“pickled”.
“Ma’am, do you drink?”
The woman shook her head and replied, “No, I’ve been sober for fifteen years.”
Harley hung her head. “You’re probably infected, ma’am. They got you, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m sorry.”
The woman shook her head, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I can’t become one of them.”
Harley had thought that the apocalypse would be cool and that she would have fun staying one step ahead, but after encountering several reality checks like this one, she despised the world around her. Her eyes wandered to the opposite window as she searched for an answer in the dark, hollow cityscape.
“Kill me,” the woman pleaded.
Harley's gaze snapped back to the desperate woman. “Ma’am, I can’t-” she stammered.
“I watched my husband and seventeen year old son kill each other because of this illness. Everything I lived for is searching for the brains of the living. Please…kill me,” the woman begged.
Harley began to tremble. She nodded, a wave of nausea passing through her as she pressed the muzzle of her gun up against the woman's forehead. Harley hadn't killed a living person yet. The shot echoed through the city, and the woman collapsed to the ground. Harley was only able to drive a few yards before she had to pull over and throw up.
“Never again,” she muttered, using her thighs to support her upper body. “Never again.”
Righting herself, Harley contemplated patrolling on foot, she liked the way the gentle morning breeze caressed her face and the Cadillac was not a stealthy car. However, the low, distant howl of the undead scared the zombie huntress back into the SUV.
Pixel was sleeping contently in the passenger's seat despite recent events. Driving along the deserted back roads and alleyways, Harley began craving an order of Fast Fries potato cakes. Harley nervously toyed with her chin length hair. She knew it was for the best, but it was hard to get used to.
Rounding the corner, Harley encountered her first Sandy’s Beach walker. Someone, or something, had broken its jaw on one side. He limped with outstretched arms. When he caught sight of the Escalade, he let out a distorted howl.
“N’aahww fuck,” Harley grumbled.
She stopped the car and grabbed a knife from her stash in the glove box. Hoping that her plan would work, Harley jumped out of the car and ran at the lethargic automaton. The knife ripped through the decaying flesh and struck the bone. Harley tried not to panic as the walker flailed his arms, barely missing her face. The overwhelmed girl whipped the gun out of her waist band and ended the thing's misery.
It wasn’t even lunch time and it had already been an eventful day.
Harley retrieved the knife from the corpse. Looking at the blade, Harley let out an exasperated sigh. She hadn’t accounted for the fact that small, self-defense knives weren’t sharp enough to cut through bone. She slid into her car and continued to drive.
*****
The White House, Washington D.C
The White House was equipped with wall-to-wall security. None of the infected D.C. civies would get to the president or his family. As President Abernathy walked down a hallway to the kitchen to request some food, he passed a conference room filled with hushed whispers. The man stopped and crept closer to the door.
“I can’t believe this has gotten so out of hand,” a deep voice
“Ma’am, do you drink?”
The woman shook her head and replied, “No, I’ve been sober for fifteen years.”
Harley hung her head. “You’re probably infected, ma’am. They got you, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m sorry.”
The woman shook her head, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I can’t become one of them.”
Harley had thought that the apocalypse would be cool and that she would have fun staying one step ahead, but after encountering several reality checks like this one, she despised the world around her. Her eyes wandered to the opposite window as she searched for an answer in the dark, hollow cityscape.
“Kill me,” the woman pleaded.
Harley's gaze snapped back to the desperate woman. “Ma’am, I can’t-” she stammered.
“I watched my husband and seventeen year old son kill each other because of this illness. Everything I lived for is searching for the brains of the living. Please…kill me,” the woman begged.
Harley began to tremble. She nodded, a wave of nausea passing through her as she pressed the muzzle of her gun up against the woman's forehead. Harley hadn't killed a living person yet. The shot echoed through the city, and the woman collapsed to the ground. Harley was only able to drive a few yards before she had to pull over and throw up.
“Never again,” she muttered, using her thighs to support her upper body. “Never again.”
Righting herself, Harley contemplated patrolling on foot, she liked the way the gentle morning breeze caressed her face and the Cadillac was not a stealthy car. However, the low, distant howl of the undead scared the zombie huntress back into the SUV.
Pixel was sleeping contently in the passenger's seat despite recent events. Driving along the deserted back roads and alleyways, Harley began craving an order of Fast Fries potato cakes. Harley nervously toyed with her chin length hair. She knew it was for the best, but it was hard to get used to.
Rounding the corner, Harley encountered her first Sandy’s Beach walker. Someone, or something, had broken its jaw on one side. He limped with outstretched arms. When he caught sight of the Escalade, he let out a distorted howl.
“N’aahww fuck,” Harley grumbled.
She stopped the car and grabbed a knife from her stash in the glove box. Hoping that her plan would work, Harley jumped out of the car and ran at the lethargic automaton. The knife ripped through the decaying flesh and struck the bone. Harley tried not to panic as the walker flailed his arms, barely missing her face. The overwhelmed girl whipped the gun out of her waist band and ended the thing's misery.
It wasn’t even lunch time and it had already been an eventful day.
Harley retrieved the knife from the corpse. Looking at the blade, Harley let out an exasperated sigh. She hadn’t accounted for the fact that small, self-defense knives weren’t sharp enough to cut through bone. She slid into her car and continued to drive.
*****
The White House, Washington D.C
The White House was equipped with wall-to-wall security. None of the infected D.C. civies would get to the president or his family. As President Abernathy walked down a hallway to the kitchen to request some food, he passed a conference room filled with hushed whispers. The man stopped and crept closer to the door.
“I can’t believe this has gotten so out of hand,” a deep voice
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