Problems With The Apocalypse

1

Crack... "This is your last hunt before I kill you."
I respond quietly into my earpiece, "What are you talking about?"
"You knew you weren't supposed to go out, but you did anyway."
"Well, if I didn't go out, Tucker, who would've?"
"Anthony was supposed to go today."
"Really? That little pussy? He barely leaves his room for anything but food."
"Be quiet, (y/n). You had no business-"
I unplugged my earpiece and stuffed it into the little pocket in the front of my black leather jacket.
God, I hate him so much. Can't he ever mind his own business?
The year is 2017, and we are living in hell on Earth. Once a couple of the Zika generation children were released into the general population, and started biting and eating other children, most of the people in America kinda knew we were fucked.
Thankfully, I was one of the people who figured it out quicker than those who were eaten by their own friends and family. Sadly, I can't say that for some of the people who I knew; my family. Yeah, I cried, yeah, I still feel bad, but I can't mope and get myself killed, what a way to repay them, right?
The only people that survived and are related to me are my two younger siblings; Jamie and Jordan, age 12, and my cousin, Sulli, age 24. I was in charge of them all when the "zombies" came to town. I think my parents and brother, Jasper, kind of knew what would happen, so they sent us all off. At least some of us would live.
So as I took them by the hands and ran through the woods, following the directions my parents gave, we found my parents 44 million dollar safehouse; just in case.
We've been here ever since.
That was 7 months ago.
As we set up shop, we had caught a few stragglers and brought them in for security. They kind of turned out to be more of an emotional terror than anything.
But they bring in extra food and protection, so we haven't killed them all. Yet.
The one I dread the most, the one who decided he could come around and take over the whole arrangement, my parents hard earned money; Tucker Adams.
He named himself leader when we took him in 14 weeks, 3 days, and 4 hours ago.
I've wanted to stick a knife through his skull ever since.

Back to the present; I had taken off a few hours ago to go on a food hunt, which usually turns into a zombie hunt, in a nearby town. Unpackaged food has turned out to be extremely unsafe; Thalia died eating a deer we shot a couple weeks ago. Contamination.
Never making that mistake again.
I jump down from the tree I'm perched in, take my bow off my shoulder and nock an arrow. I walk nearly silently through the brush beneath, observing everything around me.
Including sound.
I hear a footstep off from mine, and turn and aim my bow.
And sure as shit, there's someone standing behind me, gun aimed right at me.

"What do you think will travel faster; your arrow or my bullet?"
"Does it matter? I'll still kill you."
He scoffs harshly. "Bloodthirsty, aren't we?"
"Nope. Just don't wanna see assholes like you live."
"Who said I'm an asshole?"
"Your demeanor."
"Feisty, aren't we?"
"Shut up and put your gun down."
"Now why would I do that?"
I inhale and exhale, letting my arrow fly just as the words leave his lips. The blade locks itself into the flesh just above the socket in his right arm and into the tree a foot behind him. He yells out in pain, cursing as he tries to pull the arrow out of his arm.
"That's why."
"What the fuck was that for?!"
"You were going to shoot me, I was quicker."
"Mother FUCKER."
"Well, I would leave you attached to the tree, but you have something of mine." I flick the arrow just under the fletching, sending vibrations into his wound causing him to groan. "So I think I might just have to find some sort of use for you."
I brutally yank the arrow out of his shoulder, making him groan in pain.
"Wow, tough guy."
"Shut the fuck up."
"Calm down, goodness gracious."
"You... shot me."
"Well it's not like you're gonna die."
"I'm pretty sure I might bleed out."
"Don't be a baby, it's just a flesh wound. Now hurry, I need to get back home."

We make it back with one death; a zombie I killed because he was standing in my way. He looked pretty dismal anyway.
"Honey, I'm home!"
"About fucking time. What the fuck were you thinking?" Tucker grasps me by the throat cutting off my air supply. "You never listen, do you?"
"HEY, BACK THE FUCK OFF!!" I see a fist land on Tucker's nose, hearing a crack as I'm let down from the wall he pushed me against.
"Watch yourself, newbie. We will not hesitate to blow your brains out." Alicia, Tucker's right hand presses a .40 caliber to his right temple. "Now lift your hands and put them behind you head."
He follows her instructions, but who wouldn't with a gun to their head?
Oh, right, ME.
I kick the gun out of her hand and put her into a chokehold. "I'm the only one who gets to punish him, got that?" I send him a devilish wink.
He glares at me, wiping some blood from his mouth. HE must've gotten hit when I wasn't paying attention.
"ENOUGH." we all direct our attention to Will, who, in my opinion, is the real leader, but he's too passive to bring anything like that up.
He strides over to Tucker's pitiful form, crumpled on the ground. "Get up." Tucker looks at him a little and stands, wiping the blood from his face. "What happened?"
"This savage (y/n) brought back punched me in the face."
"Au contraire, he did try to strangle me," I retort, pushing Alicia off of me.
Will sighs. "(Y/n), how many times do we have to tell you; we don't need any more mouths to feed, we can barely feed our own."
"He's a hostage from another group."
"My God." Will runs his hands through his thick, black hair, the distress in his cerulean eyes evident to even the most perfect stranger.
"I'll fix him."
"Damn right, you will."
Will exits the room.
I turn to Tucker and throw him the moldy loaf of bread I found in town. "Here's some food, Prick."
I grab the other guys sleeve and yank him out of the room.

~

"OW, MOTHERFUCKER."
"Watch your language, I'm doing you a favor."
"You're sticking a needle in my skin. Repeatedly. It hurts."
"In other words, stitching your wound."
"The wound you made."
"You forced my hand. Shirt off."
He looks at me with wide eyes. "What?"
"I need you to take your shirt off, in case you have other injuries."
"Why?"
"We can't have you dying of infection, now can we?"
He sighs, and slowly strips his shirt, leaving him sitting in front of me, muscles on display.
And I have to say, not bad. Not like Will's, but not bad.
Same thing with his collection of scars, cuts and bruises.
"Got yourself into a little debacle, haven't we?"
"What?" he gives me a confused look. I gesture to his injuries. "Well someone has to kill the zombies on my solo hunts."
"These look people induced."
"Zombies are people, dead people, but people, still."
"You know what I meant, smartass. It looks kinda like you ran into the Kairos."
"Have you?"
"Every once in awhile. I've had my fair share of them, sadly."
"What did they do to you?" the curiosity and anger in his eyes tells me he's ran into them just as much or more than me.
"When Ren was still alive, he burnt me with a cigarette." I pull up the hem of my shirt and the waistband of my jeans, revealing a little black scar about half the size of a dime. "How bout you?"
"Beat me with sticks and cut me up a bit."
"Let me guess, 3 days ago?"
"About, yeah... how'd you know?"
"I've patched up my fair share of people. Three days in this is about how your types of injuries would look."
He nods, and I stick the needle back in his skin to finish up his stitches.
"SHIT."
"What did I say about language?"
"Shut up."
"Yes sir." I yank the thread through a little too hard and whisper in his ear, "just remember who has the needle."
He rolls his eyes.

"Your turn."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"you must have injuries, I'll fix them for you," He pats the table text to him.
"Why would I trust you?"
"The same reason I trusted you."
I hesitate before reluctantly making my way over to the table and placing my frame on the counter top.
"There we go. Shirt off." I give him a look and he smirks at me.
"Shut up," I say as I pull my torn up black tee off.
He chuckles and tends to the few cuts I have on my arms and chest.
"So what's your name?"
"(y/n). Yours?"
"Jackson."
I nod.
He rubs an alcohol wipe on one of my more recent cuts, and I hiss at the pain.
"Not so fun when it's you, is it?"
I glare at him. "Very funny."

xxx