AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm really excited about this one, but I'm not sure where I want to go with it just yet. With that in mind, it's going to be much less structured than The Wall (my other story), so no fixed update schedule and much shorter chapters this time. Let's just have fun with it.
There's a walker in my woods.
It shuffled into view a few minutes ago, sniffing the air. Sniffing for me. Must have caught my scent back on the highway. Tattered tank top, stringy blond hair. I can see the bite marks on her arm. She was definitely with that pack.
Stupid of me to be so careless. I shouldn't have stopped so long, should have gotten away first.
Whatever. It doesn't matter now. If this is the only one, I can take it out easy.
My bow is always strung nowadays. I learned that lesson the hard way back in Dallas. Never let your guard down. Never get caught without a weapon. I ease the bow from my shoulder and test the pullback. Still good. My repairs are holding out.
The walker is ten yards away. She's still cautious, still unsure of where my scent is coming from. Good. Even from this height, I'm nervous about her. The rest of her pack might not be far behind. For now, I'm safe in this tree. But I can't move with hungry walkers beneath me. I'd be trapped. Starve to death in the air. I'd die perched on this branch.
Perched. I almost chuckle at the thought. I'm like a bird in this oak tree, feet gripping the branch, eyes watching the walker. A hawk eyeing his fellow predator.
I reach around and pull an arrow from the quiver on my back. Just a normal one this time. I never got the chance to make more incendiaries. But it's just the one walker. Easy.
I nock the arrow.
Lift the bow.
Pull the string to my ear.
Breathe in.
Aim.
Breathe out.
Release.
The walker stumbles. A fletched shaft emerges from her decomposing forehead. She falls back, and the shaft points toward the sky.
I bare my teeth, pleased. Perfect shot.
The branch creaks as I drop from it. I hit the ground softly, my crouched landing perfected over the months. This isn't my first tree.
Just to be safe, I send another arrow into the walker's head. Nock a third, sweep for any more. The woods are quiet. No new smells. No bushes rustled.
I'm alone.
That's how I like it.
I pull my weapons out of the walker's head and retreat back to my oak. The soiled arrows go between my teeth as I climb. My afternoon will be filled with the task of cleaning them. It has to be thorough. Can't risk contaminating the food I hunt.
I'm back on my branch now. My bag waits for me, pushed snugly against the trunk. I pull out my cleaning kit. Alcohol. Cloths. Soap. Water. Some of the water is for me. Nothing in my stomach since the blackberries. The fluid is cool against my throat. Then I pull one of the used arrows close. Grab a cloth. Start scrubbing.
Leaves rustle. One of the saplings at eight o'clock. I turn, keeping a grip on the branch. Nothing visible yet. I shove my things back into the bag. Then I wait.
Another walker emerges from the trees. I recognize it. From the highway again. Did they all follow me?
It doesn't matter now. I nock the arrow I had been cleaning. Might as well use it again. I feel calm. Collected. There's a bow at my fingertips. It's just another day. Another walker.
But it isn't. This one moves faster than the rest. My fingers tense on the string but do not release. The new walker isn't walking. It's running. Sprinting through the woods. Sprinting towards me.
That's not possible.
I don't give the runner a chance to reach me. My arrow flies. Eye socket. Better than perfect. The runner falls to the ground, legs still twitching. It's been four seconds. In that time the zombie covered twenty-five yards.
Definitely not possible. But I saw it.
I check for more before dropping back to the ground. Nothing I can see. Should be safe to get the arrow. I drop for the second time. The shock of landing barely registers anymore, even from fifteen feet up.
Six steps to the runner. Up close, it looks normal. Ordinary. Nothing special. No shirt, but plaid shorts and worn-through running shoes. Just a guy with bad luck. Now he's a dead guy with bad luck.
Carefully, I pull out the arrow. It still looks all right. Good. The nearest sporting goods store was fifty miles behind me. Can't go back now. Especially if there are more runners on the highway.
I wonder what made them like that. I look again at the dead one. It seems fine to me. Maybe it's a new strain of the virus. If so, could be deadly. Might have to be more careful. No more sleeping on the ground. Find a tree or keep moving. Maybe I can find a bigger quiver at the next town, stock up on arrows. Better safe than sorry.
Something shifts in the air. Could have been a noise or a change in air pressure or a shadow at the corner of my eye. Whatever it is, I'm on high alert. I straighten up, trusting my instincts, nocking the same arrow for the third time today. I sweep a circle around me. The arrowhead guides my eyes.
Nothing. Then something.
Another walker emerges from the bushes. No. Not a walker. It's another fast one. Another runner. It's at three o'clock. I spin. Aim. Release. My arrow hits brain for the third time. The runner goes down twenty feet away.
Something else, behind me. I pivot. This runner's already caught my scent. I can see it in the way it moves. I grab another arrow and fire. This one goes down, too.
At least they're not harder to kill than usual.
Rustling bushes all around me. They're everywhere. The entire highway pack. I've never seen this before. They're not smart enough for an ambush. But then again, they're not fast enough to cover twenty-five yards in four seconds. Not usually.
I sprint back to my tree. Better to see, better to kill from the sky. Climb onto the branch just as the first runner reaches my oak. It throws itself against the trunk, groans through dead lips, claws at the bark.
I take a deep breath. Have to stay calm.
One second later the runner crumples to the ground, my arrow embedded in the crown of its skull. But more are here. There's at least thirty of them. Maybe more. I have fifteen arrows. Minus the four I've already used. Eleven shots.
I use those shots immediately, killing everything that reaches the tree. They've all caught my scent. It's a feeding frenzy. The bodies pile up. Soon enough I reach behind me and feel air. No more arrows. If I had more incendiaries, I could blast them all with one shot. But I don't. So now comes the hoping.
More runners come. My oak shakes. These zombies are stronger than usual, too. Something is very wrong with this apocalypse. The wood under me creaks, and I start to worry. Can walkers tear down a tree? Maybe. If they were very strong. Which they are. And if there was a lot of them. Which there are.
The tree is stretched to breaking point. Just a matter of time. They'll bring down the tree, I'm sure of it now. Perhaps it's better. I'll die more quickly this way. Eaten alive is better than starved to death.
My tree shifts. The groans are getting more desperate, from the runners and the wood alike. My heart speeds up for the first time today. I look up. I pray to whatever God will take me.
That's when the gunfire starts.