that FEMA shelter with so long ago.
His daughter was now a product of the new ways of the world having lived over a third of her life in the land of the undead. Her only weakness was the children who had become zombies. She insisted that they were different somehow, and therefore, should not be killed simply because they were zombies. More than once she had stayed Chad’s hand.
“There is a second group.” Ronni pointed back over her shoulder. “They are down by the old cabins.”
“How many?” Chad asked.
“Maybe six or seven. It is obvious that they are searching for something.”
A rustle in some nearby brush made them all go silent. Each pulled their weapon of choice. For Chad, it was an old cavalry officer’s sword that he had stumbled upon in, of all places, a little roadside tourist trap that had a small museum as its main attraction. According to the placard, the weapon had once been the sword of George Armstrong Custer. He had no idea if that might be true, but he could not dispute the fine craftsmanship. It was easy to wield and seldom got stuck when cleaving a skull. Ronni preferred an old field machete. Its grip had practically molded to her hand from so much use over the years. Caroline had been a softball player for as long as she could remember while growing up. She had even been able to extend her years when a college scholarship had been offered. She was in her senior year when the zombies came. She had killed the first one with one of her favorite bats. She kept a duffel of bats that she had obtained over the years. Some had even been modified with spikes, but she had quickly found that spikes could get stuck. She preferred just a standard aluminum bat. Her current weapon was a twenty-nine ounce DeMARINI.
The trio instinctively fanned out to cover the front and sides of the cluster of thick brush that was shaking and rattling in fits and starts. Chad had taken the position in front, with Ronni and Caroline on either side.
When the girl came crawling out on her belly, Chad rushed in and put the point of his sword at the girl’s neck. She froze, her hands going out to each side.
“P-p-please,” she whimpered. “Don’t kill me.”
“Roll over,” Chad ordered.
The girl did so, and Chad took an involuntary step back. The girl had a nasty bite on the left cheek. It had not torn the flesh away, but the area was ugly, red, puffy, and leaking blood. However, a few seconds later he was able to relax and get a clearer picture.
The girl was immune.
While still leaking blood, it was obvious that the wound was several hours old. There would be no way that she should not have the telltale black tracers in her eyes by now. Her eyes, while red-rimmed from crying, were basically clear. The blue shining through the tears was bright and healthy just as the whites were clear of any signs of infection.
“Dad,” Ronni scolded as she elbowed her way in, “get that sword out of her face.”
Chad stepped back as his daughter knelt down. She handed over a canteen after helping the younger girl to her feet. Chad figured the girl to be in her late teens; about the same age Ronni had been when this all started. This was one of those moments where it felt odd looking at a woman who was approaching her thirties and seeing almost nothing left of the little girl that he knew as his daughter.
“P-please don’t let them get me,” the stranger finally managed after taking a long drink from the canteen.
“So those people down there are looking for you?” Chad glanced back to the log where they had been watching the one group, then brought his attention back to the girl. “Why are they looking for you?”
“Because I am one of the damned.”
Chad glanced at Caroline and Ronni who both returned his questioning glance with a shrug. They had no guesses.
“The damned?” Chad finally asked when the girl had not offered anything more.
“The bite did not take me.” She pointed to her face. “I was bitten
His daughter was now a product of the new ways of the world having lived over a third of her life in the land of the undead. Her only weakness was the children who had become zombies. She insisted that they were different somehow, and therefore, should not be killed simply because they were zombies. More than once she had stayed Chad’s hand.
“There is a second group.” Ronni pointed back over her shoulder. “They are down by the old cabins.”
“How many?” Chad asked.
“Maybe six or seven. It is obvious that they are searching for something.”
A rustle in some nearby brush made them all go silent. Each pulled their weapon of choice. For Chad, it was an old cavalry officer’s sword that he had stumbled upon in, of all places, a little roadside tourist trap that had a small museum as its main attraction. According to the placard, the weapon had once been the sword of George Armstrong Custer. He had no idea if that might be true, but he could not dispute the fine craftsmanship. It was easy to wield and seldom got stuck when cleaving a skull. Ronni preferred an old field machete. Its grip had practically molded to her hand from so much use over the years. Caroline had been a softball player for as long as she could remember while growing up. She had even been able to extend her years when a college scholarship had been offered. She was in her senior year when the zombies came. She had killed the first one with one of her favorite bats. She kept a duffel of bats that she had obtained over the years. Some had even been modified with spikes, but she had quickly found that spikes could get stuck. She preferred just a standard aluminum bat. Her current weapon was a twenty-nine ounce DeMARINI.
The trio instinctively fanned out to cover the front and sides of the cluster of thick brush that was shaking and rattling in fits and starts. Chad had taken the position in front, with Ronni and Caroline on either side.
When the girl came crawling out on her belly, Chad rushed in and put the point of his sword at the girl’s neck. She froze, her hands going out to each side.
“P-p-please,” she whimpered. “Don’t kill me.”
“Roll over,” Chad ordered.
The girl did so, and Chad took an involuntary step back. The girl had a nasty bite on the left cheek. It had not torn the flesh away, but the area was ugly, red, puffy, and leaking blood. However, a few seconds later he was able to relax and get a clearer picture.
The girl was immune.
While still leaking blood, it was obvious that the wound was several hours old. There would be no way that she should not have the telltale black tracers in her eyes by now. Her eyes, while red-rimmed from crying, were basically clear. The blue shining through the tears was bright and healthy just as the whites were clear of any signs of infection.
“Dad,” Ronni scolded as she elbowed her way in, “get that sword out of her face.”
Chad stepped back as his daughter knelt down. She handed over a canteen after helping the younger girl to her feet. Chad figured the girl to be in her late teens; about the same age Ronni had been when this all started. This was one of those moments where it felt odd looking at a woman who was approaching her thirties and seeing almost nothing left of the little girl that he knew as his daughter.
“P-please don’t let them get me,” the stranger finally managed after taking a long drink from the canteen.
“So those people down there are looking for you?” Chad glanced back to the log where they had been watching the one group, then brought his attention back to the girl. “Why are they looking for you?”
“Because I am one of the damned.”
Chad glanced at Caroline and Ronni who both returned his questioning glance with a shrug. They had no guesses.
“The damned?” Chad finally asked when the girl had not offered anything more.
“The bite did not take me.” She pointed to her face. “I was bitten
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