Georgian Redneck

Chapter 1- Walkers

I kick the dull rocks mindlessly, surprisingly enjoying the warm day. It's one of those rare days in Georgia where you don't feel like your skin's about to peel off due to the immense heat. There's a slight draft too, so my hair isn't sticking to my face. I'd say it's a rather enjoyable day. Of course, if I can overlook the fact that everything within god knows how many miles is dead.

I huff a little at that thought, my previously relaxed mood gone.

A rustling in the near-by car makes me freeze mid-step and the hairs on my neck stand. I strain my ears so I can identify where the sound came from.

If I'm lucky I'm going to survive whatever made that noise. I could run, but my feet are far too tired. So if it's less than three of those things, I'll just handle them.

But by the sound of the steps that I'm now hearing, it's not any of the dead. And I guess that's good in a way.

But hey, it could be one of the bad people still alive for all I know. Maybe a rapist, or a murderer. All the prisons must have collapsed, so my thoughts could hold some truth to them. Wow, I've become such an optimistic person lately...

"Put yer hands up where we can see 'em!" A Southern accent shouts at me. A man. I've had my fair share of bar fights with drunk rednecks but that was in the other world. I somehow doubt that this guy would want to start a bar fight.

Although he should keep his voice down. The undead bastards like noise. They're attracted to it like moths are to a flame.

So, I have two options. I could either do as the man says, and hope that he doesn't plan anything bad, or make a break for it. Then again, I don't know if he has a gun on him. Option one seems a lot safer than option, so that's what I go with. And plus, I'm too exhausted to make a break for it.

I slowly raise my shaky, sweat covered hands up above my head and reluctantly turn around.

This isn't exactly the world I signed up to live in. I don't want to live in constant fear, in total silence. I do not want to be sneaking around and tying myself to trees at night so I can catch a few hours of rest.

And without any company, it's been hell. And here I was, thinking that my school years were the worst years of my life. Oh, but how wrong I was. School's a walk through a flower field compared to this.

I furrow my eyebrows as I look at the two men standing a few feet in front of me.

One is Asian and one could easily pass as a redneck. Whatever. They're just humans. Meat bags that contain all the blood, organs and bones. Nothing unusual, yet something very rare these days. Either way they're both food for the undead and so am I. It's just a matter of time, really.

The Asian guy has a silver machete and looks to be about 24. He's wearing a red and white baseball cap and has short black hair. He looks like a huge geek. He's also quite tall, but the man standing next to him is at least a head taller. But he doesn't look to be the one in charge out of the two. More like the sidekick.

The other man has a crossbow and looks about 36. He has baby-blue eyes and brown, filth-covered hair. He's wearing a dirty flannel covered in blood and god knows what else, which he cut the sleeves off. The redneck looks like a guy who gets into fights at bars for fun and won't take anyone's shit. But there's something about the way he looks like an uncontrolled animal, I don't even know, he's not cute or hot or anything. I suppose he's just appealing to me in some way. Well, not appealing. Intriguing.

"Who are you and what do you want?" I choke out in a shaky voice. So much for trying to look like a post-apocalyptic badass just like in the movies. Slow clap for me. I mean, c'mon. First impressions are usually really important. And if I look like a deer caught in headlights my impression won't be as impressive.