Journal of the Survivors

Chapter Seven--Kyra

Ahoy, mateys!

Long time no talk. Well, not really, but you're still looking good, just as always.

Here is the next chapter, just for you! It's a little bit long, but I hope you'll enjoy it.  We meet some new people in this part so I guess that's nice.

Lemme know what you think. I love to hear from you guys.

Fair winds,

--Ash

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Chapter Seven—Kyra

I wake everyone up early and pack them up. I take my backpack and chest with a bag of supplies balanced on top. Everyone else carries a bunch of materials too, everyone that is, except for Bailey. Then again, that’s not a surprise.

            I decide we should backtrack, going to the last town we were at. I get very uncomfortable staying in one place for too long, but on the other hand, a lot of our team is suffering from hangovers from last night (I told Isaiah that four cases of beer was too much, not that all of it was consumed). With our state of mind and physical state, I don’t think we’re in quite the condition to move onwards and clear another town. Going to one that’s already been cleared seems much safer.

            We walk on this dirt road that goes around the forest instead of the faster way through it. There is nothing but fields and around us this way, making spotting zombies a lot easier.

            “So where are we going? La Guerre? Jungle Bungle?” Archie asks in a slow voice. We give a nickname to each and every shelter we stay in. The one we were just at is “Castle” on the Hill.

            “’Bandoned Burned Beer Barn,” I answer somewhat regretfully. It had been dubbed that by none other than Mr. Reid. The barn is literally in the middle of nowhere. There are no remains of any buildings within at least a mile radius. There is a town a couple of miles away, one we need to pass through to get there. Anyway, the barn was in a fire some time ago.  The wood sides are black with age and damage. I like how it smells like fire though. It reminds me of my home, being curled up in one of the armchairs in front of the hearth, beside my father, immersed in Edgar Allan Poe (or whatever the poet of the day was). Unfortunately, the comforting feeling is somewhat destroyed by the scattered, empty beer bottles everywhere.

            “Awwww yea! Beer Barn, Beer Barn, the best of the best is the Beer Barn. The bitter the batter the better the batter—” Archie screams.

            “Hey! Shut it! Do you want to get us targeted?” I snap.

            “No way, Jose!” Arch replies. He almost trips on his own foot, catching himself at the last possible second. “Whoa, that was close,” he laughs.

            “Did you, by any chance, take a few more beers before we left?” Izzie inquires.

            “Nahhh!” Arch waves the question away.

            “Are you sure?” Iz persists.

            Archer wavers.

            “Did you take some?” Isaiah asks again.

            Arch pinches his fingers so they’re millimetres apart. “Just a teeny, tiny, bitey, bit.”

            “You’re usually the best at covering up being drunk,” Iz observes.