I wake up from nasty nightmares about the first time I almost died, to a growling stomach. I wish for the millionth time that my nightmares were just figments of my imagination. I look down at my scar and trace it with a fingertip as my stomach growls again, louder this time. 

I groan from both. One thing I wanted to ignore but the other I could take care of. I completely forgot to eat yesterday with all the shenanigans going on...and guess what? I’m craving pizza. I didn’t even get the chance to take one bite four days ago and thinking about it again totally depresses me. 

I get up, feeling the cold floor under my feet, and walk to the small kitchen. A quick search tells me there’s nothing but canned foods and non-perishables. I’m so not in the mood for that. 

I grab a gun and walk the tunnels to get to the house, hoping it’s still clear. Even hoping that my family showed up during the night. I look through the peephole and open the door slowly. It sounds quiet. 

I do a quick recon to make sure the whole house is white-eyed freak free. Once I make sure it is, I’m able to calm down a little and put the gun on the elastic waist of my Transformers Pjs. A sinking feeling settles in as I realize my parents haven’t come back yet.

I get to the kitchen and pull out the bread, peanut butter, and jelly and slather it all together with three layers of bread before stuffing it in my mouth. It’s not my extra anchovy pizza but it fills me up. I grab the orange juice from the fridge and start to drink straight from the bottle. 

I slowly put it down as I realize my mom isn’t here to bitch at me for my bad habits. It makes me smirk and at the same time it makes me worry. Suddenly the mix of PB and J with O.J. doesn't feel so good in my stomach, but I ignore it. I knew it was happening because I haven’t eaten in four days, that was why.

Once I’m done I make my way back to the bunker and head down the cold tunnels. These bunkers remind me a little too much of the training camp I was sent to, but hey, there’s no place like home, right? 

I sit down and realize I need a real plan to get to my family. With no service this is nearly impossible but guess what? I’m H and I’m so good it hurts. No one compares to me and If someone has to free this city of these stinkers it’s me, not the government. 

I decide to check out the shelters nearby. First thing's first though. I need to stop being lazy and put some actual clothes on. I look down at myself and sigh aloud. Even though I love these Pjs I’m not going to kill anything with them on. They mean too much to me. 

I glance at the clothes I threw on the floor last night and upend my backpack. I sort through the mess and decide on my black combat boots, a pair of Military green shorts and a holster belt my dad gave me for Christmas a few years ago that I never got to use. Thank God for having a dad in the military, right? I finish it off with a crop top that proudly reads, Zombie killer. It’s vintage and come on, it fits the situation. 

The nightmares about my almost death had snapped me back to reality and had me face the truth sooner than I wanted, but it's not like I could ignore it anymore. The stinkers were here. I’d probably have to continue to fight these things if I wanted to find my parents. 

Senator Cookie could call it a virus but she herself said that the threat needed to be terminated. Well, been there, done that, and damn right I'm wearing the t-shirt. Though it's not like I have much of a choice. When something that used to be human comes at you completely devoid of pupils, with no other thought than to bite your head off, you better believe you need to terminate it, because kids, that's a zombie. 

I know what you’re thinking, what kind of attire is this to fight zombies? Well, I have an answer for you. 

I’m H. I do what I want, when I want, and I look damn good doing it. I pull my bright, white hair into a French braid so it's harder to grab. I load up my guns and stick the knives in my boots.

I stuff a chocolate nutty power bar in a pocket and chuck a few more in my backpack where I’d thrown some other essentials in. I grab the keys and walk once more through the tunnels. I’m ready to roll. 

I get to the peephole and look out. I see that the front door is open. Fuck. You can’t be serious? These things got in? I grab my gun from my holster and open the door slowly making sure not to make a peep. I need to kill this thing now so I don’t have to fight it once I get back. 

I walk slowly to see where this little shit is and my head sweeps the area in confusion. I find the whole downstairs clear. I do, however, see that the fridge is open and someone stole the small amount of canned foods my mom had in the pantry. Great, now I have to worry about actual people stealing my stuff. Then again at least there were still other people around.

I walk out the front door to see my black classic beauty still parked in all her glory. I pull out the keys, get in, turn on the ignition, and hear the beast come to life. It brings a smile to my face. I would never get tired of that sound. I start reversing out of the driveway when a little light turns on. Ugh, really? I need gas.

On the corner just outside my neighborhood the typical teenagers are hanging around like they normally do near a fountain. I almost drive right by them but then I remember that normal isn't normal anymore. 

Unfortunately, they aren't normal anymore either. I realize this as my quick drive-by gives me a crystal-clear picture of big ol' glaring white eyes and one too many rips in their clothes to be considered fashionable. The creatures that once were teens snap their jaws at me as I roll by, but otherwise make no moves. I find it odd that some creatures attack and some don't. Some just stand there, probably where they were infected. I find that pretty sad. Sensing no immediate threat, I decide to leave these guys for later. I have gas to get and a family to find.

I speed for the nearest gas station and find the streets of my once overcrowded city turned into a ghost town. Jeez, cue the tumbleweeds, I think to myself. Three days, now four, I guess...that’s all it took to get like this? I don’t know why but it’s so damn hard to wrap my head around this. The traffic used to be insane, now there’s only me. I hear the tires screech as I bank a fast right turn into the station. 

I pop the gas cap and jump out the car door. Pulling my credit card from my pocket, I freeze. 

One look at the pump’s dim lights and I know I'm screwed. I have to head inside and see if I can get some assistance. Yeah, right.

I cock my gun and let it enter the building before I do as I sweep the area. The smell hits me first. Stinkers are here, and by the smell of it, there are a lot of them. I spy the cluster of them by the back door, near the beer aisle. 

Slurping and other disgusting noises fly at me from their direction. I hope it’s the beer they were sampling and not, like, leftover brains. 

Since they aren’t chasing me down the block, I figure they’re the stationary, dumb kind, and I move on. 

The shelves of the gas station have been ravaged and torn apart. Not one speck of food is left behind. I turn my head and find that I’m wrong. There are still three packs of raisins left. I can't really blame the ravagers. Raisins aren't worth the trouble of dealing with stinkers. Pizza on the other hand?

I pull up to the empty counter. “Hello?” I call out for kicks and giggles. 

“Any chance there's someone here to get my sweet ride some gas?” When no one responds I nick a spare lighter from the counter and throw it on my belt.

“Help!” A faint voice cries.

I whip around toward the back where the bodies are collected. Could there be a human back there? 

Another cry sounds, this one louder. “Please!” 

I put my gun back onto the belt and opt for one of my knives. It wouldn’t be good to accidentally shoot the poor guy yelling for help. I rush into the pile of bodies, and see glassy blue eyes pleading to me from beneath a pile of stinkers. I let those blue eyes, the first sign of life, guide me, my knife slicing away at the dumb stinkers above him. I cut everything in my path in a frenzy. 

I cry out as one of the stinkers claws into my arm. Blood gushes from the wound and it only makes me angrier. 

I redouble my efforts and go ham on the remaining creatures. As the bodies fall I’m also trying to avoid the nasty brown slush as best I can but it just isn't a priority right now. I kick a stinker’s leg out from under it and then it stumbles and practically falls onto my knife perfectly. When I kick its body to the side, pulling my knife free, I finally see the body with the actual pupils lying on the ground. 

He’s an old man with grey hair almost as light as mine. His blue eyes look up at me in sheer terror and my only goal is to get him out now.

When the last body falls to the floor and lands on top of the old man, I take a deep breath and pray for some fresh air to get anything but that smell into my lungs. Then I crouch down to pull the zombie off my civilian. I offer him my bloody hand and he weakly holds on. He gasps wildly for air too and all I can do is drag him by the arm until he’s free of the gunk and limbs.  

“Angel,” he cries.

I sit him upright and can't hold back my laughter as I gasp for air. “Never,” I reply. I’d never been to heaven. Hell, on the other hand? I probably already had a reputation there.

“No, you are. You saved me,” he says in between loud coughs. I eye his ripped gas station uniform and I smirk.

“Yeah, I kind of just need some gas, and I'm kind of in a hurry so it was entirely selfish, I promise. So...”

He gives me an odd look. 

“What?” I ask with a shrug. Was I not clear? I’ve been told I have problems with that, what with my sarcasm and all. 

“I need gas,” I say slowly.

“The gas has been cut off. I'm...I'm sorry,” he coughs out.

I groan and pat his back as gently as I can. 

“It's fine.” I decide I'll just have to jack a new car as I eye my current car mournfully through the store window. I turn back to the old guy.  “Are you, you know, okay?”

“I don't know. Did they get me?”

“Get you?” I ask bewildered. There was something about the way he said it.

“I mean bite me. If they bite me, I'm done for. That's how it starts. I've seen it. I've been cooped up here for days but they found me. The biting. That's how it spreads.” 

I’m trying to process this information but he grabs my arm suddenly with a strength I wouldn't have expected. 

“Okay, buddy, loosen up the grip unless you want to lose an arm,” I say with narrowed eyes. I feel bad for him but not enough to allow him to cut off the blood supply to my hand. 

He backs away a little and loosens the grip. 

“If they bit me, please, you have to kill me. I don't want to be a monster,” he says, his once cloudy blue eyes becoming clear and bright.

“Look, I don't think...” I begin then I pause. “Just check yourself for any bites before begging for death, okay?”

“Ok,” he says earnestly. 

“Maybe a bathroom mirror,” I suggest dryly, my eyes heading toward the ceiling. I really don't want to see this old man undress and check for wounds. His clothes are half-torn already and he has blood and stinker gunk on him, which seriously isn’t very pleasant.

“Of course,” he says as he attempts to stand.

I help him up. “Thank-” he begins.

“Really, it's fine,” I say, cutting him off abruptly.

Once he's on his feet and moving, I take a walk toward the window and try to see if there are any cars in or around the street that I can steal.

I hear the creak of the front door opening and I turn around, knife out and ready, but at the sight in front of me I drop it.

“Dad,” I say in barely a whisper. 

My father stands there, in the same army clothes he’d been wearing the night of the attack and with the aviators he's never without sitting on the bridge of his nose. At my whisper, his head whips toward me.

“Dad," I cry again. I found him. No, he’s found me. The relief that washes through me is so great I can barely breathe. 

Before I can take a step toward him he rushes for me, hands out and coming for my throat.