Bailey MillerMature

Bailey stumbled out of the trees, wishing luck had not decided to turn its back on her today. She had been walking for two and a half months, going from village to village in search of survivors. There had been two. They had been bitten. She had killed them. They had only been four and five years old.

Living like this made you desperate and pitiless. Even mad. Bailey had witnessed one survivor, clothes torn to shreds, covered in grime and gore, stumble out raving like a lunatic. He had promptly been  bitten.

She stopped to flex her ankles and shoulders. They popped painfully. That's when she heard it. Bailey froze. Guns, multiple guns were being fired in the town the road she stood on led to. She whipped out her shot gun and loaded it swiftly. A few zombies stumbled out of the trees.

Stupid abominations.

Blood and flesh bits now adorned the old pines. Bailey reloaded, rested the barrel of the gun on her shoulder, and wearily stepped forward into the mess.

Mess was an understatement in the extreme. Zombies flopped and floundered like mad fish, jerking and falling everywhere. Bailey heard the gun shots, and ducked into an old post office, breaking a window to get in.

One zombie in the back. No big deal. She was fast enough she could kill it with a wicked-sharp extrra-long hunting knife so she didn't waste ammo. So she did. It fell and she kicked its rotten, grotesque body out of the open back door and shut and locked the door. Her hardy, long over-worked boots were covered with layers upon layers of stains.

She sat by the dusty window, knowing there were much, much too many zombies to fight off all at once. Bailey started searching for a spot where she could pick them off two by two without getting in too much danger. There was always the danger of getting surrounded but if she found a good spot, there wouldn't be that danger.

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips and she tucked a strand of long, straight blond hair behind her ear. She tugged her knit cap down over her ears and licked her dry lips. She hadn't been able to find chapstick anywhere. It was her other mission, along with eradicate the zombies and find survivors. Her lips sorely missed chapstick.

Suddenly, she found it. The perfect spot. All Bailey would have to do is go through all the zombies.

Uh, nope. Not gonna happen. Bailey checked the back door. Crap. Crap!! Zombies were already at the back door. What had she been thinking? The zombies would of course find her in an enclosed space. A dark, cold, enclosed space.

Bailey drew her knife calmly and held a hand gun in her left, the knife in her right.

"Come on. What are you waiting for?"

The End

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