Free Ash: Book One in the Rising Ash Saga by R.G. Westerman Page A

small cot and table lining the walls. Despite the presence of a wooden chair, I remain sitting on the floor, turning to face out and watch the falling rain darkening the patch of green grass outside my small hovel. I cannot see much beyond the hulking house ahead of me, but I know I have a secure vantage point in case anything approaches.
                  The fire sputters and a flame flairs up as grease drops into the fire. Exhaustion creeps up on me, my shoulders and legs aching from the day's activities. I pull off my boots, followed by the damp socks, laying them out to dry and stretching my bare toes towards the meager warmth of the flame.
                  I decide the squirrel has cooked long enough and I pull it from the fire. My fingers singe as I attempt to pluck off pieces of the dark meat, but my stomach wins out. I know I need to replenish my supplies, but being this close to the city it will not be difficult to complete a supply raid in the next few days.
                  Carefully cleaning each bone and examining the carcass to make sure I am not missing a single morsel, my stomach calms its rumbling protest, satiated at last. I reach over and pull the heavy door closed as the darkness sets in. This will give me some amount of security during the night. Nothing can get in. That much is certain. Regardless, I pull the cot over in front of the door before I settle in. I toss a handful of dirt over the dying fire and Curl up against the wall on the far side of the fire, falling asleep to the constant rain tapping against the wooden rooftop outside.
     
                  I wake to the sound of scratching around the door. The thin tendrils of dawn reach underneath the strip between the door and the damp floor. I immediately reach for my crossbow as I roll onto my feet. The instant adrenaline rush pushes me into full wakefulness, and I realize the sound, the slow scritching of mindless movements, is coming from a zombie outside.
                  For the moment I am safe, locked inside this shelter, so I take a moment to pull on my boots and locate my knives. The barricade of the cot against the door stayed in place through the night, but the creature beyond the door is blocking my only means of escape.
                  The first thing I do is to move, slowly and quickly, over to the window. It is long since painted shut, but I try it regardless. Stuck fast. From this vantage point, I do have a clear view of the front of the mansion. The angle does not allow me to see the creature, but I can see the large staircase leading up to the wide concrete porch framed by the tall white columns. I press as far to the right as I can, trying to gain a clearer view. My small movements are met with an increase in motion from the creature outside.
                  At the top of the staircase, I catch sight of a woman crouching with her back pressed up against the stately doorway of the mansion. A young boy clings to her. Even through the small distance between us, I can see the terrified look in both of their faces. They stay frozen in place, their faces caught in grimaces of terror. The woman has her arms wrapped around his shoulder, holding his head against her chest. His glassy eyes gaze wildly towards the front door of my small shelter. She glances towards me, her trembling eyes cutting towards my movement in the window. The boy keeps his gaze fixed on the thing in front of my shelter. For as far as I see, the grassy landscape around rolls into the distance without a sign of another one of them.
                  This one is alone. For now.
                  I have no way to get a viable shot on it. I cannot see it from the window. With some resignation, I know what I have to do. There is no other way. I place the crossbow on the bed and reach down to the knives inside my boots. With a blade in each hand, I move to the center of the