No-Man's Land Ch. 00-01

Michael stood himself, and nodded. "Of course I understand, You must be exhausted, the pair of you." He said as she turned to him, looking into his eyes and his locked on hers.

"Thank you for helping us Michael, you didn't have to but you did. May I ask; if we can stay here, we have nowhere to go out there." She said almost afraid to ask him, but he was smiling gently.

"You don't need to even ask that Alesha, you can stay, both of you." He told her gently.

He put her at ease, she had to admit that much. "Thank you." She said smiling, and began to walk towards her and Becky's bedroom. She stopped and turned. "Michael, one other thing. Can you train us both, to fight. Me, and Becky? Everything you know, that you've learned. I don't want us to victims, I don't want her to be one." She said.

Michael was surprised, but nodded. "Of course, you'll get your own knives and I'll train you with every weapon I have. She can fight, your sister. Soon enough, she'll be a soldier. Ready to kill, and protect." Michael said with a knowing smile, proud to be training them both and seeing the promise in Becky.

But Alesha looked sad, and feigned her smile. "That's what I'm afraid of Michael, good night. And again, thank you." She said sadly, and slipped into the back-room she was sharing with Becky.

She left him staring off at the bedroom door, with those words ringing in his ears and mind. She was afraid of Becky becoming a soldier, a killer and losing herself. He thought for a moment, and realized with depression he had done just that himself, killing so many in the days since the outbreak just to survive.

Killing to him was now second-nature. But Becky being young, and inexperienced yet skilled; she could go one of two ways Michael thought. As he hoped for, and saw promise in her she could become an experienced fighter, well trained, deadly but become what he was or worse; it would get to her, destroy her personality and make her bitter as he was.

Michael went into the kitchen, only lit by three candles and found a bottle of Scottish whiskey; Johnny Walker and in the candle light he refilled his flask and took a deep swig from the bottle before returning to the lounge.

His routine, as sad and depressing as it had become. Drinking from the flask, he was going to drink himself into a stupor and into a drunk sleep. It was the only way for him to the get to sleep. The alcohol numbed him, it aided him slightly in fighting the nightmares off; the faces of those he had killed in just over two weeks since the epidemic. There faces never went away, he admitted it. It was easier for him to kill, to survive; but it tested his humanity.

In the dimly lit room, his eyes slowly closed as he felt sleep overtake him and he had hope for Alesha, and Becky. As his eyes closed, he felt with probing fingers for his hunting knife, sheathed on his belt and his loaded crossbow at his feet. This was the new world, this was life now; routine.

The End

(Note: This is an edited draft of the already published story, part two is en route. Thank you.)