Wake of the Dead | One

Chapter One

Killian knit his brows together, his eyes locked on the target in front of him. He was knelt down beside a clump of bramble bushes, just on the edges of a clearing in a shallow patch of woods. He could see the flash of a white tail in the underbrush, bobbing along. Long ears swiveled back and forth as the rabbit munched on the dew-laden grass beneath it. Killian's eyes narrowed, his heart slamming against his rib cage. Tension coiled around his muscles, and the tingling of excitement itched along his fingertips. The thrill of the hunt was something he hadn't felt in a very long time. Holding his crossbow tight, he silently pulled one of the arrows from the quiver and loaded it into the track, straining from the resistance of the string. With a finger on the trigger, he aimed for the rabbit's eye.

The sudden snap of a twig made the rabbit's ears perk up. Without another moment to spare, the brown animal shot out of the bushes and began to dart through the woods. Killian let out a frustrated huff and swung his crossbow onto his back, where it nestled comfortably between his shoulder blades. Taking a hunting knife from his belt, the young man raced after it as quickly as he could. Hunger rumbled in his empty stomach, his vision focusing on the hind legs of his prey. His strides were long, his arms pumping at his sides as he gripped the knife even tighter in his hand. Tripping over a fallen log, Killian quickly scrambled to his feet. With the rabbit darting out of sight, he followed after the deep paw prints quickly and carefully. Bursting out of the woods and spotting the rabbit bounding across some train tracks, Killian chased after it. The gravel beneath his feet made things a bit more difficult, but he was determined. Just as he managed to get over them, the rabbit scrambled beneath a chain link fence on the other side and ran off. Not giving up so easily, Killian sprinted over and jumped, latching onto the fence and dragging his way up. As he came up over the top, a tearing pain ripped through the length of his forearm. Killian clenched his teeth and landed on the other side, gripping onto his arm hard.

Dark, scarlet drops tapped at the pavement beneath him, gathering in a small puddle as he stood there. Killian silently cursed the rabbit; that had been the only meal he'd seen in a day and a half. It could possible be the only meal he'd see for a longer time yet. Not to mention, his tunnel-vision had cost him an injury. Arguably an open wound was much worse than an empty stomach. You could fill an empty stomach, but even if you had the supplies to heal an open wound the blood-scent would linger and bring some of the undead after you. At first Killian hadn't thought it was possible for the creatures to pick up scent or any kind of surrounding sound. But he had been gravely mistaken, and almost lost his life over it a few weeks into this whole disaster.

Gazing around his surroundings, Killian was definitely wary. Any of those diseased things could be hiding around the corner. Biters are what he called them. Their insatiable appetite for human flesh didn't ever seemed to be quenched. Killian had even seen them feeding on the corpses of animals, but he hadn't ever seen an animal come back from the dead to feast on others. He'd long ago come to the conclusion that this—whatever it was—was only affecting humans.

Killian's hand clenched even tighter around his knife as he heard a low growl from the shadows of a nearby building. It seemed like he had found himself on the outskirts of the city he'd grown up in. There was nothing here but bad memories, and memories made even worse when the undead had taken over the city. All he remembered were the military vehicles arriving, and the echoes of rapid gunshots. The screams of people being torn apart, gore riddling the streets and people panicking. It'd been absolute chaos, and he'd never been more terrified in his life. Killian had been scared of these things at first. But not now. Now, they only filled him with anger and resentment. They'd taken everything away from everybody.

The growl grew into a collective range of gurgling snarls. Out of the shadows of the building in front of him—an abandoned warehouse by the looks of things—he heard a quiet shuffling. Three biters made their way out into the open. One was dragging itself along the ground by its two hands. They were all dressed in workers uniform, with their clothes embedded into the rotting flesh. Unfortunately, Killian had gotten used to the scent of dead bodies by now. Many people already had, he assumed. One of biters seemed to move faster than the other two, coming at him swiftly. It wasn't as rotted as the others. It must have only died recently. With a sickening, gurgling snarl it lunged towards him.