Jack dug through his pack and counted cans.
“Damn” He whispered, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
Four days of food left if he restricted his calories more than he already was. Getting hungry would mean getting desperate and he would end up dead. It seemed everything in this new world meant death was close all the time. He hated the thought of leaving the farmhouse for supplies but he knew he couldn’t stay here forever. Two weeks holed up in this farmhouse, somewhere in western Virginia, was wearing on his nerves. Everyday the house felt smaller and the dying cornfields around it more menacing.
The house belonged to the only other people he’d seen since he came here, the farmer and his wife. They were at peace now and buried in the front lawn. Jack felt bad about burying them in the same hole, probably worse than he felt about killing them, but the dry soil made digging tough work and besides the noise could have drawn more of them.
Every damn day it seemed like there were more of the bastards wandering around in their straw hats and overalls, their faces hidden behind fluffy beards and corncob pipes.
A sudden tapping at the window made him jump. Christ, there was one at the kitchen window. "GO BACK TO HELL FROM WHENCE YOU CAME YOU FILTHY BEAST!" Jack said, pulling out his shotgun.
One blast and it was dead. The noise might attract others, but there was still room in the hole for a few more.
Things could have been different, of course. The senseless killing could have been avoided. If he had just scanned the radio frequencies, or even flicked through the stations on the old TV in the corner of their living room, he would have known. This was no killer zombie death plague. Turns out, that's just how people from western Virginia are.
Opening: Bill Collins.....Continuation: Jon Marable/Anon.