They say it's dangerous to go outside, but not if you're prepared.
I'm armed to the teeth. A shotgun, two handguns, various daggers, and a katana strapped across my back. The katana is my favorite. It's a beautiful weapon, a gleaming work of art as graceful as it is deadly. Unfortunately, it can only kill zombies when they get close enough.
I perch on the rooftop, eyeing the building across the street that used to be a thriving supermarket. The mother and daughter who sneak inside don't know I've been following them since I spotted them two blocks away. It's rare enough to see other people outside that I have to confirm they aren't undead, but zombies don't sprint from hiding place to hiding place like these two did.
They must be looking for food. That's the only explanation. But they must not know the supermarket is a death trap. Once you're boxed in one of the aisles by a horde of zombies, your chances of escape are close to nil.
I know this because it nearly happened to me.
I also know that zombies had entered the back of the store not long ago. The mother and daughter are in grave danger.
I enter the supermarket after the two women do. With the dirty floor-to-ceiling windows providing the only light, most of the store lies in shadow. I can't see the mother and daughter, but I hear them. They're loud enough to attract the undead.
I slither across the store toward the aisle they've entered. They're looking for canned foods. There might be some on the shelves that are still edible. It's only been six months since the zombie apocalypse, and some of the cans are good for a year.
The familiar sound of moans reaches my ears. They're coming from the back of the supermarket. Then I hear another set of zombies shuffling down the aisle near the center of the store. Not good.
I clear my throat. "Unless you want to be zombie food, I suggest that we get out of here fast."
The women whip their faces around. Fear shows in the whites of their eyes. The mother is older than I thought, in her mid-forty, although she may be younger than she looks. Surviving a zombie apocalypse can really age a person. The daughter is younger than I am, no more than thirteen or fourteen.
"Who are you?" the mother asks.
"We can chat later. We have to move now or we'll never get out alive."
They stuff two more cans into the bags that they each carry. Each is bulging with food. At least their trip will have been worth it. If they survive.
I wait for them to exit the aisle and follow behind.
We're too late. A group of zombies emerges from the middle aisle and head toward us. Their limbs are an uncoordinated mess as they try to pursue, which makes them slower than us, but they're closer to the doors. I can try to fight my way through, but there are too many.
"Try to find something to break the windows," I tell the two women. "I'll hold them off."
The mother puts her bag in a shopping cart and then runs the cart into the nearest window. The cart bounces off harmlessly.
Her daughter grabs a metal sign post that used to advertise a sale at the supermarket. She swings it like a baseball bat. A spider web of cracks appears in the window. The girl hits the glass again, and the cracks lengthen.
While they're trying to break the window, I'm unloading my shotgun into the approaching horde. Four zombies go down, but five times that number replace them. I take out my handguns and aim for their heads. I'm a decent shot, but only half of the bullets find their targets. I don't have time to reload and fire. I unsheathe the katana.
"Give me the guns," I hear the girl's voice behind me. "Let me help."
I don't have time to argue. I hand her both guns and spare magazines. She takes them and reloads the handguns without asking for directions. The girl knows what she's doing.
The first zombie is less than ten feet away. I swing my katana, taking its head off. The next one doesn't slow down despite seeing its companion's decapitated body. I sever its head too.
Next to me, gunshots blast in a rhythmic pattern. One by one, I see zombies fall with holes in their forehead. Whoever this girl is, she has better aim than I do.
Within a minute, the two of us dispatch the entire pack.
"Nice work," I say to the girl.
"Thanks." She hands the guns back to me.
I hold them for a moment before passing them back to her. "Why don't you keep them?"
Her eyes widen in surprise, and she is about to give me a big smile, but then her expression falls. "I won't have any use for them. I don't have any extra bullets."
The idea comes to me as the words leave my mouth. "I do. Why don't you join me? It's about time I had a partner."
A smile threatens to light up her face, but she turns to her mother first.
The older woman asks the same question she did before. "Who are you?"
"I'm Sara. I'm a survivor, just like you." I can't tell what she's thinking, so I add, "You're welcome too. There aren't many of us left, and we should stick together."
The mother nods. "Yes, we should." She takes her bag of food and slings it over her shoulder. "Lead the way, Sara."
The grin finally appears on her daughter's face. She grabs her bag too, and we head for the door. She tucks one gun in her waistband but holds the other in her free hand.
"It's best to be prepared."
I smile. We're going to make great partners.
