Realizing what had to be done; Riley placed the tip of the knife on the army man’s temple. She wondered if his brain had been destroyed after whacking him in the head with the pot, but couldn’t take the chance. She’d learned her lesson at the cabin.

She picked up the heavy pot; her heart racing a little for what she was about to do. Relaxing her fingers around the knife’s handle, she readied herself.

Like a hammer used to drive a nail into wood, she raised the cooking implement up and brought it down fast, closing her eyes each time she struck. The knife went into the man’s skull easier than she’d anticipated. It only took four strikes before the blade became embedded up to the hilt.

The disturbing task was done; behind her now. She sat back, tired, and ready to go home when the man on the floor stirred. Riley’s eyes grew wide in panic. She’d destroyed the man’s brain! There was no way he could re-animate. The dead man pushed himself up off the floor, blood pouring from his mouth. He began crawling toward her. Riley backed away, crabwalk-like.

“No, no. You’re dead. I destroyed your brain,” she said, her voice weary.

“I don’t need a brain to eat you, you tasty little morsel,” the zombie said.

Riley couldn’t believe it. Not only was the thing undead with a knife sticking out of its head, but it was speaking to her. It crawled quickly–too quickly, and grabbed her ankles. She kicked her legs, but the zombie’s grip was strong like an iron bear trap.

The zombie pulled itself along her legs and onto her abdomen. Before Riley knew it, her wrists were pinned over her head, the zombie looking down on her; blood and thick syrupy saliva dripping into her mouth.

“Yum, Yum,” the zombie said, its eyes no longer vacant, but full of life. Riley closed her eyes, wincing, as the thing lowered its mouth to take a bite.

She sat up quickly, banging her forehead on something solid. “Ouch!” she muttered. Opening her eyes, she saw only darkness save a sliver of light from around the cabinet door. She’d been having a nightmare. She must have fallen asleep. Her heart was beating rapidly, her thoughts racing. What an awful dream. She settled herself, taking long breaths, realizing she needed to be alert. How long had she been out?

Riley adjusted her seated position and decided to sit still for a spell. Was she alone? Had the army men cleared out? Another thought entered her mind–the man she recently killed. Was he still dead? Or up walking around somewhere? She grew hungry as time crept by, rummaging through her bag to find something to eat. She was sick of beef jerky, but it was plentiful and easy to carry.

For what seemed like hours, she sat listening for any noise–human or zombie. Her mind wandered a few times to thoughts about her father and the times they’d shared together. She missed the cabin; a place she called home now. It was safe, secure and far away from the decaying world. When she made it back, she’d think twice before leaving it again. Roscoe was the only town within a reasonable distance and it–clearly–had nothing more to offer. She had no reason to return.

Satisfied that no one was coming to look for the army man, Riley opened the cabinet door and crawled out.

The kitchen stunk like death, rotten meat, and carnage. The army man that tried to rape her was in the same place she left him but with a knife protruding from the side of his head. She didn’t remember stabbing him, except for in the nightmare. Her conscious mind must have blocked out the horrible act; her sleeping one reliving it. The image of the vacant look in the man’s eyes after Riley struck him with the pot, his lights going out, flashed before her eyes. The life-taking act branded there forever.

She glanced around the kitchen–the scene ghastly. She had deluded herself into thinking maybe the outlook wasn’t as horrible as she’d remembered it to be. She was wrong. Zombie pieces were still scattered about like a morbid birthday cake had exploded.

She exited the kitchen quickly, hoping never to return physically or mentally to the place, but knew she would be visiting again in her dreams–the dead man’s actions would haunt her. It wasn’t that he didn’t deserve what Riley gave him. He was a defiler of all that was good, but the look in a living person’s eyes as they died was unforgettable and she took no satisfaction in it. Using the rifle, killing from a distance, proved easier on the soul.

The dining area was quiet. She heard no gunshots or men yelling from outside. She crept to the front doors, the all too fresh memory of feeling saved, then in danger, coming to the forefront of her mind. She cracked open the door and peered outside.

The bodies of the executed zombies were strewn about the area, left to rot away like the town. The army had moved through quickly, not even noticing that one of their own had gone missing. They might be back, bring a search party once they realized a man wasn’t accounted for. She had to move.

She crept along the building, keeping a keen ear and eye out for trouble. It seemed as if the wind wanted no part of entering the town too. The air was still as if frozen in time.

She made it unimpeded to the end of town, leaning against the last building in shadow. Riley grew nervous, a lump in her throat, sweat building on her forehead and dripping down her back. The tree-line was at least a hundred yards away; the space wide open making it the perfect place to meet a bullet from a hidden adversary. Rifle at the ready, clip loaded, she stepped from the building and began a crouched-like walk. Each step brought the imaginary sound of gunfire, a shiver of trepidation hitting her. Better that than a real bullet. She repeated over and over that she was safe now. The army men had left and were long gone and wouldn’t be back for their missing soldier until they arrived at their base which had to be far off.

After what seemed like an eternity of scrambling in open space–an easy target for even the worst of snipers–she entered the woods, walked a few feet in before sitting down, resting her nerves.

Sitting down–the forest giving her an overwhelming sense of security–she realized she had to pee. It was as if her body had shut all superfluous functions down, leaving only the survival mode on. Now that she was safe, back where she was comfortable, they were turning back on.

She dropped her pack, laid the rifle down and relieved herself, some of the pressure from the day’s events seeming to leave her body.

With her pants back on, she felt better as if a pressure valve had been turned to the off position. Picking up her backpack and rifle, she began the trek back toward the cabin.

She couldn’t wait to get home; wash in the river and get cozy with a book and hot cup of tea.

Hiking along, finding the trail–marked in ways only she knew–she heard the sound of barking dogs. She froze, listening. They were coming up behind her, from where she’d been. Were they wild? Trained trackers? She was armed, feeling a bit less frightened than if she wasn’t, but firing her weapon would alert anyone in the area.

Riley took off running, knowing it was pointless. She could never outrun a canine. Deciding to take a stand–her best chance to survive–she found a large tree with low branches, slung the rifle over her shoulder and began to climb.

The backpack proved cumbersome, constantly snagging on branches, making her ascent slow.

She hadn’t heard the dogs since first hearing them, wondering if maybe they found a deer or rabbit to occupy their taste for meat when a stab of pain struck her foot.

She felt her body being pulled down, followed by growling. Her fingers turned white as she held onto the branches. Snapping jaws could be heard below. Looking down, she saw three Doberman pinschers, one hanging onto her left foot. The dog was heavy, her arms shaking from the strain and fully extended. They had stopped barking while sneaking up on her–devious devils. Or was it in their training, assassin-like.

Gripping the branch with all of her strength, Riley managed to pull herself up enough to get her right foot onto a limb, relieving some of the burden from her arms and fingers. The dog was refusing to let go, shaking its head, probably trying to get its prey to fall or at least come away with a morsel.

Adjusting her arms for a better hold, Riley held on and let her right leg fall and began kicking at the dog’s snout. After a couple of hard stomps to the nose, the Doberman yelped and released its grip, falling to the ground. The other dogs barked as if in protest and they began launching themselves into the air at her. Riley sped up the tree, her left foot paining her, but manageable. When she was about ten feet up the tree, she stopped, knowing the dogs couldn’t get to her. She’d have to shoot them, then quickly climb down and get to the cabin, hoping no one found her.

She slid the rifle off of her shoulder, steadied herself and took aim. The dogs were jumping and darting around in small circles under the tree making it difficult to get a kill shot. Worst case: she’d have to use more than one bullet per dog. With her finger around the trigger, ready to pull and send the canines to the next world, she heard a whistle. Looking outward she saw a man dressed in black fatigues standing off in the distance.

The dogs stopped moving, becoming statuesque, before heading over to the man.

Riley took the man in her sights and fired, but she’d moved too quickly and the bullet missed its target, the dirt exploding by the man’s right foot.

“Hey, don’t shoot,” he said, holding out his arms.

Riley fired again, hitting the man in the center of his chest and knocking him backwards. The dogs turned and ran off into the woods.

She’d hit him, feeling a satisfied twinge in her gut, and used two bullets. The rifle was on her shoulder in seconds as she climbed down the tree. As soon as she hit the ground, she took off running.

She arrived at the cabin an hour later–starved, thirsty and tired. She hoped the dogs wouldn’t pursue and if they did, would lose her scent.

Inside the cabin, she felt secure, safe, like a priest in a church. She gobbled down cereal, stale pretzels, canned peaches and water before gathering enough energy to set up the perimeter alarms–strings of cans and broken bits of glass.

She went into the pit and began gathering the smallest, most filling and nutritious foods that she could take with her should the need arise to leave. She couldn’t take the chance of the army men finding her. Fighting off a couple of losers was one thing, but military men, even if they weren’t officially trained, was another story. She would hide out somewhere far away, returning when enough time had passed, the area cooling off. The weather was becoming warmer, making survival outdoors much easier than a few months ago.

When she finished gathering food goods, stuffing a nylon bag with them, she returned upstairs.

“Hello,” a male’s voice said from behind her.

Riley froze, her mind yelling a plethora of commands on how to react ultimately leaving her with none. Her breath was caught somewhere between her mouth and lungs making her unable to speak. Her rifle was against the bed at the far end of the room and the .38 was still outside under a rock in a plastic bag.

“Turn around, slowly” the man said.

Riley did as she was told, her arms trembling, the groceries suddenly heavy like a bag of bowling balls.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice soft, but smoky. Riley’s eyes widened in shock. Before her, sitting, tilted back in one of the kitchen chairs was a man wearing black fatigues–the same man she’d shot a few hours ago. He had a large gun pointed in her direction, his chest looking just fine.

—–

When David first wrote Amongst the Dead, he never intended it to be more than a short story. It has grown, developing into a much longer story, one he himself has no idea where it will end. He hopes the readers enjoy it and thanks them for their support and comments. David can be reached at dbern77 AT hotmail.com