Survival

Before he even stepped through the vast wooden gates, the massive stench told Freeman all he needed to know:  everyone in Camp B was dead.  He gripped his revolver and walked the main street, eyeing every window and open door, stepping over loose limbs and bloated torsos. 

An eyeball here. 

Strings of intestines there. 

RageX had claimed another zombie-free zone and pretty soon all humanity would eat itself alive.

He finally arrived at the community hall.  A huge American flag flapped above, releasing whipping echoes that thrashed through the mortuary silence.  Freeman approached the door with crouched steps, easing it open and stepping inside, allowing himself time to acclimate to the dank, putrid air.  More bodies.  Not that he expected to find anything else.

The 13th, Freeman said to himself, looking at the most recent date of a tear-away calendar.  That meant the camp had been taken six days ago, a good three days before Camp E had received the SOS.  Something was wrong.

After scavenging the hall for any useful supplies, Freeman checked his surroundings once again and prepared to leave.  He backed out the way he came in, his senses tuned to any changes or inconsistencies.  Once completely out, he faced the main road and saw her.

The little girl stood there, mute and dirty, her blond hair and ragged clothes bathed in red.  Freeman approached her slowly.  His raised revolver shook.  Not another kid, he murmured.  Please.

Her eyes.

Freeman grabbed her head firmly and stared into them.  She seemed clean.  He examined her body for lesions or other signs of zombification.  Clean.  He took a pair of scissors and clipped her clumpy hair.  Her scalp, clean.

With a relieved sigh, he threw the girl over his shoulder and headed home.  Score one small victory for humanity’s survival.

Word count: 300