Heart of Fire- ON HOLD

II

Chapter Two

Pushing Emma behind me, we cautiously enter the deserted Walmart, shutting the heavy, no-longer automatic doors gently behind us.

The lack of electricity means the only light available comes from the daylight streaming through the windows; the green glow of the impending storm lends an eerie green tint to the store.

We walk silently and stealthily; carefully assessing our surroundings.

Emma may only be just shy of 5 years old, but she's a smart girl; I've trained her well. She knows exactly how to act in these situations. She knows it's not safe, and she knows I have to keep my attention on our surroundings instead of where she is. She stays behind me with a firm hold on the bottom of my shirt, so I can feel her presence without having to take my attention off of our surroundings.

I grip the shotgun in my hand, feeling comforted by its weight, and the weight of numerous other guns concealed on my body. Just because this Walmart is deserted and most likely not raided, it still doesn't mean there aren't Rotters roaming around in here.

Or worse: people.

Rotters are predictable: they have one goal, which is to EAT you.

People on the other hand, are trickier. You never know what their motive is; what their intentions are. In this world, there is no "making friends." There are no "kind strangers." Just people you don't know, and people you don't WANT to know.

This Walmart is huge, I'll never be able to let my guard down completely. I can clear one area, only to search another area and have to double back to search the previous area again. I decide to walk around the perimeter first, just to make sure we can't be ambushed from multiple sides if there are missing doors or gaping holes in the sides of the building.

We remain silent, the only sound coming from our soft footsteps and quiet, steady breathing. As tense as this situation is, and as young as we are, our survival skills take over and we switch into soldier mode: staying calm in the face of a potentially dangerous situation.

We circle the Walmart, finding nothing out of the ordinary. I slide the strap of my shotgun up my shoulder and swing the gun to my back, freeing my hands. I take off my Never-Out-of-Sight Bag: a backpack whose function is as clear as its name: it NEVER leaves your sight. I created its nickname for Emma's sake, shortening it to "N.O.S.B," so she realizes the importance of hers.

My N.O.S.B is a black Jan Sport backpack, filled with the essentials so that we're equipped if anything were to happen. It holds some high-protein meal replacement bars, a water bottle, a flashlight, batteries, a few old pictures, rope, ammo, an extra gun (the only one not strapped to my body), a hunting knife, tampons (because even though we're in the middle of an apocalypse, it doesn't mean my body automatically stopped answering to mother nature), and a few other essentials.

Emma's N.O.S.B is a small backpack with the image of Shrek and Donkey on the front, her current obsession. Her bag is filled with nearly identical objects as mine, minus the tampons, rope, and pictures. Though she is only 4 years old, she does carry ammo, a small gun, and a knife, all of which she knows never to touch. I make her carry them in her N.O.S.B in case something was to happen to mine, or to me. It'll be a cold day in hell before I leave her defenseless and weak.

Kneeling down in front of Emma, I pull an empty drawstring bag from my N.O.S.B and hand it to her. She pushes her small arms through the strings, adjusting the bag so that she wears it backwards over her stomach, as to not interfere with her N.O.S.B.

I take out another empty, bigger reusable bag and zip up my N.O.S.B, throwing it back on.

"Cami, do you think we can get some more DVD's?" Emma asks quietly.