The Lottery

Chapter 1

Four figures emerged from the tree line onto what was once called Interstate 80, but it was now just more wasteland. It had cars scattered on each side of the highway which was split by a thin section of grass that was now about four feet tall, obscuring the other side from view. There were dead bodies sprinkled over the asphalt; some were still twitching while others laid there listlessly, waiting to be disturbed by anything so they could start the spread of the disease once again.

The figures stepped onto the black asphalt with dull black boots that were pockmarked with blood and scuffs. Their faces were tired and signs of stress were worn into their eyes; crow's feet hung off of them. The thickly bearded male standing in front of the group craned his neck to see over the tall grass. His mouth was obscured by a thick construction mask with vents on either side of his nose. A crooked smile with sharp teeth was crudely sketched onto the white material with black marker.

About twenty yards to his right, a dead body began seizing, throwing blood and body fluid into the air. The noise was sickly; bones cracked and joints popped in and out of place as the limp body thrashed around on the concrete. The man grunted and threw his head in the direction of the other side of the highway which was also dense forest. He hitched up his pack and began to slowly move across the high way. The others followed in a short line behind him. The final person to begin moving was another male who was much shorter than the lead man. His eyes were more optimistic and his mouth was also covered with a construction mask. This one, though, had a smile that wore perfect teeth but they were stained with red marker. He looked behind the group and kept his rifle trained at the dark forest they had just moved from.

Something moved in the murky depths of woods. The masked man flinched and moved erratically. They were being hunted. The man looked over his shoulder and brought his mask off of his face.

"George!" He whispered. The lead man stopped in his tracks and knelt to the ground. Everyone in the group went to their knees and moved behind an abandoned Volkswagen.

"What?" George took down his mask and shouldered his rifle as he looked into the dense forest. No sunlight was making it to the forest floor. The sun pounded down on them in the hot afternoon but the thick branches and leaves managed to keep the light from the floor.

"I'm seeing a ton of movement in the trees. I think they've found us." More movement and sounds of twigs being snapped came from the darkness. The sounds stopped. The only thing George could here was his own heartbeat. No birds sounded off, no squirrels chattered, there was no wind whistling through the trees like it normally does, not even the dead were making sounds anymore. All was quiet as the two men stared into the obscurity of nature.

For George, that was the funny thing about this life he had been living; everything was still and calm for a few minutes and then his heart began racing. He instinctively knew something was wrong. A few months before he would have dreamed of doing the traveling that he is now instead of the desk job he was stuck in. He managed accounts at a Chase bank branch in Chicago while his wife taught at the local high school, where once a week she had to break up a fight.

A whistle blew past George's ear. Air rushed past at supersonic speed and pushed his hair up and back. The crack of a hunting rifle came; it was a remarkable sound that sparked anxiety in George's stomach. His heart sunk as the sound of the weapon reached his ear. The crack sounded like air being shoved through a tiny opening: a psshhhew with a loud snap at the beginning. A bullet hole appeared in the rusting metal of the car next to him. "Get to cover!" George sprung from his knees and dove over the hood of the car where he landed next the woman and child.

He sat there for a second thinking of his next move, but nothing seemed to come to mind. He was dreaming of his desk job and how he yearned to look at a stock portfolio once more. Though he told everyone that he hated the meaningless work that he did, he secretly loved handling the millions of dollars that came through his branch. He found it exhilarating. The first couple days of running from the plague he found fun too because he was out from his desk and exercising, but once he realized that people wanted his family dead it quickly lost all of its fun. His energy deflated rapidly which dragged the family's morale down with it.