The Shelter

CHAPTER ONE: The War Begins

CHAPTER ONE: The War Begins

The heavens were burnt black and orange - ocher and marigold flaring up against a sunless sky. The world was on fire, and the thick rolling smoke rose up into the heavens.

I moved in behind a grotesque oak without making a sound; my katana blade laying strapped tightly against my back in a black wooden scabbard. The full twelve-inch grip was covered in rayskin and wrapped in leather; it hung just above my left shoulder for easy access. Over my right shoulder, a 20-gauge sawed-off shotgun dangled from its thick canvas strap. I wore an assortment of ammunition belts that crisscrossed my body and covered my dirty clothes; two holstered .45’s hung from each hip, and a small-caliber Berretta lay strapped tightly against my left ankle.

I scanned the area like an animal—sniffed the air and listened to the stillness.

The graveyard lay off to the right, nestled between the park and the low sweep of a yellowed-hill. If any of the Crazies were around, that’s where they’d be—there was always easy pickings in the cemetery.

A fountain stood in the center of the park and I could see as well as smell water in it—water I could boil several times in the hope of purifying a small amount to drink—water that had a brackish taste, a metallic flavor. Nevertheless, it was water and my body needed it.

Lightly, I moved forward like a dancer, spinning once to keep a full view of my surroundings. The fountain was full of water as black as ink. I would have to distill it before use. Slipping my canteen beneath the surface, I listened to the loud “glub-glub’ of the air bubbles as it filled. I saw my reflection in the water. I looked so thin—desperate; my cheekbones more prominent than last I remembered. I had been changing over the weeks: my belly was no longer soft around the middle, but hard and muscular. I had become lean and wiry—stronger and more fit. It was as if this kind of life agreed with me—like I was born to it.

A scream broke the stillness and I, crouching like a cat, dropped my canteen and pumped a shell into the shotgun. A blond-haired girl ran down the middle of Main Street. She carried no weapons, only a bulging gunnysack that threatened to tangle up in her legs as she ran. Behind her, four Crazies gave pursuit, giggling and laughing like lunatics. The girl easily outran them, but Ray could see three more hurrying around the back of the buildings trying to outflank her.

“A woman? Alive and uncontaminated? Interesting.” I lowered my gun and casually retrieved my canteen, making sure it was securely fastened upon the belt about my waist. Then I moved quickly through the park and toward the north end of town.

I heard the woman scream again.

As the men overtook her, she dropped her sack, and grabbed a piece of wrought iron and swung it before her to keep them at bay.

“Ho-ho, look at this, fellas, a fresh one!”

She stepped forward and smashed the metal bar across his face. The man went down, screaming through a broken mouth and spitting blood and teeth.

“Ha! Serves ya right, asshole!” laughed one of the men. “This one still has plenty of bite left in her.”

The fallen man struggled to stand. “I’ll show her bite when I dine upon her flesh.”

The other three men came out of the alley to join in the fun.

“What duya you got here, gents, a live one, huh. Oh, pretty too—it’s been so long since I’ve felt the warmth of a woman. Try not to damage her too much, I want to take my time with this one.” They moved in circling her and cutting off any hope of escape.

The girl swung her metal club again, but one of them stepped inside her arc and wrestled her to the ground. The others joined in and quickly subdued her ripping at her clothes and spreading her legs open.

“Me first,” yelled the large dark man—obviously the leader.

“You always go first,” complained the one holding her arms from behind.

In a blur of motion, the big man pulled a bowie knife from the scabbard at his waist and plunged it into the man. “Anybody else got somethin’ to say?”

No one said a word as the man sheaved his heavy knife, dropped his pants and moved in-between the girl’s legs. “First some fun, and then we eat.”

I stepped out of the shadows, my samurai sword flashing wildly at the unsuspecting men. The first two I beheaded while another dropped as my sword pierced through his shoulder blades and exited out his chest. I stepped forward, threw a flying elbow, and staggered the big black man as I pulled my weapon free and slashed it across the chest of one of the men holding the woman’s arms. Stepping to the right, I hacked down upon the shoulder of another, the blade bit deeply into his flesh and almost split the man in half.

Three left—and now I watched as they fished for weapons of their own. It occurred to me, somewhere deep in my swirling thoughts, just how close to the edge of disaster I was. I lashed out and completely severed the leg of the man closest to me, spun, dropped to one knee and skewered the next. But the blade stuck, and from the corner of my eye, I saw the big man, knife drawn, rushing toward me. I released my sword, leaving it in the dying man, lifted the shotgun that hung from my shoulder, and shot the man pointblank in the face. He fell heavily across the girl that lay upon the ground screaming.

I retrieved my sword and dispatched the man with one leg—the street ran red with blood.

I offered an open hand to the startled girl. “Come! We must hurry—the shot will bring more.”

She wiped at her eyes, took my hand and stood. “This way,” she said, her voice shaking, “we are very close to the shelter.”