We're Still Alive(Book1)BEING REWRITTEN

Four

Senoia, Georgia

      Gavin was laying on his back on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. It was almost one in the morning. He didn't care, though. The last few weeks had been stressful, with him in his last year of high school. He'd been going to sleep at 8 p.m. and waking up at 6. He spent most of his spare time studying for finals.
      It didn't matter, though. It was over and done with. He had the house to himself for the weekend; his parents had gone to Columbus, Ohio, for his aunt's wedding.
      He closed his eyes and drifted into sleep. When he woke again it was barely noon. The sun was shining through a window into his eyes. He jumped suddenly when he heard a gunshot, not far from his house.
    "No...I've been working too hard. It's probably a firecracker or something. Or I'm just hearing things." He muttered to himself. As he did another gunshot rang out, this one further away. At that, Gavin jumped out of his bed and ran to the window. The first thing he noticed was the people. There was so many, probably the whole neighborhood. A few of them had guns. The ones that didn't had other weapons; axes,crowbars, he even saw one with a sword. Then there were the others. Most of them were running at people, besides the injured ones, who didn't even seem to mind the bone sticking out of their leg, or the fact that one of their feet was missing as they limped along.
     There were also cars scattering the road. The ones that weren't crashed or flipped were speeding down the road. Gavin flinched as a red pickup truck crashed into a power pole just across the street. He thought about helping, but was distracted when something jumped at the window, chewing and clawing at the glass. He recognized the person right away; it was his best friend, Isaac, who lived just down the street from Gavin. Except it wasn't Isaac, not anymore. His blank eyes watched Gavin hungrily, and he never stopped scratching at the glass. His skin was pale, and he had a chunk missing from his neck. He looked almost...dead. Alive but dead. Closing the blinds, Gavin backed away from the window.
      "This can't be happening," he repeated to himself, sitting back against the bed, "It can't be happening..." He could hear Isaac outside, still trying to get in. And then what? What happened when he got in? What would do then? He remembered how dead his friend's eyes had looked, how pale his skin was, and the bite in his neck. Then he remembered the others like Isaac, chasing people.
      "Zombies." He muttered to himself, "No, that's stupid, this can't happen..." He put his head between his knees and covered his ears, trying to block out the noise, trying to block out Isaac, the constant gunshots, the echoing screams. It didn't work, though. He still heard everything, right down to the sound of the glass cracking. His head shot up. The glass was cracking. He stood up and looked around frantically for something,  anything to block the window. That was when the glass shattered behind him. He ran out of the room and slammed the door behind him. A few seconds later he heard a thump on the door. After just a second's thought, he ran down into his basement. Once there, he dashed to an old gun case sitting in the corner. He wasn't going to try his luck outside with just a knife or an axe. He tried to pull it open, but as he did he saw the small padlock on it.
      "Locked, locked, locked..." He muttered to himself as he searched around the basement. After just a few seconds he walked back to the gun case with a hammer. He stepped a few feet away before throwing the hammer at the case, shattering the glass. Reaching around the jagged edges, he pulled out a gun, an old Winchester rifle. He felt thankful for his dad's shooting lessons as he pulled out a box of bullets along with the gun. A loud thump upstairs reminded him of Isaac, still attacking the door. Holding the gun in one hand and the box in the other, Gavin sprinted up the stairs and ran into the kitchen. He threw the two of them on the table and ran into the laundry room. He remembered that he had thrown his backpack in there after slipping in a puddle of mud a few days before. Picking up the bag, he dusted off most of the dried mud and ran back into the kitchen. Throwing the bag by the gun, he searched through cupboards and drawers, pulling out any food he could find that wouldn't rot away easily, mostly canned food. There was no way he was staying in the house. Stacking them in a pile on the table, he took two  water bottles out of the fridge. He had to leave, to find his parents. He also pulled a soda bottle out of the garbage, then washed it thoroughly but quickly before filling it with water. He would need these supplies, in case he couldn't find anything on the way there. After all that, he stuffed the bottles and as much of the food as he could into the bag, loaded the gun, then gave one last look at his bedroom door, which had started to splinter and split.
      "Bye Isaac," he whispered before slinging the bag over his shoulders and  walking to the front door. He took a ring of keys off a hook by the door, looked out the peephole, making sure no one was in front of the door, then yanked it open and ran out.
      Instinctively he ducked at the sound of the gunshots, which were a lot louder now that he was outside. Running low and close to the side of the house, he made his way to the garage. Pulling open the door, he ran in and jumped into the car, an old Cadillac that had been his parents'; they'd given it to him when he got his license. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and stuck them in the ignition. Hearing the familiar rumbling as the car started up, he pressed on the gas pedal and backed out of the garage.
      He had to drive a lot slower than he was used to. As he drove down the road, he tried to ignore the noise, keeping his eyes locked on the road in front of him. Half the time he wasn't even on the road; he had to drive in yards to avoid wrecked or abandoned vehicles. He couldn't help but notice that there weren't so many people anymore, weren't so many gunshots. The only people he saw couldn't even be considered people, except for the ones that were still screaming as others dug into them like Christmas dinner.
        He decided to take the back roads, hoping they would be less crowded. And they were. There were a few cars here and there, more than usual, but nothing like the busier streets. He pressed down harder on the gas pedal, speeding the car up. After a few minutes he started to relax. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he used the other to throw his bag into the passenger's seat. He kept the gun by his side.
      He didn't know where he was going. He hadn't even thought about it. To find his parents. That thought had crossed his mind. The only problem was that he had no idea how to get to Columbus. He would just follow the road. Maybe he could find someone who'd help him. He didn't bother to slow down at stop signs or intersections. If what happened in his neighborhood had happened in other places, then there wouldn't be a lot of people on the roads. Not a lot of normal people, anyway. He did sometimes pass the zombies, wandering aimlessly down the road. When they saw him they'd run after the car, but they quickly fell behind.
      Gavin smiled to himself despite the situation as he thought of the word. Zombies. Walking dead people. If anyone had told him days before about what was coming, he never would have believed them. He still thought it was kind of stupid. Any minute now, someone would drive beside him or stand in the road, far enough ahead to that he'd have time to stop before hitting them. Then they'd all laugh at how he'd fallen for one of the best pranks of the year. 
        It was almost half an hour later when the car started to sputter and slow down. No one had come to tell him it was a prank yet. Gavin was driving through farmland at the time, passing nothing but fields, barns, and a few houses. He pulled the car over at one of the houses and stepped out, the rifle gripped tight in his hand. He walked up the porch steps and up to the door of the house. He noticed that there weren't any cars or trucks around the house, and when he looked through the window, the house looked dark and empty.
      He knocked on the door and called softly, "Hello? Anyone in there?" No answer. He tried the doorknob. It didn't turn. Locked. He checked under the doormat and around the porch, places you'd expect to find a hidden key. After a few minutes of looking for something that wasn't there, he sighed and turned around. There was an old barn just across a small field, and it looked like it hadn't been touched in years. He circled the house to the back yard, where he found a shed. It looked old like the barn, but the countless footprints around it indicated that it had been used recently. He decided to check the barn first, hoping there might still be animals in there.
     It was a fairly short walk to the barn. As he stepped up to the doors, Gavin noticed how one seemed to be hanging on its hinges. Carefully, he pulled open one of the huge doors. Immediately he was overwhelmed by the smell of old hay and dust. He stepped into the dim barn, lit only by the sunlight shining through the open door. He walked farther in, passing what looked like stalls for horses or cows, and an old tractor sitting in a corner. In another corner there was a ladder, probably leading up to the loft. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, Gavin grabbed on to the bottom rungs and started to climb. He stopped suddenly, though, when he heard sniffing. It sounded like an animal, a raccoon, he guessed. He started climbing again, slower this time, to the loft. Once he got up there, he saw what was making the noise. He saw a glimpse of it, anyway, before it ran behind a stack of wood near the back. Gavin took the gun off his back and crept closer. He didn't plan on using it, but he would if he had to. Crouching on one knee, he peered into the woodpile. He heard a small growl, and saw a flash of red fur. It was a fox. He held his hand out to the pile. The fox hissed, but it didn't attack. Instead it crawled out to the edge of the pile and watched him with dark eyes.
     Gavin smiled and stood back up, looking around the loft. Besides the pile of wood, there was a roll of chain-link fencing and old hay strewn across the ground. Looking back at the still hidden fox, he climbed  back down the ladder. He started walking towards the barn door but froze when he heard a noise outside. It sounded almost like a groan and a growl mixed together. Gavin held the gun tight and lifted it to his shoulder. He stepped slowly toward the door, holding a finger lightly over the trigger of his gun. Suddenly the growling changed to a screeching sound as a woman bolted into the barn straight at him. Surprised, Gavin pulled the trigger. He stepped back when the recoil hit, but the woman barely reacted to the shot, slowing down for only a second. Gavin quickly aimed and shot again. This time she dropped to the ground.
     Breathing heavily, Gavin walked up to the woman. He kept his gun ready, finger held over the trigger. The first thing he noticed about her was the blood. There was a lot surrounding her mouth, and then her chest where the first bullet had hit.
     'How was she still running after that?' he wondered. The bullet must have went right through her heart. The second bullet had went through her head.
     "So, head shots," he muttered, "aim for the head to kill 'em, I guess. This really is turning into a zombie movie." He stepped around the woman's body and looked cautiously out of the barn. There was no one in sight. He ran out of the barn and through the field until he reached the house. He noticed a new car parked in front of the house. She'd been driving. Meaning that she'd had to have been normal before he saw her. He could also see the large streaks of blood smeared across the side of the car and the insides of the windows. She was normal, but not for long after she'd parked. Looking past the windows, he saw the keys, still in the ignition of the car.
     "She had to have had keys for the house..." he walked around to the driver's side of the car. The door was already open. There were blood streaks where the woman had dragged herself from the car. Gavin reached into the car, careful to avoid the blood, and pulled the keys from the ignition. There were only three keys on the ring, including the one for the car. Holding the other two, Gavin walked up to the door of the house. He tried the first key; a second later, he heard the click and opened the door.
     He stepped inside the house and closed the door behind him. He looked around. He was standing in a living room, with older-looking furniture and a T.V. Walking farther in, he also found the kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. One looked like it had been used a lot; the bed was a mess, and there were pictures lining the walls. The second bedroom looked more empty; bare walls, made bed, no dressers or shelves anywhere. Gavin walked over and sat down on the bed. It wasn't 'till then that he realized how tired he was. He thought about what might happen if others showed up. It would be best to stay up and watch out for other people, or even try to move on, to find other normal people. But the bed was so comfortable. He laid down, deciding that he'd rest his eyes for a minute. He found himself dozing off, though, and soon he was asleep.