everything they needed. Morgan hesitated, torn between the desire to flee and the urge to get more supplies.
With a deep, fortifying breath, she squared her shoulders and took a firm, two-handed grip on the ax. She’d have to learn to face the infected at some point.
Might as well be now.
She set her sights on the closest one and sprinted forward until she was within reach. It snarled at her through torn lips and the smell made her gag. Before she could think too much about it, she brought the blade down onto its skull, splitting it the same way she’d been splitting logs for weeks.
Brain matter and black blood sprayed out, and she danced back to avoid it. The ax stuck in the bone, pulling the zombie with and it toppled forward, nearly falling onto her legs. With one foot planted on the shoulder, she wrenched her weapon free with barely enough time to get ready for the next one.
Don’t get it stuck in the bone again!
A short choppy blow to the temple put the second infected down and she readied herself to face the third. This close up, the true horror of the virus revealed itself in minute detail.
Milky eyes, putrid flesh, and a death head’s grin combined with tattered clothes and stringy hair to conjure up a person’s worst nightmare from the grave. Morgan forced herself to look, to study and if possible, get used to it.
A sideways blow to the neck struck it to the ground where a second blow caused the head to roll free, teeth gnashing at the air. With a shudder, Morgan turned away, stomach heaving. From beneath the nausea, triumph emerged. She was strong enough to do this.
With newfound determination, Morgan turned in a slow circle, studying her surrounds. It was clear. For now, at least. A quick jog took her to the shop front, the doors propped open by strewn trolleys and baskets.
The interior looked far spookier than the pharmacy had been. Precious little light found its way inside and Morgan paused, daunted by the gloomy sight.
“Hello,” she called, waiting.
When nothing happened, she cast a last glance around then stepped inside. She cleared a path and grabbed a trolley, heading for the nearest rack. It didn’t take long to determine that raiders had been here too and most of the items on the shelves had been carried off.
The sweet smell of rot hung in the air and she studiously avoided the refrigerated section. Scavenging amongst the empty aisles, she found a few forgotten items. It was not near enough.
Guess I’ll have to look somewhere else.
Morgan headed outside, eager to leave the dank, stinky shop behind. Tossing caution aside, she quickened her pace and ran smack into a zombie coming around the corner.
Acting on instinct, Morgan shoved hard with the trolley, bowling it over. A quick glance up the street caused her heart to drop. Infected were trickling down from all sides, converging on her location.
Abandoning her meager supplies, Morgan ran for the truck, not prepared to lose her life for a can of baked beans. Behind her, the surprisingly limber zombie got back to its feet and followed, its snarls spurring her on.
She sprinted around the back of the truck but stopped short at the sight of two more zombies waiting at the driver’s side. She groped for the ax then remembered she’d left it in the trolley.
In one smooth motion, she pulled the gun from its holster and fired, hitting the closest in the face. Her expertise was mainly due to an insistent Henri who’d made her practice every day for weeks now.
Morgan shifted her aim, ready to pull the trigger but grasping fingers hooked onto her ponytail from behind. A sickly stench washed over her as the zombie leaned in for the kill, its raspy growl raising goosebumps on her flesh.
Morgan wrenched her head free and sidestepped out of reach. Its other hand flailed, brushing across her chest. The sound of tearing cloth barely registered as Morgan tore loose and dashed up the street.
With infected closing in on all sides and the way to
With a deep, fortifying breath, she squared her shoulders and took a firm, two-handed grip on the ax. She’d have to learn to face the infected at some point.
Might as well be now.
She set her sights on the closest one and sprinted forward until she was within reach. It snarled at her through torn lips and the smell made her gag. Before she could think too much about it, she brought the blade down onto its skull, splitting it the same way she’d been splitting logs for weeks.
Brain matter and black blood sprayed out, and she danced back to avoid it. The ax stuck in the bone, pulling the zombie with and it toppled forward, nearly falling onto her legs. With one foot planted on the shoulder, she wrenched her weapon free with barely enough time to get ready for the next one.
Don’t get it stuck in the bone again!
A short choppy blow to the temple put the second infected down and she readied herself to face the third. This close up, the true horror of the virus revealed itself in minute detail.
Milky eyes, putrid flesh, and a death head’s grin combined with tattered clothes and stringy hair to conjure up a person’s worst nightmare from the grave. Morgan forced herself to look, to study and if possible, get used to it.
A sideways blow to the neck struck it to the ground where a second blow caused the head to roll free, teeth gnashing at the air. With a shudder, Morgan turned away, stomach heaving. From beneath the nausea, triumph emerged. She was strong enough to do this.
With newfound determination, Morgan turned in a slow circle, studying her surrounds. It was clear. For now, at least. A quick jog took her to the shop front, the doors propped open by strewn trolleys and baskets.
The interior looked far spookier than the pharmacy had been. Precious little light found its way inside and Morgan paused, daunted by the gloomy sight.
“Hello,” she called, waiting.
When nothing happened, she cast a last glance around then stepped inside. She cleared a path and grabbed a trolley, heading for the nearest rack. It didn’t take long to determine that raiders had been here too and most of the items on the shelves had been carried off.
The sweet smell of rot hung in the air and she studiously avoided the refrigerated section. Scavenging amongst the empty aisles, she found a few forgotten items. It was not near enough.
Guess I’ll have to look somewhere else.
Morgan headed outside, eager to leave the dank, stinky shop behind. Tossing caution aside, she quickened her pace and ran smack into a zombie coming around the corner.
Acting on instinct, Morgan shoved hard with the trolley, bowling it over. A quick glance up the street caused her heart to drop. Infected were trickling down from all sides, converging on her location.
Abandoning her meager supplies, Morgan ran for the truck, not prepared to lose her life for a can of baked beans. Behind her, the surprisingly limber zombie got back to its feet and followed, its snarls spurring her on.
She sprinted around the back of the truck but stopped short at the sight of two more zombies waiting at the driver’s side. She groped for the ax then remembered she’d left it in the trolley.
In one smooth motion, she pulled the gun from its holster and fired, hitting the closest in the face. Her expertise was mainly due to an insistent Henri who’d made her practice every day for weeks now.
Morgan shifted her aim, ready to pull the trigger but grasping fingers hooked onto her ponytail from behind. A sickly stench washed over her as the zombie leaned in for the kill, its raspy growl raising goosebumps on her flesh.
Morgan wrenched her head free and sidestepped out of reach. Its other hand flailed, brushing across her chest. The sound of tearing cloth barely registered as Morgan tore loose and dashed up the street.
With infected closing in on all sides and the way to
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