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a little for what she was about to do. Relaxing her fingers around the knife’s handle, she readied herself. Like a hammer used to drive a nail into wood, she raised the cooking implement up and brought it down fast, closing her eyes each time she struck. The knife went into the man’s skull easier than she’d anticipated. It only took four strikes before the blade became imbedded up to the hilt. The task was done.  
    The man was a pig, a dreg of the new world. He deserved no better sentence than the one she’d given him. The zombies were only part of the world’s problem. It was men like the one that had attacked her that, like the undead, needed to be eradicated. Riley ground her teeth, cheek muscles flexing with anger. Was anyone in the world trustworthy? Her father had taught her to be vigilant and that meant trusting no one. She’d let her guard down, thinking she was safe because the army had come. Who even knew if they were the official United States Army? Maybe they were a band of rag-tag survivalists. She would never make that mistake again.  
    She let out a sigh of relief, shaking from the adrenaline. The pot would be staying in the diner; she needed no physical reminders of the grisly deed. The knife had to remain behind too—stuck in the man’s skull and unable to be withdrawn. She had other blades in the cabin, this one held no significance.
    She gathered her gun by the door and hid in one of the large cabinets until the army left the area. Tonight, when she was safe, she would cry.  

Chapter Three
    The Stranger
    Riley found herself sitting against a cabinet door, wishing she was back at the cabin. She heard movement to her left. Turning her head, she saw the man she’d killed beginning to stir. Her eyes grew wide at the impossible sight. She’d destroyed the man’s eyes and brain. There was no way he could re-animate.  
    The dead man pushed himself up off the floor, blood pouring from his mangled eye sockets. He began crawling toward her. She backed away, crabwalk-like.  
    “No, no. You’re dead. I destroyed your brain,” she said, her voice weary.  
    “I don’t need a brain to eat you, you tasty little morsel,” the zombie said.  
    She couldn’t believe it. Not only was the thing undead with a knife sticking out of its head, but it was speaking to her. It crawled quickly—too quickly, and grabbed her ankles. She kicked her legs, but the zombie’s grip was strong like an iron bear trap.  
    The zombie pulled itself along her legs and onto her abdomen. Before she knew it, her wrists were pinned over her head, the zombie looking down on her, syrupy blood dripping into her mouth.  
    “Yum, yum,” the undead thing said, a menacing glow emanating from its eyeless orbital sockets. Riley squeezed her eyes closed, her face scrunched up, as the thing lowered its mouth to take a bite.  
    She sat up quickly, banging her forehead on something solid. “Ouch!” she muttered. Opening her eyes, she saw darkness save a sliver of light from around the cabinet door. She’d been having a nightmare. She must have fallen asleep. Her heart was beating rapidly, her thoughts racing. What an awful dream. She settled herself, taking long breaths, realizing she needed to be alert. How long had she been out?  
    She adjusted her seated position and decided to sit still for a spell. Was she alone? Had the army men cleared out? Another thought entered her mind—the man she recently killed. Was he still dead? Or up walking around somewhere? No, he had to be dead. She’d killed him properly.  
    She grew hungry as time crept by, rummaging through her bag to find something to eat. She was sick of beef jerky, but it was plentiful and easy to carry.
    For what seemed like hours, she sat listening for any noise—human or zombie. Her mind wandered a few times to thoughts about her father and the times they’d shared together. She missed the cabin; a place she called home now. It was safe, secure and far away from