I lay in my sleeping bag, squirming as the cool texture uncomfortably rubbing against my bare arms. Looking up at the ceiling boards that zig-zagged across the room I noticed imperfections in the pattern. My breath was even and it was so quiet that I could hear my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn't sleep, when could I ever, neither before the apocalypse nor during. The flu. That's what they all said it was at first, just a common virus. And that's what everyone believed it was.

I mean, what else could it have been, the doctors didn't know and most of us knew even less. They had never seen anything like it before, and they sure as hell couldn't explain it.

The flu? Right, people bought that just to reassure themselves, well you know, up until the dead rose and started feeding on the living, The flu my ass. I would've thought it was vampires before I believed anything the government wrote it off to be. I mean what kind of virus turned you into one of those THINGS.

It was simple enough at first.

You got infected.

You got a fever.

You died.

Well, no one mentioned the part when you came back.

The dead, or undead, were consumed with a ravenous desire for human flesh, and they were fucking everywhere. The virus spread like wildfire once it had penetrated the silly plastic bag the US had used as a quarantine. The white picket fences stained and splattered with blood gave a new definition to the phrase, having a "hell of a weekend". I can't say the military fought back or stood around and watched us die; they ran too.

Silent tears rolled down my cheeks, it was routine at this point. I rolled over to shove my face into my pillow. It smelled like it hadn't been washed in years, it probably hadn't, laundry being the least of my concern. My muffled sobs echoed through the empty house that I was camping in.

The wind howled outside and rattled the wooden ply boards that were nailed over the windows. The lulls of the wind and the occasional creak of the house calmed my senses and sent me to sleep. Thoughts of surviving the next day drifted into my head, I tried to shake them out and waited for dreams that never came.

---

I gasped awake and groaned from the tapping sun-light against my face, wondering how long I'd been sleeping. Probably not long. I blinked, shut my eyes, and blinked again. Yawning, I managed to sit up. The sun's vibrant rays sent a glossy, gold sheen all around the room, blending with the autumn leaves falling from the trees outside.

My mind was fuzzy, the last remnants of a hazy dream being chased away by the realization that I was awake again. I felt like shit, who would expect, but what else do you feel after a measly 3 hours of sleep. I gave a mental sigh, before allowing my brain to focus on its surroundings. The bright fall sunshine cut the room in half and I saw dust-mites dancing in the wall of light.

A shiver ran down my body as I looked around the familiar room. The walls were a pale yellow that reflected the morning light to give a homey warmth. It was all I could do not to imagine the happy family that was probably living here before the evacuation. A second sleeping bag sat on the far side of the room, and a thin sheet rested on the floor next to it. I sighed and rolled over onto the hard, cold floor. I stretched out my arms and stood up. My ratty backpack lay crumpled on the floor, contents spilling out.

I didn't plan on staying long, so there was never much to pack. I bent down to shove a few protein bars, my switchblade, a water bottle and some medical tape back in. I hadn't eaten a decent meal in ages, and my once lean muscles weren't what they used to be. I bent backwards, cracking my spine and letting out a sigh of relief when I felt my body loosen up. 

I had been camping around for months, too afraid to actually settle and I was running out of supplies. I roamed upstairs to the bedrooms and ransacked the dressers. Not much, just an old sweatshirt with moth-eaten holes, but winter was coming and it would be better than nothing.

I stumbled back down the rickety stairs, and a big breeze swept through the narrow hall, tousling my hair. It was a mess, not brushed in several months, not to mention I can't remember the last time I washed it. Without consistent haircuts, it was already hanging past my shoulders. I tied it back into a bun, strays falling out to frame my face.

I picked up my bandages and wrapped them around my wrists for protection and support. When I was done, I packed up the rest of my stuff and hauled the bag onto my back. By the door, I picked up my battered lacrosse stick that was splattered in blood and grime. I swung it around in my hand and felt the familiar feel of carved letters. I could feel what they spelled out without looking, 'Miles W' in crappy ass handwriting.

A second stick was propped against the wall next to mine that had the name 'Dale Whitman' carved at the base. His carving always put mine to shame. I sighed and looked away, maybe I should stop carting that thing around, it's not like he needs it anymore. I needed food, I couldn't live on protein bars the rest of my life, or however this apocalypse lasted. Well, I could, but I feel like that's not the best idea. Despite obviously not having the time of my life, I needed to keep surviving, hell, I'd force myself if I had to, I promised I would.

I tightened my grip on my stick and took a deep breath. I creaked open the front door just a crack to scope out the road. The neighborhood was eerily quiet, a thin fog coated the ground. The cool air felt refreshing on my face, and the few trees still adorned with leaves shook in the wind. My guess is it was October, at the latest, early November.

I opened the door, slipped through the crack, and scurried across the lawn to the sidewalk. My bike was thrown down in the grass from the last time I scouted for food. In my haste to get to safety, I had carelessly dropped it and definitely broke it. There was no time to fix it, I had to get moving while the coast was clear.

I cut through the abandoned yards, careful not to run in the open. The houses soon grew bigger and the small neighborhood turned into a more populated area. Well, a once populated area. A corner convenience store lay dead ahead, I was so close. I sent a silent prayer that it wouldn't be completely trashed and that there would be at least a small ounce of supplies left though I doubt it.

I crept towards the entrance, trying not to make any sound and I tentatively pushed open the door. The door creaked when I opened it and I froze in my tracks. My muscles tensed, and I hoped that there wasn't anyone or anything nearby. After a few seconds the dead town stayed still, and I opened the door fully.