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had to hold her down and cover her mouth. She actually bit me. God help me, but I wanted to put a bolt in her head, too. Had I been reloaded…well…it’s all speculation.
    Still, I knew we had one more tent, and according to Jen-ifer, two more men out on watch. I had to act fast. Not being able to trust Dominique at that moment, I tied her up and gagged her.
    There were two more that Jenifer and I dealt with quickly and quietly. Then I got one of the fires going. I stoked up the one in front of the tent I’d found Jenifer in, then moved to one of the empty tents so I could wait and ambush whoever came through that flap. I told Jenifer to sit with Dominique, but not to untie her under any circumstances.
    It was almost too easy. The occupants of this tent came in together and, since I didn’t care about being silent anymore, I had the shotgun waiting. I didn’t give a damn about taking prisoners or any of that crap. I pulled the trigger and blasted the first guy through. The buckshot made a mess of the entire middle of his body and knocked him back a step. It also dinged up the arm of the second guy.
    I sprung to my feet and dashed out into the open air. The one I’d hit good was staring up at the sky making fish-like movements with his mouth as blood bubbled and frothed from it. The other was a kid, no more than fifteen. He was holding a fairly ruined elbow, and carrying on like a big baby.
    After taking his gun—a .22 caliber, six-shot revolver—the buck-knife on his belt, and what looked like a Roman Centurion’s sword that was strapped to his side in a homemade sheath, I decided to ask a few questions. At first, he just kept hollering and calling me “bitch” and “whore” which I was able to ignore. When he called me a “stupid cunt” I’d had enough of being nice. I stood up, stepped on his bad arm and shot him in the hand—effectively pinning it to the ground—with my crossbow. Then I did the same with the left. He put up quite a struggle, but, being just a scrawny kid with what I could call a very low tolerance for pain, I managed.
    The name calling stopped and eventually, as the sun began to brighten the sky, he settled down to quiet sobbing. I discovered that my lone survivor’s name was Robby Mitchell. He is fourteen. His older brother, the one with the shotgun blast pattern in his chest, is Brett Mitchell and he was twenty. The other names and ages weren’t worth remembering, but ranged from sixteen (the one sleeping with Dominique) to twenty-eight. They found this camp five weeks ago and had decided to call it home. Robby claims there were no living survivors here when they found it.
    I considered letting him go. His chances of survival would be minimal. But…there’s always that chance. And of course he begged to be set free…promised not to ever bother us again. It was all the other guys’ fault. Blah, blah, blah. I put a bolt in his chest after I stuffed a wad of his brother’s shirt in his mouth. Hey…he refused the blindfold.
    I did a tour of the perimeter. Whoever set up this camp did an okay job. There isn’t much to see. This place is heavily wooded, and the razor wire does a good job of snagging the zombies. If a herd ever came, all bets would be off. But the dozen or so stragglers are a minimal threat. Jenifer and I will take watch shifts the next day or so and decide our next move. I don’t know what to do about Dominique, and I lack the energy and patience to talk to a twelve-year-old sporting an attitude.
    Maybe tomorrow.
     
    Thursday, November 27
     
    I wonder if I was such an absolute bitch when I was twelve. According to Dominique, I am a filthy, murdering bitch who is no better than the zombies we are trying to avoid becoming one of. No matter what those bastards did to Sean—who Dominique had a crush on just about a week ago—apparently he “deserved what he got since his ways were against God, and it is those ways that got the world in trouble.” Yeah…that’s