As much as I enjoyed the warmth of the sun, I loved the cool air during the nighttime. That was also when I could finally take off my sunglasses. Nightstalkers were built for the night, and our night vision was unparalleled. My sight always had a red tint, although it became more noticeable if I got irritated or mad, which wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. Volatile might be a better term.

I stood in the shadow of a large tree and simply enjoyed the scenery. This was the closest I could come to truly relaxing with the zombie virus running through my veins and putting a short fuse on my temper.

I took a deep breath of the cool air as scents assaulted my nose. My sense of smell was keener than any bloodhound's; I could identify at least thirty different kinds of plants on the breeze. The creek had a cool aroma that dampened the air and allowed scents to travel even farther.

I could both hear and smell the mice hidden in the long grass, but they didn't have enough blood to be worth the effort of hunting. The scents of other warm-blooded creatures drifted on the air, such as the grassy tang of rabbits, the heavy musk of a fox, the pungent odor of a weasel, and the light redolence of game birds.

The woodsy scent of a deer brought my deliberation of the menu to a close. A deer would tide me over for three or four days before I would have to hunt again. Chloe would appreciate a new bone as well.

I turned and disappeared into the underbrush, becoming just another shadow in the night as I tracked its scent. I eased around numerous low-hanging branches, ensuring I moved in such a way that my backpack and braided waist-long hair didn't catch on any twigs or brush against the leaves. My passage barely made even the slightest whisper of noise.

I stealthily approached the sleeping deer and regarded it. My instincts rang with bloodlust and the desire to attack, but my human heart didn't like to see creatures suffer. I always made my kills as quick and painless as possible.

With one last sniff to ensure nothing unusual was in the immediate area, I crouched down and sprang at the sleeping doe. With a solid blow and a quick twist of its neck, I shattered the spinal cord, instantly killing it. The virus had altered my body, making it a honed and deadly weapon.

My belt knife shaved some fur off its neck before cutting through the hide and meat to finally slice into the huge artery. I knelt on the ground as I drank the blood that flowed out of the wound. I resisted the instincts that called for me to bite into the raw meat and enjoy the flavor, rich with the animal's own body heat. Raw meat was just as dangerous as human blood.

Ironically enough, animal blood allowed me to remain in control and keep my Nightstalker instincts in check, whereas raw meat, human blood, and human flesh would reduce me to an out-of-control zombie. If I lost control, I would become just another feral with no hope of recovery.

Far too many other zombies gave into their cravings when they first turned, either not realizing the danger or during a lapse in control. By then, it was too late, and they numbered among the mindless horde. The regular zombies never had a chance at sanity, but all the other ranks did. Most Runners had serious problems with control and went feral within days or weeks.

I had only met four other Nightstalkers. Two had been sane and had been traveling together. Two had lost their minds to bloodlust; one of which I had ended up killing when he kept trying to attack me. The odds didn't reassure me, so I was always careful to hunt as often as I needed to.

Part of my mind disliked the thought of drinking blood, but after doing this for six months, I was mostly over it. The virus itself also had a hand in altering my thoughts, making it far too easy to accept this fact. It tasted delicious.

When I finished, I used my knife to carve the best slabs of meat off the deer. There was no way I could eat all of it. I didn't eat much in the way of solid food to start with, but I would cook, dry, or smoke the best stuff if I could find a decent place to camp.

The faintest rustle of heavy paws in the grass made me twist around and snarl at the trees behind me. The cougar hissed at my rude greeting and scrambled backward as it realized exactly what I was. I modulated my snarl to a growl as it disappeared into the trees.

It would undoubtedly return later for a free meal, but if it thought it was going to chase me off my kill before I was done, it had another thing coming. The big cat was wise to give me my space. It wouldn't be the first time I had enjoyed cougar blood. In fact, most wild animals refused to let zombies anywhere near them.

Neither would horses, much to my disappointment. Even my old bay mare wouldn't let me anywhere near her after I turned, and I had ridden her almost daily since I was little. A week before I turned, she had started acting skittish around me, as if she had sensed the monster that was taking hold in my body. She had been smarter than me.

Likewise, cats had also detected the growing infection in their owners, although most dogs had been oblivious, trusting appearances over their noses until the person was mere minutes from turning.

Even now, half the dogs out there didn't realize what I was unless I growled at them. They could pinpoint a regular zombie or feral Runner at a distance, but unless I let my instincts affect my behavior, they couldn't tell just by looking at me. The other half were tipped off by my scent though.

Chloe was one of the more naïve dogs. As far as I could tell, she was basically nose-dead. It was only if I started acting more like a zombie that she got uneasy; even then, she just gave me more space. She didn't run off like most dogs would have.

I cut another section of meat off and examined the pile I had. This was more meat than I needed, but much more remained for the local scavengers to enjoy. After carving out the two femurs, I packed everything up in several carry bags and headed back to where I had left Chloe.

~

       The sky was dark as I put a venison steak on the tiny campfire grill to cook and skewered some meat onto branches. I propped them above the fire and watched the flickering flames through my welding glasses for a few minutes to make sure the meat would end up smoked and not burnt. The farmhouse behind me formed a windbreak, although the breeze had died down about an hour ago.

Satisfied that everything was cooking properly, I sat down on a log and pulled my two backup pairs of glasses out of my backpack. I carefully cleaned the reflective grey lenses and inspected them. The lenses on one set had a lot of scratches, and I made a mental note to check more hardware stores for a replacement. It wasn't easy to find this style, and I wasn't fond of the goggle type.

Ideally, I wanted to find a couple more sets, just in case they got broken or wore out. These sunglasses were the only reason I could go outside during the day. Feral Nightstalkers only left their caves or hiding places when every hint of sun had left the sky.

I flipped the steak over, absentmindedly keeping tabs on the noises in the surrounding forest as well as the scents. It was a habit, like glancing at the rearview mirror while driving.

I hadn't found any more traces of humans since my close encounter three days ago, nor had I stumbled across whatever Stronghold they had originated from, which I thought was kind of strange. Most humans didn't like being outside of their Stronghold at night, and there were no signs of such a place along this road.

Perhaps this group had been fool-hardy enough to sleep in their vehicles or take turns driving at night, which was even more dangerous. The most likely scenario was that they had come down a different road from a Stronghold I hadn't found.

With my sunglasses clean, I put them back in my backpack before pulling out a different container. I gazed at the airtight container for a long time before opening it. Inside, a pink and orange silk scarf was carefully wrapped in a clear plastic bag. Without opening the bag or even touching it, the scents wafted up.

I took a deep breath, and the virus in my blood stirred at the scent of two humans. One was my original human scent with an undertone of the zombie virus that had been slowly infecting my body without me knowing.

The other scent was a bit fainter, but the resemblance couldn't be missed. My sister's scent was just as familiar to me now as it had been several weeks ago when I had last opened this container. Even if she had turned into a zombie, I would still be able to identify her by her scent.

I closed the container and ensured it was sealed properly before putting it at the bottom of my backpack. The tattered map spread out beside me was more of a decoration than anything else. The cities and larger towns it pinpointed were just zombie playgrounds now.

The scattered Strongholds were hidden in remote areas to try and avoid the zombies that often staggered down the roads as they tried to follow the weak human scents left by passing vehicles and any pit stops they made. These Strongholds weren't on any map I might find in a store.

I had no real destination at this point, so the map was even less helpful than it might have been. I was merely wandering from town to town and past any Strongholds I could find in an attempt to locate Jess. Sometimes I even asked humans if they had heard of her.

My eyes traced the major highways and the rough pencil marks that showed how far I had traveled as I followed them, only to double back on smaller roads. I had no idea where to look next.

The university she had been attending had tried to evacuate its students, but with zombies appearing everywhere, and with a decent number of the students and teachers also succumbing to the virus, they had scattered, or so a Stronghold in that area had told me.

I had scoured that region thoroughly and once – just once – I had found her scent heading northwest, but it was so old and faint that it must have been left during the first days of the confusion when they had initially evacuated. I could barely pick up the weak odor even though I had been standing right next to where she had ducked into the forest for a bathroom break.

Despite all my efforts, I hadn't been able to find any other traces of her in that direction, nor anywhere else. I had even doubled back and gone home, spending almost two months combing through that area in an ever-widening search pattern.

Nothing.

So, I had gone back to that spot and followed roads and highways while searching for the hidden Strongholds as I traveled northwest. The lack of success irritated me to no end. I folded up the map and jammed it into a pocket on my backpack.

Shaking my head, I checked the steak to ensure it was well done. As a human, I had preferred it medium rare, but I refused to take any chances now. You never realize how precious your mind and thoughts are until something tries to take them from you. Bloody zombie virus...

I ate a quarter of the steak before I was full. I really couldn't eat much anymore, which was a pity since it tasted pretty good. Oh well, Chloe would enjoy it. I glanced over at the brown husky sprawled across the grass on the other side of the fire.

"Chloe, here you go." I tossed the steak over.

With amazing speed, she managed to get to her feet and catch the steak mid-air even though the only light came from our small fire.

I snorted faintly. "I know you ate a slab of meat earlier. You aren't starving."

Chloe ignored me in favor of chewing on the steak, somehow finding room for more food despite eating her fill of raw venison several hours ago. She was full enough that she wasn't even chewing on the new deer bone I'd given her.

I watched her swallow the last of the steak and flop down again. I never understood why she followed me. Most dogs figured out what I was when they caught my scent and avoided me to the best of their abilities. She still didn't seem to realize I was a zombie, despite occasionally seeing me attack a Runner if it was chasing her. Perhaps she associated me with safety and food.

Even though she remained with me, she rarely let me pet her or sit near her. Odd as it was, I enjoyed her distant company. I always gave her my leftovers or brought a rabbit carcass for her, although she was a decent hunter if she could see what she was chasing. It was a good thing I had an excellent sense of smell because I had never encountered a dog with such a terrible nose before.

The fire slowly died down, although there was plenty of heat to keep smoking the meat. I got up and walked around the small farmhouse as I scanned the area carefully. No zombies were in sight or upwind. The sky to the east was just starting to brighten with the coming dawn.

This place seemed like a safe enough place to try sleeping. I went inside and left the door open in case Chloe wanted to come in, although she rarely did. The windows were already open to air out the remaining traces of the previous owners. I didn't even bother entering the bedroom since the two windows allowed too much light in. Besides, the thought of sleeping in someone else's bed – which hadn't been washed in at least six months – was a bit creepy.

The walk-in pantry had been emptied by past looters, but the small, enclosed space was my best bet for getting some sleep. I closed the door behind me and took my sunglasses off in the pitch-black room. I didn't bother carrying a sleeping mat; instead, I unfolded a thin blanket and laid down on that. One perk of being a zombie was that I barely noticed the hard floor.

I closed my eyes and slowly dropped into a light doze. A deep sleep wasn't possible for Nightstalkers, but I usually managed to get a couple of hours of sleep a day. Unlike Hollywood's usual depiction of tireless zombies, we actually did tire from physical activity and needed sleep. Hollywood had been wrong. What a surprise.

Regular zombies didn't have as much endurance or speed as their former human selves, and they tended to sleep between four to six hours a day. Runners weren't quite as fast as humans, but they could run for far longer, and slept about three or four hours a day.

Even if they became exhausted and couldn't go faster than a snail's pace, they'd still try to follow their prey. Once whatever was tempting them left their sight, they usually went in search of a secluded area to sleep. To make things even stranger, most feral zombies slept standing up, which I found completely bizarre.

Distant bird calls disturbed my sleep, but I kept trying for more rest. After two hours, I gave up. I felt fully rested, and in theory, I could go a day or two without sleep before I got tired, but there was no way Chloe could match my usual pace if I continued traveling. She had a hard enough time as it was.

I stood up and stretched; it was a human habit that still remained. My muscles didn't stiffen up or knot, which was another perk of being a zombie. I packed my blanket and put my sunglasses on before exiting the pantry. Soft snoring came from the bedroom where I had heard Chloe go earlier.

I glanced in to see the husky sprawled across the bed with the femur bone wedged between her front feet. She had pretty much figured out that if she had "her bone," I would return for her at some point. It didn't surprise me to see that every scrap of meat had already been stripped off. As round as her stomach was, she would sleep for several hours.

Walking silently, I went outside to add more wood to the fire and check the smoking meat. The other deer femur was also getting a bit of smoke since it would probably be a few days before Chloe got her teeth into it.

I tested the air, noting that two zombies were upwind. They weren't close though, and it would be at least four hours before they showed up. I could also smell some sort of berries not far from the farm and promptly went to investigate.

My nose led me down the road to a raised flowerbed. I hadn't paid much attention to the handful of trees and shrubs last night, although now that I was looking closer, I could see there were some fruit-bearing plants among the ornamental ones. Not much was ripe yet, but anything close was fair game as far as my sweet tooth was concerned.

Even becoming a zombie hadn't changed that. Sure, I could live off meat from my kills and wild greens, but I really enjoyed fruit and processed foods like chips, although the latter was getting harder to find.

I picked and ate the berries in an almost-contented state of mind.

~

       The dim moonlight shone between the tree branches overhead as I took a deep breath. Even though I expected it, my jaw clenched as the heavy scent of several hundred humans hit me. Standing directly downwind of a Stronghold was almost as bad as walking inside its protective fence.

My instincts were stronger at night, as was the bloodlust, especially with so many humans just on the other side of the trees. The lights above the main gates were partially visible through the branches, but I had to come this close to ensure I could smell everything inside.

Resisting the unhealthy desire to follow the scent to its source, I remained where I was, sifting through the individual human odors. I took my time, refusing to rush as I sorted through the miasma one by one.

My sister wasn't in this place.

Despite having checked dozens of Strongholds, it was still a blow to my heart. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly.

Several minutes later, I continued on my way. Had it been daytime, I might have considered trying to approach a couple of people outside to ask for directions to the nearest Stronghold, but more often than not, they insisted on giving me a ride the next time someone went there instead of telling me how to get there.

My refusal to enter a Stronghold or accept a ride had most groups assuming I was a bandit or up to no good. If I tried talking with them longer to win some of their trust, there was a chance they'd realize I was a zombie. Things usually didn't go well after that. At best, they didn't want to talk anymore. At worst, they pulled out their weapons.

It was very, very frustrating.

7pheonixfire7 made this lovely fanart of Trinity!