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.

We found a small, portable, battery operated DVD player on one of our raids, and it's Emma's favourite. I know I should be using the batteries for something more logical and related to our survival, but I can't deny Emma an escape from this shitty life. I can't deny her something which constituted my whole childhood, which gives her such happiness.

"I'm sure they have a whole bunch, Hun. We'll check after we get the essentials, okay?" I quietly assure her.

She nods understandingly, and my heart breaks at how mature she's forced to be. She understands that survival comes first. Always.

Standing back up, I slide the straps of the big bag over one arm, bringing my shotgun back into my hands, but leaving the strap over my shoulder. Emma grabs my shirt again, and we continue our cautious journey deeper into the eerie store.

We walk past the chocolate and candy aisle, my heart silently weeping. We can't afford to eat junk food in these times: though it may make my taste buds perform an entire symphony, we just can't afford the empty calories. We need foods packed with nutrition and vitamins so that on the days when food is hard to come by, our bodies can still function in top shape.

We head straight to the meal replacement, protein and energy bars aisle. I let my shotgun hang from the strap on my arm and sweep my arm across the shelf, efficiently knocking boxes of bars into my open, awaiting bag.

We walk towards the clothing aisle when I feel Emma tugging on my shirt. I glance back at her and she points to the DVD aisle with an excited grin.

"Please, Cami? Pleaaassseeeee?" she quietly pleads.

I sigh and give her a soft smile, "Okay, Emma."

She beams up at me and scrambles behind me to grab onto my shirt again, following my lead.

We shuffle into the DVD aisle, quickly glancing around. I kneel down facing Emma and place my shotgun on the floor, hastily shoving some DVDs that I knew she doesn't have yet into the drawstring bag on her stomach.

"Cami!" she whispers urgently, looking straight over my shoulder.

I turn and follow her line of sight, spotting three Rotters that just wandered into our aisle. They seem to sense us immediately, letting out bone chilling shrieks, and charging towards us with an almost inhuman speed.

I stumble slightly as I quickly get up and spin around, pushing Emma farther behind me.

I reach for my shotgun that's usually hanging from the strap over my shoulder, cursing when I realize I left it on the floor. Knowing it would waste a few precious seconds to retrieve it, I quickly cross my arms across my body, grabbing a gun in each hand from the holsters on either side of my rib cage, and draw them.

I immediately shoot the two Rotters that are less than an arm span away from me, their contents spattering over my face and shirt. The third one tackles me to the floor, knocking my guns out of my hands. I instantly stick my arms out and push its hideous, rotting face away from my own. It screeches loudly, its saliva splattering over my face from the close proximity.

Distantly, I hear Emma yelling and crying, but my attention is focused on the bloodthirsty creature laying on top of me, all of my strength focused on trying to keep its mouth too far to bite me. I have two other guns strapped to each of my short clad thighs, and a knife tucked into my combat boots, but my arms are already screaming from the effort it takes to keep it away from me using BOTH of my arms. I don't think I would be able to use one arm for long enough to struggle to reach my thigh, which its rotting leg is currently blocking anyways.

"EMMA, SLIDE ME MY HANDGUN!" I direct at her, knowing she'll know what to do.

The Rotting man on top of me snarls and snaps his teeth at me, and I try to push myself as far into the floor as I can. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Emma crawl to one of my handguns that I dropped when I was forcefully tackled, and she slides it over to me. Quick as lightening, I release one hand and grab it, bringing it back and shooting the Rotter in the head, gore splattering all over me.

It's now lifeless body loses all fight and slouches on top of me. I immediately flip it off of me and gag from the decaying flesh and gore that covers me, taking deep breathes, trying to regulate my breathing.

Emma runs to me and throws her arms around me, hugging me close despite the fact that I'm covered in decaying flesh, blood, and Rotter contents.

"Cami... I... I'm sorry... I thought..." she cries, trembling from my close encounter.

"It's okay, Emma. I'm okay." I comfort her. "Come on, let's get us a change of clothes and finish getting supplies. We don't want the truck smelling like Rotter guts now do we?" I joke with her, looking around nervously. I don't want to alarm her, but we need to get out of here quickly. Where there are some Rotters, there are usually more lurching around the corner.

She shakes her head, and sniffles, still shaken up.

I stand up and retrieve my guns, hastily sliding them back into the holsters at my ribs and grabbing my shotgun.

I quickly usher her out of the aisle, and turn left, stopping abruptly and feeling my eyes go wide.

A horde of Rotters were milling around in the open space, blocking any hope of exiting from that direction. As if sensing helpless prey, all 20 pairs of ravenous eyes snap towards us, narrowing on their future meal.

My mind reels, seeming to blank except for one word flashing across my mind.

"Fuck."