"Ow, dammit," Vincent hissed as a spark from the two wires coming together shock the tips of his long fingers. He tried it again and this time was rewarded with the purr of the engine coming to life. He twisted the wires together carefully before raising up to a standing position. He leaned over the steering wheel of the sedan and looked at the gas gauge. Half full. Or half empty, as he preferred to put it. He frowned and shook his head to himself as he tossed his backpack into the passenger seat and climbed in.
As he sat down, he reached for the ignition while he shut the door, then pulled his hand back. The car was already on because he had hot-wired it. There was no key. It was probably in the pocket or purse of its dead owner, where ever they were. Vincent sighed, gripped the steering wheel and put the car into drive, pulling out onto the straight lane.
He'd walked pretty far. An intersection was now visible at the end of the road, but it was still quite a ways away. He pushed down the gas pedal, putting the car into fifth gear, and sped down the lane. That was one good thing about the apocalypse. Going as fast as anyone wanted, it was a blast. Vincent had always enjoyed going fast, especially on motorcycles. But he still preferred cars. He reached the intersection just a few moments later and pulled the car to a stop.
It was a T intersection, so going forward wasn't an option. To the left, there were more empty fields and the river. To the right, hills and some buildings. Eventually, it would lead to a small city. What city it was hardly mattered anymore since everyone was . . . not living. Dead didn't seem like the right term, because it was more like living dead and that term just didn't make any sense to him. The car idled at the intersection as Vincent struggled to come to a decision. Cities would be filled with tons of corpses, but the rural area was open and unprotected from any wanderers. Not to mention that there might be a chance of finding no food. A river was just as useless as a tree unless you had a boat of some sort, so there was no point in considering anything positive about it.
He moved the wheel to the right and began to drive in the direction of the hills. Was this a good idea? Why did he choose large amounts of zombies over a mere chance of no food when he had enough to last him a week? He knew the answer, but didn't want to admit it. He chose the city because there was a higher chance of where there were more supplies, there were people.
Three hellish months of having no company, no one to get pissed at, no one to get some help from, no one to simply talk to. He didn't like talking much, but at least it was better than having his mind as his only company. He cracked himself up a lot, and he always had; however, he was still his own worst enemy.
As he thought, Vincent was suddenly interrupted by his head hitting the ceiling of the cab. He slammed on the brakes, resulting in a loud screeching of the tires against the pavement, and as soon as the car was stopped, he clambered out quickly.
"What the hell?!" he exclaimed breathlessly as he looked at what he had run over. He strode toward it, not bothering to shut the door. He squinted at it in disbelief. A garbage bag . . . filled with something that smelled pretty foul. How had he not seen it before? A rising feeling of suspicion grew in his gut but before he could do anything more than decide to go back to the sedan and move on, there was the click behind his head.
"Don't make a move," a low, growly female voice murmured behind him. Vincent instantly made the connection of the click to a gun, a pistol. "Besides what I tell you to do," she added. This made Vincent question if she didn't even know how to command a hostage, how could she pull the trigger on one? "Where are your supplies? Tell me now and I won't add your head to the bag there." Vincent's eyes widened and his nose scrunched up in disgust. Damn, that was nasty.
Vincent licked his lips to wet them and turned his slightly, to look at the woman in his peripheral vision. From what he could see, she had long, dirty blond hair and prettily tanned skin. "Look," he began, his voice slightly hoarse from disuse, "you don't want to do this, I kn--"
There was a sharp pain in the back of his skull from the barrel of the pistol being thrust against it. "Shut up and tell me!" she hissed. "And don't move!" Vincent winced and didn't say a word. His hand inched very slowly to his holster . . . with any luck, she wouldn't notice . . . .
He gripped the handle of his Magnum and, moving quickly, took a step to the side and swung around, slugging her in the gut with his free hand. As she doubled over, he cocked his pistol and aimed it unwaveringly at her head, following closely as she slowly straightened up.
"Drop the weapon," Vincent commanded and she immediately did so and raised her hands defensively. "Good. Now, where did you come f--" Her leg flew up. A swift blow to his chin sent him sprawling backwards, and his pistol flew from his grip. He landed hard on the pavement, hearing a crack as his head made contact. His vision swam for a moment but he had no time to recover as the woman was suddenly straddling him and something cold and sharp was held to his throat. Though she couldn't give commands very well, he could see it in her dark blue eyes that she was very capable of pulling a trigger and dragging that knife across his throat.
. . . . . . . . . .
Excitemeeeeent~ Oh, the suspense. For anyone who has actually taken an interest in my story, this is to make up for the boring first chapter. c: I still want some feedback, people! :3 <3
