Kim’s Earth: Chloe: Waking Up (part 2)

[k_a_webb]

Part 1

Looters had entered my house while I was still unconscious and they were going through my larder. My problem? I knew there was nothing I could do about it. Just walking down the stairs had reminded me, in some not very nice ways, that I hadn’t eaten for days. If they took my food it was likely I wouldn’t eat for a few more days, as there was no chance they were going to leave the other houses in the street untouched. Blinking back unwanted but unsurprising tears I turned to make my way back up the stairs, hoping that I still had at least some of my stash of chocolate left.

I’d just stepped into my room when I heard footsteps begin making their way upstairs. Fear of what could happen made my heart pound, which didn’t help the hunger I was doing my best to deal with, and I knew I had moments to work out what my next step was going to be. Playing dead seemed like the most logical option but I didn’t know how long they’d be around for, and holding my breath for an indefinite amount of time seemed like a stupid thing to do. Of course the choice I ended up making wasn’t exactly logical either.

There had been a time when I played hockey after school, which had led to me accidentally borrowing a stick and it was still sat in my wardrobe. As quietly as I could I took it out before stepping behind the door to wait. No one said anything while they were wandering around my house, but I did hear a sigh of regret so I guessed they’d seen my parents, but I could hear them walking around. One of them stepped into my room, which was when I took my chance and hit him over the head with the hockey stick. Unfortunately it didn’t seem to do much more than make him growl in pain.

“We have a survivor,” he called, his hand holding tight to the end of the hockey stick I’d hit him with.

A voice from behind me said, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“Prove it,” I growled. “Leave my house, and my food in my larder, now.”

“Can’t do that,” the man still holding my hockey stick replied. “You wouldn’t be safe here alone. There are others out there looking for food and women who would hurt you.”

Biting hard on my lip I stared at his back. “What have I missed?” I asked, a shiver of fear going down my spine.

“The typical apocalypse survivor crap, with the only problem being that we’re actually having to live through it.” He let go of my hockey stick and turned to look at me. “Almost everyone who had the injection died. I have no idea what the survival rate is, but from the number of people we’ve found alive I’d say it was less then 3%. It seems like those who did survive are banding together, in the same way we did, and from the stories we’ve heard things are already bad.”

Mirrored from K. A. Webb Writing.