Forgetting the Apocalypse

6. Where's Your Imagination?

Roone's pov*

My little experiment was a mild success. Day time still isn't safe. I killed another zombie and drained it of it's blood. Reluctantly and disgustingly, I covered myself in it along with some of its guts. Just to really well it. However once they got a close look at you; they saw that it was just a trick and you were still food. Guess their eye sight was better than we thought. That sucked. So a no go for the day but it sure as hell made traveling at night that much easier.

Since at that point, the only relied on scent to find their prey. So the blood would entirely hide you from them even if you made noise. That being said, I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be as loud as a drunken cheerleader. Plus at least you wouldn't have to put so much of their blood on you which is a huge relief. Damn thing is unsanitary to begin with.

I had finally reached the small town that is just before the cabin. It had maybe a hundred or two hundred people living in it. Back then, most people would've called this place a ghost town with so few living here. But there were families here that were fourth or fifth generation.

Now, a graveyard has more life.

A quick stop here wouldn't hurt. Since we used to come here every hunting season and summer with my folks, I know all the stores and where everything would normally be found. First stop was Old Al's hunting and bait shop. To my surprise it's not too heavily looted. But like I said, this town isn't even found on most maps. It was like a hidden treasure.

I pick up some more knives and I don't know why it was even in here in the first place but a nice metal bat. Speaking of nice, I wonder if Al still has that beauty?
I go over to the back room where the office is and open the door.

As soon as it opens, I feel a blast of pain.

Not physical but emotional. Al came shuffling towards me like many had before. I closed my eyes for a second, telling him I'm sorry, thanking him for teaching me how to fish. For being the third person to teach me everything I know and then two swings to the head and Al is officially dead.

When I turned to leave I saw Roxy by the chair. Roxy is a beautiful Winchester 94. More heartache follows as the barrel is all busted and the lever is broken. I remember the first time I ever shot Roxy I was thirteen and I didn't realize the power it had. My mom gave Al an earful when she arrived at the hospital to pick me up after I dislocated my shoulder. He promised me he'd buy me one for my eighteenth birthday.

At the time though I had already taken off for college. I never was able to keep my promise about coming back to visit him. Now I never will. I set the gun alongside Al's body and continue looking around. On top his desk is a rectangular box with a note that finally breaks me down to sobs.

"Roone,

I know you're off to college now. Always knew you were a smart boy. You and your brother. This gift is for you. It'll be waiting for you when you get back. Can't wait to see what you name her. Better not be something stupid. I love you son.

Love, Al.

Ps don't tell your mother! I'm still deaf from the left side from all that shouting she gave me when you were thirteen."

I open the box and inside is another Winchester but this one was a model 1873 carbine. I grab it and get used to the weight of it in my hands. Checking the lever action, it's very smooth. Inside the box is two boxes of ammo.

Guilt and regret wash over me tenfold. Had I come to visit four years earlier not only would I have received his heartfelt gift from Al himself. But most importantly, I would've seen him one last time. Gone hunting or fishing with him. Now the last memory of the man who was like a second father to me, would be bashing his head in with a metal bat.