Chapter 2

I pull the fanny packs zipper open and peer inside. The last time I left the house and didn't double check my cache, i forgot my phone. I let out a sigh. The phone is inside. Its blue locator light blinking into the dark abyss of the pack. Aside from the zombie evolution, technology has really upped it's game. All phones are genetically matched to their owners now. Retina scans or fingerprint pads. Buy the phone, tech clerk scans your eyeball or takes your print on the scan pad and sha-zam. The phone belongs to you. The locator thing is really jazzy though. Even when the battery dies, anyone can be found. Back up. Anyone's phone can be found. Lose your phone, your loved ones lose you. Batteries now last days at a time instead of a few hours. My parents used to tell stories about phones that flipped open, filled the palm of your hand and had to be charged multiple times per day. I'm almost glad i was born and raised in the future. I mean, can you imagine charging your phone? Or having to flip it open? Man! Mostly i carry the phone for it's location abilities and my music stash. Once the zombie apocalypse started, the government decided to make the Internet free again, so i can stream music to my hearts content. The only problem is headphones. Once they get blood or brain bits on them - that's it. They're toast. And forget those ear-buds. You'd think with the leaps and bounds of technology that someone would invent something better. I rock the old fashioned kind that have a head or neck band and cups around my ears. A pair hangs around my neck at all times. Mostly because i never know when I'm going to be on the run, or on the hunt. They snuggle me inside my hoodie, between the neck of my tank top and the nape of my neck they're pretty safe. The thing about zombie hunting to music, is that it drowns out their disgusting noises, and I like to pretend I'm in a video game. Got my own soundtrack. The only thing I'm missing is my kill-score following me in the sky where ever i go. I lost count at a hundred by the way. I know others that have much higher body counts. I'm not bragging. Don't get me wrong. I never would have thought myself capable of killing, let alone on this level. I mean, frankly, I'm a predator. I go out a zombie-hunting almost every night. During the day, it's like fish in a barrel. They move slower, and they're easier to spot. And I'm a much better shot during the day than i am at night. One of the better things (if there are better things at this point in time) is that zombie bites don't make more zombies. All those movie makers are probably rolling in their graves...uh...our zombies are nature-made: you die, there's a chance you come back as a zombie. No bones about it. Gosh I'm on fire tonight! I check out the status of the front porch and the street beyond. Looks good. Nothing out and about. I press my forefinger onto the scanner, the phone wakes up, and my music starts to pour out of the headphones. I zip up the pack, and begin unlocking the front door. I don't know why i lock the doors, the deaders can't turn door knobs and there's almost no crime at this time of year. It's almost like the criminals can't stand to be bad during the holidays when there's zombies in the world. Doesn't stop them the rest of the year. But hey, maybe a zombie trade for less crime isn't such a bad trade? I feel my right eyebrow go up and the smirk touch my lips. Like hell. Zing! I open the door and walk out. I'm not even going to bother with the locks. If I'm on the run on the way back I'll be able to get inside quicker. I start down the steps and hit the sidewalk, my footsteps automatically matching themselves to the beats pumping. Shit. I should do a perimeter check of the house. I pivot, just in time to catch a faint scent of decay wafting my way. I unzip my fanny pack, that has my name on it, in calligraphy by the way, courtesy of my grandfather's sharpie and draw out my piece. Safety is off, and i am on high alert. Time to pay attention. The nice thing, er, one of the benefits of a non movie zombie, these things reek. I mean, roiling, stomach turning, gag inducing smell. And you can not mistake decaying flesh once you've smelled it. Its very distinct. I am indeed smelling a deader, and I'm watching it wander around the side of my house. Well, not "my" house. The house I'm squatting in. But i am ferociously protective of this house that is not my own, my hackles go up and my adrenaline starts pumping. I break into a soft jog, careful of my footfalls back up the sidewalk and into the grass. I take a knee, my left shin flat to the ground, my right elbow balanced on my right knee, that leg at a right angle. Before my brother died, and you know, un-dead, he used to make fun of this "stance" of mine. I'm a much better shot when I'm balanced. And since i can't chew gum and walk without falling down, I need all the help i can get when it comes to aiming.  I have a vague vision of a sniper in my head, as i stare down the barrel and wait for my target to come around again. The music is fading out, i can no longer hear the soft sounds of night around me and i am inhaling and exhaling with a purpose. Thank goodness i fixed those motion lights around the house. It's almost too easy. The deader rounds the corner by the steps, trips over the bottom tread and i can't help myself: I snort and chuckle just as the zombie looks up and meets my gaze. Ever so smoothly i squeeze the trigger and the deader goes down, in a heap, diagonally on the sidewalk. A stream of blood and goo oozing down the sidewalk. With it's slight pitch, i might luck out and be able to wash that shit down into the storm drain without too much hassle. I start to breathe again, i realize I'm tapping my left foot in the grass to the beat of the song i didn't even know i was hearing. I get up, both knees popping i brush off the bits of grass that are sticking to my corduroys and head up to the corpse. Time for a dead check. It would appear that I got it in the head, on my first shot, which is completely out of character for me. I go through bullets like some people eat candy. Heck, like i eat candy. I'm about a half a foot away from it when it starts to rise, from the chest up, using it's rubbery arms to help it gain purchase. My right arm raises automatically, and before i know it, I've pulled the trigger, once, twice and three times. Each one a kill shot. I mean at this distance, if i missed, I'd be embarrassed. It's really dead this time. I sit down on the steps, after I roll the corpse fully onto the sidewalk and decide maybe i shouldn't go anywhere tonight. I've never had a deader casing my house before.