Of a Flock

Chapter One

It came suddenly and without warning.

Dream was wrenched from his sleep, his dreams broken from a sharp pain in his back. The night around him shushed his whimpers and moans, and patted down the air in an attempt to calm him so they wouldn't find him. He didn't listen to them, and only screamed louder as what felt like fire consumed his back.

He tried to roll onto the pain, but his heartbeat spiked, like it was trying to jump out of his chest when it felt something behind him. The wet object now stuck to his skin, and he shuddered, tempted to throw it off of him.

"Arghhh!" he hissed, digging his fingers into the cold dirt. "What the heck! Is happening!" He let out a loud groan that finished in a scream as a fresh wave of pain washed over his back.

Hissing, he crawled forward in the darkness. For sure they heard him. They were never far. And now he attracted unwanted attention from the undead too.

He only made it a few inches before he had to bite down another scream. It rose up into his throat, threatening to spill at any moment. He tasted something metallic and when he realized, he stopped biting his tongue, but then the scream came out.

"Mom!"

He immediately shook his head, wondering how that slipped out. His mother wouldn't help him. No like she could anyway. She was gone. As well as his father. He tried to remember their faces. To see their smile. But it was just out of his sight.

They were gone, but his pain was not. Tears now began to line up in his eyes, blurring his vision, and he wanted it to end. Why was everything against him now? Why did he have to be alone? What the heck was even happening?

A grunt sounded somewhere near him and he groaned, not ready to meet the undead that staggered around. But he had to get out before things became a million times worse. So, swallowing the pain that clawed his back, he forced his eyes to peel open and stare ahead, looking at the tree that was right in front.

With an idea forming in mind, he reached out, hissing as his arm moved a muscle on his back, stretching his pain out even more. Hot tears blurred his vision, and he felt weak. Tired, hungry, in pain, and weak. It was always just his luck, wasn't it?

Grabbing the dirt in front of him, he began dragging himself forward, trying not to stretch any muscle on his back and dump him into even more fire. Slowly, he moved, whimpering, his teeth grinding so hard against each other he wasn't surprised to taste something metallic as he moved.

But, inch by inch, he came closer to the tree. How had he fallen off? The branches were thick and hard to move. Had a hunter shot him in the back? Whatever injury he now had, it didn't feel like an arrow. Those he could yank out with some difficulty because his leather padding protected him that much against them. It wasn't poison, obviously, and no other animal could have come up with the idea that scratching him was an enjoyable pastime.

But whatever it was, he knew, it was wrong. And impossible to remove.

The undead let out another groan, and Dream stiffened, his fear locking his muscles into place and his breaths quickening. His back protested by ravenging another firestorm over him, and he was unable to hold back the pained moan. For sure he was caught.

Thinking quickly, Dream decided to throw caution out the window, once again, and he deftly slipped his hand into his vest pocket, unclipping it with his left hand and feeling for the smooth wooden handle of his knife. Once it was clasped firmly in his grasp, he let out a breath, trying to squeeze the tears out of his eyes, and he waited.

He didn't have to wait long. With his carefully trained ears, he heard the undead stagger closer, roughly three feet away, and just behind him. Clenching his fingers tighter, he whirled, throwing the knife out in a flash and catching the undead right in its chest.