Genesis 2.0 (Monster Apocalypse Survival) Sci-Fi/DarkFan/Horror

~2~ Revised

The slap of leather soles on damp blacktop isn't very comforting when you're running for your life. The rain isn't falling that heavily right now, so my trek is loud enough to echo across the barren parking lot. There's nothing I can do about it now, I accept my fate. Putting my head down, I run as fast as I can.

People can say whatever they want; breaking in new shoes is a bitch. Not only does the friction cause blisters the size of dinosaurs, but my foot never feels right in new shoes. Not until I've worn them long enough for my foot to nestle itself a cocoon of a sort. The interior of my old sneakers had molded around my slender size nine like a well worn glove, but the boots? Yeah, they aren't so accommodating.

But, on the bright side, they are waterproof, and keep my feet toasty warm and dry. I wished the electrical grid was still operational, because then I wouldn't be blindly fleeing the boogey monster in the pitch black. Things being the way they are, I run toward the do-it-yourself carwash stations sitting on the hilly slope above the parking lot.

It wouldn't do much for shelter from zombies, but at least it got me out of the rain long enough to scope out a better destination. However, no sooner had I skid to a stop just underneath the tin structure than I spot the mugger hightailing it from the store's entrance.

I growl in frustration; some people get all the luck. Lowering myself into a crouch, I waddle a bit deeper into the sheltering shadows of the washing stall and pray that he chooses someplace else to go.

But, apparently God has only one blessing in store for me today, and I've hastily used it in escaping the Wal-Mart before becoming zombieburger. The hulking figure dashes into the exact same washing stall I've sought refuge and turns to anxiously watch for the undead attacker. Contrary to popular belief, zombies aren't afraid of anything, including fire. They just don't care; they're incapable of intelligent thought. They're fueled by ravaging hunger for fresh, long pork; succulent rump of fat lady or a rack of man-ribs, with a side of intestines.

A frantic search produces nothing I can use for a weapon, so once again, I'll have to rely on my wit should he discover me. I hope he's too busy worrying about the corpse to even think about the little girl who scratched the hell out of him, and then left him to be gnawed to death.

I mentally curse the last asshole I had a run-in with; only three days ago, it feels like an eternity ago. The knob-job convinced me that we should travel together, and then waited for me to fall asleep before mugging me. I'd woken in enough time to keep the few meager things I still have. I desperately mourn my sweet-ass bowie knife, and Louisville slugger baseball bat.

"Little brat," my current mugger grumbles and I actually catch myself leaning to look around him for someone else. It takes a moment before I realize he's referring to me. Well, there goes another hope.

We wait another few moments, and when the zombie doesn't amble out the entrance, the mugger shrugs off his black coat and vigorously shakes it, sending little droplets of water everywhere. Before I can even contemplate what he's doing, he tosses it down on the concrete floor and then sits on it.

The good news is that he's in the perfect position for me to conk him on the head, if I can pull a weapon out of thin air. The bad news is that if I move so much as an inch, he'll hear me and I'll lose the element of surprise. My legs are tingling and it won't be long before they're completely numb. I need to move, and soon.

Suddenly, as if the universe senses my dire situation, the rain picks back up, a deafening thunder rolls overhead and the wind joins in by whipping leaves and other trash around outside the stall. I hope it's enough noise to divert his attention from me, and slowly back toward the open area behind the carwash. I huddle as close to the structure as possible, and chance a glance into the next stall. God be praised, it's filled with junk.

With one last glance at the guy's back, I slink into the crowded booth and slowly blaze a trail to a dome shaped silhouette to my left. It's the perfect size to hide behind. I diligently keep watch for signs of life or unlife, and it doesn't take long to realize that this is someone's temporary shelter. The dome shape is actually a camping tent, but that clever person has arranged it so that it looks like nothing more than a pile of trash. Inside the tent, I find a pile of sleeping bags, a camping cook- stove and an old boiler - no doubt courtesy of the downhill department store.

Quietly sliding between the open flaps, I nestle deep into the shelter and hunker down to wait out both the storm and the asshat.

~

I dozed off at some point, because the sound of two male voices, arguing loudly, brings me up swinging. My raging heartbeat ignites the fight or flight instinct, but as I glance around the tent's interior, I recall where I am, and what brought me to this little nest.

Unclenching my fists, I grab my bag and quietly wiggle my way back into the straps. Apparently I'd gotten comfortable at some point and pulled it off, using it's bulkiness as a pillow. Falling asleep in unfamiliar territory was incredibly stupid, and I vow to thoroughly berate myself later, right now I need to figure out what's happening with those two men. If they continue arguing in their current tones, it'll bring every Undead in the area running.

"Do you think she's still in the area?" one asks, and my ears perk at the mention of "she." I wonder if he's talking about me, or some other unfortunate girl.

"I've watched the area all night. The rain only stopped an hour ago. If she's hiding anywhere close, I would have seen her moving around," the other answers and I recognize his voice as the guy who'd tried to mug me.

"So, what do we do now?" the stranger asks, and I can tell from his tone that he isn't used to making decisions. He's a follower and they're usually more dangerous than the leaders. Followers are minions, they only live because someone else makes the life-or-death choices; they take orders and execute them according to plan. They're essentially a person with everything to lose, so bargaining with one is out of the question.

"I don't know," the mugger mutters. "Just give me a minute to think, would ya?" he snaps.

Suddenly, I wonder if this is their makeshift home; that would seriously suck. It's just another detail I should've considered last night. Apparently, my instincts are better than my brain, for the time being. But I quickly brush the thought aside when I take in the overall disheveled furnishings. Surely they would've kept their home in better shape, and it would at least show signs of occupancy. As it is, it looks like no one has been here in weeks.

Reassured that I'm not intruding, I wonder why he hung around all night. Was it just to look for little old me? It isn't like I'm a supermodel. I'd cut my long brown off around the third month into the End, after a really close call with a zombie. A pony-tail is just a disaster waiting to happen. They make perfect grips. So, I'd found a pair of scissors and chop chop went the hair.

I don't have the voluptuous body most guys go for, my boobs are small and the majority of my weight is muscle from all the walking and running. My fair skin - from head to toe - is covered in a light dusting of freckles.

So, if Mugger isn't after me for my beauty - and I literally shudder at the thought of being that creep's girlfriend - then perhaps he really does want my loot. He'd said as much last night. He doesn't understand that I don't have anything worth stealing. Not for him anyhow. The clothes won't fit him. So, that only leaves my measly flashlight, the fresh-ish batteries, and trail mix. There are more supplies in this stall than I have, so none of it makes any sense.

"Well, what am I supposed to do while you're thinking?" the stranger asks, his voice impatient and almost whiny.

Mugger huffs angrily and whirls on the other guy with murder gleaming in his eyes.

"I don't care what you do, just shut the hell up," Mugger growls and just glares at the guy. The dude finally drops his head submissively and turns to walk off.

"I am so dead," Mugger mutters under his breath after the other guy is out of hearing range.

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