arms across her chest, trying to warm herself. She reached the broken window and hollered inside, “Hello?”
She waited a moment, then repeated, “Hello? Is anybody here?” When she received no response, she pushed the door- which was already off its hinges- to the side and climbed inside. Looking around, she nearly sobbed. There were jackets and sleeping bags and they weren’t destroyed. She ran, practically sobbing with joy, to a rack of winter coats with fur trim. She found one that was her size and slipped it on, grabbing two more of the same. On her way back out she grabbed a sleeping bag.
On the street, she spotted two zombies slowly approaching her car. They were still almost a block away, but they seemed a bit more alert than the ones she’d run into at the end of 61. She almost landed on her butt as she hurried back to her car. She tossed the jackets and sleeping bag on the passenger seat and slid in, locking the door and buckling her seatbelt.
She tried twice to start the car and cursed at it under her breath for being difficult. Third try she got it and she sped down the street and back to the freeway.
Stella Pike didn’t know where she would go. If Minnesota had been hit- if Duluth, Minnesota had been hit- something serious had gone down. Where would possibly be safe? Would there be other survivors?
Stella shivered at the thought, pushing it from her mind. Of course there were others who’d survived, and she planned to find them.
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About the Author:
Emmaline Westlund is a 20-something from Minnesota. A cat enthusiast, Emma can’t leave a cat un-bothered. When she’s not writing, she drives an ice cream truck.
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