Twisted Condemnation

Warning Shots

September 7, 2026

"Nowhere to run from all of this havoc, Nowhere to hide from all of this madness..." -Ruelle

"Stay down," Ezra ordered. Scanning the brushy overgrown treeline for the shooter.

Jenna's cries were filling the cab, leaving no silence, nor quiet for Ezra to listen for any nearby movement. The shot seemed more like a warning shot, rather than a shot aimed to do damage. Hitting the dirt in front of the truck.

"Trade me spots," Ezra urged.

I complied, awkwardly sliding my rear end against the fabric over to the passenger seat underneath Ezra's body, as he moved into the driver seat. "Buckle," he muttered to me before slamming on the gas trying different maneuvers to free the truck. I held my hand into the backseat, as Jenna continued her unrelenting sobs, she quickly snatched my hand squeezing with all her might.

I breathed out in relief as the truck gained traction, gunning forwards towards the highway. Two more shots were fired, but neither even came close to the truck, rather ricocheting against the highway ahead.

"I don't think they were shooting at us," I thought aloud, keeping my eyes peeled on the thick treelines on our sides.

"Well I didn't feel like sticking around to figure out their reasoning," Ezra slightly shook his head, his attention focused on a mileage sign. That said, five miles with an arrow pointing straight ahead, the portion of the sign with town's name was graffitied in deep red spray paint, leaving it illegible.

"Why is everyone shooting at us?" Jenna whined from the backseat. "Did we do something wrong?"

I glanced over at Ezra, who quickly picked up on my apprehension, "No we didn't do anything wrong. People just aren't always friendly these days, don't forget that."

"Mean like the boy who used to pick on me?" She questioned.

"Meaner. You don't trust anyone besides Florence and I, okay?" He glanced into the rear view mirror, ensuring Jenna was absorbing what he had said.

"Even if they are nice?" Her confusion was cutting through into her voice.

"Even if they are nice," Ezra confirmed, with a firm but soft tone.

Jenna had been at Compound C since practically the beginning of this all. She was only four when the infection began. I'm not even sure if she's ever seen an infected so she will have to learn and learn quickly how this new world works.

Ezra slowed the truck as we crept past a city limits sign, the name once again graffitied out, but the population was still visible, Pop. 10,648. I threw Ezra an anxious look. When I was alone I avoided cities and towns the best I could. The exception being when hunting was going poorly, then I'd have to risk it to scavenge for food. It's how I got bit in the first place.

I leaned forwards examining the condition of the rundown town. Decaying corpses and debris littered the road. The once busy brick shopping center was now a ghost town, a derelict shell of its past state. Most of its windows were smashed in, dirt and blood coated those that remained.  It never failed to send goosebumps down my spine. Sending my head down a path of bitter nostalgia. I grimaced as the tires squelched over a badly decomposed infected that was lifeless in the middle of the road.

As I turned my head my eyes widened staring out my window. "Close your eyes Jenna," I sternly ordered. My heart forcibly thumped against my chest while my eyes darted around at least fifty dead head's. The main strip of the town was overrun. They were amped up, swarmed together. Our truck had rang the dinner bell for them. A sea of red eyes all chained to the truck's low rumble. With a line of businesses in front of us Ezra veered the truck right, around a blind corner away from the herd.

"Shit," he muttered, his eyes on the makeshift vehicle barricade blocking the road. He threw the truck in reverse, my hand squeezed around the grab handle seeing the infected flood the road behind us.

My fingers tightened with each thud, watching the dark blood splatter up against the end of the truck. Pale crimson stained hands were banging against the glass. I glanced at Jenna who had listened, but she could still hear. With every thud, every bang, every growl her eyes tightened, her entire face scrunching up. Her whole body was trembling, as she gripped the seatbelt for dear life.

I frantically looked at Ezra when the truck stopped moving, his lips were tight as his face filled with frustration. He slammed on the gas again, but the tires just spun, stuck on one of the infected. The growls and snarls became more audible, as he let off the gas. He punched the steering wheel, releasing a discouraged sigh. I turned my head out my window to be met with grimy decaying hands slamming against the window. My heart was racing, as did my mind attempting to think of an escape plan. Jenna started crying when the truck started to rock, due to infected pushing against it on both sides. We are going to die if we stay here.

"I can lead them away," I tried to sound confident, but as it came out from my lips it was on the opposite spectrum.

"No." Ezra roughly said. "Your immunity won't stop you from being ripped apart." His eyes were now locked onto mine, communicating the frustration and panic he felt.

"I'm not letting you two die," I shook my head, through my shaky voice. Tears were pooling in my eyes.

Our heads snapped back in unison when a thundering crack reverberated through the town. I tilted my head at what I was seeing. A faint explosion of red and orange lit up in the blue sky on the opposite side of town. Fireworks? Another was set off, exploding into an array of dim white and green lights.

"Shut the truck off," I urged, looking over at Ezra.

Ezra instantly obeyed, before staring back in awe and confusion. Another set of booms began. In small droves, the infected were pulling away, heading towards the fireworks. The question of who was setting them off popped into my brain, but frankly I did not care. Whoever they are, they are our saving grace at the moment.

"Flo," Ezra grabbed my arm, causing me to turn to him. I followed his eyes that were directed out of the windshield. A brown haired man who looked to be in his late twenties was standing past the barricade with a black hunting rifle and was frantically waving at us to come to him.