Heather Courter is a normal teenage girl. She hasn't been through much in her life, though. So when she sees her own mother eaten alive by a flesh-eating zombie, you can assume that she felt pretty bad. But in the zombie apocalypse you cannot just sit on the grass and grieve. You cannot have a funeral for your loved ones. The only thing you do is run. Running is the only thing you have to be good at—other than knowing how to bash a zombie's brains in.
My older brother and I leave my mother behind. There's nothing you can do, he tells me. "We have to TRY!" I yell. We can't leave her here! "What do you want to do, Heather?! Have a funeral?" He unintentionally spits in my face while he is talking.
I wipe my face off and push past him. "You make me sick." I mutter with a look of disgust on my face. Our mother has protected us since the day we were born. How could he just leave her like that? Then I hear a gunshot from behind.
I turn around fast, and my brother was looking that direction too. It was coming from the prison.
I run back to Paul to ask what was going on. He said, "Let's go find out. Walkers can't shoot guns." I had to admit, he had a good point. It was probably other survivors from the outbreak. Or it was probably something else other than a gunshot.
Paul and I pull out our weapons as we walk towards the gate. We killed a few walkers on the way. When we make it to the gate, we see two men talking. One of them has arrows in a pack on his back, and the other is saying something to a little boy, probably around 13 years old."Try and get their attention." My brother orders me. I have to follow what he says; he has been keeping me alive since the outbreak. Even though we get on each other's nerves, we look out for each other. "Hey! Hey you!" I wave my arms and try to get them to notice me until they finally turn my way. "Who are you?" The men aim their weapons at me and Paul. "We don't want to harm you." The men drag us inside the big prison without letting down their weapons.
As we were guided through the prison, I saw a group of survivors staring at us like we were wild animals. "What do you want to do with them, Rick?" The man holding on to me—Rick, took a moment to think. " Supply them of food, or whatever it is they need—except ammo… we're low on that, then we'll send them on their way." Paul looked at them like they were crazy. "On our WAY? WHAT WAY WILL WE GO?"
I sent Paul a shut-the-fudge-up look. He's going to get us killed. "We don't want to hurt you guys," I try to lighten up the opportunity to stay here, even though Paul is going to ruin it if he keeps acting like this. "We've been through too much out there. We know how to do a lot of things that can help. Just please let us stay." Rick stared at me as if I were still talking.
"I don't even know you. How could we trust you?"
"We at least want a CHANCE. Please just give us a chance!" I begged.
Rick turned to his group for a and I exchange looks as they fiercely whispered at Rick.
Finally, he turned around. " Okay, you're in. But if I see you do ONE thing out of line, I won't hesitate to kick you out."