Die Trying: A Zombie Apocalypse by Nicholas Ryan Page A

preparing himself for the moment,” I said. “Each time we move, he thinks it brings us closer to safety – closer to the time when he can put a bullet in my head and take his revenge for the death of his wife and daughter. Maybe he’s out in that kitchen right now, planning my murder.”
    “Good Lord ,” Harrigan said in an awed, horrified whisper. He stared at me hard for long seconds. “What are you going to do?”
    I shrugged. “Nothing,” I said, and then sighed heavily. “The truth is, I don’t blame him.”
    “But… you could…”
    “ What?” I interrupted, and my tone was harsh – crueler and more abrasive than I had intended. “I could kill him first? Kill Jed?”
    Harrigan nodded, but said nothing. He was a Christian, and maybe his own question left him a little ashamed.
    The big man lapsed into tense silence, and we stared at each other for a long time. Maybe Harrigan thought I was using those moments to contemplate the idea of murdering my brother – but I wasn’t. It was something I had already dwelled on for days – weeks – when we had first stumbled upon the safe house and hidden from the zombie holocaust. God knows I am ashamed to admit that I had thought about it. I’d visualized putting the Glock to the base of Jed’s neck when he was sleeping. I’d thought about it constantly, trying to muster the will for a cowardly killing. But in the end, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill him in cold blood, and I couldn’t summon the terrible hate and desperation needed for even the instant it would require to pull a trigger.
    Living with the guilt of my brother’s dead family was a weight like a stone. Living with his murder – for that is exactly what it would be – was simply too much.
    I shook my head slowly. “I can’t,” I said at last. I pushed myself away from the wall and stared at the ceiling. “Maybe the zombies will do it – but I can’t murder my brother.”
    Sudden soft noise drew my attention and my eyes snapped towards the hallway. The girl and her father w ere standing there, faces up lit by the candle cupped in the girl’s hands. They had both changed. The man was rolling up the sleeves of a checked shirt, and the girl’s slim frame was swallowed up by a thick woolen jumper and slacks that were a couple of sizes too large for her. She looked like a school-kid playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes.
    She came into the living room shyly and set the candle back on top of the television set. Her hair fell forward over her face and she scraped it back with her fingers and then perched herself on the sofa, legs together, hands tucked nervously between her knees. Her father dropped down to the floor beside her and sighed with weary exhaustion. He thrust out his hand at me.
    “Colin Walker,” he introduced himself , and then nodded at the girl. “And this is my daughter, Millie.”
    We shook hands – his grip was firm, like a mechanical claw. “Mitch Logan,” I said, and then nodded at Harrigan. “And this is Clinton Harrigan.”
    The men exchanged nods, and there was a moment of awkward silence. Then Walker glanced in the direction of the darkened hallway. “And who is the big guy? He looks like a thug.”
    I smiled wryly. “He is,” I said, “and he’s my brother, Jed.”
    More awkward silence. Walker cleared his throat. “What’s wrong with his face?”
    I sighed. “Well, his eyes are too close together, he’s got a big nose , and his ears are a weird shape,” I said.
    Walker frowned. Clearly, the man had no sense of humor.
    “No. I mean his jaw.”
    “Infected tooth,” I said. “He’s had it for over a week. It’s getting worse.”
    “Have you tried to remove it for him?”
    I shook my head. “Have you ever tried wrestling an angry bull? There’s no way Jed is going to let anyone touch that tooth.”
    Walker’s expression became more serious. “Well it won’t get better by itself,” he said flatly. “If it’s not removed