Page 2 of Making Haven
I toss my shit onto the floor next to the bed before tugging on the dresser, pulling it until it’s leaning against the bedroom door. Can never be too careful. Then I turn to the bed with a grin. I don’t take my clothes or boots off, too used to sleeping in them in case of a quick get-away. I jump into the bed, wiggling to get myself comfortable.
“Jesus,” I murmur to myself. I haven’t slept in a bed in two years. This feels downright heavenly. Maybe that’s it, maybe I’ve died and this is my heaven. Not that I believe in such things, not anymore.
I bury my face against the pillow, letting my body fully and truly relax. I let out a groan, overwhelmed by how freaking wonderful this feels. I pull the comforter over my body and close my eyes.
The sound of shuffling and groaning drift up from the streets below but I ignore it. It’s probably foolish but I feel safe here. I let myself fall asleep.
That is, until the sound of banging startles me awake.
Chapter Two
Lawrence
I lean against thewall, waiting for the shadows to finish growing, signaling when it’s safe for me to finally venture outside. I already have my bag packed and ready to go. My initial plan for the night was to work on cleaning out a few houses. They’ve sat empty for two years, and it’s about time I properly deal with them instead of pretending anyone is going to show up and help me. My neighbors are long gone and it’s about time I face that fact.
But that plan sounded drab. Instead, I’m hoping to venture out and find supplies. What sort of supplies? I’m not entirely sure yet. I have a restlessness under my skin, compelling me to get out and do something. The towns closest to my home have already been raided but I’m prepared to travel a few towns over, just to see if there’s anything not already picked over.
I’m not sure why but today I’m feeling lucky.
Sticking to my homebase is what’s kept me safe for the last few years, but there’s something in the air tonight. I learned a long time ago to trust my instincts and I’m not about to stop doing that now.
Once the sun has gone down, I pick up my backpack and head outside. I stop at my garden, pulling a few things from the ground and placing them carefully in my bag. There’s always a chance at running into survivors while I’m out and I want to be prepared to trade. What’s hotter commodity in the literal end of the world than fresh produce? It’s not like I can eat it, anyway.
Hunger is a familiar companion these days, always lingering just under my skin. It gnaws at me until I can barely stand it, until my stomach aches and my head spins. When I was still human, there was a time I ate far too many burgers in one sitting and got the meat sweats. Now, I get the same sort of feeling, only it’s from a hunger that I can barely quench.
I throw my backpack into place over my shoulders before starting my walk. I make sure to lock the gate up as I go, wanting my little gated community to stay empty while I’m gone. I chance one look over my shoulder at it as I go, my hand unconsciously going to my chest, wishing it was just hunger gnawing at me instead of bone deep loneliness as well.
Can’t really find a stray deer in the forest to take that particular pain away.
Not wanting to waste what limited time I have before the sun comes out, I break out into a sprint. Being a vampire comes with its pros and cons. I have to live off blood and can’t feel the sun on my skin any longer, but on the bright side, I apparently can’t contract the virus that brought about these undead zombies. Undead vampirism apparently trumps undead zombie virus! I can run at vehicle level speeds. I’m incredibly strong and also incredibly handsome. At least I’m pretty sure about that last one. It’s been a few years since I was able to see my reflection but from what I remember, I was quite the looker.
If I had to guess, I’d say it takes me about a half hour of running to reach the city I was aiming for. Jillian Bay was hit hard when everything went to shit. A lot of people usedto live here so when one zombie came stumbling in, the virus spread like wildfire in a hay barn. I’d heard stories about people jumping onto boats to get away only to realize one of the people who came with them was hiding a bite. Dumb fuckers.
Why do so many people hide their bites? It’s like they want to spread this shit.
I slow my steps into a walk, looking around the city. So far, there’s not much movement or action that I can see. Either, there are less zombies in this city than I initially expected, or something has them all congregated together somewhere.
A heartbeat hits my ears and my steps falter. I look to my right, finding a fat owl sitting on a branch, staring at me. Its heartbeat makes my mouth water. It’s been a while since I’ve fed, mostly sticking to the rabbits who try to take a nibble from my precious little garden and other ways to sate my hunger.
I’ll go into town and see what’s going on, but first, a little snack is in order. Normally, I wouldn’t waste my time on a bird, knowing they’re more than likely to fly away before I can really get a grip on it, but this particular bird looks so lazy, so plump. I can’t seem to help myself.
Using that vampiric speed from earlier, I pounce, wrapping my hands around the bird. It gives a weak squeak before my fangs are sliding down into place. I take a bite, moaning as warm blood pools against my tongue. Fuck. Fuck, this is so good. Exactly what I needed.
The owl flails in my grip, its talons digging into my arm but I don’t care, too lost in the lust of feeding. Everything goes hazy around the edges as I drink deeply. Sometimes, I’ll just take a few sips before letting the animal go. This time, I seem to have lost all wits and thought, too overwhelmed with just how fucking good this owl tastes. I drink and I drink and I drink until my sucking brings up nothing at all.
I pull away, licking the last few drops from my lips. With a shuddering breath, I pull my fangs back up, leaving them blunt and human-like. I kiss the owl’s head, silently thanking it for the meal before laying it at the base of its tree.
Fuck, I feel clearer than I have in a long time. I’m more aware of my surroundings, my body poised and ready for any danger that might spring up. I feel strong, capable of taking down the most grizzly opponent. Which might just come in handy if the noises that are coming from the area ahead of me are anything to go by.
The usual gurgle and shuffling of the undead hits my ears as I begin my walk once more. They’re hunting something, or probably more accurately, someone. Poor bastard has gotten themselves in a tough situation. A small part of me thinks about turning back and making my way back home. They’d never know someone else was even here. I don’t really need to bother helping people when I’ve got a solid set-up back home. But the bigger part of me knows I won’t do that. There’s not nearly enough survivors anymore. And I’m so goddamn lonely in that big cul-de-sac by myself. I could use a little company, even if it’s just for a little while as I help get them out of this situation.
That’s without knowing that it’s the right thing to do. If people stop helping each other, we become as bad as the undead zombies.
My steps quicken and it’s not hard to find what’s going on. There’s a man stranded on a balcony by himself, a group of zombies gathered below him, staring up at him like he’s their next meal. I’ve never been more glad for my heightened eyesight because even from a distance, I can see just how beautiful this guy is. Tall and broad in a way that tells me he’s strong. He’s a survivor. His hair is long and dark, a mess he’s trying to keep pushed behind his ears and out of the way. His face is covered instubble. I wish I could see what color his eyes are from here but my admiration will have to wait until a more opportune time.
The zombies below the balcony aren’t the worst of what’s happening. The glass door behind the poor guy shakes and quivers as someone pounds on it. A werewolf zombie. What I lovingly call a zere. Fuck.
As if zombies weren’t enough during this hellscape of a time, we quickly learned that humans weren’t the only ones capable of contracting the virus. Vampires seem immune but that’s not the case for werewolves. Instead of turning them into brain-dead undead, they turned them completely and utterly feral. They’re more animal than man now, wanting nothing more than to feed on fresh flesh.
