Survive {Book One of the Survival Series}

Part 1.1: The Patch

Chapter One

The air was hot and sticky; the sun's rays bore waves of heat down onto the open street. Sweat clung to the bare, tanned skin of my arms and dripped down my forehead, straight into my eyes. I raised the hem of my dirt-streaked shirt and ran it over my face, clearing my vision as I squinted against the bright light. The sun was close to setting, but I knew the dark cover of night wouldn't bring any relief from the heat.

The empty houses on either side of the street sat eerily quiet, a solemn reminder of days that used to be. Most of their doors were left open, whether from the previous inhabitant's rush to get out or from a wandering survivor looting whatever treasures were left. The few trees that dotted some of the yards loomed tall, but their leaves were still and only offered little shade.

I revved my bike and pushed forward, Carla following close behind as we gained speed. As we drew closer, the man came into view, crouched down in the middle of the road. He held a half-eaten rabbit in his bloody hands and was devouring it in large, quick bites. His head snapped up as we neared and I grimaced at the mess that was his face. A large chunk of flesh hung precariously off his cheekbone and his right eye hung from its socket like a ball of yarn. His clothes were torn and bloody and his right foot was twisted in the wrong direction. He let the rabbit fall to the ground and stumbled to his feet, starting to move toward us with slow and stiff movements.

Carla swerved a little to line up next to him, reaching behind her with one hand to draw out a sturdy baseball bat. The old wood had random jagged nails sticking out at odd angles all along its tip and was spray-painted a bright purple, giving it an oddly pleasant appearance from afar. She raised the bat high as we approached and swung it at the man as we passed him, his blood-soaked fingers reaching for her arm. The bat collided with the side of his head, the nails embedding themselves into the soft flesh. His body twisted with the sudden force and he was knocked off his feet, being dragged along the street some ways as we continued to ride. Carla looked down at the man before shaking the bat roughly, managing to free it as his body slumped to the ground and rolled to a stop.

We raced off, rounding another corner before finally slowing down, the machines beneath us slowly quieting as we came to a full stop. I leaned back in my seat, reaching up to remove my helmet. The stuffy air did little to smooth my airways as I took in a deep breath, my head falling back as my eyes closed briefly for a moment. Exhaustion enveloped my body but I shook it away, opening my eyes once more to a view of the lavender sky twinkling softly above us.

We had been riding for hours now, circling our walls and grabbing the attention of any nearby undead, leading them further away from the old apartment building we called home. It was a tactic we've grown accustomed to; leading them away in small groups before quietly eliminating them. It wasn't a daily task, but it was very effective. It was also time-consuming and very exhausting.

I let out a slow breath as I leaned forward and Carla slid off her bike, reaching up and removing her helmet. She let out a loud yawn as she stretched herself. She was a rather tall and slim girl, her skin a tawny brown and freckled with dirt. Her long, slender legs were hidden beneath torn and bloody jeans, and a deep red tank top clung to her sweaty torso, the blood and dirt stains mixed together. Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and she ran her fingers through the ends of it absently, looking around at the dark houses lining the street. Her eyes met mine and a cocky grin slid onto her face, "Like what you see?"

I turned away from her with a roll of my eyes as I got off my bike, unhooking the duffel bag that was strapped to the back of it and setting it on the seat. I tugged on the zipper, pulling it open and digging around inside of it before taking out a small walkie-talkie and leaning against the bike. Turning the volume up, the walkie-talkie sprang to life with static and chatter.