Crow's Call

Chapter 1- Caught By Surprise

   Clive wasn't aware that what he was doing was considered horribly wrong , but as he dragged his knife across the lone survivors throat and dropped the limp body to the ground, he felt as though it was right. It was fun. Everyone was considered a danger to him, so instead of questioning he simply ridded himself of the problem. He enjoyed the rush of the kill, hunting and gathering, and he was good at it. So without rules and authority to stop him, he continued doing it.
   His movement was a trail of corpses. Everyone he found he ended up slaughtering on his lonesome. He never took their guns or their clothes, just whatever food or water they had left. It was his way of survival, and in a world of nothing but death and anarchy, this was OK. This was how he'd survived since his parents were murdered. Alone, a well known serial killer. With his pet rock.
   With his last kill, he wiped his blade on his pants and scrubbed it till it shined. It was nearing dusk, meaning the crows nest would begin to move. The Crows Nest was what survivors called the underground tunnels and roads that the living infected wandered in. At night, the infected would come out to feed on any weakened survivors, and anyone with their right mind would know it was dangerous at night. If it wasn't the infected, it was the anarchists, and of course, Clive.
   On his way out he stepped over the corpses littered around the empty lobby he found them in. Some with their skulls based in, others with their throats cut and blood still spilling from them. There were no children among the group, thankfully. Clive refused to kill a child or a mother, however luckily for his pride this kind of thing was very rare. He picked up his rock from beside the shattered head of one of his victims and wiped it off, making sure the little face he'd drawn on it was still there. With a rare gentle smile, he slipped the rock into his pocket, sheathed his knife, and moved on, the slight squish of the wet blood beneath his feet. His bloody footsteps followed him out of the door, like the trail of ghosts of the innocents he'd murdered, and the guilty he'd slaughtered.
   He didn't know where he'd go. Wandering like a lost child is all he'd known to do, so he supposed that's what he would continue. To the next building, the next town, the next city. Constantly moving, leaving his trail of blood wherever he roamed. This was the life of a survivor serial killer. This was his life. But he had no complaints. He had everything he wanted, and everything he needed. So long as he lives and no one tries to change that, as they did his parents.
   As Clive moved on, the dusk sun was beginning to peak through the broken and toppled skyscrapers, reflecting slightly of the matte glass. A crow landed a few feet from Clive, perching itself on a rusted street sign and preening its feathers. At this little twist, Clive pulled out his rock. He tried not to move, in order not to scare it away, or anger it. He waited, and as the crow buried it's head under its wing, he reeled back. However, much to his surprise, a gunshot went off, ringing in the metal and catching him by surprise. He jumped, dropping the rock from his fingertips and slipping on the blood from his shoes. He hit the ground just as the limp crow's body did.
   As Clive was recovering from the short shock from the gunshot, a hand was held out to help him up. The first friendly gesture in years from any other living creature, and Clive's instinct told him to accept it. He glanced up at the figure helping him, and there was a man. The man was wielding a rifle, and seemed rugged and sturdy. Clive knew this clearly wasn't just another survivor, this man was a fighter, possibly an anarchist. One of the feared killers of the dusk waves. That was what Clive found so interesting.
   The man helped Clive to his feet and apologized for the surprise, to which Clive also found curious. Instantly Clive took an interest in the stranger, examining him slightly and attempting to not be suspicious. Clive opened his mouth to speak, but the man started again before he could speak.
   "For the record, I do know exactly who you are. The notorious serial killer of the apocalypse. If there wasn't so much word going around about you, the fresh blood would've given it away."
   Clive was stunned and obviously dumbstruck by the man's words. Not by the fact that he knew who he was, but because of the simple reason of this man assisting the notorious serial killer of the apocalypse. His shock was returned with but a simple smile and laugh from the man. Clive once again tried to speak, however the man stopped him again.
   "Don't worry, I feel like we could get along. I'm an arsonist."