go and see what was putting that distress into my son’s voice. BT sheared off too. Whether to intercept my current course or to sate his own curiosity I wasn’t sure. I trotted up to Trav’s side a couple of seconds before BT. The big man gave me the once over before following Travis’ pointing finger. About two hundred yards away was a man and he was coming at full sprint.
“You think it’s a survivor?” BT asked. I could tell there was a little more than a tremor of fear in his voice. Well it was good to know the guy was afraid of something. A hundred and fifty yards and his pace hadn’t slowed down, what was more worrisome was that he didn’t wave or try to gain our attention in any sort of fashion. The skeevies I was feeling were felt by all of us, something wasn’t quite right but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Man his clothes look like shit.” BT said in hushed tones. I nodded in agreement. But that wasn’t enough to convince me something was amiss. Washing clothes was on the low end of the survival spectrum. “That ain’t no zombie, is it Talbot? It’s running way too fast.”
A hundred yards away and it was clearly fixated on us, still no friendly wave, no gesture of peace, nothing but determination were etched in his/its ashen features. My mind was made up. “BT tell everyone to get back to the truck and ready to leave.” He didn’t move. I stomped on his foot, I thought he was going to punch me on the top of the head. “BT!” I yelled “Get everyone back in the truck.” He was still debating about the punch. “NOW FUCKER!” He jumped. I was most likely going to pay for this later but it still felt like the right thing to do. BT kept looking over his shoulder as he ran back towards the tractor-trailer. Most of the survivors were outside the truck lounging, smoking cigarettes, getting some fresh air, eating, and even some of the baser necessities, pissing and crapping. But when a giant black man is screaming at the top of his lungs in a post apocalyptic world, that you need to get your skinny asses back on the truck to save yourselves, you tend to listen.
Twenty-five feet away, I waited until I was one hundred percent sure and still I wasn’t. It didn’t seem like a zombie, but if he was human once, he no longer suffered from that affliction, not anymore.
“Now Dad?” Travis asked with a note of trepidation in his voice.
“Aw shit!” I just wasn’t convinced. I couldn’t even begin to wrap my mind around this new development. The guy was within spitting distance, sure Olympic class spitting distance, but you get the point, when clearly Travis had made up his mind. The Mossberg bellowed a triumphant roar. The 12 gauge slug caught the man square in the chest. The effect was devastating. I watched in fascinated slow motion as his chest cavity became fully exposed and blood rained rampant as his full speed sprint was halted in mid stride. The 1500 feet per second slug struck with enough force to blow the man back four feet. I hoped for both mine and Travis’ sanity that when we checked the body that there would be some tell tale sign of a humanity lost. The smoke from the shotgun barrel had barely begun to dissipate when we obtained our definitive answer. Mr. Speedy Sneakers (the name seemed appropriate at the time) started to arise without so much as a grunt or a groan or ‘Dude why the hell did you shoot me?’ At this point you really didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that the rules to our deadly game had just been altered drastically, and we hadn’t received the revisions. Travis looked over at me, apprehension contorted his features. I understood his fear, this guy just looked too normal, sure his clothes looked like shit, but we don’t go shooting people because they have crappy clothes. If that was the case, we would have eradicated bums and high fashion models years ago. His countenance was pale but more in a sickly way than a deathly one. Hell, Justin, still suffering the effects of his zombie scratch, had worse color than this guy. Still lost in fluctuation, my enigma had completely sat up. Ignoring the silver dollar sized blast in his chest, he was trying in vain to get his feet up under him. The brain is a powerful tool but apparently it has its limitations, this poor bastard’s spinal column was shattered into at least a half dozen pieces, no amount of function rerouting was going to get him back up. Travis and I watched in horror as our mystery guest rolled himself over and began to military crawl his way over towards us. A few more seconds of our indecision and Speedy Sneakers was going to make it to his final destination, our flesh.
Travis flinched as I put my hand out to his shoulder. “Go back to the Jeep.” I said to him. He didn’t need any persuading. Travis had no sooner turned the corner than I put a well-aimed shot through Speedy’s forehead. He slumped over to the left in an assemblage of monster parts that uncannily resembled a human. I walked slowly back to the big rig doing my best to reincorporate the bile that was threatening to make its grand exit. I fully expected to see nobody, by that I meant nobody outside the truck. Alex was by the back door of the truck looking around.
“What are you doing man?” I asked, maybe with a little more harshness than I meant but I hadn’t fully recovered from my zombie human hybrid encounter yet.
“We’re light four.” He answered gruffly, he hadn’t even witnessed the event and he was in more of a mood to leave than I was. I looked longingly over towards the Jeep and the Explorer, Travis was getting a much needed hug from his mother, Paul and Brendon were securing some stuff on top of the Ford, and Erin was getting some water for Justin who was shakily smoking a cigarette. Tommy was not visible, at least not at first and then I saw him in the back seat of the Jeep and even from this distance I could tell he was in a rush to get going. He didn’t say anything. Words would have been superfluous.
“Shit.” I answered as I turned back towards Alex. “Who’s missing?”
CHAPTER 5 
As April and Cash walked into the abandoned house, the smell of dust and Old Spice filled the air. The only sound to break the silence was the squeaking of the not so oiled hinges and the hitched breathing of Cash. Cash was asthmatic and high stress environments like the one he found himself in now tended to exacerbate the problem.
“Come on April we should get back to the truck.” Cash semi-begged, trying his best not to sound desperate.
“What’s your rush Cash, can’t wait to huddle up with BT?” She retorted.
Cash’s cheeks burned from the jibe. He couldn’t understand why he had left the relative safety of the truck. It was when he looked back towards the curvaceous brunette two years his senior that he divined the answer. “Traitorous penis.” He muttered.
“What did you say?” April asked as she entered the defunct kitchen. At twenty-one April knew enough to know that she had an affect on men and could generally get what she wanted just by batting an eyebrow or using her patented pouty lips. Normally she went for guys that could help her actualize her higher standard of living. Cash however, was dirt poor, acne riddled and wheezed entirely too much, in short he was someone she wouldn’t date if he was the last man on earth. But since that was rapidly becoming the case she thought she might have to rethink her strategy, she had needs too.
When the door had finally rolled up on that stuffy trailer, she had made up some lame excuse to go and stretch her legs. With two words ‘Come on’ she had got Cash to follow her. She loved the power her fleeting looks granted her. Loud crashes emanated from the kitchen as April ransacked the place looking for something good to eat. Cabinets clattered, bottles smashed, each loud jolt made Cash’s heart skip a beat.
“May...Maybe you shouldn’t be so loud April.” Cash said cautiously. Whether from fear of being heard by zombies or pissing April off, he wasn’t sure.
“God! All these people have is Cheerios and popcorn!” April shouted. “You should find me something I CAN eat!”
Cash looked longingly back at the front door before he turned and went into the kitchen. In a week, a family of rabid raccoons couldn’t have done the damage April had accomplished in five minutes. Cash numbly stared at the destruction of the small kitchen, April catching his gaping stare commented.
“What? It’s not like the people that used to live here are going to give a shit.” She laughed, as she smashed a pickle jar against the far side wall. The sour smell of vinegar permeated everything. April’s laugh became a little shriller. Cash was petrified. Cash was mesmerized.
April focused her eyes on Cash. “Do me!” She said hungrily. Cash’s jaw dropped, April laughed at his reaction. “What are you a virgin or something?” Cash’s face reddened. “Oh my God?! You are.” She laughed again. Cash’s face burned from the chafing she was giving him, he turned dejectedly back towards the front door. “Well let’s take care of that lover.” She continued greedily.
Cash was not a Mensa member, but you didn’t need a high IQ to figure this puzzle out. Cash fumbled with belt, his fingers suddenly losing all dexterity. Just as got the clasp undone, he heard the shotgun roar in the distance. “We...we...we should go.” He said hastily.
“Oui, oui, oui, what are you French now?” Her eyes never left his.
“But the gun.”
