Fighting for Home (an apocalypse story)

Prologue

A twig snaps outside my tent and I bolt upward. Kyle's still lying asleep next to me; the noise hadn't woken him. Another sharp crack sounds outside, farther away now. It could be just a squirrel or a rabbit, but I feel so vulnerable in this tent, shielded only by its thin nylon walls. I have to check what's out there. I slowly zip open the flap, trying not to make too much noise, just in case it is one of them. I edge my way outside and look around at the trees and underbrush surrounding the tent. Everything is blanketed in the soft bluish gray of early morning. There it is, the source of the noise. A walker. Thankfully the wind isn't blowing in my direction or it would have smelled me. It was a man, his tattered work boots and bloody and torn overalls attest to that. He's missing an eye, and dried blood covers his matted shock of hair and one whole side of his face and shoulder. I can't tell if its his or someone else's, but it isn't fresh. I must have made some kind of noise because he growls and turned towards me. Sighing, I rise and pull out my knife....