Rocky sighed and lay on the floor, closing his eyes.
“After we eat we’ll make a list of supplies. Every time I travel I forget something,” Raven said without turning around. She was struck by the banality of her statement, like they were going on a fucking vacation. Not all that different, she thought, at least when it came to packing.
“Yeah, all right,” Henry responded, voice muffled by his hands.
Raven stirred eggs, heating up the pan and putting the bacon in, planning to make a large meal. She would be damned if she had to fight the fucking undead on an empty stomach.
The sun rose a little after seven on the town of Hallows Point and things were much changed. Men and woman ran in the streets in various stages of undress. An early morning cyclist was taken down by a group of zombies that had just the day before been upstanding citizens. Tearing into his flesh was a woman in a doctor’s coat and scrubs, and two high school aged children in straight leg jeans and hoodies. The man lay on the ground screaming and prying futilely at the preternaturally strong hands of the undead. The doctor tore out his throat in a spray of blood that covered her white coat in a wash of red. The cyclist’s struggling ceased. He fell back limp on the ground, brightly colored spandex quickly becoming soaked in red. The zombies fell in to feed, gulping down mouthfuls of blood and intestines. His body twitched and jumped under their violent ministrations. The front wheel of his bike spun round, spokes shining in the bright morning sun.
A woman wailed and ran down the street, carrying the body of a small child in her arms. Her hair blew in the breeze and she wore only her nightshirt, oblivious to the morning chill. The boy was dead, throat torn out and the skin on his face was missing. The woman tripped over the cyclist’s bike and fell to her knees on the concrete. She keened, bowed her head and kissed the skinless brow of her boy, gripping him to her breast. His hair was caked in drying blood, blond completely obscured with red. The boy’s arm fell away, hanging limp and pale. The woman rocked back and forth in complete anguish, murmuring sweet things to her dead son.
The fingers on his hand contracted, twitching into a fist and uncurling. His arm jerked, hitting the woman in the shoulder. She stilled and pulled back from her son. Joy and blind hope momentarily lit her features. The child opened his eyes, bright blue in his blood washed face. A groaning hiss escaped his throat, turning into a growl. Her expression fell and all hope drained away. The mother screamed and pushed at him. He reached for her, slowly at first then wrapped his arms around her neck and buried his face in her breasts, tearing through the thin material of her nightshirt and ripping her skin away. She shrieked in pain and terror.
The noise drew the attention of the doctor and high school students. They rushed to join the feeding, tearing at her flesh and freeing the blood beneath.
The cyclist, abdominal cavity completely emptied showing the glistening bones of his spine, twitched, hands and feet coming off the ground. A breathy groan came out of his throat and he opened his eyes, blood red from hemorrhaging. He rose disjointedly, like a mishandled marionette. Stumbling at first then gaining coordination, he saw the fallen body of the woman and joined the fray.
A man crept by on the opposite side of the street, glancing furtively at the writhing group of zombies. He was dressed all in black and held a .45 in a two-handed grip, pointed at the ground. The dark gun barrel was nearly invisible against his clothes. He reached an old station wagon and found it unlocked. The car sat on the lawn, crushing a bed of flowers beneath its tires. The man got in and started the engine with a roar. He sped away in a spray of dirt and displaced petals.
The blaring siren of a police cruiser shattered the morning. A black and white Crown Victorian rounded the corner, speeding past quaint little houses with well-manicured lawns and beds of begonias and daises. The driver’s side window was broken; squares of glass were stuck on the rubber seal. The woman behind the wheel glanced at the masticating zombies then back to the road, blond hair blowing back in the wind. Her badge sat on the seat beside her, forgotten.
The street quieted. Only the sick sounds of chomping meat and tearing viscera could be heard on this still and otherwise peaceful morning in the sleepy town of Hollows Point. A flock of sparrows took flight from a nearby oak tree, soaring away from the rising sun. The zombies, tiring of their meal as there was nothing left but bones licked clean, stumbled to their feet. Their heads canted in unison, hearing something interesting far off in the distance. A scream sounded high and pitiful, carried in on the breeze. The undead ran, going from complete stillness to a blur of motion with frightening ease. They rounded the bend and disappeared, snarling and snapping. Their vocalizations could be heard for a long time.
Chapter Two
Raven and Henry Seek Safety
Raven
“I think that’s everything,” Raven said, checking off the last item on her list.
They’d eaten breakfast and she had showered quickly, afraid that something terrible would happen while she was indisposed. Raven had however taken the time to shave her legs and underarms, not knowing when the next opportunity would arise. The temperature had dropped overnight, plummeting into the low fifties. She’d dressed in dark jeans, boots, t-shirt, thermal top and bottoms, donning her long leather coat. Raven had packed many layers. If they were going up into the hills