Biters: Part II
Copyright A.S. Winchester
“There was a man… God, he had to be in his fifties or sixties and he was trying to get this car started, but it wouldn’t. Except, it wasn’t the car that had my attention. It was those… those things attacking the car.”
“We call them biters,” the young man nearest to her interjected politely, his words slurring around cigarette between his lips. He was her age, maybe just past his twenties, with outgrown hair and eyes angrier than any she had ever seen. Just by the look of him, she knew she had to watch out for him. He came off as unpredictable and in their world, unpredictable led to death.
“Fine… the biters had my attention,” she snapped angrily. “I’d never seen one before. In fact, I’m pretty sure the closest thing I’d ever seen to them were the zombies in a few comics I’d stolen from the bookstore.”
“Biters aren’t dead,” he interrupted with less politeness.
“Oliver,” the man sitting across the campfire scolded immediately. He was significantly older than them with greying hair and weathered skin. His pale eyes offered no room for argument. “If you’re going to ask her how she got into all this mess, you’ve got to let her finish telling her story. Continue, Ava.”
“Thanks,” she muttered. Before she could stop herself, she sniped, “Biters aren’t dead and I know that. Anyway, I watched the biters break through the windows of his car like it was nothing… they dragged him out and began to eat him. He screamed for… well, too long to be damn comfortable. I high tailed my ass out of there, grabbed a few things from the mall, and got my ass out of town.
“Turns out, I’d missed the Sweep. No one knew about the girl who lived inside the ceiling at the mall so the military had no clue to get me when those genetic mutations escaped Canada’s labs. Dumb idea to try genetically modifying humans if you ask me. Who thinks up that shit anyway? And who actually does it?”
“Canada,” Oliver chuckled.
“Well, fuck Canada,” she retorted, making him grin wider. “I’ve been on the run for seven years, six months, and twenty-two days. You’re the first people I’ve come across so far. Well… the only alive ones.”
“Biters aren’t dead,” Oliver repeated darkly.

















