Free Resurrection of the Fallen (Book 1): Surviving New York by Misti Vanhoy Page A

stomach up toward the sun in a reverse table pose. This was my usual morning routine. Some yoga made you limber enough to face a day in the apocalyptic world that we now called home. I needed it the most when I went on missions.
    I slowly released my form back to the start position to roll over onto my stomach. With legs flat, I picked my torso up with my arms and craned my neck to the sky in an upward dog. The sun was warm and glowed orange against my closed eyelids. I welcomed the new day graciously and fervently. I felt an energy growing inside of me that I hadn’t felt in the longest time. Today was a day for new beginnings. Today was the day I would lead my group to a whole new life. I could just feel that it was my lucky day.
    “Well, now, sunshine! How much for a yoga class from my favorite instructor?” Reagan’s voice called from the balcony door. I relaxed into a sitting position and turned to see my beautiful partner in crime for the day. Wisps of hair fell in her face, untamed since the outbreak. Hair gel was a banned item now, along with deodorants and exceptionally smelly shampoos. They only gave us away to our pursuers if we smelled heavenly.
    “I don’t teach,” I replied sharply, getting up and brushing myself off. This was going to be a long, difficult day. She was already starting.
    “That’s too bad.” She pushed herself off of the wall and came to stand at the banister. “Any movement down below?”
    “No. I haven’t heard anything. I just hope they followed that car all the way back to where it came from.”
    “Well, we won’t find out until we go down there. Let’s not waste anymore daylight by standing here.” She slapped her hands down onto the banister and pushed herself off of it, shooting through the balcony door before I could say anything. I shook my head in disbelief at her new-found energy before hurrying to catch up to her. I was excited, too, but not to her extent.
    My dad and sister were still unconscious when I came through the living room. Reagan was by the door waving for me to hurry my ass up. I rolled my eyes at her continued impatience as I tiptoed around the beds that rested upon the floor. Waking my dad meant that there wouldn’t be a trip to the library, which meant no concrete way to persuade him that we needed to leave here. We’d be stuck here for God knows how much longer and eventually starve. That wasn’t appealing to me in the slightest.
    I glanced down at my dad as I passed by his bed. Even in his sleep, he was restless and it showed. His face still wore a frown just like the one he donned while awake. His breathing was shallow; a defense mechanism developed since the outbreak to prevent any wandering zombies from hearing us when we’re at our most vulnerable state. He stayed fully dressed even in bed. He made sure that on any given day he’d be ready to pick up his children and run for the next neighborhood should things get too hot here. Samantha slept in the bed beside of him, mimicking him in his sleep patterns. The only differences between the two of them were the dolls she slept with every night and the fact that her face was peaceful. She didn’t share the worries of our father. She had given up on fighting a long time ago and welcomed whatever may come for her in her sleep.
    I made it to the front door without waking anyone. I held my breath as Reagan slowly unlocked the deadbolt and door knob, careful not to make much noise in the process. She pulled it open with a hand on each side of the door to keep from letting it open too fast. It creaked and groaned as it made its way, causing us to sweat from nervousness. I kept glancing back at my dad to make sure he stayed asleep. With my luck, he would wake up and be ready to fuss. They all remained asleep, much to our delight.
    We tiptoed out the door and repeated the process to close it without alerting the others. I stood at the door for a brief moment, listening for anyone moving on the other