Antichrist

Day 33. Still in the woods. Still alone. But the loneliness isn't a new feeling for me. Ever since I let go of Jordon last month I've been the way I was my whole life. Not alone in the literal sense, but the emotional one. I always had Chels... I mean after all she was my sister. The system was kind to us, foster home to foster home I had a good life. When the pandemic hit, Chelsea and I struck out on our own, doing what we could to stay alive. The world went to shit, and we somehow remained okay. Then one day last winter, I saved Jordon's life, and then well... He became one of us. But now they were both gone, and it was just me. Just Dana.

I filled my canteen with river water and started back up walking. My lips were chapped and my hair was matted- with the bags under my eyes and the cuts on my fingers I could easily pass for one of the flesh eating former members of society I had come to know too well. The woods around Georgia for the most part were peaceful during the day, as long as you stayed near the water and kept quiet. Every now and then a straggling zombie would show up, but it was never anything I couldn't knock out with a knife or a gunshot. The trail where people had walked on led me to a clearing of sunlight and wildflowers. I heard a hiss and a twig snap. Swallowing hard, my automatic response to grab the pistol from my waistband was second nature, and I popped two rounds into the walker behind me.

I used to think that they could be helped. I thought that I could save them all or something. When Chelsea got scratched, I thought I could save her too. When I had to put her down, I knew I couldn't. Now I just sit and watch them aimlessly stagger around sometimes, wondering what would happen if the CDC ever found a cure- If anyone had ever found a cure. My sister would be alive. My boyfriend would be alive. I'd be a normal 16 year old...... stressing about prom instead of wether or not I'm gonna make it through the night or if I'm going to find a good shelter for a night or two. But here I was, not having eaten or slept in at least a day or two, an infected cut on my thigh, and a gun at my hip, ready to shoot any and everything. I just wish I weren't so outnumbered this time.

I shot so many rounds and fought them all off as best I could, but they just kept coming and coming. I ran into the cabin in the clearing and barricaded the door. There was no way I could fight them all off. I remembered that being my last thought. The thought that this was the end.