Ezekiel 37:7

So I prophesied as I was commanded: and as I prophesied, there was a noise, and behold a shaking, and the bones came together, bone to his bone.

I remember growing up in a strict Southern Baptist household and couldn't keep count of the number of verses my mother would recite to me on a daily basis. Whether or not it was in hopes of me retaining such recitals or simply a reminder of her expectations of her daughters was a mystery that carried into adulthood. I was willing to bet on both accounts because as far she was concerned I was the blunder of Sunday school and weekly bible studies that she and Pastor Raymond were unable to mend.

Around age 15 I had come to realize that pleasing the world would get me nowhere in life and had instead set out to do anything and everything that gave me some semblance of joy; destructive or not.

"Jessica Evelyn Monroe! You will surely be the death of me." My mother had sworn. "Where did I go wrong?"

That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it? The answer: She hadn't.

My Momma was many things, but a piss poor mother she was not. She ran her household with an iron fist, expected you to finish your chores and be washed up for dinner before the table was even set. I learned many things from her, but the only downfall between the two of us was my Daddy.

Daddy and I were two peas in a pod. Whereas Momma and my sister, Sarah, would spend an entire day picking peaches and other various fruits and veggies in the garden for supper, Daddy and I'd leave before the break of dawn to go on one of our famous fishing and hunting trips. Providing the main course of our meals was more rewarding than playing housewife. Momma tried with all of her might to beat into me that a woman's place was at home with the children, not roughin' it in the woods with the men. I strongly disagreed, Sarah not so much.

We were cut from the same cloth, but my sister and I couldn't have been more different physically and mentally. I shared the same bone structure and coloring as my mother; lightly tanned skin that deepened in color throughout the summer months, a sprinkling of freckles across my thin nose and rounded cheeks and rich chestnut brown hair that glowed with natural highlights from the amount of time spent in the sun. Sarah was the spitting image of our father with dark chocolate brown hair that fell down into thick spring like curls, rounded facial features that gave her a child-like appearance and olive skin. The ironic difference, both physical and non-physical, were our eye colors matched that of the parent we held the closest bond with. Sarah's were the same vibrant mix between hazel and green as our mother, while mine were a brown so deep like my father's, the color blended almost perfectly with the pupil.

Sarah and I were the fiercest of sister, bickering amongst ourselves and willing to go to blows if someone crossed the line with the other. When it seemed as though I could do nothing right Sarah was always there encouraging me to persevere and reminding me why I was pushing through each day. Sarah may have been six years younger, but she was twice as bright and optimistic about life. I needed her light to shine into my world. There was never a doubt in my mind that we carried a special bond and I'd go to hell and back to protect her.

I had no idea that limit would be tested so literally.

Momma always said that the Lord would one day create a sickness, a plague, across the lands in order to cleanse the world of its impurities. She always seemed so sure of herself whereas I tried my hardest not to roll my eyes at the notion, or at least not get caught. I didn't consider myself to be an overly religious person, much to my mother's chagrin, and instead thought the idea so ridiculous I would call it BS on a biblical level. But as it seems, mothers know everything.

In the beginning I had hope that the news reports were wrong, that whatever had begun wasn't as widespread as it appeared to be. That this outbreak wasn't what they were saying it was. My hoping and wishing came to a dramatic end the first night after Dallas and its surrounding areas came under attack. Momma, Sarah and I watched in muted silence as the news reports showed live broadcasts of the city surrounded by military personnel, tanks, heavy artillery and the dead. The walking dead.

"So I prophesied as I was commanded." Momma had whispered to herself over and over as she clenched the cross around her neck tighter. I couldn't help but look at her with indifference as I realized that the strong woman I had grown to love from a distance was nothing but a lost soul now.

After witnessing all of the broadcasts on TV she had found solace in the Bible, Ezekiel chapter 37 in particular. Now, I wasn't a religious persona vocally, but I knew my bible verses fairly well and I doubted this is what the Lord meant when He prophesied the bringing back of dried bones and people up from their graves. Just saying.

We had gathered inside the small den early in the afternoon, barely leaving the TV set, to watched as military personnel struggled to hold back a wall of people attempting to enter the safe zone stationed outside of and around the hospital district in downtown. The camera panned left as an older gentleman lunged at an officer, attacking him with his bare fists before bringing him to the ground. Another group surrounded the now downed officer to engage in the senseless attack. It was animalistic, and they were desperate.

"Oh my God." Sarah's shaking hands came to her mouth as she fought backs tears of sorrow and fear. She was a grown woman, but even she had never seen rage like this. She was the lucky one. Her fingers and palms pressed together into praying hands as she placed her lips against her pointer fingers and began to mouth a silent prayer for the world. They would need it.

I glanced at our mother who was rooted in the rocking chair directly in front of the television. She had barely left her seat in the past 24 hours since the first reports of the outbreak. As much as I hated to admit it, we didn't have a close mother and daughter bond. It didn't stop me from worrying about her. Lack of food and water on top of her panicked state was an almost definite death sentence.

"Momma, you need to eat something." I had made her a small turkey sandwich nearly an hour ago and with it a glass of sweet tea; both laid untouched on the end table next to her. She continued to fidget with her necklace. "Momma." Still nothing. I let out a frustrated grunt and left the room in search of something to keep my mind off of everything happening around us.

The only small chance of solitude was within the confines of my bedroom and as I made my way up the staircase my eyes ghosted over the picture frames strategically placed along the wall. They were distant memories of birthday parties, Christmas', and staged family portraits outlined with a woodland background. These were the kinds of memories that would cause me great heart ache and drift so far into the past that they would become almost dreamlike, from another world. My father's beaming smile caused my lip to quiver. He was the luckiest of us all, not having to see what our world was to become.

"We're gonna be ok." I told myself. I almost believed it.

As a child raised in a rural area outside of Fort Worth I was familiar with weapons of a small variety – knifes, pistols and various calibers of rifles. After Daddy's death my mother had given his collection away to my uncle, my father's younger brother, but little did she know that Uncle Jeremy had given those guns back after I came of age and graduated high school then finished schooling to become a game warden.

"Figure ya might be needin' those now." He had said. He and I had developed somewhat of a close bond after his death.

I made my way to my old bedroom at the end of the hallway where I had left a pack filled with clean clothes, toiletries and other necessary items. As a game warden my job usually consisted of enforcing hunting, fishing and water safety laws, but on some occasions, I assisted in apprehending criminals. I'd received a call from the sheriff of the next town over, telling me to be on standby should they need me, but I had no real intention of going now. Shit had gotten real, too real. My family was my main priority now, not the people in the next town over that would inevitably turn on me like those in Dallas. Yeah, fuck that.

I closed the bedroom door behind me, first being sure my mother or Sarah hadn't followed me, before approaching the closet on the opposite end of the room. I began shoving hangers full of dusty clothing aside, crinkling my nose at the musty smell of them. Was that my Senior prom dress? Sure as shit, the damn thing was over 15 years-old.

I found the duffel bag that I had Sarah help sneak in and stash away for me. My sister may not agree with me on most occasions, but a snitch she was not. If our mother knew I had our father's guns in her house I would never survive the night, much less the apocalypse, and I'd be sure to take my accomplice down with me. I heaved the bag over one shoulder with a grunt. The damned thing must weigh at least 40+ pounds with all of the ammunition. It was a wonder poor Sarah was able to get it through the door.

Diligently, I began to pull each weapon out and lay it gently over the crocheted afghan covering the bed. First were the pistols – a Smith & Wesson M&P .45ACP and a Ruger SR45C, both of which were my own personal choices when out in the field, my father's Beretta 92FS was the last one to be sent out. I smiled fondly. I always swore that the man only bought the stupid thing because he was a diehard Lethal Weapon fan, but then again Mel Gibson was the shit in the 80s. The next gun to join the small arsenal was Daddy's trusted Winchester .243 Handi Rifle, the most basic of them all and the same gun I'd learned to shoot with; it held a special place in my heart. A Winchester Model 70 joined the team, another hand-me-down from him that was his most trusted hunting piece. The last to be added to the fray were a Ruger Mini 14 and a Windham Weaponry SRC223, both of which were my own personal additions to the growing collection.

Like a responsible gun owner, I set to work breaking down and cleaning each piece, doing my best to sight in the rifle scopes as accurate as possible. I'd become so caught up in my work that I hadn't heard the soft knock against the door. I was in the mists of attaching the slide of the SR40C back onto the frame when the bedroom door opened. I froze instantly with my left hand holding the partially assembled gun and my right reaching for the freshly cleaned Beretta.

Sarah's head peaked around the door, but her smile soon fell upon seeing the picture before her. I let out the breath I'd unconsciously been holding. Sarah quickly looked behind her to glance down the hallway before sliding into the room and softly closing the door behind her. She swallowed hard as she eyed the weapons laid out meticulously on the bed, me seated in the middle of it all.

I couldn't take the pitiful look upon her face anymore. It's wasn't disappointment as it was raging fear and confusion. "Momma?"

Sarah swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat before speaking in barely a whisper. "Finally got her to take a few bites of food." Her answer was simple and all I need to reassure myself. Her stance was awkward, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she watched me. "It's bad. Isn't it?"

If there was one thing I was not it was a sugar coater, Sarah knew this. I grew up being the strong, protective and independent older sister whereas Sarah had been the quiet, reserved, do-gooder between the two of us. I desperately wanted to protect her, hide her from what was coming and to tell her everything was going to be alright, but of all the things I considered myself to be a liar was not one of them. "Yeah. It's bad." My head fell in defeat.

A silence fell between us; me refused to meet my sister's eyes as I absent mindedly filled magazines with ammunition as Sarah studied the pile of weapons. Of the two Monroe sisters I was lucky enough to be taught the ins and outs of weapons and hunting. After Sarah's fourth birthday our father had been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer and had barely lived long enough to see her fifth birthday. I tried my hardest to teach her the same way our father had taught me, but the gene must have skipped a generation. Sarah showed little to no interest in just about anything that didn't involve laying out in a bikini, so I eventually gave up trying. We may have been cut from the same cloth, but we were from opposite ends of the spectrum.

Sarah was Switzerland of the family; she remained neutral when it came to mine and Momma's tattered relationship. Bless her heart, she tried her hardest to mend whatever pieces were left. That was Sarah though. She was the optimist and always saw the good in everyone, even when there was none. Even a drunken rapist had a positive trait in her mind. I might as well be North Korea when outsiders were involved. If you were not part of the inner circle you weren't getting in without a fight. Maybe that's why we were so close, we complimented each other in the most absurd ways.

I again began dismantling my SR40C to inspect the frame, slide and barrel before filling the 15-round magazine with hollow points. Ever the perfectionist. Each rifle stock was covered with a stock sleeve filled with rounds for easy access on the go. Spare magazines were filled and stacked neatly inside the duffel bag at the foot of the bed. Sarah took an unsteady step forward, peering into the bag and gently picking up a sleeved machete and traced her fingers along the edge of the leather covering. She slowly twirled the handle in her palm in deep thought. The silence was almost deafening, saved only by the mechanical click of me replacing the slide onto the frame of the gun and loading the magazine into the grip. Sarah's eyes followed every move I was making as her mind began to churn.

As if settling an internal battle, she took a shuddering breath and placed the machete back into the bag. "Teach me." I froze. "Teach me. If this is as bad as they say and what you think then you need help. You're not gonna get it from Momma."

I eyed mysister as if trying to decide whether to trust the words coming from her mouth and gauging her seriousness of the situation as well. There was no hesitation in her beautiful hazel eyes and I almost wanted to tell her no, but that would be an almost death sentence. Teaching her wasn't the problem. It was the idea behind it, the fight for survival that bothered me. I had a decent idea of what was coming, and I knew that the innocence of my sister would be tainted forever. That was something I had a hard time coping with.

Standing from the bed I placed my weapon on the covers with the others and turned to her. I reached for her, pulling her into a gentle hug and burrowing my nose into the chocolate curls of her hair and wrapping my arms securely around her shoulders. Sarah's own arms locked around my waist to return the embrace, we both knew in the back of our minds that this was about more than two sisters sharing a moment together. This was about the two of us making a silent pact to protect one another, survive for the other and promising loyalty.

"This won't be easy." I warned. She pulled away and I dipped my knees to look directly into her eyes.

She nodded in agreement. "I know that."

"We're not staying here. We can't settle in one place for long, you got that?" Again, she nodded, and I wanted to cry.

"Nothing is going to be the same after this. You know that?" She stared at me, silence my only answer. I had no idea as to what was in store for us in the coming days, weeks, months or maybe years but I knew that sacrifices were going to be made and boundaries were going to be pushed for the sake of survival. From what we had seen on the news humanity was losing itself and that meant we would have to adapt. Adapting meant forgetting everything. I wasn't sure Sarah, or our mother were up for that.

"You don't think. You don't stop. You don't look back. Got it?" Sarah searched my eyes as her own welled with unshed tears. Maybe she saw the sense of urgency and knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would do anything in my power to protect not only her, but the estranged mother that had pushed me away for 30 years. As much as she wanted there to be another way around this she knew in her heart that there wasn't.

"Yeah." Her voice broke as tear slipped through the cracks and paved a way down her cheek.

I nodded and turned my attention towards to arsenal laid out and went into warden mode. I identified each weapon and began to first instruct her in how to dismantle, clear and reassemble each weapon. Next, I explained the caliber of each and which rounds in the corresponding gun. Aiming and firing would be something she would have to learn at another time, but I was able to position her hands, feet and arms in the appropriate stance to ensure maximum accuracy.

Two hours had passed with Sarah jam packing her brain with 26 years of missed experiences. I was proud to see how well she was retaining the amount of information being through her way in such a brief period. With time and practice I was sure my little sister would improve dramatically.

"Whatever happens just remember that you do whatever I say. I'm taking the lead on this and I need your support." We began loading the guns into both my personal pack and the duffel bag.

Sarah picked up the machete again and I could sense her comfort and fondness for the weapon. "I know." She placed the blade inside the bag, but I shook my head and handed it back to her. She smirked slightly as she nodded and accepted the gift. "I'll follow your lead." Her eyes met mine, a mischievous glint shining back at me. "Your Batman and I'm Robin."

I laughed. "Go, Robin. Get a pack ready for you and Momma."

Sarah turn away heading for the door but paused with her hand hovering over the knob. "Daddy would be proud of you." My breath hitched at her words and she turned, a tear falling from the corner of her eye. "I am."

The love I held for her grew immensely, but I refused to accept her compliment. Daddy wouldn't be proud of what I was willing to do for us, what I was destined to do.

"I love you, Jellybean." It had been my nickname for her since seeing Momma's ultrasound photo of the baby that had been growing in her belly. I was kid and found everything relatable to food in some sort of way.

I sent her off to check on our mother, slipping her the Beretta and instructing her to keep a round in the chamber and the safety locked during the night. Once the bedroom door closed I dropped onto the edge of the bed, sliding off and allowing myself to ease onto the floor. I drew my knees into my chest and stared out the window across from me.

As much as I had fought it off today I couldn't hold back the emotions any longer. Tears welled in my eyes as I worried about what the following day would bring for us. Never in my life could I remember feeling the sense of dread, anticipation and fear paired so intensely. Sleep would most definitely evade me, but with the unknown facing us in the morning I'd have to do my best to rest.

And here it is! What do y'all think? I know that some of you who read the original story are think, "What's different?" Very little. The narrative has changed and some minor details, but be prepared to see some major changes coming.

Leave me some feedback as to how you feel about Jess and Sarah! Chapter 2 will be out next week, so keep an eye out!