The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 1): Awakening by J.D. Demers Page A

he was whispering to my conscience.  If he were here, he would not have even hesitated.
    “Damn it!” was all I could manage to say as I turned and went toward the hallway.  I had my gun in my left hand because I was hoping I could just stab the piece of shit in the head without making a sound.  I drew the K-bar with my right, ready to plunge it into that thing’s skull when I found it.
    As I rounded the corner, I could hear that the moaning was coming from the half open door at the end of the hallway.  I heard the whimpering again.  I continued down, being sure to stay silent. 
    There was enough ambient light to make out a line of pictures and plaques in the hallway.  Besides a few family pictures of a man, woman and two kids, I saw a half dozen photos of a police officer and a dog.  There was no doubt that the dog in the kitchen matched the canine with the cop.  One of them was an award picture that said “Sage’s Retirement”.  I wasn’t sure if the former K9 officer lived in this house, but I put together that the late German Shepherd was a K9 police dog.
    I saw a pair of legs kicking on the floor just inside the room at the end of the hall.  I peaked in and saw that a giant hutch had been knocked over, pinning a zombie to the floor. 
    This wasn’t a bedroom at all, but an office.  Badges and awards lined the walls showing that this was either a former or current Palm Bay Police Officer, undoubtedly the owner or handler of Sage, the dead Shepherd in the kitchen.  There were trophies with small statues mimicking the duo fighting crime or standing proudly.
    The zombie trapped underneath the hutch was probably the woman in the pictures I had seen in the hallway.  I didn’t yet know for sure because the head was out of sight on the other side of the fallen furniture.
    I squeezed past the hutch and got a look at the face.  It was her, the lady in the pictures.  I couldn’t tell if she changed from a bite or from the initial outbreak, because she was mangled.  I knew why too.  Her dog had shredded her face and parts of her arms.  I clearly saw four fingers missing.  I figured the mutilated dog in the other room had swallowed one because the other three were still lying on the kitchen floor. 
    Both of her arms were outstretched, reaching toward the desk on the other side of the room.  I couldn’t see underneath the desk, but heard something scurry from that direction as I banged my shin on the side of the hutch. 
    I cursed, which drew the attention of the zombie at my feet.  She was trying to grab my leg, but the hutch made it awkward for her to reach in my direction.  I rubbed my shin, and cursed again.  There was no need to waste a bullet on her, but I could use this opportunity to learn something. 
    I holstered my gun, eyeing the desk to see if whoever was hiding was going to come out.  I didn’t see any movement and whoever had made the noise was now silent.
    I grabbed my K-bar with both hands and drove it down toward its skull.  Well, I hit her skull at any rate.  It deflected off the side and nearly went into my foot.  The grinding of the blade on the skull sounded like I was dragging it across concrete.  I quivered at the sound.
    “Jesus,” I said aloud.
    The human skull is tougher than Hollywood makes it out to be.  It probably didn’t help that my aim was off, which caused it to glance off the side.  A slice of skin came down with the blade, but it didn’t seem to hurt her at all. 
    I tried again, this time making sure I was aiming at the flat part of the back of her skull.  It drove deep, almost to the hilt.  But she didn’t die.  Instead, she writhed around like she was having convulsions.
    I took a step back, horrified.  At first I thought it was feeling pain, but that wasn’t it.  It was more like a seizure.  I yanked the blade out, and drove it down again.  The shaking didn’t stop, so instead of pulling it out, I twisted and wiggled it ferociously around