Then I remember the arrow Harley used on Nadine. Last night, he told me it was outside by the basin. I hurry to retrieve it. He cleaned it. The fletching, which is the feather thing on the end which steers the arrow, doesn't have anything on it or in between, close to the shaft. Blood likes to cake there. Sometimes even gets in the nock. The nock is the little indention on the end that holds the bowstring. Getting blood in the nock depends on how far the arrow goes in. At close range, it's entirely possible to have the whole thing covered in blood and bits. It doesn't look like it's been used. Harley cleaned it well.

After I count all my arrows, making sure they are all there, I slide under the covers and don't know how long I lie there before falling asleep.

I'm vaguely aware someone's shaking the bed, attempting to wake me. I'm burrowed snuggly in the covers like a cocoon.

"Wake up, girl!" Harley says, even though it doesn't sound like him. I lift my head and peek out. Three guns are pointed at my face. What do you know? One of them is Nadine.

Chapter 7.

On a different planet, I would probably be flattered they feel the need to use three guns. I'm wide awake now, and betting the guns are loaded. All of this means I've been lied to from the beginning. Not to mention, I don't like people pointing guns at me, let alone waking me up and pointing guns at me. It's rude.

"What the hell are you doing?" I snap. Looking around, Harley, Bridget, and Nadine hold guns. Kale leans against the wall looking at the floor. I stare at him. He fidgets, feeling my gaze, but keeps staring at the ground. Words flash through my head. You don't know them. Just remember, I'm sorry. You should just expect the worst. My anger quickly turns to rage.

Harley gives me a crooked smile, "We like your place, without you in it."

"Zombie free zone, we couldn't pass it up." Nadine says, with an emotionless expression. I'm beginning to regret every word out of my mouth. I scramble to sit up, hard because of all the blankets.

"Stay where you are. We're going to have us a little chat," Harley says. I freeze, not wanting to draw attention to my hands under the blankets, where I want them for gripping my crossbow. They've strongly underestimated me.

"What's going on? I told Kale last night, you guys can stay if you want." I say, looking over at Kale. He flinches at being reminded of yesterday.

Harley looks at Kale, but Kale doesn't acknowledge his glare. "Don't worry about Kale. He did what was expected of him." Harley glances back at me with a lowered gun. "The thing is Kan, I respect you for what you have done for yourself. For that, I'm going to let you live." He shakes his head. "All those reference books I'm impressed. I was just going to loot them, until I found out how many zombies you've killed. It looks like you were ready for something to happen." My outrage got the best of me. The books are not negotiable.

"Those books are what tore my family apart, Jackass!" My free fist clenches under the blankets while I struggle to control myself.

"Now listen here, I'm sure that's a fascinating story, but I don't care. I'm letting you live and you should be grateful." His eyes roam, coming to stop on the blanket covering my legs. "Those thighs are thick and meaty." My anger boils as I interpret this. I look at Bridget to gauge her reaction. It doesn't surprise her. My face screws up in disgust.

"I don't know why you're looking at her. She wanted you dead the first night. Right, Bridge?" Harley asks, looking back at her. She nods her head at me. "She likes Kale a little too much if you ask me, but he's ours, she said." I'm way past livid. Heat takes over my face as my body thrums with adrenaline. I look over at Kale, but he keeps staring at the floor, hiding behind his hair like a cop-out pansy. I hate him. Bridget smiles at me before turning to Kale.

"She hates you now, Kale. I told you this would happen." She rubs his chest. "It'll be okay. Like old times. Now we won't have to follow anyone's rules except Pop's." Pop? I blink back angry tears unwilling to let them see another weakness. Harley studies me, guessing my confusion.

"Bridget's my daughter, and Nadine is my wife. Bridget's mother died a long time ago," he says.

I stuff my retorts down. Easy, since dealing with confrontation is another thing I haven't had to do in a while. Harley continues, "I like you, Kan. If Bridget liked you, well maybe you could have stayed with us, but she can be a little bratty. She played along so she could get what she wanted."

"Then why wait? Why pretend Nadine was bit?" I look at Nadine, and she surprises me by answering.

"We had to see if there was anyone else living here. Though, it's obvious there isn't. Kan, you're honest and good. You'll find out the world isn't like that anymore. We don't trust you, but we needed you to trust us." She sighs, like she's ready for this conversation to be over.

"Nadine was going to tell you that first day there wasn't a bite. I stopped her, glad I did. It distracted you quite a bit, which is what I was hoping. We probably didn't even need Kale to show you a little attention." Harley chuckles, looking at Nadine. I can't help but feel a wee bit naive.

Kale was my distraction. I can't really complain, because I thought about doing the same thing to him. Doesn't matter that I couldn't bring myself to do it. I remember Bridget telling me anyone would want Kale. That must have been her way of throwing him at me. I almost laugh. She must have hated saying those words, but she played along. Kale had not warned me. I never really trusted him anyway. He told me they escaped zombies infiltrating their camp. Was that a lie too? I'm staring daggers at him, but he's too much of a coward to look me in the eye.

I swallow a lump, "Fine. I'll go. I would like to grab a few things first." I slowly shift, and hope it looks like I'm getting out of bed.

"You can take the crossbows, your pack, and whatever you can fit into it. Leave the books. Where are the keys to the SUV?" Harley commands. Blood rushes to my face. My heart pounds in my ears from rage. I take stock of Bridget, the only person still holding a gun to me.

I jerk my crossbow out and point it at her. They aren't expecting it. They freeze for the second I need to reach behind me and grab the chain on the wall connected to the steel poles on the ceiling. My extra security measures meant for a horde of zombies would work in this situation all the same. I jerk it, but it doesn't do what I planned. It's stuck. I spare a quick glance at them and they're looking up, connecting the dots in their heads. I yank with both hands and the steel poles come loose, along with the cinderblocks the poles hold. I scramble out of the way as a pole hits Bridget right in the head, then, a big crash follows as the room collapses, knocking all of them down even Kale. The bastard.

Quickly jumping out of bed, I maneuver around a dust cloud to pull a box from under the counter. I flip the small trap door up, and throw some canned goods into the box. Rhonda the Honda is packed for this emergency, but I need to take as much as possible. Knowing one day I would need to escape quickly, I just thought it would be from zombies, not people. Leaving the books what I need to know is memorized and written down in my notebook I grab my laptop with my iPod already attached. The laptop charger jerks out of the generator surge as I put them in the box before slipping on my pack.

My eyes tear up from the dust, and I know I'm going to start sneezing any second. I put my crossbow on top of the box and heft it over my shoulder. I turn to head up the steps and notice Kale beginning to stir. He's by the steps, so he didn't get the brunt of it. I look at Harley and Nadine. They are out. Mother fuckers. I can't see Bridget. I don't want to stay around to nurse them.

"Wait," Kale gasps as I look down into his eyes that are spirals of apologies.

"Fuck you!" I push him down with my boot.

Going through the back door of the house, I grab a photo from the counter. I'm not going anywhere without it. In the garage, I grab the keys from a spot hidden among garage tools, and stuff the box in the back of Rhonda the Honda. It's been a while since the SUV was driven around the block. I hope she starts.

The white SUV was packed years ago with necessary essentials in case I had to make a quick getaway. Jugs of water, a box of dry food, canned food, several five gallon containers of gasoline, blankets, a pillow, clothing for all kinds of weather, rubbing alcohol, bandages, simple toiletries, and DVDs for the player that drops down in the backseat. I really don't need the latter. I doubt there will be lounging and watching movies anytime soon, but being twenty when I packed, my priorities were a bit skewed. I don't bother to pull out any non essentials for lack of time.

Placing my pack and crossbow in the passenger seat, I walk around to the front of the Honda to unlatch the manual garage lock, and lift the door with both hands it doesn't go all the way up, but enough for Rhonda to get through. I climb in and start her up. She purrs like she was purchased yesterday.

Rolling down the driveway, a hand smacks my window. Kale. "Wait."

With my crossbow pointed at his face, I calmly hit the button to roll the window down. "Move a long, Kale. I don't want to kill you. I need to get out of here," I say blankly, not allowing certain thoughts to run through my mind.

"I know you're angry, I would be too! They would have killed me, Kan. I know that's your question right? Why didn't I tell you? I wanted to, so bad. I don't even have a gun. I was with them for safety when we got away. They kill and loot to get what they need." He's breathing heavy, and blood drips from his face. "I'm not just pretending with you. Please, take me with you."

If he would have said this yesterday, I would have done something about it. Like Harley, Kale underestimated me. "You should have told me. You didn't."

"They could have killed us. I'm sorry, but we need to hurry." His statement makes me sad. I turn my crossbow around and hand it to him.

"Go to Birmingham, Kale. You need to get away from them, but you can't come with me. I don't trust you." I look into his eyes, and for some reason I wish he would smile. He must have read the seriousness on my face. He gulps. I roll up my window and drive away.

Chapter 8.

Steaming with anger, I pull over to a gas station to pace and think, not knowing why I'm so reluctant to leave. I didn't forget anything. I hope Kale makes it to Birmingham, even though I don't feel sorry for stranding him. After everything, I was beginning to trust him, even if only a little bit, but he betrayed that trust. He omitted telling me the truth. If he really liked me, he could have warned me, and I could have done something about it. He didn't, and there's nothing to do about it. There's nothing I want to do about it.

I'm ready to travel, and don't need to stay isolated. The past couple of days are proof of that. Not willing to do that to myself any longer, I know will fight with the best of them. I don't know if I want to find people, or just head straight to Clarksville. Right now, leaving is not an option when there's unfinished business.

Still pacing, I watch the sky for signs of a storm. It's overcast, fitting my mood well. I'm not going to let them live in my parent's house. My memories are there. Having a plan and revenge to keep me company, I wait until dusk. The wind blows, but not too hard. I don't think it will rain. Good.

I park about a half mile from my neighborhood near the little Toyota I ditched less than a week ago. I don't want anyone to see from the upstairs window, if they're watching. I'm assuming they think since I have the Honda, I won't come back. I giggle to myself, sounding a little manic, and hope they're nursing bad headaches. Knowing they probably are gives me satisfaction. After grabbing my extra pistol crossbow, I walk through the fields instead of taking the road. In the neighborhood, I walk between privacy fences for cover, and wonder if Kale stayed around. No time to think it will only slow me down.

When I approach my neighbor's house, I stop to listen. It's dark; twilight barely lights the sky. Peeking around the corner, I can't make out anyone in the window, and decide to chance it. I dart to the back fence bordering my yard, and head south, following the trench of the ventilation system. Smoke rises from the end of it. Amateurs. The first night and they're already making mistakes. I remove my T-shirt, leaving me in just my sports bra, and shove it into the release hole. This is only a distraction. The smoke has nowhere to go, so it will fill the bunker. I make a mad dash toward my family's house.

I sneak around to the garage, and by luck the door is still open from my escape. Going in slowly, I hear a commotion underneath the floor, confirming they're below. Instead of going by way of the kitchen, I tip toe through the formal dining room into the master bedroom. Removing the two bottles of tequila from my pack, I pour half of one on the bed. It takes a minute for the tequila to chug out. Lighting it with a lighter, it goes up in flames instantly. I watch to make sure it still catches after the alcohol burns. I open the window so the air will feed the fire. Dry things, like my parents oak furniture that hasn't been polished in four years, will feed the flames too.

I dump the other half of the alcohol on the couch in the living room. I light it and move on to my bedroom. After opening the window, I dump half of the second bottle over the bed and carpet. I'm moving into the kitchen when raised voices roar up outside. They've realized the house is on fire. I glance in the living room the dry furniture caught fire quickly. There's a pang in my heart, but my dad would be proud that I'm doing what I need to.

I soak the counter and floor the best I can and pull a rag from my back pocket. I put it on the counter to soak it before setting it aflame. The blaze travels across the counter and drips in little fireballs onto the floor, helping the fire spread. It sounds much cooler than it is, because it happens in a split second. Flames lick across the ceiling from the hall and living room, with smoke filling the house. I'm quite satisfied with the job. Sweat beads down my abdomen from the heat. The smoke billows thicker; I need to get out of here.

I race out of the house and pull my crossbow strap over my head so I can carry it by hand. Flames shoot from the window of my bedroom. Imagining my white washed bed burning and black with char, I inhale the smoke. Yelling and shouting commences in the backyard. Feeling elated, I race through the privacy fences. It's dark, but I'm worried about the living dead. The fire will attract them more than me. I bump into something, and it grabs me. "Ah, shit!" I stumble, swinging up my crossbow.

"Kan?"

"Yo," I say, relieved to see Bridget and not a zombie.

I'm trying to calm my breathing, so when she sucker punches me in the face, I'm surprised. "You bitch! Where's Kale?" she demands. That must be her favorite question. I automatically rub my cheekbone, where she hit me. It probably won't bruise because it doesn't hurt. I look at her through the darkness. From my view, she looks insane, as if she's related to Leatherface.

"How the hell should I know? He was on the floor when I left," I lie.

"You have him! You set the house on fire!" I take the chance to pistol whip her with the grip of my crossbow. She drops to the ground.

"I hope the zombies don't get you," I say to her unconscious body as I kick it gently to make sure she's out, wishing she could have heard my sarcasm. Being knocked out twice in one day has to suck. I freeze and listen. Dead quiet, not even the sound of the house fire.

This time, I move more cautiously. I stop, look, and listen every few yards. An opening comes up, and I make a run for it, my legs setting a fantastic pace. My endurance running is finally paying off. Spotting Rhonda, I slow my pace to a jog. Making sure no one is around, living or not, I climb into the driver's seat. I sit there for only a moment to calm myself. Blood pounds in my ears. Lingering smoke and tequila fill my nostrils as adrenaline courses through my veins. My lips curl into a smile. The only thing that would make this night more perfect is if I had killed some zombies.

Driving through the deserted town, there are subtle signs of outbreak. Not much different from my neighborhood. Gas stations with wrecked cars broken glass glitters on the concrete. Scorch marks from burning bodies of the living dead scar the sidewalks. Overgrown trees have made their way into power lines no longer trimmed by city workers. The heaviness will eventually cause them to fall to the ground. The poles will break like toothpicks into the roads. Middle median landscaping drapes into cracked streets.

I hit the interstate at a break neck speed. As the adrenaline wears down, so does my body, and my situation hits me hard. What am I doing? I just burnt down my house. If I had real guts, I would have shot them all, even Kale. But no, I had to make a dramatic exit and burn everything I know and love to the ground, leaving them alive.

After driving about twenty miles, a rumble rises from the pit of my stomach. I haven't eaten all day, and thinking about what I've done brings on the shakes. I shouldn't be hard on myself, I did make the conscious decision to leave it just came a few days earlier than expected.

Stopping on the side of the interstate in complete darkness, I dig through a box for a can of something and a can opener. I suck down the metallic flavored creamed corn, already feeling a bit better and thinking clearer. Just in case Rhonda the Honda has alerted any nearby zombies, I need to keep moving.

My eyes get heavy and I start to drift. Turning on the iPod, I blast music to keep me awake. Rain splatters the windshield, and soon it is pouring, complete with thunder and lightning. Before I get to close to the big city, I veer off the interstate to find a semi-secluded spot by an old department store. Hoping the storm hides the sound and warmth of the SUV, I climb in the back and sleep.

When I wake up, I can barely see the dawn's light because old, rotting zombies surround me.

Chapter 9.

I usually get excited about seeing zombies, loving the chance to get up close and check them out. Then do my duty and kill them. Looking out the window, I can't make out how many there are. Rhonda is rocking slightly from them trying to get in, but all they can really do is push. Since they're old, getting out of this situation should be a piece of cake. As long as I don't have to get out of the car, I'm going to be fine.

I climb to the driver's seat and start the engine, sending the zombies into a frenzy of jerky and unstable movement. I resist the urge to sit and study them as if I'm in a biology class. With the gearshift in drive, I punch the gas. Several zombies are piled like a cheerleader pyramid on the front hood, and I can't see through the windshield. The initial launch dislodges a couple of them, and Rhonda thrusts up and down jaggedly from running over a few.

I hold the steering wheel straight and pick up speed. There is a street ahead somewhere. Looking for the road, the car bumps up in the front, hitting a curb. Jostling up and down in my seat, I'm starting to relish this joyride and my lips stretch into a wide grin. I jerk the wheel to the left sharply. Rhonda lurches where I want her to go without flipping over, and more zombies tumble off to the right. Blood sprays from that direction as old zombies splat on the pavement like gory water balloons.

Two zombies still hold tight to the hood, their fingers in the space between the hood and windshield. A mouth bites at the glass directly in front of me. It's lost a few fingers from trying to hold on somewhere along the way. I pick up speed before slamming on the brakes, effectively dislodging it. Its remaining fingers rip off, and it slides feet first to the ground. The other zombie hangs on, creeping toward my side. I put the gearshift in reverse. When I hit the gas without looking back, Rhonda shoots backwards in response. I feel rather than hear several meaty thuds as she knocks zombies away. I hit the brakes again. I can see enough to get out and fight them. It's not worth the risk of crashing into a tree.

Just as I aim my crossbow at the zombie and watch it closely as I get out, a large arrow goes straight through its head, and it explodes into chunky pieces. I blink to make sure I didn't conjure that in my mind. Nope, brains still decorate my windshield. I peer out the window, even though the arrow came from the other direction. Zombies litter the ground. Some have arrows through their skulls. I should just turn around and leave, but I want to see who shot the arrows.

The first thing I notice upon getting out of Rhonda is the rancidity. The strong stink of decay hits my nose and the back of my throat. The blood and chunky bits all over the car make it worse. It's like the smell of the two old zombies from my ventilation system, but a hundred times worse. Unsavory bile from my stomach helps mask the taste. The smell is overpowering. My face scrunches and my mouth waters along with my swirling stomach.

I'm still battling the nausea when more flying arrows grab my attention. They take down the approaching zombies. The archer is very well hidden. I lift my crossbow and shoot my own zombie, and the larger arrows subside. My arrows are much smaller than these, which are meant for serious big game hunting. The larger arrows are always harder for me to aim and still hit a target. Though they are much better for long distance shooting, I still stick with my pistol crossbow.

After the zombies are down, I step out to retrieve my arrows from the rotting flesh. The bow hunter is already doing the same thing. I freeze and stare. Dawn is near, so I see him clearly. He can't be mistaken for anything but a man. His profile makes my breath catch.

Black leather boots under frayed jeans hold a zombie head down as he jerks an arrow out of the skull. His arms flex when he wags gooey bits from his arrows.

I can't see his face, but he is tall, much taller than me with broad shoulders and wavy brown hair tied back with a dark green bandana. His hair shines golden brown as it blows in the wind, caressing the compound bow strapped to his back.

A large arrow holster hangs by his side. The hunting bow goes from the back of his knees to a few inches above his head. The biggest bow I've seen, making me think it is custom made. The wind blows in the other direction, and his hair whips across his face. It barely brushes the tops of his shoulders.

This guy is locked, stocked, and loaded with a big gun tucked into the front of his jeans. When he looks up at me, I feel like a deer caught in headlights, but only for a moment. Harley's words echo through my head, Those thighs are thick and meaty. The world just isn't what it used to be. I escape his gaze. Knowing this guy is helping me, but not caring to know his motivation, I hop into the SUV and hit the gas. The wheels get caught in sticky blood, but finally catch the traction I need for a hasty U-turn.

I bound down the road, peering into the rearview mirror. The last thing I see is morning sun glinting off suntanned shoulders, and boot treads running in the opposite direction.

Chapter 10.

I'm cruising down the highway at break-neck speed. The state of Tennessee took good care of its interstates, and the roads still offer a smooth black surface with fading white lines. The terrain here is mostly hills and valleys. In eastern Tennessee, mountains dominate the landscape, but here, an evergreen variety of trees line both sides of the road, with a few maple trees scattered about. I pass a barn with "See Rock City" painted on the side. You can't see the oncoming traffic because of the heavily wooded expanse that runs through the middle. About forty minutes into the ride, cars on the highway begin to pile along the shoulder. I notice no piled cars going the other direction, as if survivors wanted into the city, but weren't leaving. In my experience with the outbreak, the more people who died in one place, the more zombies you found. If I run into some, I hope they will be old and slow. Luckily, I haven't encountered any of the wicked hungry ones Kale spoke of.

The sun shines brightly, and a flock of buzzards catch my attention. I pull into a grassy thicket next a wooded area just beyond the right shoulder of the highway. I eye the pile of vehicles on the shoulder for any movement, and sniff to check for a trace of decay in the air nothing but fresh air and spruce.

The buzzards screech as I approach the edge of the wooded area they circle and dive. A dull groan cuts through the air. I pause as one of them dives at the sound, and when the wind blows, I smell the zombie before I see it in the thick grass. It's incapacitated and directed at the birds, and its arms flail around. Walking to face it, I can tell it's been trying to crawl into the woods, away from the sun. Another bird lands a few feet away, but when the zombie moves it flies away.

"They're confused." My voice draws the attention of the zombie, and moves its arms toward me. I'm surprised there aren't any wounds from birds pecking at it. Surely there would be, stinking like it does.

The buzzards wait for it to die, not knowing that it's already dead. By the number of them, they have been waiting a long time.

Back at the Honda, I slip on my pack and grab my crossbow. A familiar nagging pulls at me as I tread back to the zombie. Sometimes, I feel as if there is more to zombies than meets the eye.