Editor's note: this story contains scenes of rough, reluctant, dubiously consensual, or non-consensual sex.
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Prologue:
The woman crouched at the treeline. It was twilight, the lengthening shadows and the sparse undergrowth almost completely hid her from view.
Silence.
She stayed frozen in position, her thin face, pinched looking from weeks of foraged feeding was strained as she concentrated. There was only silence, no birds, no animals, not even a breeze stirring the leaves above her.
Finally satisfied she scurried from cover, skittering down the grassy slope in front of her. She covered the hundred yards that separated the trees from the small brook winding its course through the landscape in front of her.
At the water's edge she dropped to her knees and shrugged the dark green backpack off her shoulders and onto the ground beside her. The water seemed fresh and clear but even if it hadn't been, she'd have drunk from it regardless, her last water had run out almost a day ago. From the backpack she fished out two thermoses. One stainless steel, the other a plastic one more apt for a child's lunchbox. She filled them both from the brook before returning them to her backpack. Hanging from her belt was a canteen, this was filled next and only then did she allow herself to drink deeply from it.
After her thirst had been quenched, she upended the canteen over her head, soaking her long blonde hair, enjoying the feel of the cool clean water running down over her face and down the back of her neck. She refilled the canteen and then froze once more, trying to discern if there had been any change to the sounds of the land around her. All seemed as it had been. She hated taking the risk but she wasn't sure when she might get an opportunity like this again.
Hurriedly she stripped off her clothes, hiking boots and socks came off first and then the heavy canvas hunting trousers that she'd looted a month ago. They landed on the grass followed by her black t-shirt and black denim jacket. She paused again, self-conscious despite her isolation before stripping off her bra and panties and adding them to the pile of clothes. She stepped into the water; it was barely a foot deep. Rapidly she began washing herself as best she could, tearing at tufts of grass and using them to scrub at the ingrained grime that seemed to coat every inch of her skin.
After five minutes she felt almost brand new, but cold. She left the water, took a spare t-shirt from her backpack, and started towelling herself dry as best she could. She was small, petite some might have said. Only 5 feet tall and with a build to match. She had always been slim but sparse food and the hard existence of the last few months had stripped her of what little fat she had carried. Now she was lean, hard...wiry. She finished drying herself and dressed.
Backpack once again on her shoulders she hurried back up the slope to the safety of the trees. Once back in cover she began following the course of the brook, keeping it in sight. She hoped that she might find a place to camp that night. It stood to reason that somewhere along the path of the brook there might be shelter, even something for livestock.
With the vision of a roof and walls in her mind she hurried along in the failing light until an all too familiar sound caused her to screech to a halt and drop deeper into cover. Again, she heard it. A mindless, senseless moan. Emotion or pain didn't elicit the sound, it was just a quirk, an audible tic even. Something they all did.
She peered into the dusk and saw them then. Five of them, aimlessly wandering in what seemed to be a paddock. Behind them loomed a large barn. The shelter she had hoped to find. But it wasn't to be, not this night at least. She changed direction, heading further into the trees, leaving the zombies behind her.
Chapter 1:
Celine woke, stiff and sore from the hard ground beneath her. The act of washing herself yesterday had seemed a fantastic idea at the time. Now though, her muscles aching from sleeping damp, it seemed that maybe being clean wasn't the most important thing after all.
The near miss last evening had unnerved her. She slept fitfully, despite her exhaustion, waking several times to peer into the gloom of the night in search of one of the shambling fiends.
The zombie outbreak had occurred only nine months before but it had swept the globe in weeks, decimating the earth's population. Only about five percent of the human race were liable to turn when bitten, the real problem was that if you didn't become a zombie yourself, then the virus caused your organs to shut down one after another within days of being infected.
Celine wasn't sure how many people were left alive now but it was only a tiny fraction, that much she could be sure of. Desolate town after town, city after city. She had passed through so many in the last few months. Only a few survivors left, huddled in groups, desperate, suspicious, and unwelcoming.
She had left St Louis Missouri, where she'd been working as a nurse, when order had finally broken down. The National guard and local law enforcement had been overwhelmed; emergency services had been stretched beyond all breaking points. People had just given up, leaving their posts, looking for loved ones or a hiding place. And who could blame them.
Celine had decided to make for her parents' home in Florida. She had no idea if they were alive or dead but she needed a goal if she wasn't to lose all hope herself and this was it. Get home to her Mom and Dad. She was only twenty-four and had little to no knowledge of survival, not that anyone had in a time like this. While others had looted stores, carrying off luxury items that had no use in this situation, she had gone to a bookstore, grabbing some books on hunting, wilderness survival. The books had saved her life. She'd learnt how to trap small game, what plants were edible, which ones could be used to treat wounds, how to make a fire and shelter. All necessary now she was on her own.
Besides the books, her backpack contained some clothes, some water containers, what bits of food she had left and a map. On her belt was a canteen, a police baton and a small .38 calibre handgun. The few times she had been forced to fight for her life against a zombie, it had been the baton she had used, crushing the skull of her adversary. The handgun was for the other predator that now stalked America, people pushed too far, who wanted what you had and would kill to possess it.
Thankfully she hadn't had to use it yet, at least not to kill. Twice she had fired a warning shot at people, it had proved a sufficient deterrent. Even though she knew the number, she flipped open the gun and counted the shells inside. Four. Not much but better than nothing.
She would have been down to a single bullet if not for the barter she had made a couple of months back. An old white guy had traded her three bullets for her help in stitching up some wounds in his back. He had fallen through a glass window escaping a pack of zombies and while the cuts hadn't been deep, the risk of infection had been a real concern.
