Free Apocalypsis 01 - Kahayatle by Elle Casey

confident that I would be able to, I started wheeling the bike out of the garage and through the house.
    I got halfway through the kitchen when I smelled something.   Within a split second, my brain processed how very wrong that odor was - wrong because it smelled good, and not like rotting bodies.   It was like something from the past.   A cookout.
    I propped the bike on the edge of the kitchen counter and tiptoed over to the sliding glass doors that led out to the pool area of the house.   I could see that the cop had one of those big, stainless steel gas bar-b-cue grills set up in his yard, with a big table and bench seats nearby.   It was next to the pool that had several cushioned lounge chairs around it.
    The first thing I noticed were the bodies - sleeping ones on the lounge chairs.   There were five that I could count, all guys.  
    The next thing I noticed was the food on the table.   It was charred and broken into several pieces, much of it just bones … but even so, I could see what it was.   Or rather, who it had been.   I was now willing to bet that the kid with a .357 bullet in his chest was no longer on the side of my house.
    I backed away from the glass, trying to keep the bile from rising up into my throat, when I butted up against something.   Something warm.
    “Well, hello there,” said a deep, gravelly voice.   I recognized it instantly as the one that had been outside my window the night before.
    I swung around, but not in time to keep the guy from taking my gun out of my waistband.  
    “Going somewhere?” he asked, smiling, holding up the gun and aiming it at my chest.
    His teeth were dark yellow with flecks of black things in between, and his hair hadn’t been washed in months.   A long time ago he might have been handsome, but not anymore.   His eyes were way too bright, his skin red and scaley-looking with patches of acne breaking out all over it.   And the dried blood all over the front of his clothes told me who had been in charge of the canners’ bar-b-cue last night.
    “You stay the hell away from me, you friggin canner.”
    “Sorry, but that’s not going to be possible.   You’re being cordially invited to join us for … breakfast.”   His smile disappeared and he raised the gun up to my face, turning his hand sideways like some kind of thug gangster did in the movies.   “Go outside.”   He gestured towards the sliding back door with his chin.
    My brain did a quick calculation.   There were six of them and one of me.   I could take this guy, I knew it, but not all of them at once.   They’d been eating a lot of protein and I hadn’t had much at all in months, except for the few beans I’d eaten.   My bodyweight was at an all-time low, and I’d foolishly let my training regimen get too lax.  
    I was on the balls of my feet, my hands raising of their own accord, my years of training and discipline taking over.   My father’s voice was in my head now, coaching me as my eyes took in the subtle clues that told me what my enemy was going to do the split second he’d made his decision to do it.
    He stepped towards me and I met him quickly and forcefully, giving him no chance to react, kicking my foot out sharply to catch him in the knee.   It twisted sideways, just as I had intended, throwing him off balance and hopefully giving him an intense amount of pain.   He grunted, loud enough to wake his friends, so I knew I only had a few seconds to end this game.
    before he could get fully upright, I kicked the gun out of his hand, sending it across the room.   It hit the wall with a loud thud.
    He tried to swing out at me with a sloppy punch, but his knee put him off balance and he lacked all but the most primitive fighting skills, making him an easy take-down.   I gave him a harsh jab to the larynx, collapsing his throat and causing him to reach up to try and help himself breathe.   I took the opportunity to kick him square in the balls as hard as I could.