(This story is a sequel to Amongst The Dead)

Riley ate canned fruits and vegetables, beef jerky, and oatmeal, goods from the stored supply in the cabin’s basement or pit as she liked to call it. She hunted wildlife, wisely adding to her food supply. Deer, squirrels, and rabbits were the most abundant edible animals in the area. She’d learned to gut, clean, and treat the hides, all practices taught by her Dad.

It had been two months since her father passed away, blowing his brains out, having no choice. He’d been bitten and infected, quickly becoming a member of the living dead. Two days after hearing the gunshot, she found her father’s grave, his body obstructed by forest debris. She retrieved the rifle and returned to the cabin.

Riley hadn’t wanted to see her father’s body, but the gun was too valuable to leave. She had the .38, a nice piece to have around for close encounters, but she needed the rifle for hunting and long range defense.

Her father had left a booklet filled with survival tips, detailed descriptions for fishing, gun maintenance, cooking, first aid and other important instructions.

After retrieving the rifle, Riley cleaned it, using the gun oils and pipe brushes. She’d learned how to clean a gun even before the world went to hell. Her father had been an avid hunter.

Nights were rough, alone and afraid, her father’s corpse fifty feet away, rotting.

The cabin was a good two miles from the town of Roscoe. Riley and her father had come by way of Oneonta, a town further north, their car breaking down ten miles from Roscoe. They found the cabin by chance, simply following a small trail through the woods.

The cabin had been a miracle if there ever was one, stocked with food: beans, jarred fruits and vegetables, beef jerky and oatmeal.

Riley, sitting on her bed, reading, (her father making sure she had taken a few books with her and explaining how literacy was of an utmost importance during a time of degradation and hostility) when the alarm outside the cabin sounded. It was a simple yet effective design: a wire tied to tin cans and bottles. She jumped out of bed, grabbed the rifle and looked out the window.

Two men were approaching. Rule number one flashed across her mind: Don’t trust anyone. Lonely and scared, Riley desperately wanted company, but inviting in two grown men was too risky.

She cracked the window open, aimed near the men’s feet and fired, the shot echoing through the forest like a banshee. It was the first time she’d heard a gunshot since her father’s death. She shivered as a chill ran through her body.

“Don’t shoot,” one of the men yelled, hands up. The other had run for cover behind a tree.

“Turn around and go back the way you came,” Riley warned.

“Our party was killed in town. We’re in need of food and water. Please, help us.” The men didn’t appear hurt or feeble. They had thick beards and wore filthy clothes, but they looked well fed. They wore large backpacks giving them a hulking appearance.

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot your damn heads off,” Riley said. The men began mumbling to each other.

“Where are your parents?” the man standing in the open asked.

Riley couldn’t let them think she was alone, they’d never leave. “Out hunting, probably on the way back after hearing gunfire.” She wanted to fire another shot, but wasting ammo was ill advised.

“Okay, we’re leaving,” the man said. He turned, his companion joining him. They disappeared into the forest like ghosts.

Riley kept an eye out, surveying the forest, listening for a couple hours, making sure the men hadn’t returned.

That evening, she ate, made tea and read more of the book she’d been enjoying earlier. She read by lantern, not able to sleep, afraid the men would return. Normally at sundown she went to bed, not wanting to waste the lantern’s gas. She grew sleepy a few hours later, rechecked the windows and locks before turning off the light. Riley awoke sometime in the night to the sound of glass crunching. Another alarm triggered.

“Shit,” a man’s voice whispered.

“Quiet,” the other male voice said.

Silently, Riley jumped out of bed. She fixed the covers making them neat. Slinging the rifle’s strap over her head, and grabbing the lantern, she headed over to the rug covering the pit’s door. While pulling up the rug, a loud crashing noise erupted from the front door. The men were trying to break in. Her pulse quickened further as she frantically yanked the trap door open. The men continued to bash away at the door, the lock holding.

Riley lowered herself down the stairs, the pit’s cool temperature seizing her body like an invisible phantom.

Crouching on the stairs, she placed the lantern on one of the steps. She reached over the trap door, grabbing the carpet with the door, and pulled it almost to a close. Poking her hand through the opening, she jimmied the carpet so it covered the trap door completely. An explosion of wood sounded, the men had made it inside. Riley quietly lowered the door shut.

The men’s footfalls thumped along the wooden floor, muffling when they crossed the carpet. “Nobody here,” one of the men said.

“Damn. Hearing that female voice got my loins working,” the other man said. They both laughed.

“Search the place.”

Riley stay huddled on the stairs, too afraid to move. Crashing sounds from above, she squinted with each one. The men must have been tearing the place to pieces.

“No food except for uncooked noodles, tea and some beef jerky,” one man said.

“Grab the jerky. Hell grab it all.”

The men’s footfalls kept clomping against the floor as the minutes passed. After a time, Riley’s legs began to stiffen.

“Look what I found,” one of the men said.

“Nice, a .38,” the other said.

Riley cringed, wanting to slap herself. She’d forgotten the handgun upstairs.

“It’s loaded too.”

The crashing and bustling ceased after awhile, the men deciding to sit and relax. The cabin wasn’t large and most of the good stuff was in the pit. Riley’s legs were numb, pins and needles flowing through them as she carefully adjusted her position. She desperately needed to stretch, descending the stairs her only option. She should’ve made a move when they were busy. Now the stillness, save their voices, was detrimental.

“We’ll wait for them to return,” one of the men said. “I need a woman.”

How long would they wait? Would they leave eventually? If for anything to find food when the trace amount was finished? Riley was safe in the meantime. She could eat and drink, surviving, until the men left. Carefully, she began descending the stairs.

She took each step, cautiously, extending one leg at a time, leaving the lantern behind.

Her descent was terrorizing, the cool air gone, as sweat dripped from her face and soaked her clothes. The darkness added to her plight. Finally, after an eternity, Riley’s foot connected with hard Earth, grateful for its presence. She hadn’t felt such a powerfully satisfying emotion since hugging her father.

Riley made it. She was safe and far below the intruders. She couldn’t see in the gloom, the pit’s interior was windowless.  A lightless tomb or sanctuary, depending on how perceived.

Arms out, gun strapped to her back, Riley walked forward looking for a place to sit. Her legs were shaky, but blood flow had returned.

She reached a bench, and sat for what seemed like hours. The men kept chatting and laughing. Lost to her thoughts, the only things to see, the coldness crept into her bones. The sweat from her strenuous descend adding to the shiver. Riley had to pee.

She removed the gun from her person, placing it on the bench, and slowly moved across the pit. She had decided to urinate as far from the bench as possible, not knowing how long it would be her resting area.

Halfway across the pit, she stepped on a can of beans. It rolled out from under her as she lost her balance, twisting an ankle and stumbling to the ground. A jolt of pain shot up her body, escaping her mouth.

She lay on the dank ground, her ankle throbbing, hoping the men hadn’t heard.

“What the hell was that?” one of them said, a chair scraping across the wooden floor.

“Sounded like a kid got hurt,” the other man said.

Riley lay on her side, holding her ankle. She heard the men scrambling about. She needed to get back to the bench, to the gun.

Standing wasn’t an option. She crawled, wincing with each lift of her right foot. Tears filled her eyes as she bit her lip, holding back the need to scream.

The men continued moving about, suddenly stopping. “Well, lookie here,” one of them said. They’d found the door, ripping it open. A beam of light pierced the darkness, illuminating the staircase. Riley crawled faster, adrenaline numbing the pain.

“Who’s down there?” a man yelled.

“We’ve got your gun,” the other said. “Come out or we’re coming in.”

Riley reached the bench, the beam of light making it easy to find her way. She grabbed the rifle, propped herself against the bench and readied her aim.

A man’s grimy pant leg appeared on the first step. One by one, he took another step as if a bomb waited under each stair. Upon reaching the lantern, he picked it up, igniting it. Riley saw the man carried no gun, indicating it waited with the man topside.

Now fully in view, she saw it was the man from earlier. He began scanning the far walls with the flashlight. He was even filthier than when she’d first seen him, his flannel full of multicolored stains.

Riley knew the men would find her. She’d hoped both would come down so she could take them out together. Killing one would be easy, but she needed both. They’d have their way with her if given the chance, something her father had explained she needed to look out for.

Riley hid the rifle behind her outstretched leg and waited. The light hit her body, moving to her face. She had to shield her eyes.

“Well, hello there, little one,” the man said.

Riley said nothing. “Get down here, Bud.” The other man, a bulky, equally unkempt piece of trash, came trotting down the stairs.

“Shit,” the man called Bud said. “Anymore of them?”

“Little, girl,” the first man said. “Anyone else down here with you?”

The bright light was irritating. “No,” Riley said.

Both men clomped down the stairs and stood side by side. The one named Bud had the .38 in his hand. They were mean looking like overgrown bullies, and had a hunger in their eyes.

“Where’s your parents?” Bud asked.

“Dead,” she said, flatly.

“This is going to be easy,” the one without the gun said.

“I’m first,” Bud said. “Mmmm, fresh and tight.”

Riley swallowed. She had to be quick, no hesitation. “I’ll do what you want,” she said, hoping to ease their minds. The men’s apprehension vanished like a breath of frothy air, their guard down.

They approached, wicked smiles revealing missing teeth. She had to move, they’d see her gun soon. The man with the .38 tucked it into the back of his pants, pulling out a knife instead. He grinned, eyes full of malcontent.

With the men two feet away, Riley, her right hand on the rifle, lifted the weapon. She aimed the .30-30 and squeezed the trigger. The first shot missed, the man’s eyes growing wide in shock. He reached behind his back as the second bullet clipped his shoulder, spinning him around. Riley kept firing, the muzzle flashes blinding. The third bullet punctured the man’s left lung.

The fourth bullet hit the back of his skull, his forehead exploding, caking his friends face with gore.

The other man screamed, “Bud.” Riley kept firing, adjusting her aim. Bud’s body fell dead to the floor, the other man’s body in full view as he ran toward the stairs. With a foot up the first step, bullets flew, wood splintered before the man’s calf exploded into a bloody pulp. He collapsed backward, tumbling to the ground.

Taking careful aim, Riley focused on the man’s rising chest, his head out of view, as he lay breathing, and screaming in pain. She fired, saw the man’s shirt flutter. His screaming ceased. She fired again, hitting him in the side making sure he was finished.

Strapping the gun to her back, Riley pulled herself past the man named Bud, grabbing the gun tucked in his pants. She crawled, pieces of skull and flesh clinging to her shirt. The dead man’s blood pooled, her clothing absorbing it like a sponge.

She reached the man she’d shot in the side. Checking for a pulse, he was dead, a twisted look of horror on his face. With both men deceased, she climbed the stairs, her ankle paining her with each step.

Upon reaching the cabin’s floor, she fell on her back, relief flooding through her like a burst dam. She began to cry and didn’t stop until she fell asleep.

She awoke late, the sun already shining. Riley shed her bloody clothing, washing them in the nearby stream before cooking breakfast. She’d need her strength for the task ahead. The bodies had to be removed from the pit before they began stinking up the place, possibly attracting undesirables.

Riley retrieved the axe from the woodpile outside. It was heavy, but she’d managed before and would need it for the thicker body parts. The hacksaw she’d use for the smaller pieces.

Born unto a world, knowing so little of the Earth during its human years, Riley had been tested. She’d seen and done things a girl her age should never have too. Blood, guts, and death had become a staple in her life, an all too familiar part of growing up. In times of worry or if a difficult task lay ahead, she’d think of how her father would handle it.

Putting on a tattered shirt and pants, Riley opened the pit’s door. She began climbing down the stairs. Looking down toward the bottom, she saw a large void where a body should’ve been. Looking to the left, she saw the man named Bud being eaten by his now living dead friend. How careless she had been, forgetting to destroy the man’s brain. The zombie hadn’t heard her, its head buried in the man’s stomach.

Quietly, Riley turned around and began heading up the stairs, taking one step at a time. At the top, she had a choice: go for the gun or shut the pit’s door. It might not matter which one she accomplished first, but it could also mean the difference between life and death. She chose to go for the gun.

Zombies, like humans, differ from each other. Some were loud, others quiet or quick. Her father had told her tales of zombies that could track a human, following the scent like a Bloodhound.

Riley grabbed the rifle, feeling more at ease. Now all she had to do was . . . A low growl emanated from behind her. Spinning, she saw the zombie, its lips pulled back revealing blackened teeth. Time seemed to pause, as the girl stared down the monster. Riley, the Gunslinger. The zombie, an unwanted hooligan who’d entered her town. The zombie came forward, rapidly.

Riley raised the rifle, aimed and fired. Steady, careful pulls of the trigger like her father had taught her. The zombie’s right shoulder exploded. The second shot hitting its face, just below the nose, removing its upper teeth. The third shot hit square between the eyes, halting the creature before it collapsed like a bag of bones.

She checked the monster. It appeared dead enough, the eye-brain connections severed. She grabbed a knife and stabbed them anyway to be certain.

After cleaning up the mess in the cabin, splattered flesh amongst the walls and table, Riley hit the pit.

Most of Bud had been devoured, making Riley’s job easier. She brought out two legs, a hand, scalp, and torso bits, piling them together outside. Using a small amount of lighter fluid she torched the body parts before burying them.

The sun was going down by the time she finished. Tired and hungry, she made dinner and went to bed.

Riley spent the next couple of months alone, receiving no visitors. Her daily routines remained tediously monotonous, but a certain amount of comfort was found. Eat, hunt, eat, read, and sleep. The hunting helped prolong the food supply. She had about three months left. Some of the jarred items had spoiled, but for the most part everything kept.

She knew the woodland area surrounding her like the inside of the cabin. No tree looked like another, no rock either. Fearing she’d go out of her mind as she sat in bed, Riley decided for tomorrow she’d visit town. A birthday present for herself.

The End