Chapter 1-"'Ey Frankie, come look at this fool!" Harris said from across the yard. As I walked over to him I could tell he was gesturing to a snarling form on the other side of a chainlink fence.Harris was young by today's standards, with the whole apocalypse and all, couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen. I didn't ask and he didn't tell. He was lanky, in skinny jeans an a T-Shirt that was a couple of sizes too small for him.He was an idiot, to put it frankly. He wasn't stupid, he was smart enough [you'd have to be to survive the hell you lived in], he just made some stupid decisions. Actually he made a lot of poor decisions.You can bet your best rifle I thought of every single one of those decisions as I made my way over to him, still pointing at the zombie and grinning that stupid grin while is 8 year old brother clung to his legs. Which is why when I reached within arms reach of the kid, I promptly smacked him in the back of the head. He recoiled, rubbing his head and frowning."Ow, man. Th' heck you do that for?" he said, still rubbing his head."Is that head 'o' yours EMPTY or somethin'?" I said, crossing my arms."What? All I did was-" he began."It ain't what y'did, it's what y'didn't do." I cut him off. "Y'see that?" I said, pointing at the zombie. "Do you see it?" I said, more forcefully."Yessir." "Do know the things make noise, right?""Yessir.""You know what happens when they make noise? More hear 'em. An' y'know what happens when more hears 'em? More come. An' y'know what happens when more come? The beat on th' fence. An' y'know what happens when they beat on th' fence? They break it. An' if they break it, we're all DONE! You, you little brother right here, the people in the house, all of 'em. Done.""Yessir.""So," I said, removing a knife out of my pocket. "Y'know watcha gotta do now." I handed Harris the knife. He took it, then looked at me. I pointed at the zombie, now ravenous with the sight of three uninfected people within five feet of it. The zombie was at one point a stately businessman that had seen better days. His suit was in tatters riddled with buckshot entry holes., exposing a rotting ribcage. Blood speckled the white button-up underneath. His face was ashen, gaunt, dark circles rimmed his eyes. He looked a mess. The only humorous point was that the bloodied nametag on his suit read; Mr. Anderson."Deal with it"Harris looked at the zombie, all traces of idiotic humor gone from his face. "Aw man, do I really hafta-""Yes."Harris approached the walking corpse, which began to growl and snap at him as he drew nearer."Right between th' eyes." I said.Harris stopped in front of the zombie, raised the knife and aimed it at a spot right between its milky and beady eyes. "Do it."Harris jabbed the knife forward, if you could call it a jab. It was really just him pushing it forward slightly as he fell towards the fence. The zombie stopped dead, or re-dead as it were, it's eyes widened as it's mouth dropped in a almost comical look of surprise. With a jerk backwards, the knife was removed. A match was struck, and the corpse lit.We began to walk back to the house, I glanced back and chuckled to myself.Mr. Anderson, the One.
