Apartment 905, Sahin, Ned [black female authors .TXT] 📗

do it,” I say, still looking at the street ahead. “We can walk among the cars quietly without exposing ourselves.”

Kathleen gives a little smile. I know that she likes this decision.

“Thank you, Matt. I owe you one,” she says. It’s too early to say thanks. I just hope that it will be worth taking this risk.

“Let’s try to get to the police cars to find a gun first,” I say, and she nods. We get off the truck and slowly go toward the barrier. We walk on each side of the cars lined up on the road.

Without holding anything to fight with, we can only hope to not come across anybody or anything hostile. We keep checking on each other while walking down the ramp.

I look inside the cars to make sure they are empty. One of them has a driver leaning on the steering wheel who must have died from the virus months ago. I pass another dead man as I continue to walk. It looks like he got shot from the head.

A police officer is lying on the hood of a police car. I do a hand gesture to ask Kathleen to come to this side. She checks both sides before walking toward me.

His handgun near the front right tire. I pick it up and check the magazine. Half-loaded. I give it to Kathleen, and I take his baton.

Before crossing the intersection to walk toward the center of the downtown on the main street, we crouch and scan the area.

“Nobody,” Kathleen whispers, and I nod.

We stand up and walk across the intersection on the crosswalk. As we make it to the middle of the road, I hear some steps on the other side of the intersection.

We both stop when we see them. Kathleen points her gun in their direction. There are four of them. They all have rifles pointed at us. Their backpacks are pretty big. They must have found supplies recently.

After staring at each for five seconds that felt like an hour, the only woman in the group lowers her weapon. Kathleen does the same. They turn to the main street and continue walking cautiously. It looks like they have a business in downtown too, and we have common enemies. That makes us allies.

We cross the intersection and pass the corner of the building. We check on the other side of the street while the group checks our side. Two of them raise their guns toward us again. I thought we were over trust issues.

Shortly after, a man and woman turn the corner and appear right behind us. The man has a fearless look. He raises his at least 18 inches black machete as he stops after seeing us and the group. The woman’s eyes are red and watery as if she’s been crying for a long time. They must have been hiding near the bushes while waiting for an opportunity to get into the city.

The man looks into my eyes before he turns to Kathleen. Then he shares a look with the group on the other side of the street. He lowers his machete and gets in front of us, and the woman follows him while holding hands. The group of four starts walking too.

There are now eight of us walking toward the center city. I feel like we made a silent agreement on covering for each other. I don’t know what their stories are, but it looks like we have something in common, which is the survival instinct.

I was first afraid of the automatic rifles the group members have, but I feel good about it now. They would come handy if a Rica or Rica-like animal attacks us.

We walk through one block. There are no threats. There are just huge rats feeding on garbage bags and dead bodies. They don’t seem to be afraid of us, but they also don’t get in our way.

Katleen looks up at the “7TH STREET” sign at the intersection.

She lifts her hand and holds up four fingers. I think it means four blocks left. I hope the rest of the walk will be as easy as the first one.

We glance at each other and with the group across the street one more time. Then they scan the area before passing their corner. The couple doesn’t wait for them. They take a few steps to the next crosswalk. That’s when a Rica on the crossing street sees us. He is on the side of the rifle group, but he can catch us in seconds if he wants to.

He takes a deep breath and starts roaring looking up to the sky with his mouth wide open before running toward us. The birds on top of the surrounding buildings squawk and fly off. Their screams and the flapping of their wings echo on the main street.

The group members see him, but they don’t do anything to stop him.

“Get behind me,” the man yells to the woman. He raises his machete and waits for his hunt to get closer. As soon as the Rica is at arms-length, he gets ready to swing his machete, but we hear a shot first. The Rica’s head blows up from the back. One of the group members proved their marksman skills on a moving target.

That’s a relief. They are good at using their weapons, and they cover our backs. The man raises his hand to thank them.

We run through the crosswalk and get to the corner of the next block. After making sure there is nobody in all four directions, we slowly walk toward the middle of the block.

All of us turn back when we hear a grunting Rica behind us. She must have been following her friend who had his head blown out.

The group member who is closest to her aims his rifle. Before he pulls the trigger, another Rica shows up from the corner. Then three more Ricas come to the intersection roaring and grinding. Everybody in the rifle group starts shooting at them.

“Let’s go,” I