A World Alone (ON HOLD)

Chapter 1 - Blackacre

The sound of gunfire jolted Malcolm out of his sleep. He sat bolt upright, paralyzed with fear. Had something or someone gotten through the walls again? He scrambled out of bed, the sheets tangled around him making him stumble and hit the floor hard with both knees. Grabbing the metal pipe he had hidden under his bed, he stumbled to his feet and ran out the door. While yanking the front door open he saw a blur of his reflection in the mirror hanging in the hallway; scruffy brown hair sticking up wildly and wide terrified blue eyes set in a pale gaunt face.

Outside on the street Malcolm stopped and looked up at the wall surrounding his small town, Blackacre. A fifteen foot wall, haphazardly designed with a mixture of brick and wood circled Blackacre, and was still standing, judging from the parts of the wall that Malcolm could see. He looked down the street to the metal gates that guarded the entrance to the town. There were no monsters snarling or clawing at the gates, which he took as a good sign. But the gate and the walls were good at keeping monsters out, however the others could get over them without much difficultly.

Malcolm raced to the town hall which also doubled as Blackacre's armory. He passed house after house and occasionally saw terrified faces, peering out from behind the curtains of windows and the cracks of doorways, but no one dared to leave their homes. The door to the armory house was wide open but before Malcolm could reach the stairs his friend, Adam, appeared in the doorway, holding a pistol, his dirty blond hair was plastered to his face, as though he had also just ran, like Malcolm. His green eyes glanced around wildly, and he jumped when he noticed Malcolm at the foot of the stairs.

"What happened?" Malcolm asked.

"I don't know. I heard a gun go off, but only one pistol is missing from the armory," Adam said. "Maybe someone saw something coming, ran here to get a pistol and they've took care of it."

Another gun shot went off followed by the sound of someone screaming. Both Malcolm and Adam raced off in the direction it came from. The sounds came from the town's small park where they found the youngest of the town, Jaime, and one of the oldest of the town, Trent.

Trent was a man in his mid to late thirties; Malcolm had met him and his brother, Sean, a month after the outbreak began. When Malcolm had first met Trent he had had cropped black hair and a fresh, young face, but the past five years had aged him horribly, his hair had grown wild and unruly and since the death of his brother, just a year ago during an attack, his green eyes had taken on a wild and deranged look.

Trent was stood with a pistol in his hand, while Jaime was glaring up at him. Jaime's eyes were red and his hands were clenched into shaking fists at his sides. Jaime was twelve years old but he was short for his age and his round, baby face and sticking-out ears made him appear much younger. Jaime had been orphaned during the last attack.

"What the hell is going on?" Malcolm demanded.

"Nice pajamas," Trent said.

Malcolm looked down at himself, he had ran out still in his red checked pajama bottoms and gray t-shirt and hadn't even bothered to put shoes on his bare feet.

"Bite me," Malcolm snapped after too long a pause.

"What happened?" Adam asked, trying to put an end to the two of them bickering before it got worse.

"This little shit was trying to sneak off with this," Trent said, waving the pistol in the air, "but he fired it and I caught him."

"I didn't mean to fire it!" Jaime insisted. "It went off on its own! It was an accident!"

Malcolm's rapid pulse had begun to slow down, relief spread through him that they weren't being attacked again, until Adam asked," Well, what was the second gunshot?"