She cracked the window open, aimed near the men’s feet and fired, the shot echoing through the forest like a banshee. It was the first time she’d heard a gunshot since her father’s death. A chill ran down her spine causing her to shiver.
“Don’t shoot,” one of the men yelled, hands up. The other had run for cover behind a tree.
“Turn around and go back the way you came,” Riley warned.
“Our party was killed in town. We’re in need of food and water. Please, help us.” The men didn’t appear hurt or feeble. They had thick beards and wore filthy clothes, but looked well fed. They had on large backpacks, giving them a hulking appearance.
“Come any closer and I’ll shoot your damn heads off,” Riley said.
The men began mumbling to each other before the one standing out in the open spoke up. “Are your parents home?”
She couldn’t let them think she was alone; they’d never leave. “Out hunting and probably on the way back after hearing gunfire.” She wanted to fire another shot, but wasting ammo was ill advised.
“Okay, we’re leaving,” the man said. He turned, his companion joining him. Riley watched their forms grow smaller, before disappearing into the forest.
She kept an eye out for the next couple of hours, surveying the forest for movement, and making sure the men didn’t return.
That evening, she ate dinner, made tea and read more of the book she’d been enjoying earlier. She read by lantern light, unable to fall asleep, afraid the men might return. Normally at sundown she went to bed, not wanting to waste the lantern’s gas. She grew sleepy a few hours later, rechecked the windows and locks before turning off the light. She awoke during the night to the sound of glass crunching. Another alarm triggered.
“Shit,” a man’s voice whispered.
“Quiet,” the other male voice said.
Silently, Riley jumped out of bed. She fixed the covers, making them neat. Slinging the rifle’s strap over her head and grabbing the lantern, she headed over to the rug covering the pit’s door. While pulling up the rug, a loud crashing noise erupted from the front door. The men were trying to break in. Her pulse quickened further as she frantically yanked the trap door open. The men continued to bash away at the door, the lock holding.
She lowered herself down the stairs, the pit’s cool temperature seizing her body like an invisible phantom.
Crouching on the stairs, she placed the lantern on one of the steps. She reached over the trap door, grabbing the carpet with the door, and pulled it almost to a close. Poking her hand through the opening, she jimmied the carpet so it covered the trap door completely. An explosion of wood and metal sounded. The men had broken the lock off and made it inside. Riley quietly lowered the door shut.
The men’s footfalls thumped along the wooden floor, muffling when they crossed the carpet. “Nobody here,” one of the men said.
“Damn. Hearing that female voice got my loins working,” the other man said. They both laughed.
“Search the place.”
Riley stayed huddled on the stairs, too afraid to move. Crashing sounds from above made her wince; the men must have been tearing the place to pieces.
“No food except for uncooked noodles, tea and some beef jerky,” one man said.
“Grab the jerky. Hell, grab it all.”
The men’s footfalls kept clomping against the floor as the minutes passed. After a time, Riley’s legs began to stiffen.
“Look what I found,” one of the men said.
“Nice, a .38,” the other said.
Riley cringed, wanting to slap herself. She’d forgotten the handgun upstairs.
“It’s loaded too.”
The crashing and bustling ceased after awhile, the men deciding to sit and relax. The cabin wasn’t large and most of the good stuff was in the pit. Riley’s legs were numb with pins and needles flowing through them as she carefully adjusted her position. She desperately needed to stretch and descending the stairs was her only option. She should’ve made a move when they were busy. Now the stillness, save their voices, was detrimental.
“We’ll wait for them to return,” one of the men said. “I need a woman.”
How long would they wait? Would they leave eventually? If for anything, to find food when the trace amount was finished? She was safe in the meantime. And could eat and drink all she wanted until the men left. Carefully, she began descending the stairs.
She took each step cautiously, extending one leg at a time and leaving the lantern behind.
Her descent was terrifying, the cool air gone, as sweat dripped from her face and soaked her clothes. The darkness added to her plight. After what seemed an eternity, Riley’s foot connected with hard earth, and she was grateful for its presence. She hadn’t felt such a powerfully satisfying emotion since last hugging her father.
Far below the intruders, she would be out of harm's way. She couldn’t see in the gloom as the pit’s interior was windowless.
Arms out, gun strapped to her back, Riley walked forward looking for a place to sit. Her legs were shaky, but stable enough.
She reached a bench, and sat for what seemed like hours. The men kept chatting and laughing. Lost to her thoughts—the only things to see—the coldness of the room crept into her bones. The sweat that had lined her body was making her shiver. And she had to pee.
She removed the gun from her person, placing it on the bench, and slowly moved across the pit. She had decided to urinate as far from the bench as possible, not knowing how long it would be her resting area.
Halfway across the room, she stepped on a can of beans. It rolled out from under her as she lost her balance. Her ankle gave out, twisting awkwardly, causing her to stumble to the ground. A jolt of pain shot up her body, escaping her mouth.
She lay on the dank ground, her ankle throbbing, hoping the men hadn’t heard.
“What the hell was that?” one of them said, a chair scraping across the wooden floor.
“Sounded like a kid got hurt,” the other man said.
Riley lay on her side, holding her ankle. She heard the men scrambling about. She needed to get back to the bench, to the gun.
Standing wasn’t an option. She crawled, wincing with each lift of her right foot. Tears filled her eyes as she bit her lip, holding back the need to scream.
The men continued moving about, suddenly stopping. “Well, lookie here,” one of them said. They’d found the door, ripping it open. A beam of light pierced the darkness, illuminating the staircase. Riley crawled faster, adrenaline numbing the pain.
“Who’s down there?” a man yelled.
“We’ve got your gun,” the other said. “Come out or we’re coming in.”
Riley reached the bench, the beam of light making it easy to find her way. She grabbed the rifle, propped herself against the bench and readied her aim.
A man’s booted foot and grimy pant leg appeared on the first step. Then, one by one, he took the stairs slowly as if a bomb waited under each one. Upon reaching the lantern, he picked it up, igniting it. Riley saw the man carried no gun, indicating that the .38 waited with the man topside.
Fully in view, she saw one of the men from earlier. He began scanning the far walls with a flashlight. He was even filthier than when she’d first seen him, his flannel full of multicolored stains.
She knew the men would find her and hoped both would come down so she could take them out together. Killing one would be easy, but she needed both. They’d have their way with her if given the chance, something her father had explained she needed to look out for.
She hid the rifle behind her outstretched leg and waited. The light hit her body, moving to her face. She had to shield her eyes.
“Well, hello there, little one,” the man said.
Riley said nothing. “Get down here, Bud.” The other man, a bulky, equally unkempt piece of trash, came trotting down the stairs.
“Shit,” the man called Bud said. “Any more of them?”
“Little girl,” the first man said. “Anyone else down here with you?”
The bright light was irritating. “No,” Riley answered.
Both men stood side by side. The one named Bud had the .38 in his hand. They were mean looking, like overgrown schoolyard bullies, and had a type of hunger in their eyes.
“Where’s your parents?” Bud asked.
“Dead,” she said, flatly.
“This is going to be easy,” the one without the gun said.
“I’m first,” Bud said. “Mmmm, fresh and tight.”
Riley swallowed. She had to be quick, no hesitation. “I’ll do what you want,” she said, hoping to ease their minds. The men’s apprehension vanished like a breath of frothy air, their guard down.
They approached, wicked smiles revealing missing teeth. She had to move before they saw her weapon. The man with the .38 tucked the gun into the back of his pants, and produced a hunting knife. He grinned, eyes full of malcontent.
With the men two feet away, Riley, her right hand on the rifle, lifted the weapon. She aimed the .30-30 and squeezed the trigger. The first shot missed. The man’s eyes grew wide in shock. He reached behind his back as the second bullet clipped his shoulder, spinning him around. She kept firing, the muzzle flashes blinding. The third bullet punctured the man’s left lung.
The fourth bullet hit the back of his skull, his forehead exploding, and caking his friend’s face with gore.
The other man screamed, “Bud.” Riley kept firing, adjusting her aim. Bud’s body fell dead to the floor, leaving the other man in full view. He turned and ran for the stairs, managing to get a foot on the bottom step before Riley squeezed the gun’s trigger. Bullets flew like angry bees before wood splintered into pieces and the man’s calf exploded into a bloody pulp. He collapsed backward, tumbling to the ground.
Taking careful aim, Riley focused on the man’s chest—his head out of view. He lay screaming and holding what was left of his lower leg. She fired, saw the man’s shirt flutter. His body jerked, arms and legs going slack. She fired again, hitting him in his side, making sure he was finished.
Strapping the gun to her back, she pulled herself forward, her clothes soaking up Bud’s pooling blood. She crawled past the man, grabbing the .38 that was tucked into his pants. Pieces of skull and flesh clung to her like flies stuck to flypaper.
She reached the man she’d shot in the side. Checking for a pulse, she could tell he was dead, a twisted look of horror on his face. She climbed up the stairs, her ankle barking with each step.
Upon reaching the cabin’s floor, she fell on her back, relief flooding through her like a burst dam. She began to cry, bawling uncontrollably until her body could stand no more and she fell asleep.
Riley awoke late the next day with the sun shining through the cabin’s windows. Getting to her feet, she grimaced. Her ankle was still sore. Testing it out, she placed her weight on it. It hurt, but she could walk on it. Grabbing one of the bandages from the first aid supply, she wrapped the ankle. She had a lot to do and would have to fight through the pain. She shed her bloody clothing, washing them in the nearby stream before cooking breakfast. She’d need her strength for the task ahead. The bodies had to be removed from the pit before they began stinking up the place and possibly attracting undesirables.
She retrieved the axe from the woodpile outside. It was heavy, but she’d managed the tool before and would need it for the thicker body parts. The hacksaw she’d use for the smaller pieces.
Born unto this world knowing so little of the Earth during its human years, Riley had been tested. She’d seen and done things a girl her age should never have had to do. Blood, guts and death had become a staple in her life, an all too familiar part of growing up. In times of worry or if a difficult task lay ahead, she’d think of how her father would have handled it.
Putting on a tattered shirt and pants, Riley opened the pit’s door. She began climbing down the stairs, wincing with each step. Looking toward the bottom, she saw a large void where a body should’ve been. Glancing to the left, she saw the man named Bud being eaten by his now living dead friend. How careless she had been, forgetting to destroy the man’s brain. The zombie hadn’t heard her, its head buried in the man’s stomach.