Dicked by Daryl

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Book One

The Cocking Dead

Jill peeked through the windows of the house where she'd taken refuge from the undead. She knew she had to stay quiet, lest the walkers hear her inside. Her breath, her voice, even her thoughts were muffled from the masses walking through the streets and streaming through the neighborhood.

She'd chosen this house, the two-story antebellum beauty, based on the large fenced yard and great vantage points. The dead didn't try the gate, they wandered out and away from her stronghold.

The house was empty when Jill found it. Maybe the owners had fled? Jill liked to think they'd been on vacation when the panic started. Maybe they decided to stay on a sunny beach somewhere, free from walkers.

Jill had been holed up in here for weeks, eating all the good food. But it wasn't all good times. Her stores were low and she didn't think she could go another day without the good hummus, not this knockoff shit these people kept on hand.

Reluctantly, she shouldered her North Face backpack and prepared to go in search of food. She waited until night fell and crept across the yard, the high grass tickling her ass. Her shorty shorts kept her movements free and allowed her to express at least some of her pre-apocalypse style. Armed with a crowbar, she was ready to get the choice hummus and return in triumph.

She slipped through the bars of the fence, shimmying through a hidden spot she'd cut as an escape route if shit hit the fan. Tip-toeing through the woods, she saw a patch of walkers in the moonlight, milling around down on the main road of this neighborhood.

She turned her back on them, heading away from the obvious danger, and maneuvered through the neighbors' back yards. When she'd gone two houses over, she stopped, eyeing the brick house and trying to figure out if these people had good enough taste to store the right hummus. Glancing around, she decided to take the risk, and opened the sliding glass door to the patio.

The door slid on its rails, only giving a slight squeak. She winced at the noise, but didn't hear any shuffling or moaning, so she darted inside. Clicking on her flashlight, she surveyed the room. Living area, nothing amiss. She kept to the wall and made her way to the kitchen. She wrinkled her nose at the granite - clearly builder grade.

Still, the décor was bearable, so she hoped there was good hummus lurking in the pantry or the fridge. The pantry was well stocked, so she grabbed a few essentials - tater chips, Cheetos, Mountain Dew - before giving up hope for the good hummus. Guess I'll have to go next door.

She zipped her pack and slung it across her back, the smooth fabric cool against her shoulders, the thin straps of her skimpy tank top straining under the weight. She crept back the way she came and hopped the fence to the next yard. Moans carried on the air, the street full of more walkers than Jill could handle. She eased to the back door and peeked into the dark interior.

There, on the wall, she made out a star of David gracing the mantle. Moonlight striped along the symbol. Jill smiled. My people. They don't skimp on the hummus.

She tried the door handle. Locked. Frustration welled inside her. She knew, goddammit, knew there was good hummus inside. And she would not be denied. She glanced around, fully aware of the walkers only twenty yards away. But desperate times call for desperate measures. She gripped up on her crowbar and knocked out a window pane closest to the handle. She winced at the sound and the tinkle of glass and hurriedly reached through and popped the lock. Once inside, she closed the door and remained still for minutes. Her breathing eventually evened out and she calmed as no walkers came rushing to the door.

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