They call me the Devil. Can’t say I blame them…. ...CHAPTER 1 Six, ten, twenty-five…Damn. I readjusted my binoculars to get a better focus on the crowd of shamblers in the valley below. The size of the group had nearly tripled since I checked in the other day, which meant this could be a horde. But where was the Lich? I scanned the area slowly, but didn’t notice any telling signs. Whether or not that was cause for concern wasn’t something I was willing to wait and find out. I tossed my binoculars back in my belt pouch and walked back to my car, Big Bertha. She was a 1965 Cutlass Supreme that I picked up shortly after the war. The ol’ gal was as big as a house and drove like a tank. Everything a guy like me needed. I went to open the door when I heard a familiar sound. That long, lazy groan I’d sadly gotten used to. I turned towards the sound and spotted four shamblers about forty yards out. They had spotted me, and were weaving a stumbling path in my general direction. I turned calmly and walked back to the edge of the cliff. I leaned over the edge and took one last look at the crowd below. They hadn’t yet heard the groaning call of the shamblers up here, which was a relief. I went back to Big Bertha and popped the trunk. I spared one last glance at the shamblers gunning me down. They had made it a whopping twenty yards. “Not bad,” I mumbled under my breath. I turned back to the trunk. Big Bertha had a nice big tush, in which I kept 4 jerry cans of fuel, a trunk filled with an assortment of ammunition, and guns. Lots of guns. Hmmmm let’s see… They were getting close, so I decided to grab my Glock 37. I leaned out again to see the shamblers just nearing the front of Big Bertha. “Not bad at all,” I admired. I fished through the ammo box for the right size magazine. I found one and checked it to ensure it was loaded. I slid it into the Glock and cocked it. Then I fished around a bit more until I found a proper suppressor. By now the first shambler was almost upon me. I screwed the suppressor on quickly, and just as the dimwitted corpse raised its arms to grab me I calmly lifted the gun to its face and pulled the trigger. As its body fell to the ground, I paced over to the other three shamblers and took them out in the same fashion. I walked back over to the trunk and disassembled the Glock, putting all the parts back in their proper place. When I was done I slammed the trunk shut and moved up to the driver’s side door. I spared one last gaze out at the open wilderness, drawing in a deep breath of the warm, dusty air. The world just wasn’t the same anymore, but I liked the quiet sometimes. I hopped behind the wheel and fired her up. Bertha wasn’t sounding too good these days, and my next destination was wherever there was a decent mechanic. Hopefully there’d be one in the next town. I fought Bertha into first gear with an ear splitting grind and sped off down the highway.