Ally rested the heavy rifle on the window ledge, she got down on her knees and positioned herself behind it. Her legswere shaking violently, making it almost impossible for her to keep still. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.
Her fingers already bandaged and blistered refused to grasp the weapon securely without shooting pains ricocheting up her arm causing her to clench her teeth and her eyes to water. It had been days since she could make a fist, weeks since she could throw a decent punch. Not like she needed to anyway, she wouldnt let those things get any closer to her than five feet. If need be, she ran like hell, dodging and avoiding the open mouths and snapping teeth, rancid flesh reaching for her.
She remembered the first time she fired a rifle, almost knocked her out, flew a foot backwards onto a brick wall. But she got used to it, went through alot ofguns, rifles and revolversover the months, never really knowing their names or what they were called. Not like in the movies when they asked the hero what gun he used and he would say ''AK 47'' or ''20 millimeter something...'' All she knew was just getting the bullets in,aiming, andblasting away dead fleshand then moving on. No sense in looking at the packaging when you had the legions of the damned hungry and aching to have a bite out of you. Just keep one slung overyour shoulder each timeyou went out to raid for food or change shelter. That was her motto. Never leave home without it. She shuddered to think of herself weaponless. Just another girl, just another slice of pie served warm for the hordes of hungry undead.
She forced her index finger to bend carefuly, over the trigger, aimed and braced herself, BANG! Right to the head, the bastard toppled over and she watched the one next to it stop and sniff the air, or that was what she thought it was doing. It gave out a moan that sent the familiar wave of nausea into her stomach, she aimed the rifle at it and it too went down with a sharp crack to the head.
She rested herforehead on the ledge, her hands unclenching the rifle, slowly laying it down beside her. Her hands throbbed and already her blisters started to stain the new bandages she put on. She had the urge to cry, and ball herself up in the corner of the stinking room she was hiding for the night, but she wiped off the few tears that escaped her eyes away with the back of her hand and searched her vest for a cigarette.
She remembered the first day of the outbreak, her foster parents being taken away on trucks after they had been attacked by those...those...things. She knew pretty well what they were now. One of themout there. She couldnt help but feel bitter watching them being carted away by the army as she stood on the front porch. ''Stay here ok?'' a balding officer told her ''well come get you in an hour or two, were just gonna send your folks to the hospital. just wait it out abit, dont go out of the house, keep your doors and windows locked. well be back to get you soon.''
Ofcourse they never came, things just started to get worse from there, riots in the city, people dying everywhere, the infection spreading at an unimanigable scale...and there she was, sixteen and staring out of a window in a darkened house at an empty street, getting more and more afraid as the day wore off into night. By dusk she got her backpack out and stuffed it with two shirts, a pair of pants and underwear. Two flashlights, batteries, two cans of tuna, a can of beans and a can of soda. Strapped on her hiking boots, zipped up her sweater, pulled her cap over her head and gripped her baseball ball tightly. With one arm she secured her knapsack on her shoulders and ventured out into the night, making for the hospital where she knew her foster parents would be.
Now, laughing to herself, she thought it very lucky for her to have survived that one night with nothing but a bat to protect her. But ofcourse the infection hadnt spread as much as it has now. She remembered bashing in one of those things in the head with her bat and running for a grocery store, hiding in one of the small store rooms, bawling her head off, crying for anybody, anyone to save her.