Surviving The Walking Dead (BOOK ONE IN THE SURVIVING THE WALKING DEAD SERIES)

Camping

August 1993

     I kissed my mom goodbye as my dad put our equipment into the bed of his beat up blue and white '93 Ford F250. "Have fun Michaela. I love you." We exchanged kisses on the cheek and I headed for the truck. My dad, Sgt. Simmonds, and I were going on our yearly camping trip. My dad was a veteran of the Gulf War, my mom married him before his last deployment. My mom said that he was different when he came home, but never told me how. All I know is that my dad always told me that it won't be long before all of the world would have to live off the land, so he has been teaching me survival skills since I was five. Now that I'm eight, he said I'm old enough to learn how to hunt.

     "Be careful Mark." My mom said to my dad as he approached her on the porch. She gave him a tight hug. "She's only eight, are ya sure she needs to do this?"

     "Don't worry Bev," My dad smiled at her. "She'll be just fine." My dad gave her a kiss.

     "C'mon daddy!" I shouted from the truck. My dad smiled and picked a duffel bag up from the ground,my mom followed him to the truck as he dropped the bag into the bed he turned around for one final kiss.

     "It's gonna get cold tonight, are ya sure you two will be warm enough?" My mom asked with a gentle shiver.

     "We will be fine Bev, really." My dad climbed into the truck and turned to her. "You sure ya don't wanna come with us?"

     "I think I'll be okay. Besides, I've got to work in the mornin'. No sense of rushin' home to get cleaned up for work. I think I will just stay here and relax, I'll probably turn on the furnace and read a book." My mom was a nurse at Grady Memorial Hospital. She would go to work in the morning and sometimes come home around bed time. We didn't see each other much, but when we did, she taught me first aid, how to cook, how to garden, and everything else my dad couldn't teach me. My dad was the survivalist of the family, he taught me everything from fishing, building fires, scavenging, even things like how to escape a kidnapper and stuff like that. He bought me a bow last Christmas and had me practice shooting it every day since then.

     My dad started the engine as I stuck my head out the window and waved to my mom. The gravel crunched under the tires as he backed up and drove away. The sky turned the color of an old bruise as the sun began to rise. "We should be there by sun up." My dad noted. "Go ahead and get some sleep. I know ya didn't sleep much, I heard ya bouncin' off the walls last night. You're excited for this trip huh?" My dad smiled at me, all I could do was smile back, but he knew what I was thinking. "Ha," he chuckled. "That's my girl. Go ahead and rest up, we've got a lotta work to do when we get there."

     I looked out the window and embraced the night sky. The stars shone brighter than ever where I lived, unlike downtown Atlanta. Downtown, the city lights polluted the sky making it impossible to see the stars even on the clearest nights. We passed by neighboring farms where the cows laid gracefully sleeping with their nursing calves close by and the coyotes yipped in the distance as content as ever. I admired as much as I could until my mind gave into the Sandman's temptation and drifted off gently into my dreams.

     I dreamt about my dad taking me hunting. We shot rabbits, deer, squirrels, you name it. Everything I took aim at I killed in one shot. My dad actually told me he was proud of me. He always told me he loved me and "Good job." when I did something good, but not once had he told me he was proud of me. It was a secret desire of mine to hear those words slip out of his mouth, and every time the opportunity presented itself my self esteem chipped away like old paint when the words weren't spoken. "I'm proud of you.",  that's all I wanted to hear and I'd do anything to hear it.