The night is when I venture out of my hole, like a rat scurries back and forth, back and forth among the bushes. In the day, I would be a black blight on the barren lands, sun beating down on my back in the blistering heat, until my figure would be betrayed to even the blindest eye and a bullet would burrow into my brain. No, I do not like the day. The night is when I can sneak about unseen, when all but the sharpest of the survivors can pick out a shadow among the shrubs, so that I may choose to strike or stay my hand. So it is with this night. I run with little fear through forests and across plains to arrive at the airfield. The zombies march out of the barracks in step, mimicking their former roles as recruits. I stay silent and still, lying in the bushes, waiting for the opportunity to snick in to the barracks like a hidden blade. Perhaps tonight I will finally gain the ability to see more than mere shadows in the night, the prize I have been searching for. Just as I can wait no longer, and start crawling forward, a shadow moving too fast to be a zombie skirts to the the wall of the barracks and starts creeping towards the door. I freeze, hoping that my slight twitch has not revealed myself, and the shadow continues until it enters. I am silently gratified that my greed could be held at bay for just that extra second, that I could see the shadow before the shadow saw myself. For if the shadow had seen me, our situation would be different. The shadow would be the one lying in wait, debating about their next course of action, instead of me. I tell myself that the shadow would not hesitate, that in the north, there were no groups of survivors. Those were just fabricated tales told to the new survivors so that they may come to their death. I had seen no camaraderie here. I didn't owe this shadow anything. If the shadow saw me, I would surely be just another nameless survivor cut down in the night. Besides, I had trekked here for these weapons, and though the world may not know it, I had staked my claim as soon as I had left my hole. I would not come here only to leave with nothing but the hunger in my gullet. I had plans for this equipment, far more worthy than anything any other survivor could do with them. No, I would not let myself be bested here. I crawl into position, hand firmly around the stock of my AKM. There is no hesitation now. I place myself within sight of the door, and with my greed and jealously rising, I wait until their crescendo is marked by the shadow silhouetted in the barracks, and squeeze the trigger. The flash from the muzzle blinds my eyes adjusted to the dark, and as I recover I see the shadow drop, dead before its body hits the ground. My conscience howls remorsefully in my head. What have I done? For what? Shame paralyzes me for an instant, but then a guttural scream cries out, and I begin to run. *** (Out of story: After I ran and eluded the zombies, I found a tent in a stand of trees right next to the barracks, filled with various decent equipment. The person I shot had a range finder and nearly full toolbelt, as well as an SVD Camo, M4A3 CCO, and a silenced pistol. It seems they had been camping out that barracks for a a few hours at least. If that person ever reads this... hopefully you'll know how I felt. I still feel bad, it was my first murder in cold blood.)
