Free Corn, Cows, and the Apocalypse (Part 1) by Felicia Jedlicka

shoulder.  “No matter what, you have to do as he asks.  You have to listen to his instruction as if he were me.”
                  “I don’t like him.”  I whispered even though he could probably hear me. 
                  “I don’t need you to like him.  It will be easier to fight him if you don’t, remember.” 
                  I drew back and looked at her.  “You brought him here, so I had someone to fight that I don’t know well enough to feel bad about hurting.”
                  “That’s essentially the gist of it.”  She said. 
                  I looked Garrett over.  He was standing at the door, looking as perturbed by this whole scene as that blind date he was just on.  “I don’t think I’ll feel bad about hurting him.”

 
     
    -Home Sweet Home-
                  Attention to detail was never my strong suit.  When August suggested that I could stay at the house to train, I never imagined that meant her, Devin, and Haden would leave me behind with no vehicles and an arrogant prick for a trainer. 
                  I stared out at the empty drive way.  I hadn’t heard the engines start, but sometime last night they had left to stock up groceries and left again with their travel bags.  They weren’t planning on returning any time soon.  A week, a month, I hoped not more than a month.  I was mad, but I had made my promise, so I started doing whatever Garrett asked, as if he were August. 
                  He started me out on basic calisthenics and running.  If all else failed, he would have me ready to out run a grim in no time.  We started sword play, which was kind of fun, except that when I stumbled he would thwack me with the side of his blade until I got back up.  It was the type of negative reinforcement that I didn’t respond well to. 
                  After two weeks I came to realize that this was not going to be just a month of training.  I was disappointed, but I didn’t have time to gripe about it, since everyday was packed full of training exercises.  The only conversation Garrett and I had, was instructional, or necessary.  Do you want gravy? —wasn’t exactly what I called small talk. 
                  Still, I endured everything he had to shove at me, including the ridiculous wrestling moves that I recognized from high school competitions.  It wasn’t until the two week mark that I got to use any real self-defense, and it was only because I actually had to defend myself. 
                  “Dinner will be done in a few minutes,” I said as Garrett came into the kitchen.  I expected that the comment would be met with the same wordless grunt that it usually was, but instead he pulled me away from the stove with a thick arm around my waist and bent me face first over the table. 
                  I screamed or cursed or something, but it all blurred into shock and fear.  He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back.  His other hand was down my shirt, gripping my breast.  “I need an appetizer.”  He said and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. 
                  I kicked and screamed, but he slammed my head into the table and started undoing my pants.  I leaned onto the table further and used both my feet to kick the inside of his knee.  The pain made him yelp and he fell back to get away. 
                  I ran for the back door, but he tackled me.  He pressed a chef’s knife to my throat he had grabbed from my wood block.  I shoved his hand away and pushed myself up to crawl from underneath him.  He hooked his finger in the belt loop on my jeans and flipped me over.  He pressed the tip of the blade sharply into her throat.  “Undo your pants, or I’ll slice you open and finish with your corpse.”
                  There might have been more to that sentence, but