"You can do it," Cameron said somewhat anxiously.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," he responded, looking down the sight his rifle.
A few tense seconds passed, and finally he pulled the trigger, allowing the round of ammunition to easily travel through the zombie's skull. Gray matter splattered as it came out the other side, and the zombie fell to the ground dead…or at least deader than it already was.
Cameron smiled, and ruffled the kid's red hair. Jack Prince, age fifteen, just recorded his first zombie kill—and in the world they lived in now, killing your first zombie had become just a much a part of growing up as hitting puberty.
They were standing on top of a pick up truck in the middle of the highway a few miles outside La Crosse, Wisconsin. The people of Yuba still made good use of the roads, and in the process killed just about every zombie they ran into. So, in the twelve years since the outbreak, the area immediately around Yuba was almost completely clear. Him and Jack were hard pressed to find a zombie, so they decided to get as close as they dared to the nearest population. It was worth it when they spotted the now dead zombie just ambling around the highway.
"Can't wait to tell mom," Jack said with a smile.
"Uh huh," Cameron said more uncertainly. "She'll certainly be thrilled." In fact she won't. Jack wanted to learn how to shoot, but Marge had been very reluctant to allow him to do so. She heard the stories from him, Dennis, and every other person in the militia, and didn't want her son to go through the same thing.
Cameron had to argue vehemently with her. He just kept on saying that by the time Jack turned eighteen he could learn whether she permitted it or not, so it was better to learn sooner rather than later. Eventually Marge conceded, and Cameron thanked the lord that he didn't end up having to marry her, otherwise he'd be in a world of shit at the moment.
"Well, let's go home," Cameron said, and then he felt something brush against his leg. Looking down he was slightly surprised to see another zombie reaching over the side of the pickup trying to grab at him. Over the years the pieces of shit had deteriorated to almost nothing, were extremely weak and slow, and posed almost no threat. Had it been a new zombie then Cameron would've been dead.
"I'll take care of it," Jack said enthusiastically, pointing his rifle at it.
"No," Cameron told him, lowering the rifle and extracting a knife. "You know full well we have to conserve ammo. That first one was just ceremonial." Jack took the knife. "Be careful not to go near the mouth. The thing can still bite."
Jack waited for the zombie to let out a weak moan, and then he stuck the barrel of the rifle in its mouth. Smirking at Cameron, he raised the knife and plunged it into the zombie's skull. The creature toppled to the ground dead just like its comrade.
"Let's go home."
It had been a quick and efficient day. Jack had been lucky that he was able to get Cameron all to himself for his first zombie hunt. Usually he had to take out a bunch of other kids, along with concerned parents. And then there was the task of actually finding a zombie, followed by deciding which trigger-happy teenager would be the one to kill it. If Cameron knew all of that would've come with being Yuba's official marksmanship instructor then he might never had agreed to the position (How the hell did I become the best shot in town? Cameron asked himself for the millionth time).
A while later they were making a right at an intersection. Jack was looking bored sitting in the passenger seat when his eyes drifted over to the mirror. He looked surprised, then turned around in his seat. "Who's that?" he asked, confused.
Looking in the rearview mirror, Cameron furrowed his brow. A white van appeared behind them and was following them. "Good question." He wasn't about to stop and find out, though.
When he noticed that the van was closing in, Cameron stepped on the gas to keep the distance between them. The van simply went faster and continued gaining on them. Not a good sign. "Keep your head down and gun ready," he ordered, putting his hand on top of Jack's head and shoving him down. Jack tried to protest but Cameron's face made him think otherwise.
The van was getting closer and Cameron kept on going faster. He put both hands on the wheel and began concentrating on maneuvering around the abandoned cars and other debris that littered the road. Putting more weight on the gas pedal, Cameron took another look in the mirror to see that the van was not giving up.
When the van got close enough that he was able to see inside, Cameron's skin crawled. There were undoubtedly bandits inside the vehicle, and the bastards were packing heat. The only things that Cameron and Jack had were a pistol and rifle, both with only one magazine. That and the fact that he didn't want Jack to get hurt were why he didn't have him aim out the back window to try and take them out.
Finally the van put on another burst of speed, rear-ending the pickup. Cameron jerked forward but kept in control. Jack bumped his head on the glove compartment but he said he was okay.
Then the van hit them again, only that time it rendered Cameron unable to move around a decaying car. They slammed right into it and after a couple of yards they came to a stop.
"Fuck!" Cameron yelled, putting his hand to his forehead. He felt something warm—blood. "Jack!"
"I'm okay," he groaned, sitting up.
"Stay down!" he shouted, unbuckling their safety belts and forcing him down with him.
"Come quietly and no one has to get hurt!" one of the bandits ordered. He and two other climbed out of the van carrying submachine guns.
Cameron didn't give them the time of day. From an awkward angle, he took his pistol from his belt and aimed it out the driver's side window. He fired four times, and two bullets found their mark. The leader went down, and the other two began firing.
"Stay the fuck down!" Cameron bellowed to Jack, who tried to look up to see what happened. They were both on the floor as the bandits continued spraying the outside of the pickup with bullets. Glass shattered around them as bullet after bullet flew over them.
Thinking fast, he reached over and opened the passenger door and told Jack to get out. They managed to crawl out and stay down, as they took refuge behind the wheels of the pickup.
"What do we do?" Jack asked in fright, his hands over his head.
Seeing that Jack still had his rifle, he said, "When I give the word you stand up and take out the one on the left!"
"What?" he blurted out as he shook.
"Just do it!" The bullets came to a halt and Cameron heard the unmistakable sounds of reloading. Idiots. "NOW!" Cameron stood right up, took aim at the bastard on the right, and pulled the trigger. Three bullets entered his chest and he went down. Jack aimed his rifle and put a couple of rounds at his designated target. After the hostile went down, Jack just stood there visibly shaking. "Good job, now stay," Cameron ordered, slowly making his way around the pickup.
He raised his pistol again and stayed ready for any more threats. The van's doors were open so he could see that it was empty. Looking down at the bandits he saw that the two that just went down were dead, while the first one he shot was still alive. He had bullet wounds in his gut and lung—survivable…if Cameron allowed it.
"Nice try, dumb fuck," Cameron said to him, kicking away any guns within his reach. The bandit looked up at him with fear as he wheezed and spit up blood. "Here's the deal: if there are any more of you shit heads around tell me where they are and I'll help you."
He looked up at him pleadingly, then gargled, "More…to north."
Cameron shook his head, knowing how to spot a desperate liar. "Not buying it." He drew out his knife and stabbed down, penetrating the sternum to get to the heart. "I can tell from just looking that you're just like every other hostile I've killed over the years," Cameron said to him, driving the knife further in. "I doubt you've lost any sleep because of the people you've hurt, so I won't either because of you." A bullet to the head might've been faster and painless, but it would've been a waste of a bullet. Besides, the Kyle Doctrine was still very much in effect.
After the last breath left the bandit, Cameron extracted the knife and wiped the blood off on the ragged clothing. He might have just let the bastard die from his wounds, but Cameron didn't want to risk a zombie taking a bite out of him before that happened. It was quite a while since the last time someone encountered a ripe zombie and he wanted to keep it that way.
"Shit!" Jack exclaimed, leaving his cover. He had stopped shaking and now looked elated. "We sure got the bastards, didn't we?"
"Come here," Cameron said, gesturing for him to come forward. Once close enough he began to inspect ever inch of Jack, especially the head. He was a little banged up from the crash, but thankfully no concussion. "Let's go home."
"What about them?" he asked, indicating the dead bodies.
"Nothing," he said, now looking through their pockets. "Just leave them." Cameron then found what he was looking for: keys to the van. The pickup was totaled from the crash and bullet damage.
Then he noticed Jack was digging through the pockets of the bandit he had killed. "I already found them. Let's get all our stuff in the van and get going."
"Yeah, yeah, hold on a sec," he said, as he found a pocketknife.
"What're you doing?" Cameron demanded.
"Souvenir for my first kill," he answered, examining the knife. Cameron immediately went up to Jack and smacked him upside the head. "Ouch! What was that for?"
"Souvenir? Jack, killing people isn't something that we enjoy or brag about!" he yelled angrily.
"They're just bandits!" Jack defended, surprised by his reaction.
"Yes, they're bits of inhuman filth that deserve to die—but this isn't something we do for sport!" Only once did Cameron ever draw some sort of satisfaction from killing, but that was only because that fuck had hurt Becky. "I know your mom didn't raise a sociopath. Put it back."
"Fine," Jack said crossly, tossing the knife away.
A few minutes later the rations that they had in the pickup, along with the guns the bandits had been carrying were put in the van. After that they were headed back home again
"You're not gonna tell mom about that little thing back there, are you?" Jack asked nervously as they neared the northern perimeter.
"I don't have a reason to," Cameron answered. "At least not now."
The van came to a stop when Cameron approached the traffic barrier. "What happened?" Celia asked him, looking inside curiously and taking in their cuts and bruises. "This isn't the car you left in."
"Some bandits tried to fuck with us," he explained. "The pickup got totaled."
"Where?"
"About two miles east of Viola."
"Okay, I'll let Tony know about the car," she said, making a note on her clipboard. "Welcome home." The barrier went up and Cameron drove on. They drove through the northern end of town, where the majority of the dwellings were. There were some more past the river to the south and west but it was mostly farmland. To the east was there they kept all the animals (Cameron still remembered his first juicy steak, and although he had wished for some A1 Steak Sauce, it was still delicious).
The first stop after parking was the armory. Cameron and Jack took the guns and ammunition the bandits had with them and put them away along with Jack's rifle (he was not very happy about that). After locking it up they walked over to Marge's house, where she was already anxiously waiting outside.
"Finally!" she said, running up and hugging Jack. "Oh my god, what happened out there?" Marge looked Jack up and down when she noticed he was hurt.
"We were ambushed by some bandits," Cameron explained to her calmly. "They were taken care of, don't worry."
Marge looked at him apprehensively. "You mean you took care of them, or you both did?"
Cameron sighed heavily. "We both did," he said honestly.
"Oh my poor baby," Marge cried, getting on her tiptoes to kiss Jack's forehead. "I'm so sorry."
"It's fine, mom," he assured her gruffly. "I won't have any nightmares, I promise."
"Let's get you cleaned up," she said, barely hearing what he said.
As Marge led Jack inside the house, another shorter redhead exited and took in his appearance, and then Cameron's. "Wow, dad, what happened to you guys?"
"Nothing big," Cameron said, giving her a hug. "Just ran into some bad people."
"You kill them?"
"Yeah, sweetheart…I did," he told her reluctantly. "Jack helped too."
That last statement took Chloe by surprise. "Wow, and here I thought he was a pussy."
That cheered Cameron up immensely and he couldn't help but laugh—eleven-year-old girls could be such bitches. "Your mom should be busy fussing over him right now. How about you come over for dinner?"
"Sounds good."
Together Cameron and his daughter made their way to his house.
"So how was school today?" he asked.
Chloe shrugged. "Jules—"
"Ms. Carter," Cameron corrected her.
"Ms. Carter…gave me a D on my report," she mumbled.
Cameron wasn't one to talk, so he just reached over and shook her by the shoulder. "You do know we do this so that all of you won't end up a bunch of dumbasses, right?"
"I know," she sighed. "I'll try harder next time."
They reached the porch and opened the door, where his seven-year-old was the first to greet him. "Hi dad—what happened?" Angie asked, gasping as soon as they walked in.
"Bad guys," Chloe answered for him offhandedly.
"You're hurt?" Becky asked, coming from another room and inspecting Cameron. She grabbed his head and turned it so she could get a better look at his cut. "I thought it was just a zombie hunt!"
"It was," Cameron explained.
"Well, did Jack get hurt?"
"No more than me. He's fine."
Becky sighed. "Okay. Clean yourself up, dinner's almost ready."
That caused Cameron's jaw to drop slightly. "You're cooking? I thought it was my turn." It wasn't that Cameron liked to cook, but that Becky didn't know how (something that no one dared say out loud).
"Well while you were out putting yourself in danger, our kids were getting hungry," she explained in a slightly superior tone.
As if it was my fault Jack dragged me out today, he didn't say.
As Becky went into the kitchen to check on the stove, Cameron came up from behind to hug her and kiss her neck. She tended to become a bit mellower when he did that. "Why don't you relax and I'll take over from here."
She turned around to peck him on the lips. "That's fine. Clean that wound and watch Dave while I finish here."
Reluctantly he agreed.
"Becky's really gonna cook?" Chloe asked in an undertone. She was only around for one of Becky's meals once in a blue moon.
"Sorry."
After Cameron cleaned himself up, he went into the living room. Chloe was looking rather glum as she minded Angie by halfheartedly playing dolls with her. The three-year-old Dave came running up and waved a battered book in front of his nose for him to read. He had Dave sit next to him and began reading out loud. Zombie killing, a shoot out with bandits, and all followed by some Cat in the Hat—just another day, Cameron reflected.