Whenever anyone asked Jake Rogers about his life before the invasion, he always responded the same way. “I was a hitman.” No one really believed him, but they would play along and listen to his stories anyway. Everyone assumed that Jake had a normal job in his past life and that he created his stories to liven things up. Some said he must have been a writer because he had a way of making his stories seem so real. Others figured that he had watched too many movies. I know the truth.

Shortly after arriving in the Blue Zone, I was assigned to a salvage team. Jake and I would follow the squads and collect any resources that we could manage. Our shifts were rather uneventful. The Corps made sure that Zack was cleared out before we even set foot outside of our transport. We weren’t even given a ZED–they were only for the Corps. We stuck mainly to the highways, siphoning gasoline out of the vehicles that lined Route 81. After we were finished with them, the auto shells were towed back to help reinforce our perimeter fence. In order to pass the time, I would ask Jake to tell me stories about his past life. He never disappointed. Without much effort, he would weave tales that writers would kill to have written.

One particularly boring shift, I decided some stories were needed. “So, Jake, how many people have you killed in your life?” All I had to do was get him started, and he would do the rest.

“I never kept track. Dozens, I would assume. I was never out of work for too long.”

“So, what’s the going rate for a hired gun these days?”

“I’m out of the game now, No one needs a hitman these days. The Corps takes care of the hits now, although they don’t get paid as well.”

“What was the going rate to have someone taken care of?” I asked.

“You couldn’t afford it. Let’s just say that I lived a comfortable life. I had places in multiple countries around the world, in case I needed to lay low. I was careful, though, so it never came to that. I made sure never to leave any witnesses. There was only one instance where I ever thought I would get caught.”

I cut Jake off, “Oh, can I hear the story about the time the great Jake Rogers almost got caught?”

“It wasn’t my finest moment, but alright, here goes.” Jake began, “My services were requested in Philadelphia. I had been in the murder for hire game for a few years, but I was new to Philly. I preferred to stay in familiar locations, but the price was right. I was hired to clean up a business deal gone bad. A Philly based toy company was ready to launch their latest line of action figures. They had saved money by painting the toys with lead paint in China. One of the company heads was having second thought about sending the toxic toys out to thousands of children. His associate called me in to shut him up.”

“I followed Mr. Bryant out of work one Friday afternoon. He drove out of the city into rural Pennsylvania. I felt it was always better to execute a hit away from crowds, so I just followed to see where he was taking us. He drove for about an hour until he arrived at Valley Forge. He got out of his car, and began to walk the path. I caught up to him on the walkway and started to talk to him. I never talked to my victims. They were a job, nothing more. We talked about the weather and the chances the Phillies had to win the World Series. By the time we made it around the path, it was dark. There was no one else around. Then, I did what I never did. I told Mr. Bryant, ‘I’ve been hired to kill you.’

I quickly remembered why I didn’t do this. He began crying and pleading with me to spare his life while I attached the silencer to my pistol. Part of me felt sorry for him, so I let him make one last phone call home to his family. We were miles away from any law enforcement. I would be miles away before anyone could show up.”

“I thought this was the story of how you got caught?” I asked, cutting him off.

“I’m getting to that part. So, after taking care of Mr. Bryant, I got in my car to leave. I hadn’t planned on going that far away from the city, and I had no idea how to get back. I drove around rural PA for about an hour before I ended up back at the entrance to Valley Forge. The police had set up a road block, and were questioning drivers about the murder. I quickly came up with a fake story about visiting family in the area and getting lost. The officer fell for it and even gave me directions back to the city. There you have it, the story of the time I was almost caught. After the Valley Forge incident, I always stayed close to home.”

“I liked your other stories better. At least they seemed believable. Really, Jake, you should give up the whole ‘hitman’ thing. It sounds like you’ve run out of material.” I finished draining the tank of an Acura and stood up to see Jake standing across the car from me. He aimed a pistol with his right hand, and his left pointer finger was pressed to his lips.

“Shhh…don’t make a sound,” Jake whispered, “They’ll hear you.”

“Jake…I take it back…I believe you,” I muttered.

“Shhh,” was all he replied, still aiming the gun towards me. He pulled the trigger three times, and I heard the bullets rushing towards my head. I froze for a second, only to realize that I was not the target of Jake’s shots. I turned around to see three freshly killed zombies lying on the highway, each with a bullet hole right in the center of their foreheads. I turned back to Jake to see him coolly remove the silencer from his pistol and place them back inside his jacket.

“Let’s go,” was all Jake said to me. He made me promise not to tell the others about what had happened.

Jake was content to let people think that his stories were just that, but I knew the truth. Jake Rogers was a hitman.