The incessant and blissful twitter of birds and the soft trickle of a stream was enough to rouse Leda from her peaceful slumber. Bright rays of southern sunshine glowed through the fabric of her shelter, and a slightly irritated hand shielded unaccustomed eyes from the light.
Just five more minutes.
Just that thought made her feel silly and she chuckled softly to herself. Stretching with a sigh and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she unwrapped the pair of headphones that had become tangled around her during the night and feeling for the ipod that was very conveniently under her. Holding her finger firmly on the power button to see how much battery power it had left, she received no response.
Fuck.
She hadn't realized how exhausted she'd been when she turned in the night before. Usually, she always remembered to groggily switch it off as she felt herself nearing the warm confines of sleep. Apparently that wasn't the case last night. She felt like that little piece of plastic was part of what had kept her sane in the last couple months of chaos that had taken the world by the balls. And that now had it by the throat.
Gingerly, she wrapped the earplug cord around the dead device, which she then tucked into one of the many safely zippered pockets of her vest. It was then that she became absentmindedly aware a dull scratching and moaning coming from under her. Finding the zipper pull that would truly expose her to the morning, she slid it along the track and the vivid green canopy of a summer forest revealed itself, along with the blue sky overhead. Her slender fingers wrapped around a nearby branch so that she could better direct her vision down towards the forest floor without falling out of the hammock. Sure enough, an eager shell of a body was attempting to make it known that he was more than ready for breakfast.
"Well good morning to you too, sunshine," she muttered, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly. She knew that it was a sick habit, the morbid amusement she continued to carry around with her. But now that the world had gone to shit, and there wasn't much reason to laugh anymore, she had to find some excuse. At first when she was adjusting to the newly desecrated wasteland called earth, her humor became unintentionally dormant and the only focus she could sustain was survival. But she changed quickly, as she always had to a new environment. It had been strange not to laugh all the time as she usually did. Little by little though, she gained back what little humanity she had managed to hold onto and sooner, rather than later, little snickers started to appear back into her everyday life, no matter how sick the subject matter seemed to be. Hell, she'd even taken to calling the flesh-eaters Steve, on account of how the first one she'd ever seen had the name printed on his coveralls. She figured she'd just gone insane, taking amusement in even that tiny thought. Nah, probably just a side effect of having to experience the lovely odor of rotten flesh on a more regular basis that she cared for.
She pulled her self back into the more than safely secured hammock, which was obviously designed for cliff climbers, but served its purpose equally well in the branches of a tall oak tree. She reached for her pack, which was nestled between a split in the trunk, and pulled out a can of beef stew, along with the necessary spoon and a can opener. She ate of breakfast in silence and was grateful that the wind current was not bringing the corpse's stench to threaten her own breakfast. When she was finished, she returned the utensils back to her bag, and with the empty can in her hand, and leaned over the hammock once again. Taking aim, the projectile was released and gravity did its work as it plummeted towards the earth below. Her reward was a resounding thunk as the metal collided with its target, and its expression as it gazed hungrily upward was as dopey as ever. In fact this one looked particularly dimmed witted and most likely had been cursed with the same face in life as it was in death. Her smirk was inevitable as she once again hoisted herself upright and pulled on her boots, making quick work of the laces with her dexterous fingers. She swiftly stepped out of the hammock and onto a thick branch. Untangling the ropes and hooks preserving her shelter, she folded it up and stuck it in her bag. Next she grabbed her machete, which was wedged into another nearby branch, and after a firm tug on the handle tucked it away into a side strap on her belt. With her backpack on her shoulders and her rifle hanging by its strap adjacent to it, she made her steady decent downward through the menagerie of leaves and branches.
As she neared the bottom, ol' Steve's moans became more excited and his hands went high over his head, reaching for the warm, tasty flesh. After she had gotten to a couple of yards above it and there was a clear view without any obstructions, she pulled a hunting knife from her belt. Positioning herself and the blade, she aimed and threw. It sank to the ground with a soft thump, followed by her own. Retrieving her weapon from the rotten skull and wiping it off on the poor bastards clothes, she quickly scanned the area for any more threats. Finding none, she bent to the crystal clear flow of water beside her and drank deeply. She threw her pack off her shoulder and removed two empty water bottles and filled them up. Sighing deeply, before standing back up again, she checked to make sure that the .357 was still tucked in her pocket. It was, besides being fully loaded as well.
Her gaze wandered around the forest, thick with intense greenery and the smell of summer. If not for the smelly cadaver beside her, it would have been a beautiful morning. Turning around, made her way threw the forest, gently patting the protective tree as she passed it.
It had been her sanctuary for about a week, and she already knew that it was time to move on. Her eager visitor had been the first, and even with such a small and easily dealt with menace, the chance that more could come was not something she looked upon lightly. More than three could be a huge problem, and she did not like using guns. Waking up to a huge mob swarming underneath her was not that appealing to her. It was a death warrant in fact. Of course that was one of the chances she took by choosing tree's as her sleeping ground oppose to a boarded up house. The only difference was there was no chance of her being eaten alive by surprise in her sleep. Those things couldn't climb trees, so it seemed like the only true safe place. To be honest, she could be surrounded just as easily if she had opted for a ground structure anyway.
Her feet finally brought her to a housing development. Lurking just within the trees and out of sight, her mind went through the possibilities of infiltrating it. Supplies, which where always a necessity, could be located just within one of the abandoned houses. She was running out of food; there was only a can of beans left in her pack. Even though she didn't really have a choice, she still was hesitant to venture into such a trap. Even though she doubted the chance of there still being survivors within the houses, is was still possible. And she really was in the mood to tangle with people at the moment. Almost every single person whose heart was still beating she'd come across had gone completely homicidal. There wasn't a single shred of decency or humanity left, not even in the living.
Despite this, she needed food and was almost certain she could slip in and out without drawing attention, assuming of course she chose the right house.
Determined to be precise, she started planning her entry and exit, circling the perimeter of the small neighborhood at least five times. Her machete silently sliced through the stray Steve that happened to cross her path. There were at least twenty five within the neighborhood itself, and she counted eight that she'd taken down alone. She finally chose a medium two-story house positioned just perfectly on the outskirts. It had a small shed right by the forest's edge, and a tree right beside it, which left her only about three yards of empty space to clear before she reached the back door. Taking a deep breath, she executed her plan, creeping through the once perfectly manicured lawn, machete firmly held in her hand. Her back flattened against the white stone of the house, and she glanced in the window beside the door. Not detecting any signs of movement, her hand rested on the handle of the door, and threw it open. Nothing. She stepped inside cautiously, her senses extra tuned for any sign of life, or UN-life. She pushed the door shut behind her and it clicked close softly. Slowly and adeptly, she swept the bottom level, and as she scaled the carpeted staircase, an almost inaudible thump sounded through the hallway and her head swung in its direction. Silently thanking the house for the soft floor, she followed the noise into a small bedroom that overlooked the messy streets below. The bedroom was empty, and so was the closet. However the bathroom that was connected to the room was still left unchecked and that was where she found the gruesome source of the noise. The corpse of a woman, mos likely a housewife by the way she was dressed, hissed at her from where she had apparently been tied up to the pipes underneath the sink. Desperately trying to free herself from her restraints so she could experience her first meal of flesh and blood, Leda looked down upon it in disgust. Before it could detach itself from it's rotting hands and finally come after her, the swish of a cold blade stilled it's movements.
Quickly, the rest of the house was searched and finally clear. There were a few medical supplies in the bathroom cabinets, some gauze and rubbing alcohol along with a new bar of soap, toothbrush, and a half used tube of toothpaste.
Oh my god, I just struck it rich.
She was stuffing the items in her pack when she noticed a bag of makeup sitting on the counter. Hesitating, she smirked a little bit.
Why not?
It would hardly take up any space in her backpack and it pleasantly reminded her of the little things she had loved a couple of months before. She reached out, rummaging through the bag, and pulled out some tubes of eyeliner, mascara, and a compact with powder and a handy little mirror in it. She dropped them into a small pocket on the side of the bag. There was a tiny brush sitting on the side of the counter, which she also took.
She finally noticed her reflection in the mirror, and against her better judgement, she just stood there with eyes locked on herself. The natural black hair that she had been trying to grow out before the apocalypse had since then done so, and there where at least five thick inches of it framing her face. The ends of her hair, previously dyed a vivid auburn red, had faded a little but was still pretty red. Her loose mess of curls fell around her face and over her shoulders, just above her breasts. Her bangs were held back with the bandana she had tied around her head.
But what she noticed most was her eyes. They were still the bright, vivid color of jade that they had always been. And what surprised her was that they hadn't changed; not the color of course, the look behind them. She was expecting them to look tired and pained. But they looked the same as she had always looked. Despite the ragged clothes that hung off her body, the rifle on her back and machete on her hip, she could have sworn everything was still the same.
Suddenly the rumble of an engine invaded her reverie. Almost immediately she went into stealth mode, drawing her machete.
FUCK.
She ran into the bedroom with the corpse and sank to the wall beside the window. Her head poked up from the corner just enough to see a dark truck rolling down the street. It stopped at the house directly across from the one she was in and three men got out, shouting loudly to each other, only to each aim at the nearest oncoming Steve and fire. The crackle of the gun made Leda cringe and she swore again.
Fucking idiots! Great. There goes the start of a good day.
She didn't know how they hadn't been devoured or at least bitten already. They obviously didn't get the whole stealth thing and that overeager mobs would gather if they didn't follow that one rule. Overtime she had taught herself how to tell if someone was hostile. Most of the time it wasn't hard, at least not with the morons below her. It was something she saw in their eyes, some of the insanity that had developed through the life that had been thrust upon them. She had come across many survivors in the month she had been on the road, and not once did her senses fail her.
One of the men had a shotgun and the other two had handguns, and not even one melee weapon or even a bow. Not one. And to her immense horror, one of them pointed at the house she currently occupied.
Oh bloody hell.
She pushed herself off the wall and all but threw herself down the hallway and stairs. Her back pressed against a wall in the kitchen, two rooms from the front door. Her fingers turned white as she tightly gripped her machete and listening for the turning of a door handle. When it came, the door creaked open, followed by the heavy sound of two pairs boots.
Shit, where's the other one?
Her eyes closed and just listened. When the time was right, she spun around swinging the cold sharp blade across the neck of the intruder. Blood spilled from his throat, and she caught the gun just in time before it clattered to the floor. He was heavy, and it took a huge amount of effort to softly set his lifeless body on the cold tile.
Her eyes peaked around the corner, searching for the second and possibly third entrant. She found him slowly ascending the stairs and slunk around the corner. He must have seen her though because he froze, and started t back down the steps. Unaware of this, her head peaked around the corner. Oh, he saw her this time and took a shot at her, leaving a hole in the wall where her head had been only seconds before. He chased after her, chose a wrong corner, and her blade sank into his back.
She withdrew it, and the bastard sank his knees, before falling with a thud on the floor. She could already hear the moaning developing outside from all the gunshots. Like angry neighbors complaining about noise from a party that had gotten too loud, the hammering coming from the front door was violent and oppressive and it wouldn't be long before the damn thing came down completely. It sounded like they hadn't fed in a while, which made the danger all the more severe.
Suddenly there were gunshots coming from the back door and in ran the third member of the party. She fled around the wall and he fired after her. There was a sudden pain in her shoulder and she cried out in agony. But she didn't stop and fled up the stairs, throwing a table in the hallway down the stairs, hoping to buy a few seconds.
I wonder if this prick will fall for the oldest trick in the book.
She ran into the bedroom at the end of the hall, flung the window open and smeared some blood on the edge of the window. She hissed at the excruciating pain as she touched her wound. Quickly grabbing a random piece of clothing lying on the floor, she pressed it to her wound, gasping at the torture before disappearing into the dark closet on the opposite side of the room.
A mere moment after she vacated the open room, her pursuer entered, walking straight to the window with his back turned, as predicted.
Rookie.
She stepped out of the darkness and into the light of the room still firmly clutching her wound and with the handgun aimed at the back of his head.
"Drop it," she commanded.
Completely ignoring the threat, he whirled around attempting to foolishly put her down before she could do the same to him. But she did not hesitate and her aim was true. Brains and blood splattered the window as he lifeless body fell to the once pristine white carpet. She sighed.
They never listen. Even when I do give them chances.
She didn't know why she even bothered. The sound of the dead at her doorstep reminded her of the serious danger she was in and she tucked the gun back in her waistband. There was no way in hell she was getting out the house through a door so she went through the bedrooms checking the windows for a clear jump down to the ground.
A moan that seemed a little to close for comfort invaded her senses and she whirled around only to see the man whose throat she'd previously cut through stumbling towards her. His eyes had turned and sickly inhuman shade as well as his skin. He looked like a Steve, but how was that even remotely possible?
How the hell?
He hadn't been bitten, unless he was already infected before she killed him. But that didn't make sense either, as he was completely fever free went she'd touched his skin. Caught off guard by confusion and shock, his newly hungry eyes and snapping jaws came a little to close for comfort before she snapped out of her daze and skillfully brought her machete down on his head. She couldn't think about that right now. At the moment, it was time to run. She briefly thought of the truck that the men had left just outside, but it was too dangerous. The mob would catch her before she even reached the door handle.
Making her choice, her boots landed on the grass before they buckled under her. Her strength was failing and she knew, but she managed to get back on her feet just as a Steve spotted her and started grumbling after her. It was like a domino effect, and soon enough she was running through the the forest with a horde of hungry undead streaming after her.
