Author's note: Another story moved from DeviantArt. This one written in honor of Thanksgiving.
Zoey looked around the desolate cityscape and shivered as a cold wind blew over her. The red jacket she wore offered little in the way of protection against the elements and soon she would have to scavenge for a heavier coat. Befitting the cold, damp air was the overall atmosphere of the city itself. Numerous buildings were dark, the power having been cut either by accident or simple neglect of the power grid. In the streets below the lights that still worked flickered, casting weird shadows for the legions of zombies that wandered them.
Buildings that still had power were inviting refuges. But they were every bit as deadly as the dark ones. Accidently tripping any sort of device that made noise could turn into a death sentence. The light and heat gave a false sense of security and normalcy that could make people get complacent. At the thought she absently fingered the splotches of blood on her pants. Lewis' blood that had been splashed on her after he had been wounded by a hunter. There had been so much blood spilled already.
The unearthly, still silence of the once bustling city was proof enough of that. Without the noise of traffic on the road it seemed almost peaceful. Yet even up here the stench of rotting flesh could reach her nose. All around her were the bodies of those that hadn't survived. Those who had been killed by survivors in a desperate struggle for their lives. Those who had been overwhelmed by the zombies and eaten alive. She shook her head and turned away from the ledge, remembering.
They had made it to safety, or so they thought. But the generator had failed and someone needed to make the trip to re-start it. Bill had chosen himself for the task and dropped off the bridge before anyone could have stopped him. Tears formed in her eyes and she shuddered as her hand gripped the rifle she held tighter. Bill had taught her how to shoot and maintain it. His hands had held the weapon as he showed her how to break it down and how to put it back together. His practiced eye showed her the importance of always making sure the scope was zeroed. She hefted the rifle and hugged it to her chest after making sure the was safety was on. It was the last thing she had from him aside from memories.
As she made her way down from the rooftop after securing the access door she thought about her past. Her family had been rough but loving. Her father a police officer that had seen too much and was paid too little. Yet she had always been provided for. And as she settled down at the table to see the ration pack at her place she desperately missed the home cooked thanksgiving meal she used to share with her family. Then again, they had eaten much worse at times. She supposed she should be thankful that they had the military designed meal ready to eat ration pack.
And a small smile broke out on her face. She had, as she looked around the table and saw Francis sitting and Lewis limping towards her, a family. They had a better dinner than many and a warm, dry place to bunk for a night or two. There had been plenty of ammo scrounged so they didn't have to worry about firepower for a little while. They weren't safe by any means but compared to some out there, they had plenty to be thankful for.
"I hate thanksgiving." Francis said as he started into his meal.
"I don't know," Zoey answered, "You've got your vest, a shotgun that's in good condition, plenty of ammo, a decent meal and a warm bed for the night. I'd say we've all got something to be thankful for."
Lewis looked at her like she was crazy. Francis gave a slight smile.
"I hate being thankful."
The table erupted in laughter that lasted for only a few moments. But it was enough for all of them.