“Breathe in, breathe out. Shoot.” 

The arrow aimed straight at the squirrel that was perched on a branch 30 meters away. A new record. The arrow whistled between trees. Judy smiled when her furry target plummeted off the branch and onto the blanket of snow.

“All right Cooper, I’ll be right back,” Judy said to her brown thoroughbred horse. 

Judy made her way down the small hill made of one foot of freshly laid snow from the night before. The first snowfall of the season. Her long, unwashed auburn hair, which she had in a high ponytail, waved in the wind chill. Growing up in a small town located near Creede, Colorado, Judy was always prepared for the harsh winters and scorching summers. She picked up the deceased squirrel by its bloody tail and proceeded to pull her carved arrow out of its body. 

She tied the squirrel on the three-foot thread among other bloody furry carcasses that she carried over her shoulder, then made her way back to Cooper, climbing over the small hill.

“Cooper! I got Atlan’s favorite!” She untied Cooper from the tree and hopped on her loyal steed. The sounds of branches breaking made her immediately aim her crossbow toward the source, like a natural reflex. She looked around and waited. From a distance, she could see a figure slowly creeping behind the trees. She knew what it was. She didn’t want to waste any more time as dusk was approaching. She needed to return to the safehouse before lockdown.

“Heeyah!” said Judy, as she pulled the horse’s bridle. 

Cooper neighed and turned towards their destination: home. It was a twenty-five minute ride to get to the safehouse. The night sky began to fall as she saw a light coming from the cabin’s living room. She immediately hopped off Cooper and tied him inside the secured garage that was connected to the cabin. She made adjustments for Cooper’s safety to prevent the “biters” from reaching him. She quickly pulled out a few apples and carrots, which she left in a small pile near her loyal companion.

“Goodnight, boy. I’ll see you in the morning!”

She ran up the staircase of the hidden cabin and burst through the front wooden door.

“I TOLD YOU TO ALWAYS LEAVE THE CURTAINS CLOSED. AND YOU DIDN’T BARRICADE THE FRONT DOOR! DAMN IT, ATLAN, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?” Judy shouted, peering over Atlan as he was kneeling next to the fire with two blankets covering him. 

A malnourished, pale-faced young boy who had his hoodie over his head, Atlan, 11, had their mother’s freckles across his cheeks and shared the same auburn hair as Judy. He gave his older sister his useful “innocent eyes.” He hated making Judy upset at him for his irresponsibility.

“I’m sorry, Judy… I forgot. I’m sorry, I truly am,” he said, his voice cracking from fear. 

She dropped her book bag and crossbow near the windows. Judy closed the blinds, shut the curtains and put a black sheet over the windows, making sure not an ounce of light would escape into the dense forest and attract any biters, like moths to a light. She made her way to close and lock the front door. One by one, she locked all ten deadbolts and then barricaded the door with a three-inch-thick wooden plank.

She kneeled in front of him and hugged her brother. 

 “You’re all I got left. If something ever happened to you… I’d…” Judy looked down. “Just do what I ask you. Okay?”

Atlan nodded. 

 “Promise?” said Judy, as she stuck her pinky out to him. Atlan twisted his pinky over hers.

“I promise,” Atlan returned as they both smiled at each other.

“Good. Now, look what I found!” Judy held up her victory dinner like a trophy.

“Squirrel? My favorite! Wow! I can’t believe you found one!”

“I know! It’s been like two months since we last had it. It’s not as full as the last one, but it’s the taste that we’re looking for.” Judy got up from the floor and made her way to the kitchen just a few feet away. “All right, I’m going to get this prepared. Can you grab the scroll? I’m going to need the knife.”

“Sure thing.” Atlan ran and dug into Judy’s messy bookbag. He pulled out the leather knife roll, a precious heirloom that was handed down to her by their father. Atlan used both his hands to hold it cautiously and carry it onto the kitchen island. He knew how precious this item was. Judy dried her wet hands on a kitchen rag.

“Thanks.” Judy gently unraveled the scroll, one of the few items of value left behind from their father. She grabbed the six-inch boning knife by its wooden handle and observed it, making sure all the specs were still in mint condition.

It didn’t happen often that she would have a flashback of her father. This particular knife, her father used for cutting meat, but he had taught her many things other than butchery.

He taught her how to use a crossbow by the age of 7. And then taught her how to correctly hold and aim a pistol, shotgun, sniper, by the age of 10. Aside from raising her as a cowgirl on a 50-acre open land in Colorado, her father taught her useful tactics to use in the wilderness.

Judy had been homeschooled by her mother up until the age of 15, but that stopped the year that the world had changed around them. A virus referred to as Nemato had spread globally in a matter of weeks. It turned the people you loved the most into cannibalistic fiends. Nations and their governments collapsed, as “safe camps” were placed in cities by martial law. That only lasted for a few days, until the camps were overrun with the infected. The mysterious virus affected millions of people, one of them being Judy’s and Atlan’s mother, Grace.

After her “transition,” George, their father, required his children to refer to him by his first name. His ideology could be seen as extreme, but he wanted to help his children toughen against the world that was quickly changing around them. A world that was more vicious, more dangerous, more terrifying.

The rugged man with a full beard and a deep scar across his face was a Vietnam vet, drafted in ’72. He had many wrinkles across his face for only being in his mid-40s. George wasn’t a man of words and would never display his love for his children. 

When the biters started to roam amongst the living, George made the decision to take his children into the wilderness. He knew the best chance of survival was for them to barricade themselves in their wooden cabin high in the Colorado mountains until everything calmed down. But the virus never subsided.

George’s combat experience helped whenever he was faced with a zombie. His only weakness was his left knee, wounded in Vietnam. It caused George to limp painfully whenever he was on his feet for too long. He was aware that he needed to take matters into his own hands and train his kids in weaponry and combat more aggressively. For 10 months straight, he trained his kids closely. 

George felt…knew…that although his children were still kids, they had the talent to be masters in surviving the hell-forsaken new world. Not because of the months of training, but simply because they were his. His blood ran through their veins, and he latched onto every bit of that hope. 

When they needed supplies, George would go into the nearest town, taking Judy and leaving Atlan behind in the secured cabin.

But on one occasion, he decided to bring his younger cub to learn the process of a successful supply sweep. 

“Okay, Judy and Atlan, you know the plan. I go in first. You stay outside until I give you the sign that it’s clear. While you’re out here, you are each other’s eyes and ears. Don’t forget that. Go on instinct. If something isn’t right, relay it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Judy and Atlan said simultaneously.  

George walked cautiously into the once-bustling gas station, almost an hour away from their cabin. Not a sign of life was left behind. The front door’s window was broken.

His dark brown, steel-toe boots made crackling sounds with each step he took through the dead leaves piled near the entrance. If a biter was inside, surely, they would have run towards George’s intentional sounds. He waited for just another moment. But no sound of a biter, living person, or animal was heard.

The coast was clear, and George put his hands together as he blew into a small hole between his thumbs. What came out was an exact sound of a Boreal owl. A party trick he learned from his best pal during the war, Randy Cooper, who was only 19 when he died in George’s arms. 

Judy and Atlan knew that was the signal to come inside. Their flashlights brightened the room as they entered. Atlan opened the bag as Judy began to clear all of the packaged and canned goods off the shelves. George, four aisles away, gathered the medical and hygiene products they needed. A few minutes into their scavenging, Atlan began to bounce. 

“Judy, I have to pee! Here!” He passed the half-full bag to her.

“Right now? I told you to go before we left!”

“Sorry, but I’ll be fast, I swear!”

“Just hurry it up! AND BE CAREFUL! Eyes and ears around your surroundings at all times,” George said as he made his way behind the front counter, hoping to find ammunition.

“Yes, sir.”

Atlan made his way to the entrance door to pee outside but stopped in front of the bathroom. He had left his flashlight behind with Judy and could barely read the bathroom sign in the darkness. He thought it’d be safer to use the bathroom inside, away from his sharp-shooting family. He began to unlock the several latches on the door. Hearing the noises, George and Judy lifted their heads. 

“Atlan? Are you making those noises?”

“Yup! Don’t worry, it’s me.”

“What are you doing?” George shouted from the front of the gas station.

At the same time, Judy reached to grab the flashlight from the shelf but dropped it. Picking it up, she felt a cold thick substance all over the handle. A reddish-brown substance dripped from her fingers. A big puddle of the same substance was beneath her feet. 

“George!” Judy yelled.

Atlan struggled to twist the knob to open the bathroom door.

Judy followed the tracks of blood that turned around the aisle. She stopped in front of the reach-in refrigerators, but her flashlight continued to follow the long trail, ending near the bathroom door. Judy’s eyes widened as she realized what was on the other side of the door. Atlan was still trying to open it, pulling the door as hard as he could. 

“Atlan! Don’t!” Judy screamed.

George ran towards his kids.

“Atlan let go of the damn door! Now!” George cautiously pointed his gun at the door. Atlan let go of the door immediately.

“The door won’t open anyway!”

BOOM!

The bathroom door slammed open. Biters. At least eight biters reached for Atlan, who fell onto the floor. Atlan wore a face of pure fear; every bit of training disappeared from his mind. Atlan, the baby of the family, cried for his father and sister. 

“Atlan! No!” Judy screamed as she walked and fired shots from her pistol, which only had three bullets in its chamber. 

Her shots struck the heads of three biters, but their lifeless bodies landed on top of Atlan, pinning him.

At the same time George fired his only two shells from his shotgun, successfully hitting two biters. The biters’ dismembered parts flew across the room. He ran towards Atlan to pull him from underneath the carcasses as the remaining three biters aimed their jaws at him.

Hearing their gunfire, biters who had been wandering in the forest began to come into the gas station one after another, quickly turning into a horde. 

“Dad!” yelled Judy as she tried to fend them off with her steel bat.

George killed the remaining three biters and kicked the carcasses off his son. Inspecting Atlan’s body for bites, he put his hand on his son’s cheek. His kids didn’t notice how emotional their father’s face became from the relief of not finding bite marks on Atlan. 

“Don’t you forget what I taught you, son!” George pulled his machete out and gave it to Atlan. Atlan nodded as he grabbed hold of the sharp weapon and wiped the tears off his face. George grabbed a tomahawk he found near the front counter, once used for the gas station’s Native American décor. 

“Judy! Make your way to the back door! There’s too many in front of me!” 

Dozens crowded the gas station’s front door. Windows broke, one by one. The biters were hungry, thirsty, and famished. After starving for months, their skin was gray. Some had missing limbs, most had deteriorating faces. 

Judy knocked out biters one by one as she got to the back door, which was locked from the outside. She used her bloodied bat and swung at the entire window. It broke, and she reached to unlock the back door, but it needed a key. She stared back at her brother and father. There was no way they could all escape with the number of biters coming in all at once.

George read her eyes and knew there was something wrong. There was only one way out. And one of them wouldn’t make it. For first time in many years, George gave a smile to his children. He knew he would become the sacrificial lamb to keep off the biters as his kids escaped. The horde was surrounding him. 

“Atlan! Judy! Go! I’ll catch up!”

“No, Dad! There’s too many of them!” Atlan said, holding the machete as a sword but making no effort to wield it. 

“I said go! I’ll meet you back at the cabin! Listen to what your sister tells you! She knows best. Judy! Look after your brother at all times until I come back. The both of you, never forget what I’ve taught you. Now go!”

“But Dad!” Atlan yelled.

Judy grabbed Atlan’s arm, yanking him away. George was still wielding his tomahawk at the heads of the biters. Judy lifted Atlan and practically pushed him out the window. She put one leg out and looked back at her father. There were too many. She saw the biters’ hands grab onto him and pull him down like a wave. Hands that dug into his skin. The biters surrounded him, and he disappeared from view.

“Dad!” she screamed and sobbed.

“Judy!” Atlan screamed from the outside. As he pointed, some of the swarm began to make their way towards the back of the gas station. As she jumped out the window, a piece of glass stabbed her thigh. Judy screamed. Atlan put her arm over his shoulder as she limped, and they made their way to Cooper.

A crowd of staggering biters swarmed after them into the forest. Cooper neighed in fear.

“You first! I’ll push you up! Hurry!” Atlan said to his sister.

She screamed in pain when trying to put her leg over the saddle. Atlan pushed her buttocks for support. He ran to unleash Cooper from the tree. Atlan had barely swung his leg over the saddle before biters lunged at Cooper’s tail. 

“Hiya!” Judy yelled out as Cooper began to gallop amongst the trees.

Holding tightly onto Judy’s hips for stability, Atlan turned to look back at the gas station. The swarm was still making its way inside. Tears began to fall down his bloodied cheeks. He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing. He was terrified to ask Judy the question.

“Judy… Dad isn’t coming back… is he?”

Judy sobbed. He felt her body shake. They both knew the answer to his question. She gripped onto her brother’s hands as the twilight sky beamed its colors across their defeated faces. They wept uncontrollably.

BANG. BANG. BANG. A loud sound came from the front door.

“Judy!” Atlan yelled out. He was sitting on a stool against the kitchen island, observing her with eyes of fear. She hadn’t realized she had drifted off into her memories again.

The dead squirrel lay flat on the kitchen island in front of her. She was still holding the boning knife. She looked at her brother. She mouthed to him to run and grab the pistol. She made her way to grab the shotgun that sat on the mantel. They both aimed at the door.

BANG. BANG. BANG. 

“Who is it!” Judy yelled as she pumped the shotgun’s forend. Atlan stood only feet away from her, aiming his pistol toward the door.

Atlan walked swiftly toward the windows. Leaning on the wall, he used his two fingers to draw back the blinds discreetly. 

“It’s a man…” Atlan whispered. “It doesn’t look like a zombie.”

“How can you tell the difference?” she whispered back, still aiming at the door with her Remington 870. 

“Help! Please!” a man’s muffled voice said from the other side of the door. 

Judy and Atlan looked at each other with shock. They hadn’t come across another living soul since their father. How had someone managed to find their cabin deep within the Colorado mountains? A list of questions hit Judy’s mind.

“What do we do, Judy?” Atlan asked, lowering his pistol and eagerly waiting for her answer.

The mysterious man’s pleas continued as the siblings nervously looked at each other.

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Featured image by emily stephens