The Fall: Victim Zero by Joshua Guess Page A

and about half the distance could be covered by climbing fences. The majority of the shambling population was out on the streets, and he told himself he could deal with any lurking in the back yards he would run through to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
    A slow descent from the tree and ten minutes of carefully picking his way through the woods brought him to the back of the closest yard. Kell edged along the silvered wood, cautious about making noise. Five feet from the end of the fence he paused, ears straining to hear any commotion. Being spotted was a game-changer. He would have to leave.
    After thirty seconds and no unwanted visitors, Kell put his hands to the top of the fence and slowly put weight on it. The wood began to bend and creak immediately.
    Damn it . What the hell was I thinking? Too heavy for this. I'm not fourteen.
    While he was trying to think of an alternative solution, a zombie rounded the corner of the fence. Kell jumped back a few feet and swallowed a scream. The thing moaned at him, a piteously thin sound, and Kell regained his composure quickly. He grabbed one of its arms as it reached for him and twisted, pulling back and down as he did so.
    The zombie hit the ground face-first. Kell put a knee to its back and drove the butt of his axe into its head with all his might.
    Another one appeared at the far end of the fence, and it was not alone.
    “Fuck this,” Kell muttered, and took off running.
     

Though he was a foot taller and more than twice the weight, suddenly Kell was fourteen again. He spent a lot of time running around this place when he was young, enough that his feet knew the fastest way home without him giving them any commands.
    His lungs burned with the effort, and his body reminded him almost instantly that he'd spent a week near death recently, but he ran. Keeping to the narrow strip of land between the backs of yards and the woods beyond—his original path but sans fence-jumping—Kell minimized his exposure. Nonetheless, he passed zombies in that slim space between, and saw others notice him in the gaps between homes. When he stopped, wherever that was, it wouldn't be without a train of followers.
    Three houses away from his parents' place, Kell saw his possible salvation—a baseball lying forgotten in the grass. He swerved and slowed to scoop it up, narrowly avoiding being grabbed by a zombie, and clutched the ball in his free hand. He slid the axe through the loop dangling from his belt and into the thin cover that served as a holster. With his teeth he worried at the thick gauze wrapped around his injured hand, hoping for blood, though the wounds were well on their way to being healed.
    “ Damn,” he huffed as he ran, seeing no telltale crimson on the stained white cloth. Needing more time, he took a right and ran between several houses as he built up courage. The head of his axe was exposed, a danger he hadn't considered when the plan was to jump fences, but he was glad for it now. He bit his tongue and slapped his injured hand onto the point of the axe head, feeling it tear open a deep but narrow gash.
    Kell balled the gauze up in his fist and swerved back around. He had to time it just right.
    A few quick wipes and a hasty knot that would have made his troop leader kick him out of the scouts, and Kell had a rough bullet ready. His legs pumped as he outdistanced the zombies around him, spinning back toward his parents' house at top speed. The fence was whole; he'd seen that from the tree further up the hill, and up close the house itself looked untouched. The train of zombies following him was cut off as he raced to the far side of the house. Luck was with him, there weren't any undead in sight.
    That wouldn't last. The space was narrow and uninteresting, but his followers would make it much more lively. Kell knocked over the giant trash container, putting his feet on it and pulling himself up over the fence at the same time. His massive frame flipped midair and only