stop it before it got to us. We were seperated during the attack. Big trucks pulled in shortly after, grabbing people left and right, shooting anything that moved. I escaped quickly, returning to the house. After a few days my parents never returned.
I grabbed my fathers sniper, hunting rifle, and pistol and got to the roof; my trusty bag at my side.
-Found inside the journal of Morgan Ambrose, date unknown. Believed to belong to Kaylee.
Morgan entered the building first, shining the light mounted on her gun across the room. She could feel Alan's warm breath on her neck and wondered how he survived this long. A sickening gurgle filled the room and she took a step into the store. Her finger rested on the trigger, waiting to see the bulging mound of flesh. The slow walk forward took her all the way to the back of the store. Alan was nervously looking arround the aisles, axe in his trembling hands.
She slowly leaned her ear against the door of the mens' bathroom. It was just as she thought. Unless some poor survivor was in there with the worst upset stomach this world had ever seen, the boomer was in the bathroom.
Stepping away from the door, she gestured over to Alan. He walked over, his shoes squeaking slightly. "Alan." She whispered, "It is in there. I need to kill it without opening the door. Any ideas?"
He thought for a moment and looked around, "No. Let's just grab supplies and get out."
"That works too. Just stay quiet."
"Gotcha."
They split up and moved around the small store, scooping up salvagable supplies from the shelves and stuffing them into each of their packs. Morgan found some shot gun ammo under the counter and took it greedily. Alan was taking as much junk food as he could carry, anything that wasn't opened or spoiled.
Morgan walked along the aisle near the windows, eyes scanning across newspapers. 'Where is CEDA?' the headlines read. She looked past these bitterly when a fallen display caught her attention. Her boot heels clicked on the tile as she bent down. It was a hat display, the ones on the floor tattered and destroyed. But there, still hanging on the display, was a simple woven cowboy hat. She picked it up and put it on her head, checking her appearance in the mirror. Perfect.
"Let's get out of here." Alan said, standing by the door with his full pack. As she walked over to meet him, the bathroom door crashed open. Alan screamed and the boomer yelled a gooey roar of his own, ready to spew. Morgan pushed Alan outside and fired two shots at the belly of the beast. It exploded in a bloody mess of bile and slime. She looked up, the brim of her new hat splattered with blood, her face clean and protected. She smiled.
Alan got up from the ground. "That was-"
"Awesome, yes."
"I was going to say scary as Hell, but yeah that works too."
Morgan laughed and picked up her pack, walking down the road toward a housing development. "Come on, it isn't far to Kaylee's."
Kaylee layed on her belly on top of the roof of her house, skin was red from the sun. She stared through the scope of her sniper, the butt against her shoulder, finger on the trigger. She squeezed the trigger, making her already sore shoulder tense with pain. The brains from the zombie spewed out of its head and over the concrete.
"This way. Stay close behind me." Morgan spoke, leading the way down the dismantled neighborhood.
"No problem." Alan smiled to himself, liking the curve of her butt in her cut off shorts.
When the zombie ahead blew into pieces, she followed the path of the bullet with her eyes. There on the roof was a lone figure, most likely female.
"What was that?" Alan gasped.
"A sniper. We found Kaylee."
"I should've known it would be the women surviving the infection. They're so much stronger than men."
"Trying to flatter me?"
"You know it's true."
Morgan smiled and walked toward Kaylee's house. She took off her hat and waved it to get her friend's attention without making too much noise and alerting any nearby infected.
Kaylee waved back at the figure. Looking around, she collected her things and quickly, as silently as possible, disappeared to the back of the house. She reappeared when she hopped over the wooden fence.
Morgan ran over and hugged her friend. "I had no doubt you would survive this."
Returning the hug, Kaylee smiled. "I figured you'd find me!" Noticing Alan behind Morgan, she added, "And you found a pantsless homeless man. How..nice."
"Pretty sure we are all homeless now." Alan spoke. "But I wasn't before this."
"This is Alan." Morgan said. "He'll be coming with us. Does your mom's car still work?"
"Hello Alan," Kaylee smiled at him. "You've got a good point there, and yes it does." She held up the keys.
"Then you're driving. I need to get off my feet." Morgan said. "We just found plenty of supplies."
"Alright!" Kaylee fist pumped the air then ran to the Honda Tuson. She opened the back of the spacious car. "We can put the supplies in here if you want. Where are we going?"
"Head toward the west coast then follow it north west. Once we are out of Florida, we are making as straight a shot as possible to the Pacific, then North. The infection shouldn't have spread that far. If the United states are lost, then we try Canada. Worst cast scenerio...Alaska." Morgan explained, shutting the back after loading in the supplies.
Alan climbed into the backseat and put on his belt. "I'm glad you have a plan."
"Yeah, I was just going to end up driving around if you didn't show up," Kaylee said starting the car. She plugged her Zune into the auxelry cord. "I am not living in a world without music," she mummbled throwing the car into reverse and pulling out of the drive way, then down the street.