Chapter 1

It's a little after midnight in the dead of summer. The crickets are cricketing, there's a katydid making it's weird noise, and some of the frogs are frogging. I'm cleaning one of my guns. I have one under the couch and there's another in the hallway by the front door on the table. Aside from the sounds outside, the night is relatively quiet. I had the television on earlier, just to catch the news, but I think the reporters and the general public have all basically given up. There's no real "news" anymore; not that there ever was to begin with...I still like to watch movies though, even if they don't make them as often as they used to. I've got quite the DVD collection going. Now anymore everything's been done and redone and sequeled and prequeled; real-life is almost more interesting. Almost. And really, more interesting is probably subject to your point of view. When I was growing up I used to fantasize about having superpowers or some sort of super ability. Like flying. Or super-strength. Now, I still have neither, but the wanting of one is much greater. And so is the need. I pull the firing pin and add more oil, savoring the smell and the colors as my hands take on the stain. I need to be ready, prepared for what's out there tonight. I'd love to say "and protect me and my own"; but so far it's just me. I'm pretty alone. I've never really known loneliness like this. I mean, I've been alone. Just not this "alone". I hear a clanging upstairs, followed by a thud and some groaning. I launch up off of the couch and check the door at the base of the steps. Yep, still locked. I stand there, with my ear to the door listening above my own heartbeat for more movement on the second floor. All quiet again. I don't know why I picked this house. I guess just another childhood fantasy. My grandparents had a two story, and I loved going upstairs to bed. Of course, now that I have this door locked and knowing what I've got stored up there, i sleep on the couch in the living room. My mother, my brother, my best friend, her husband and their kids are up there. Dead. Or rather, un-dead. The walking dead. Yes, zombies. I turn back to the couch and pick up my task. Those Bible thumpers had it partially right; one of two things is going to happen when you die: you either a) just plain die (and no one knows what happens after that) or b) die and reanimate. And so far that's been happening a lot. No one knows why. Or more accurately, no one has told us why. There was no radioactive event, no mass viral outbreak, no bio terrorism, not even a war. Just one day, the dead started to rise. Freaky. And just like that, we had real, live zombies. Only, our zombies aren't typical zombies. If there's such a thing as typical zombies. These zombies don't possess super strength, they don't have radical, blood curdling growls, and they most certainly don't have a thought in their head. If they did, i wouldn't be nearly as effective as I am. And I most certainly wouldn't have a zombie extended family locked upstairs. Which brings me back to me. Me and my lack of superpowers. Me and my lack of extraordinary ability. Just. Plain. Me. I've always been a bit of a couch potato. I'm not real fit. I eat what I can get my hands on. The most exercise i get is hauling ass being chased. I mentioned my penchant for movies before, did you ever see the one called Warm Bodies? It came out about 20, 25 years ago. So far my Nicholas Hoult hasn't found me, my friends aren't gun wielding mercenaries and my father isn't a military official. And it certainly doesn't look like this story is going to have a happy ending. Lost in the mindless upkeep of my firearm, my peripheral vision catches a shadow pass by my window. I better hurry this up. So far the real-life zombies share some similarities to the zombies in the movies: they rot, they smell to high heaven and even if you dismember them or disembowel them, they keep moving, chewing and biting. Unless they take a shot to the head, and in that case they die. Dead. I'm pretty average. All right, maybe a little less than average depending on who you ask. But you better ask quick, since people are going zombie quicker than not. But I have to wonder, why me? I don't possess any special anything that would qualify me for this job. This job found me. I didn't apply for it, didn't have to redo my resume, didn't have to interview. I didn't even answer an ad. If there was one, it probably read: "Have gun? Will hire." Nope, my father had a gun collection. And when all hell broke loose, i learned how to use them real quick. I have no idea what happened to Dad. One day he was here, and the next he was gone. I think maybe a zombie got him. But i haven't seen him lumbering around dead. I really hope he's out there somewhere, undead. I mean, alive-dead.

My gun is back together. I look down at my hands, the oil is rubbed into the creases of my skin, stuck under some of my fingernails and I push my hair out of my face. The scent of gun oil permeates the air like a candle. The last of my firearms; cleaned, cocked and ready to go. I balance it on my knee and look around the room. I'm waiting for the shadow to pass by again, I might need to do a little recon. I stand up and reach for the fanny pack that's laying on the coffee table. Yes, fanny pack. TV shows, movies, they make it look so easy to stow a gun in your waistband. In reality, it's so damned difficult to pull in a hurry, it's just not practical. It also flops out when you're running. No one ever thinks of that when they film those movies. I buckle the fanny pack around my waist and pull the tab snugging it up around my hips. I holster my piece and zip up the pack. Typically anymore no one is out past dark, especially not at this hour. And if you are out, you announce yourself or carry a flashlight, so that you don't get mistaken for a dead walker and get popped in the head. No zombie I've ever encountered has a flashlight. I know they can't see in the dark, the damn things smash into stuff even in the daylight. Speaking of smash, i go listen at the door again when i hear the heavy footfalls above my head, followed by a groan and another thud. Once I determine if I'm going to have to get physical tonight, I might poke around and see if I can find that DVD, you know, the one i was talking about earlier? I think I might like to take a little trip back in time, zone out for a bit. Reminisce about the past, when zombies were the stuff of fantasy and not real life.