Chapter Text
I sighed as I sat down on the row of seats infront of Glen.
"Okay, Megan?" He asked as he handed me my quiver and bow.
"Got a funny feeling about today..." He pulled out his Star Trek book.
"It's probably about what we learned about Atlanta last year." He shrugged. I frowned.
"Maybe..." I started to clean my bow. I looked up and blinked as I thought I saw a man standing by the side of the road. He looked to be rotting and dead. I blinked again and it was gone.
"Megan? Everything okay?" Kaylee asked from the row infront of me.
"Yeah..." I shook my head. "Just thought I saw something." I closed my eyes and opened them again. Kaylee and Glen gave me a look but dropped it. We rode in silence until we got to the city.
"Hey, maybe we can go play Klingons vs Federation after we unpack." Glen said as he put his book back into his bag and pulled his stuff closer. We were in our own vehicle instead of the other one because it was too crowded in there, so we each got our own row of seats, Kaylee in the first, me in the middle, and Glen in the back.
"HOLY SHIT! STEVE, LOOK OUT!" I screamed as I saw a bunch of zombie like people heading for our van. Steve swerved to avoid them, but ended up crashing. I hit the side of the van hard and swore as I felt glass shards from the windows spray on me. I could hear Glen and Kaylee suffer the same fate as me.
"That fucking hurt!" Kaylee growled from where she was laying as she got up.
"Is everyone in at least an okay shape?" Glen asked as he stood up.
"Aye, Captain. Just give me a moment to inspect the Enterprise's damage." I said in my best Scottish accent. Glen and Kaylee chuckled.
"Carry on then Scotty!" Glen laughed.
"Nerds." Kaylee shook her head. I laughed as I got up and grabbed my shit.
"I think we should get the fuck out of Atlanta!" I said as I kicked the door open.
"I second that!" Kaylee said, grabbing her own shit.
"ENGAGE!" Glen shouted in agreement as he grabbed he shit. I fastened my quiver to my belt and slug my bow on my back alongside my backpack full of clothes. My dufflebag was around my shoulder and I looked around to see which way we should go. I heard zombie sounds behind me and shot off towards the Atlanta exit. I could hear Glen and Kaylee following me.
"Aw shit!" Kaylee gasped as she saw our youth group as zombies. "This way!" Glen and I followed her. After a few more close calls, we managed to get to the outskirts of Atlanta.
"We need to get a strategy." I panted. "Like we shouldn't tell anyone our real names, if anyone is still human besides us, until they earned it. What should we do for food and shit. Shelter? Zombies? We NEED to figure that out."
"First, what should we call ourselves?" Glen said.
"It should be something easy to remember." Kaylee said as she sat down on a tire. "An ideas, Megan?"
"Glen, John Syrin Kirk. It has some names that are easy to remember for you." I said. "Kaylee, Isabella Chekov-Cullen. It's easy to remember for all of us." I shrugged. "I'll be Brigid Scott, Scotty for short, if you want."
"Okay. We should try to find a group of survivors, increases chance of survival, right?" Isabella said.
"We'll bunk in wrecked cars for the night, at least tonight. We'll try to find survivor's or supplies tomorrow." John said. "Oh, and call me Syrin."
"And we'll kill every motherfuckin' zombie we find." I said.
"Sounds like a plan, Brigid." Isabella said.
"Good work, Scotty." Syrin grinned. "Now that's out of the way, let's take an inventory of what we have." We nodded. I pulled out several pairs of jeans, shirts, socks, a bathing suit, a few light-wieght track suits, my Ghillies, and my tolietries out of my backpack. I pulled a pair of flipflops, a pair of tennis shoes, and a few pairs of boots, a pair of fingerless gloves, a pair of leather work gloves, an archery glove, an arm gaurd, and a pocket knife out of my duffelbag. I had my pillow and sleeping bag out where they could see it.
"That's my inventory. Oh... and my cell phone and iPod, but the power's off so they are useless." I said. Syrin and Isabella pulled out similar inventories, minus the archery gear and Irish dance stuff and add certian other bassed on the interests of the person to whom it belonged (i.e.: star trek tricorder pin for Syrin and Twilight saga for Isabella).
"So, we have clothes, shoes, rec gear, useless technology, and the armory consists of three pocket knives and archery gear enough for one person." Syrin said. "I'm not gonna lie, if we don't find some other survivors, we're most likely doomed."
"I agree." I said. Isabella nodded.
"Well, we'll pack up and look around, there's probably a camp around here." Syrin said. "Ms. Scott!" I jumped up.
"Aye, Captain." I said.
"You'll be in charge of weapons since you own the bow." Syrin nodded as we started to pack up.
"Aye." I said. I was putting up my Irish dance gear when I saw something silver and green hit the ground. I frowned and picked it up. It was the St. Patrick rosary I had convinced my mom to get me even though I wasn't Catholic. I put it on, finished packing, stood up, put my archery gear on, and started off, saying a prayer to God that we'd be alright. We walked for awhile until it was dusk and our feet hurt. "Look!" I pointed towards two people carrying supplies. I could tell that they weren't undead. "Survivors!" I said.
"Let's go!" Syrin took off towards the two. I followed, but had an arrow nocked, just in case. Isabella was right behind me.
"Hey! Hey! Misters!" I called to the two men. They froze and spun around, guns aimed at our heads. We froze and Syrin and Isabella held up their hands while I pointed my arrow at the taller man. "We aren't one of the creatures. We're just trying to find a safe place." I said. They lowered their guns but kept them cocked. I lowered my bow but kept myy arrow nocked. "Do you know anywhere safe, cause we're hundreds of miles away from home and our youth group got turned, so we're alone."
"Yeah. My name's Shane Walsh. I used to be a Sheriff's Deputy in King County." The taller guy looked us over and had a sympathetic look.
"I'm Glenn!" The shorter, Asian guy said. Syrin tensed. "What are your names?"
"I'm Isabella Chekov-Cullen." Isabella smiled. I could see her apprehension.
"John Syrin Kirk, but call me Syrin." Syrin said.
"I'm Brigid Scott," I said, tempted to fake a Scottish accent. "We're from farther north." They nodded.
"Follow us, we'll take you back to our camp." Shane said. I nodded and followed him. Syrin, Isabella, and Glenn followed.