Don't Get Dead | TWD | Volume 1

[1] Breaking and Entering

Housebreaking was easier than I expected. The task only got easier the more I did it, to the point where it seemed almost effortless. It helped that the town was empty, and it looked like nobody would be coming back any time soon. House 18 was the next victim—or, so I thought.

There was no car outside. Very few buildings in this town had a garage, and this wasn't one of those. When the military initiated the safe zone, everyone fled to Atlanta. Like us. One car I did find was a classic Corvette—a project someone had taken on, but it didn't even have an engine under the bonnet. I didn't have to be an expert to realise that it wouldn't work.

The house was only ten minutes from where I was staying, but it was much closer to the outskirts of town. Flowers were grown in the front garden, some purple and blue ones leaning against the red bricks of the building. A white fence enclosed the front garden.

I straightened the red bandana on my head, holding the hair back that fell from the low, messy bun I was keeping it in. The gate creaked open when I pushed it, the paint crumbling beneath my fingertips. Creeping up to the house, I dropped my yellow backpack on the ground. I stepped over to the window at my side and kneeled. My nose pressed against the glass; I hoped to peek under the drawn curtains, but the room was too dark. My hands cupped around my face, and I squinted as if it would help.

There was a crash from inside the room, and the curtains were swept aside in front of me. I hit the ground with a thud, a shriek emanating from my throat. I pushed myself back, my red converse trainers slipping against the ground.

A woman pressed against the window, slamming her hand down against the glass. She was growling and snapping, her head twisting in ways that seemed not human. Her ragged hair fell in front of her face when her body jerked to the side. A streak of dried blood curled down and around her arms from the source of a bite mark.

It was one of them.

The sick people.

I scrambled to my feet, almost tripping over as I grabbed my bag from the ground next to me. Before I could leave, I noticed a piece of paper held down by a ceramic flower pot. It was barely visible. I yanked it out, bolting away from the house.

She would have eventually broken through the window, and I wasn't going to wait around for that to happen. When I was far enough away, I opened the folded piece of paper. DO NOT ENTER! SICK INSIDE!

"Yeah," I panted. "No kidding."

I had to put it back, leave it somewhere more visible. If someone tried going into that house, they wouldn't know about the woman inside. They could make a bigger mistake than I almost did. I decided to pack it in my bag and see if there was a way I could leave it for people to see.

It had only been minutes before I returned to the house we were hiding in—number five. Pulling one arm from the strap of my bag, I twisted it around to the front of me. The keys were in the small pocket on the front of the bag. I entered the passage, locking the door behind me.

The walkie was still on the kitchen table, still disassembled. I haven't been able to find the parts for it, not even a replacement. Not yet.

Dropping my bag on the sofa, I headed upstairs to one of the front bedrooms. The canopy above the porch stuck out just under the windows. Sliding my fingers under the window, I lifted it open and climbed out onto the roof. It was later in the afternoon. The sun was setting behind the house; it left a nice shadow to sit in for a little while.

The canopy gave the best view of the street, allowing me to see down either end. I sat down next to the window, pulling my knees close to my chest. Part of me wanted to go back downstairs and get my iPod, so I didn't have to sit here and watch the shadows engulf the street in silence, but then I would miss all the action that happened out here.