The Mississippi Zombie Chronicals

Chapter 1: Taking Stock

I sat on the balcony of my sniper's tower with my two rifles; the suppressed Remington hunting rifle perched on the ledge beside me, and the M-4 carbine laying on a shared cot. Small food wrappers and empty cans of soda littered the floor.  The wind was making the makeshift wooden tower sway; it was covered enough to keep some of the wind out, but it was December and fucking cold. I sat there, ever alert of approaching enemies.

However, it was still pretty early for the freak-shows. "Zombies" as they're commonly referred to as. No one really knew how the outbreak spread or how it started, but I was sure that some egghead somewhere had came up with a new super-weapon for the government and it had either been released on purpose by some terrorist organization or hell even by the government themselves as a test run. 

I lit up a cigarette as I stared out across the dense swamp in front of me and pondered the start of the outbreak, the sun rising slowly to my left, and I could hear birds chirping in the distance.

I watched the rays slowly going through the bushes and the trees, checking the small game trails for zombies or intruders. The un-dead wasn't the only threat, of course: Bandits, raiders, cultists, mercenaries working for the highest bidder, and even ex-military groups would gut you just for the spare magazine in your gun, the clothes on your back, or the radio on your side. 

"Hey Jake, just wanted to check in." Said Zig over the radio.

"All clear here Zig, nothing to report." I said, my voice crackling over the ancient walkie-talkie.

I could tell he was quite sleepy, Kam must have kept him up all night arguing again. I told them if they didn't get some sleep it'd be the death of them. They seemed to be arguing more and more as the weeks went on, which was understandable given the stress of the end of the world, but damn sometimes they could get loud.

Dragging a puff of the cigarette, I heard a loud crack that draws my attention due south. Scanning the brush for the possible culprit of the noise, all I see are squirrels, small birds, and even an armadillo as I check the surrounding swamp, but see nothing of interest. I hear another crack. Closer this time, and much louder.

My eyes dart into the direction of the noise, scanning the area until I saw a shambling figure about a hundred feet away, my eyes barely catching it in the dim light of morning. I pick up my Remington and acquire my target. Poor rotting bastard was missing both his arms and his jaw.

"Mercy on your soul." I whispered as I took the shot. Brains and eyeball strewn paste flew through the air as the rotter flopped to the ground, the subsonic rounds and the suppressor attached to the rifle made the shot very muffled and my unprotected ears thanked me.

"Ryan, got a body dropped, mark the tally good sir." I said over the radio.

"Male or female?" He asked.

"Male, over." I replied.

"Number 113 confirmed kill, over." replied Zig, a twinge of guilt in his voice.

At first, tallying up kills on zombies sounded a little cynical, after all, these were people once. But after coming to the conclusion that they were no longer human and if we tracked how many kills we had, we could calculate risk around the house for future supply runs in the area and maintain a solid idea of how many rotters had gotten close enough to take out. That made it easier to pull the trigger, knowing we were helping to keep ourselves safe.