The Unreluctant Survivor

For perhaps the twelfth time this hour, I patted the pocket that held the .357 magnum colt. Wasn’t as strong or as persistent as the zombies out there, but Colt made me equal.

The edgy guy was going on how it was all over, and the too-cheerful-for-their-own-good types were going on how we should be happy we’re alive.

“Happy to be alive? Not really. Happy to not be dead, a little closer to the truth.” I grumbled. “No sense whining or complaining, me, I want to stay living. So lets get to what we’re here for. Supplies, weapons and a way out here. Fuck you guys drive me nuts sometimes, and it’s only been a week.”

I grabbed up the new backpack I’d taken from the sports store, and started rifling through the looted and vandalized grocery store.

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