Alive Again: A Zombie Apocalypse in a Dystopian World · BOOK 1 by Piperbrook T.W

Author:Piperbrook, T.W.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Post Script Publishing
Published: 2021-10-18T16:00:00+00:00

16

Worst Fears

A girl slinks through the junkyard. She’s tall and thin, with long, black hair. She’s in her teens. Her dirty face is streaked with tears, and her lips quiver as she creeps past refrigerators and car parts and bicycles, whimpering. Her clothes—once stylish—are now a catchall for dirt, grime, and blood.

None of the details interest me as much as her wounded leg. A patch of blood seeps through her jeans. The girl’s hands are stained red from where she’s touched it. I salivate, envisioning the soft flesh beneath her clothes. Only layers of fabric separate me from a hard-won meal.

Only that and twenty feet.

I break from behind a wrecked automobile and run, barely aware of the shattered glass crunching under my torn shoes or the screams of fright erupting from the girl as she bolts. All thoughts are replaced by the innate urge to feed, to catch her and bring her to the ground, to rip and tear and claw until she stops struggling.

I’m one of the smaller ones. Normally I must fight off my competition to get a piece of whatever I’m chasing. But not today. I’ve found the girl by myself, and I’ll reap the rewards alone.

I dart over a smashed toaster oven, a cracked flatscreen TV, a pile of newspapers, barely registering the function of those objects, my sights focused on my prey. She screams. Her hair whips back and forth over her face. She limps and cries out as she maneuvers around mounds of trash that were once troves of treasure, her instinct to survive as strong as my urge to kill.

I let out an unintelligible screech. My shirt catches on the broken mirror of a Chevy, but I rip it free, cutting my arm in the process. I ignore what should be pain.

The girl is ten feet away. I close the gap.

Whether she’s weak or tired of fighting, I’m not sure, but the result will be the same. I’ll feast on her until my stomach feels bloated and my jaws are tired of chewing.

The girl reaches for something on the ground. I fall to four limbs, climbing over a twisted motorcycle, then leap.

I’m mid-air when the girl spins, brandishing a broken bottle. She’s too late. I collide with her, knock the bottle from her grasp, and hear it smash harmlessly on the ground. The girl shrieks as I topple her and pin her to the ground, tearing her clothes, revealing the prized flesh beneath.

As I lower my head to feed, I catch a glimpse of myself in the girl’s eyes. My hair is long and tangled; my lips are full and red, stained with the remnants of previous kills.

My name is Hannah Evans.

Or it used to be…

Because I’m dead again.

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