Beginning of the End

"All I'm saying is that they should have thought of something instead of sitting around while everyone was dying. They waited too long," Abigail insists, rubbing a dark purple bruise underneath her left eye. "And now everyone is dead."

It's easy to blame the government for not being prepared for a situation like this, but those conversations are a waste of time. What's done is done. There is no going back; there is no changing the past. There is only today, and trying to survive to see tomorrow.

Allison doesn't tell Abigail this, of course. She thinks it does her friend some good when she vents. So she simply replies, "Everyone isn't dead, Abby. Most people just keep to themselves because it's safer that way."

The younger girl rolls her eyes in Allison's direction, clearly irritated that she evaded this conversation again. "If you say so-"

An ominous tap, tap, tap interrupts her argument, causing both women to freeze, and both of their heads snap in the direction of the noise.

"Holy shit, Allison, I thought this place was abandoned," Abigail says, taking a few slow steps backwards.

They are scouting an old pharmacy to get medicine and what food they can salvage - which is usually stale chips or old candy bars. But it doesn't serve to be picky with the way things are.

"For God's sake," Allison says, "its probably just a rat. If it were one of them, we would know it by now."

Abigail nods once, slowly. "All right. You check out behind the counter for the good stuff while I try to find some tampons."

The two separate, each feeling nervous on their own, but it's quicker this way. And the key to survival is getting in and out of places before you get noticed.

Allison walks behind the counter, her green eyes scanning the entire room as she moves. The bottles are all labled neaty on a shelf, seemingly untouched since this ordeal began, and she puts as many into her over-sized duffel bag as possible; how long will it be before she gets another chance like this?

For a moment her mind wanders back to the times when she visited businesses exactly like this to do simple, ordinary tasks: buy some cold medicine for a cough or pick up a prescription from her dentist.

She wonders, for a moment, about the owner of this particular building. It was clearly a mom-and-pop business, with fold out chairs and an antique gumball machine. She imagines the pharmacist's grandchildren spending their allowance trying to get their favorite flavor gumball, while their parents nag them about cavities.

Its easy to think back on times before the outbreak, but its also painful, so she quickly pushes the thoughts out of her head with a sigh.

Turning around, her eyebrows furrow as her focus lands on bloody footprints covering the floor where she was previously standing. Her heart pounds loudly in her ears as her blood pressure spikes.

"Abigail?" she calls. "Abigail, where are you? We need to leave. Now."

A small shadow moves behind a standing shelf on the other side of the counter, and she hears heavy, wet breathing.

"Abigail," she tries to say, but nothing comes out, her voice stuck in her throat. "Abigail, please."

Stumbling backwards, she slams into a rack holding cheap jewelry and postcards, sending it flying onto the yellow-tiled floor.

At the sound, she hears a vicious snarl as a small Hispanic boy - perhaps seven at the oldest - leaps from behind the shelf, his near-black eyes focusing on hers. Eye contact. He - or it -is making eye contact.

Her mouth suddenly dry, she stares back at the creature, at once horrified that this happened to an innocent child and ready to kill him if he gets any closer. She's hoping he won't; she hasn't had to kill a child yet and she isn't eager to change that status, but she digs for the switchblade in her pocket regardless.

His tattered clothing is stained almost completely with blood, his hair matted with the same crimson fluid as well. He has scratches all down his face, his neck, his arms.

An inhuman scream errupts from the demon child and he lunges at her, almost leaping over the counter, his broken teeth bared to sink into her waiting flesh.

With a startled cry, Allison drops her bag and thrusts the knife in the boy's direction, missing when the child stops short and turns his head sharply to the left, revealing a wide-eyed Abigail watching with a gun firmly in her grip. "What do I do?" she asks, panic clear in her voice.

Allison searches for her voice, her heart racing so hard and fast in her ears it's hard for her to hear, much less respond. "Sh-shoot him," she finally replies.

Abigail bites her lip as she responds, "Allison, he's just a kid. I don't know that I-"

Her speech is cut off as the boy turns and runs at Abigail in the same fashion he had Allison moments prior.

"Abigail!"

With a distressed cry, Abigail redirects the gun, and closes her eyes as she pulls the trigger. The bullet hits the child directly in the forehead, and as it exits the other side of his skull, he slumps to the floor, lifeless.

A moment of stunned silence fills the air between them, both women feeling at once relieved that they're both safe and saddened that the little boy met such a violent end.

"You did what you had to do," Allison reasons.

In response, Abigail just sends her a stiff nod and turns her eyes from the carnage in front of her.

"Where the hell were you, anyway?" Allison questions, feeling her heart rate try to return to its normal pace. "We could have been killed." She understands that her friend is upset right now - she is too - but they have rules for survival, and number one on that list is to never leave one another's company without telling the other where you're going.

"Relax, I'm sorry. I had to use the bathroom. I didn't think this would happen. Where is your gun, anyway?"

"The duffel bag. I panicked. I didn't think I would have time to reach it." Allison shivers as she puts her knife back in her pocket, and hoists the large duffel bag up over her shoulder. "This one acted so...different. He looked me directly in my eyes."

"Are you serious?" Abigal feels a chill crawl down the length of her spine as she returns the gun to her belt loop. "That's fucked up."

"Tell me about it, but we obviously need to get the hell out of here. We've made far too much noise," the blond responds, her voice still wavering. "Did you get what you were supposed to?"

Abigial blinks as she nods her reply. Tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, she moves warily towards the door before she stops short and turns to her friend. "Don't you think we should, I don't know, make sure the coast is clear before we just bust out of here?"

"There are glass doors," Allison replies. "Let's just make a run for the car. I don't like the idea of waiting around too much longer."

She knows that perhaps Abigail is right, but her nerves are so shot from what she just witnessed that she's just ready to get back to their safe-haven: a small, quaint bed and breakfast - well, it was before the outbreak - that the two of them had set up a few months back, not long after they met in an abandoned supermarket. The pair were both alone, with no family or friends left alive to speak of, so they clung closely to one another. To the two of them, they are family now.

"Okay," Abigail responds, her nerves clear in her voice, "but we should at least take a quick glance."

Allison agrees, and together they scope out the parking lot from inside, even though they parked almost directly in front of the door. When they're satisfied that it's safe, the pair head quickly to the car, with Allison taking the wheel. She speeds away from the building, her fears seeming to subside a little, though not completely; these days fear is a constant, never-faltering emotion.

After several minutes of riding in silence, Abigail speaks. "That little boy... That was weird. They normally attack without pause. It's like he knew I was going to shoot him. He saw me. I mean, he saw me."

"Abby, he was probably disoriented. Maybe its been a while since he... fed, and he was just weak," her companion tries to reason.

Abigail turns in her seat to face Allison. "You said he made eye contact with you. They never do that. Never. Disoriented my pale white ass."

Slightly easing her foot from the gas, Allison turns to her friend. "Okay, maybe you're right, but what could it mean?" she returns, looking the younger girl in the eyes. "None of this makes any damn sense. Fucking scientists couldn't figure it out, and trying only got them killed. We have to live day-by-day. We have to focus on staying alive."

Abigail nods, knowing her friend is right. "I just feel kind of bad, you know? He was a kid."

"It's not your fault that he got sick. You did what you had to do. He was dead - or dying -anyway, and if you hadn't of killed him, one or both of us would-"

Before she can finish her 'pep-talk', Abigial cuts her off, screaming, "Look out!" Her eyes are wide, trained on the road ahead of them.

Without really thinking, Allison slams on the brakes as her head whips forward. "Holy shit," she mutters under her breath.

Directly in front of them, in the middle of the otherwise empty highway, stands a tall, brown-haired man holding the limp body of what looks to be a teenage girl. Through the windshield, she can hear him pleading for help, a desperate look on his face. Normally Allison would just leave them there, but as she squints, she sees blood dripping from the girl's hair.

Well shit.