Green Acres: A Zombie Apocalyptic Story

Chapter 1

The room was dim. Shadows covered every angle of it except the small candlelight that could be seen on the back left side. This was the only light in the room besides the small sunbeams coming through the cracks of the wood that boarded the windows. The beam was pale orange and barely gave any light, but some nonetheless. Directly at the end of the beam was a family photo. The family consisted of a dad, a baby, and a small child. The rest had been ripped from its existence, leaving only a third of what had once been a wallet-sized photograph. The father's face was permanently stuck in a happy grin and his forever gaze was fixed on his children. The baby looked to be at least 6 months old while frozen in happy motion. The older child's figure was stained with blood making it difficult to determine gender or facial expressions.

The last orange ember of the candle guttered, plunging the room into mostly darkness. A hand appeared from the shadows, trembling as it reached towards a black-and-white photo that sat atop a wooden table. The fingers grasped the photo and stuffed it quickly into a pocket of ripped, bloody jeans. In one corner of the room, something growled hungrily. Fingernails scraped against the wall, trying to dig their way inside. Slowly but surely, pounding grew louder and faster as the dead outside became aware of its meal of flesh within. They wouldn't be able to hold out much longer -- time was running out -- whatever was behind that door wouldn't stay shut for long.

The girl quickly scattered around the room grabbing everything her small backpack could carry. Her photograph, food, water, and weapons were her main go-to for emergency supplies. She ran left and right across the room before finally stopping and quickly trying to close her bag. The zipper got caught but she had no time to try to fix it. The girl quickly put the red bag over her shoulders and began looking for a quick exit. The first thing that came to mind was one of the lightly boarded windows she made specifically for an emergency such as this. She ran up the carpet-covered stairs until step four and began pulling the boards off the window. A gust of wind blew out the candlelight, making the room pitch black as she quickly made her escape, accidentally dropping an item in the process. A blue, rusted key-chain silently thudded onto the carpet stairs showing a name in bright yellow bold lettering: "Sophie"

Sophie ran through the empty streets of New York, New York for a good while before stopping to take a small rest. This was a very big risk in New York. Because the city was so large and overpopulated, the place was swimming in the walking dead. The streets were filled with broken cars. Bodies of children, women, and men all filled the roads and cracked sidewalks as far as her vision would let her see. Some walkers that were alive have been impaled with road signs or car parts making them unable to even crawl. All they could do was sit and make hideous noises.

Sophie took part of her time to quickly put her crimson hair into a ponytail since she didn't have the time to do so in the big rush. The soft, thin hair was finally out from in front of her emerald eyes so she could see more clearly. She looked down at her bloody, sky blue button shirt and beaten-up jeans with a sense of exhaustion. She's been on her own for so long that she hasn't been able to sleep like she used to, let alone try and find a cleaner set of clothes. Sophie then looked up at the darkness of the sky. She needed to move or the night will eat her whole.

The crimson-haired girl continued on her way for a good hour and a half before making it out of the city. Beyond the city was mainly farmers' land and openness. Her fear was being caught by someone in the open while robbing them but she doubted that it would happen this late in the day. So she continued. It took a while before walking into a field that seemed to be very close to a house. She looked around quickly but saw no other buildings and the sheds are mainly collapsed. They would not be very good shelters. Out of instinct, she walked to the building. Something strange caught her eye, however. A dog... missing some of its face. She felt bad for the creature but decided to ignore it. She did not have the materials to take him on. Sophie then went to the back of the boarded-up building.

She cautiously twisted the knob and pushed the door open with a creak. She winced at the sound and prayed nobody was home. She stepped inside, shutting the door with a loud thud that caused her to jump. The girl then began searching for supplies, starting in the cabinet.

The opening of the door caught the attention of a lounging man. His left hand still held his gun close to his body as he pondered who could have entered the building. It couldn't be walkers; they weren't intelligent enough to open doors, and Doug would have scared off any wanderer. But when he heard a thud from the back door, he sprang into action and pointed his six-cylinder revolver straight at her back. Before he had the chance to see her face, he already had it aimed at her head.

The red of her hair, even in a ponytail, reminded him of blood. Her clothes were soiled from, most likely, days of lonesome roads and multiple kills. She appeared soft. Almost childlike in a way that caused him to lower the weapon and clear his throat with a deep, hoarse sound as though he had been gargling gravel for hours. If she hadn't heard him before, she certainly knew he was there now.

"Who are you?"

Sophie whirled around to face the voice, her heart pounding. She found herself standing in front of a tall, broad-shouldered man with piercing blue eyes and dark, disheveled hair touching his shoulders. He was wearing a fitted black leather jacket and jeans, complete with scuffed, steel-toed boots. His mouth curled into a smirk as he repeated his question: “Who are you?”

Though she wanted to run or scream for help, Sophie kept her composure and spoke quietly with trepidation in her voice.

"I-I was told not to talk to strangers," Sophie replied hesitantly, not wanting to act rashly or naive, but knowing that either way could lead to danger.

How original. Sure, why wouldn't it be? This petite childlike female didn't know a lick about him. Putting the revolver in its holster, he stepped heavily toward her. "Well, weren't ya taught to look at who ya speak to?" He stopped in the archway that separated the two rooms and simply leaned against the aged wood. This caused the wood to groan softly, but he didn't care. He knew nothing would harm him in this house. With his gun holstered, he simply crossed his arms and looked at the female. "If ya ain't gonna tell me yer name, at least tell me yer age. I got to know if ya can protect yerself."

Each footstep the man took caused her head and shoulders to scrunch up a little bit more. He sounded big. Or at least tall. Maybe even a little scary. If she got into a fight with him, then she would definitely be the weaker person, but Sophie would be faster and hard to catch. All she could think of was how to get away if all things went badly. If only there was a doggie door...

"I'm uh... eleven. S-sir."

Eleven wasn't an age to fight. Hearing the girl's words, thoughts flooded his mind. He could remember his past before s**t hit the fan. Closing his eyes, a sigh could be heard passing his lips. "Where's yer Ma and Pa? How'd ya get here?" He wanted to be sure she could be useful but also wanted to protect her. She reminded him now, even more so, of his daughter. He knew the red hair, he knew the dirty jeans. But the age and the voice didn't match. Of course, it didn't match, but the small details kept his daughter on his mind.

When Sophie heard him ask about her parents she slowly looked down at her clothes. The blood-stained clothes of all the walkers she'd killed to survive. Even her shoes got so trashed she had to throw them out, leaving her with her bare feet. "My dad is sleeping now." Sophie said calmly but felt like she was going to cry. It could be heard by the sound of her voice but she knew she couldn't let her emotions stop her from surviving just like her father wanted. She didn't say anything about her mother. She had nothing to say about her. "And I walked." She stated as she slowly wiggled her toes.

He looked down as he heard the emotion in her voice. Depression was a key element in this new world. "Well, I got extra room here. Pretty sure my daughter won't mind ya using her clothes or shoes. Ya look about her size." He scuffed his boot against the hardwood flooring before moving from the archway. "Her room is up the stairs and to the left. Bathroom has running water, take ya a bath, I'll fetch some food." He pointed toward the stairs in the living room and looked at the girl. "I don't mind sharin', just wish I knew who I was sharin' with."

Sophie looked up at the cabinet she was about to loot before. He's offering to share with her. He barely knew her. Plus, somehow, he had running water. She gave a tiny smile and wiped off her face with the dirty, stained palm of her hand from where tears went down her face, leaving a now wet dirt trail on her face. She slowly turned around to see a very tall man. Just as she thought. Her emerald eyes raced up and down at his features and around the room as well. She spotted the staircase he was talking about but also noticed the put-away handgun. "M-my name is Sophie."