All In A Day's Work

Chapter 2

I keep a box of ammunition for the Judge on a small shelf in the corner above where we keep the grunt of our weaponry. We have plenty of ammo for my little gun as well as the two, semi-automatic rifles leaning against the wall and the one strapped to Cliff's back. There are knives and machetes as well, but those are only used on the off chance we have to get close to a Zee. Other teams prefer to kill that way, but Cliff and I love the guns. They're quicker, cleaner, and not as risky as standing two feet from a walking corpse that wants to rip you apart.

I grab two bullets from the box and return to my leaning post. Cliff passes me a sideways glance and I know he has more to add to our morning conversation.

"You know, you're the only one who insists on using a gun like that." He's said this to me many times in the past and each time I ignore him.

"I like the way it smells." I say and slide the bullets into the cartridge.

"Because you're crazy."

"Maybe a little."

"Don't you know that guys don't like crazy chicks?" he teases.

"Then what do you call the five girls who will be waiting for you when we get home tonight? Last I checked, stalking is a form of crazy. Therefore, you are a guy who likes crazy girls." I argue with him.

"They're fans. You have them, too. More than I do, actually. You just don't pay attention to them which is rather rude if you ask me."

"I ignore them because I'm doing my job. Defending the Wall from Zees is nothing to be rewarded for in that way. A simple 'thanks' will suffice."

"And that merits you the title of crazy."

"Then I'll take it." I smile and look back to the meadow.

We're the only watchtower in this vicinity. The next one is either ten miles north or south of here. The Wall is to the east, behind us. We have a four person UTV parked in the dirt under the tower and the key is in my pocket for safety. Cliff has another key in his jacket pocket for just in case purposes. We're smart and talented enough to not let the just-in-case-purpose occur and neither one of us will drive back alone. We will, however, return to the Wall at dusk and head to the base. The night crew will take over from then on. We'll spend a couple of hours at the bar and drink our cares away. Eventually, Cliff and I will get cleaned up before heading to our separate homes to sleep in a cozy bed until dawn when we wake up and do it all over again. At least I'll sleep. Cliff will probably be wrapped up in one of his fans all night.

This is my life. Out here in the land we've deemed as the Dead Zone. This is where I'm most comfortable. Where I feel I belong.

It might have something to do with my upbringing. My father raised me out here. We lived in a treehouse cabin in the mountains outside of what used to be a city called Denver. There's not much left of that place—the city. The buildings fell years ago. The streets cracked and crumbled right along with them. I learned to shoot Zees in that dead city with my father and older brother. They taught me to hunt game in the forest beneath our home and I became a better shot than either of them. I never met my mother. She died shortly after I was born. Not by a Zee, thankfully. She got sick and they couldn't find the medicine to make her better. I don't want to get into that much because there isn't much to tell. My father raised me well on his own and, thanks of him, I am one hell of a survivor.

We left the cabin eight years ago when a horde of Zees was spotted near the city. There were a dozen of us, other than my family, and we were instantly outnumbered by the dead. All of us survived a two-week journey east to the Mississippi River and the Wall fifty miles farther. We've lived in harmony ever since. Dad works in the armory and oversees production of ammunition on one of the lines. My brother started a family and took a cushy job as a teacher in one of the high schools up north. I, the infamous Sly Fogler, chose to live life on the edge and join the fighters in guarding the Wall. Standing in a tower all day isn't for the faint-hearted and certainly not for someone who can't stand the sight or smell of blood. I don't mind either so this job is perfect for me.

"The weekend's coming up. Got any plans this time?" Cliff asks.

We've been out here for a few hours now. Noon is right around the corner. Our lunches are packed in the cooler in the corner. Dinner is too. He insists that we need to talk to make the time pass by or we might fall victim to insanity. At least, that's what Cliff claims. He might be wrong. I've dealt with silence for an extended period of time before and I did not go insane.

"I'm not sure." I say, getting back to his question. "I thought about working."

"Seriously? You'd join the weekend crew and camp out here for two days?"

"I've done it before."

"Yeah, but those guys suck. They always leave the tower a disaster that we have to clean up on Monday." He argues.

"Not with me around. I'm their superior and a couple of them are afraid of me."

"Afraid of you? Not so sure on that one. They might be lying." He jokes.

I shrug, "Lying or not, they don't act like apes around me. They actually behave."

He rolls his eyes and goes on, "You can't work your life away, Sly. One day you'll want to do something different or even take a post at the Wall. You know how fast someone like you would rise through the ranks at that place? You'd be a Lieutenant in no time."

"And sit in a cozy office, ordering people around, and waiting for something exciting like a horde or a group of bandits to show up. Maybe my unit would get dispatched. Maybe not. I prefer the towers. It's quiet and peaceful. Plus, I don't have to wait for someone to tell me when to shoot. I'm my own boss out here." I retort.

"If you say so, Sly, but one day you'll be begging for that office job and, when I'm in charge, you'll have to work for it." He laughs.

"New Metro will have really lowered the bar by the time they let you be in charge of anything."

"Hey, I am perfectly capable of rising through the ranks to be your superior. Then you'll have to answer to me and that will be a glorious day."

"In your dreams, my friend."

A twig snaps to the southwest before he adds another word. Just like that, our conversation must come to an end. It's time to get serious and focus.

Time to get back to work.

**Thanks again for taking the time to read Chapter 2 of this short, little zombie tale. Please let me know what you think in the comments and drop a vote if you'd like.