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The Crow - Chapter 3 I lay back on the grass, my belly full after two roasted rabbits. I would have guessed that it was around midnight. The fire Crow and I had built still burned even after a few hours.
"Where'd you come from, Shatter?" Crow asked, sitting facing the fire with his knees partway up to his chest, his arms resting atop his legs. "I told you, now it's your turn."
I glanced at him and sat up. "I was born in this area," I replied. "Long after the end of the Great War. My mom and dad died when I was only nine years old. I'm seventeen now, and I've been on my own since my parents died."
"What happened to them?" Crow asked.
The Crow - Chapter 2 It had been exactly one week since Crow had agreed to let me travel with him. Exactly one week of his strange muttering to himself as we walked. I had learned to not reply when he spoke in that way; he never seemed to notice that he sounded like a crazy person. Or perhaps I was the crazy one.
Just outside of Sacramento, Crow and I decided to rest for the night. Even though he muttered to himself almost constantly, I found comfort in him. I found that he had a calming demeanor. Not to mention, his guns killed every Infected we came across.
To my surprise, Crow did what I had first asked him to do: teach me how to use a gun. Since he had two of them, he and I took turns shooting at makeshift targets.
The CrowChapter One
I met him almost ten years ago. Before those ten years, my world was desolate. Broken. Cities lay in pieces where they once stood tall. Ravenous creatures roamed the earth, trailing death and destruction behind them. All hope for humankind was lost.
Before I met him, I fought for my life every day, from the demented creatures known as the Infected, and from starvation. I was weak, young, never to grow old. Never to die peacefully. I was certain I would die before my time, with no mercy from my hungry murderers.
Those ten years with him saved my life. He may never know that truth.
I met him two miles inside of what used to be Sac
2019 - Ch. 2Chapter 2
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Ninety-six Hours Earlier
"Come on, guys!" Max shouted, pivoting on her heels to face Gerard, Mikey, Frank, and Ray. Her mane of light brown hair was held down by a pilot's hat, the straps hanging to touch the shoulders of her red, yellow, and blue vest. Her grey-blue eyes were wide, the light color contrasting to her mocha-toned skin. She was young, maybe only thirteen years old, and her head only reached Gerard's waist.
She laughed as Gerard lifted her up and set her atop his shoulders. In a way, Gerard had come to treat Max as his own child, although he claimed to just have felt sorry for her when the four men had found her starving and cold in an abandoned bunker. She had been wearing only a hospital gown, smudged with dirt, a Better Living Inc. logo on the chest. Mikey still re
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Dust swirled into the air with each step of the four men as they walked wordlessly along a dusty road. The wind howled, the sun, despite beginning to set, beating down on them. The four had sunglasses over their eyes, bandanas blocking the dust from their noses and mouths.
One walked in front of the other three. His dusty grey skinny jeans were tucked hastily into worn leather combat boots, his loose black belt tapping against his hip as he walked. His torn jacket had patches sewed on, making it a jumble of mismatched colors and materials. Though the jacket was zipped up in the front, one could see that his figure was slim and tall. A striped strap wrapped loosely around his neck, attached to a huge mask that covered his whole head. The mask was in the shape of a smiling cat's head
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