This book may not be recreated or copied and is the intellectual property of Megan Larocque. Most pictures have been edited by me for the purpose of this story but the originals were found via the internet and belong to their respective owners.
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Chapter One
As sunset loomed, Harley crouched near the roof's ledge just above the threshold of the derelict house and brought her thumb and index fingers to her mouth, whistling loudly enough to draw out any Screamers that might have been roaming inside. After waiting and listening intently, long enough to appease Harley's sensibilities, she scaled swiftly down from the roof and warily entered the long abandoned dwelling that was to be her shelter for the night.
She needed to find safe refuge because come nightfall, the Screamers would tare through the streets like locusts, hunting anything that moved and breathed. They were only slightly more docile and fewer in number during the hot Australian summer days but once the landscape cooled, all bets were off. Their bodies ran a permanent fever of which the added heat from the sun must have been unbearable for them so on the hottest days the witless creatures, most of them anyway, had just enough sense left in them to seek out dark, cool places like basements and underground car parks.
Harley moved quietly from room to room ensuring that the house was free of unwanted guests before rummaging through the kitchen for something to eat. Unfortunately yet unsurprisingly the house had already been ransacked. It was beginning to get more and more difficult to find food in the rotting city of Perth.
All too soon, Harley was alerted to the clanging sound of the back door's knob being jostled not five feet from where she stood. She made a beeline from the kitchen into the living room where she found a cramped closet and crawled inside, closing the door behind her. She listened attentively as slow, deliberate foot steps crept through the house. From the space under the door she could see a shadow approaching so she moved deeper into the closet, using the jackets for cover. Unbeknownst to her there hid a small, pull-along vacuum cleaner just behind her feet. Harley tripped over it, crashed into the back wall and fell to her ass with a thud. Of course she dropped the folding knife she'd had for protection while she was at it. There was a painful moment of silence as Harley felt around desperately for her knife. Unsuccessful, she thought it poetic that after everything she had survived, a fucking vacuum cleaner, of all things, would be her unfortunate undoing.
The closet door was wrenched open suddenly and Harley found herself feverishly hitting and pulling at a hand that had reached in and grabbed her by the strap of her backpack. She was dragged out of the closet and looked up to see the inside of a barrel.
"Are you alone?" a breathy, low pitched voice interrogated.
Harley's focus shifted upward to the face of the man who held a gun to her head. He had dark hair and a short scraggly beard which crawled down his neck. His eyes were dark, nearly black and wide with surprise and caution, the same as Harley's. It had been many months since she had seen another survivor and it was because of this that seeing a person, a real person, suddenly felt surreal to Harley like an alien encounter. He scanned the living room and up the stairwell fastidiously before repeating, "Are you alone?"
"I'm with a group of men. They'll be back soon," she lied.
The man glanced toward the family room, "Back from where?"
"Supply run," answered Harley easily.
"There aren't supplies anywhere near here," tested the man.
"Try telling them that"
The man was thoughtful for a moment, "What are their names?"
Harley answered, "You wouldn't know them"
The man gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, "Humor me"
Harley paused, only for a split second before she answered, "Joe, David, Peter and Greg"
The man studied Harley's expression, "We'll wait for them," he said before he reached down to grasp Harley's arm, lifted her from the floor and walked her over to a love seat. Before he had her sit he tore the backpack from her shoulders. "Hey!" She protested and reached out for it. The man pointed his gun at her once more so she backed off. "Sit," he demanded and she complied.
The man sat on the sofa directly across from Harley keeping his gun pointed at her tentatively with one hand and working to unzip her backpack with the other.
He was searching for weapons but instead found a flashlight, half eaten bag of sunflower seeds, an empty water bottle, a polaroid camera, a change of clothes and some other seemingly useless junk.
"They're not nice men," Harley began, "You should probably make a run for it.. For your own sake"
The man ignored her comment and plopped the backpack down on the cushion beside where he sat.
The waiting game commenced. Harley knew that no one was coming for her but she hoped the man might lose his nerve and leave before he figured it out. She chewed on her fingernails and rocked her leg anxiously, awaiting her fate, whatever it might be. She had been lucky up to that point, having never been successfully caught by other survivors. She knew well to keep hidden as they could be just as dangerous as the screamers, perhaps even more so in some ways. She'd seen and heard some disturbing things when there were still small groups roaming around.
The man looked tired, brushing his hand over his face with his free hand but kept vigilant of Harley nonetheless.
Thirty minutes elapsed and the last rays of sunlight receded to make way for nightfall. The world was much darker at night than it had been when there was still electricity.
"I don't think your friends are coming," the man observed, breaking the silence.
"They are," Harley tried to convince him.
Sitting forward, the man rested his elbows on his knees, "What were their names again?"
Harley was quiet for a moment before she answered, "What does it matter?"
"I'd like to know what to call them when they get here"
She hesitated, "Joe, Greg. . ." Harley couldn't remember the names of her fictional friends.
The man called her bluff. It was silent between them for several long moments.
"You gonna rape me?" Harley asked, unwilling to play the fool.
The man furrowed his brow, "No"
She took a breath in through her nostrils, "Have you got anything to eat then?"
The man gazed at Harley for a moment before he lowered his gun and dropped his head, giving it a slight shake. He placed his gun down next to himself, leaned forward and removed the backpack from his shoulders. Rooting through it, he pulled out a can of green beans and a can opener tossing them one at a time over to Harley. She opened the tin and shoved her fingers inside, grabbing as many green beans as she could and stuffing her cheeks ravenously. She hadn't eaten anything apart from sunflower seeds and Tic-Tacs in three days.
"My name's John"
Harley glanced up at the man named John, "Cool," she replied disingenuously with a full mouth.
John let out a breathy chuckle and rested back into the sofa, "Listen, I'm gonna to need you to stay put for tonight but you're free to leave in the morning"
"Why's that?" Harley asked, knitting her brows together.
John looked out the window into the night, "Safer for all parties involved"
A few hours later, or so Harley estimated, she awoke from a dreamless sleep. Not having planned on doing so originally, the timing for her was beneficial nonetheless as John was very much unconscious, his soft snores gently adding a tune to the midnight quiet.
Harley sat up from the loveseat and watched John carefully for quite some time before she stood and began treading gently toward where he lay.
But just as Harley was closing in on her backpack the sleeping man pointed his gun in her direction.
Harley was startled and jolted back in surprise.
"You can have your things back in the morning. No sooner," grumbled John.
Harley put her hands up in defeat then turned back toward the love seat, "Fine mate. You win"
Despite her apparent resignation, Harley would, indeed, try to get her things so she could leave twice more before the night was finished.
But John was a light sleeper, conditioned through his years alone out in the dying world to always be alert in his surroundings. Harley never stood a chance.
A few hours later, after Harley had finally given up trying to escape and fell back asleep, John was rudely awakened to the hideous howling of several Screamers as they ripped through the street outside the house, hunting for food.
He rolled quietly off of the couch and onto the floor for cover. Screamers weren't smart by any means but they knew enough to peer into windows on their hunts, which was just one of the many disturbing tendencies the diseased creatures regularly displayed.
The sun had just begun to rise, illuminating the living room and John looked over to Harley just in time to see her slink off of the love seat and onto the floor next to him.
It was just then that he took note of this girl's unusual appearance.
For the most part she looked ordinary. Light blonde hair, button nose, petite frame. She was pleasant to look at, if John was being honest, but when it came to her eyes, he couldn't help but stare. The color of this girl's irises were an impossible shade of violet or perhaps amethyst, he couldn't decide and at such a close distance John immediately determined that these were not contact lenses. Not to mention it would be a strange and seemingly pointless accessory to sport given the state of things.
John gazed incredulously at her unearthly feature until she noticed and he averted his eyes, realizing he was gawking.
Deciding to err on the side of caution the newly acquainted pair kept still long after the Screamers had passed, only sitting up once they could feel the heat of the sun seeping in through the window.
John rummaged through his backpack, found a can of peaches and offered them to Harley.
"Where'd you get this food from?" She asked suspiciously.
"Boarded up store on the edge of town"
She reached over to accept the can but as she did so, John noticed something unsettling and snatched her wrist with his free hand, halting the donation.
"You've been bit?" He asked in disbelief, staring at a set of pearly scars in the shape of teeth, unmistakably human teeth, wrapped around her lowest thumb knuckle.
"A few times," Harley clarified as she pulled her hand away.
John looked her up and down, "You're not infected"
"Guess not," She shrugged.
John gazed at her speechless while she proceeded to open her can of peaches.
"Have you done anything about it?" He pressed, finally finding his words.
"Like what?" Harley asked with her mouth full of fruit.
"You're immune to the virus and you never thought to tell someone? Seek out a scientist or epidemiologist or- Anyone?" John questioned becoming increasingly tense.
Harley swallowed her mouthful, "Nah"
"Why?" John prodded, looking increasingly flustered.
"Even if I had, it wouldn't have mattered. It all happened too fast"
John shook his head, "Safeguards would've been put in place to protect scientists and laboratory installations in the case something just like this happened. Right now there could be scientists, researchers- doctors waiting for the breakthrough that'll end all this"
"Damage is done, mate. There's no coming back from this," Harley said carelessly before popping more fruit into her mouth.
John argued, "What if the remaining survivors could be immunized? It would stop the spread, the infected would eventually die out and everyone left could begin to rebuild"
"How many survivors have you run into on your travels recently? Because you're the first one I've seen in about six months. This is the end of the line, mate. Accept it," Harley retorted.
"I would've agreed with that sentiment yesterday, but today.. everythings' changed," stated John, his features shifting into that of a man with a new, shiny mission.
Harley put the can down, "Nope. Gotta go. Thanks for the peaches"
She stood from the floor, reached for her backpack and slipped it over her shoulders as she dashed out of the room toward the back door.
"Wait!"
John hurriedly tossed his supplies into his backpack, got up and chased her out the door but when he stepped outside she was nowhere to be found. He spun in a circle, dumbfounded. He knew he was right behind her. There was no way she could have disappeared that quickly.
A flash of white drew his eyes upwards and there she was, running up to the roof's peak then down the other side. John sprinted around to the front of the house, "You can't really be this selfish," he argued as Harley jumped easily onto the roof of the neighboring house. John chased her from below, "If there's even a shadow of a hope, of possibility- isn't that reason enough to try?"
Harley stopped, glancing down toward her pursuer, "Hope is a dangerous thing, mate"
"What's the alternative? This? Hiding and starving and suffering and then just death?"
Harley took her backpack off and sat down on the warm shingles, "That's life. It is what it is"
"Why not shoot for something better? If there's really nothing left to be done, well than at least we tried"
Harley unzipped her backpack and pulled out her beloved polaroid camera. She brought the lense up to her eye and snapped a quick photo of John, earning herself a confused and annoyed expression in response.
Harley put the camera down and rose to her feet, "You'd better come this way," she pointed as she walked to where she wanted John to go.
Just then he heard a blood curdling shriek erupt from behind and turned to see three screamers galloping up the street toward him. John nearly tripped over himself as he turned to sprint over to where Harley was pointing.
"Climb the fence!" She demanded as she got down onto her stomach and reached out for him. The screamers barreled toward him, screeching demonically, their black, muddy mouths oozing down their chins and necks. In a frenzy John climbed the fence and reached for Harley's hands just as all three screamers descended upon his legs and feet.
Harley wrenched him upward as he kicked furiously to keep the screamers from biting. She managed to help lift John high enough that he could hook his fingers onto the ledge of the roof and slowly pulled up while Harley assisted by wrapping her hands around the straps of his backpack and heaving upwards with all of her strength. Once John got his elbows onto the roof he was able to get a leg up and then the rest of his body.
He and Harley sat on the warm, asphalt shingles catching their breaths as the screamers continued to shriek and thrash rabidly below not yet realizing they'd lost their meal ticket.
Harley was quick to recover as she soon stood and padded over to where she'd left her camera before helping to save John's life. She yanked the film out of it and shook it to speed the development.
John got to his feet and walked carefully over to Harley to see what she was doing.
Snorting, Harley handed the photograph to John so he could see her handy work.
It was of him standing with his arms spread out in exasperation and not the slightest clue that three Screamers were advancing from behind.
"You knew they were there before you took the picture"
Harley scrunched her nose, "Would've been a boring picture if I'd warned you"
"You're mental" John said in disbelief, shaking his head.
Harley pulled the film from John's hand and gazed at it once more in adoration, "Yeah, this is my new favorite"
Soon after John found himself traipsing behind Harley from one rooftop to the next, trying as he might to have a conversation, "What's your name?"
He was ignored.
"Look, I get why you think that there's no one out there. Honestly, the odds are you're right," John paused, "But there's a chance, however small, you're wrong and if you are than we have a real shot at changing things"
Harley rolled her eyes as she continued to move forward, waiting for the right oppurtunity to ditch John. She wanted to be left the hell alone. She had always been alone and liked it that way. She didn't trust this man or his motives and if he was being sincere she thought he must be out of his goddamn mind. Everyone was dead, at the very least, everyone who was important. The world was dead too so why go to the trouble? She had never really been a part of it anyway.
"Could you just talk to me?" John implored, sounding a little annoyed.
Harley's chance to escape John came in the form of a tall apartment building with a fire escape stairway winding up the side wall. The jump was going to be a close one but Harley had faced worse odds and won.
Without hesitation she broke into a sprint, gaining momentum and then leapt off of the rooftop and reached out desperately for the railing.
Lucky for Harley she had the hand grip of a coconut crab and grasped on without trouble as her legs swayed freely below her. Harley swiftly pulled herself up and hopped over the railing, glancing up to see John standing on the rooftop across from her.
"I can't make that jump," he confessed.
"Good," Harley replied before expeditiously descending the fire escape stairs.