O.k. So this is my first original story. (And it is only the second story I have written ever.) In an English class, we had to write a paper on what we would do during the zombie apocalypse. (I know, weird right?) And it got me started on this story. I know I am not a good writer, so please bear with me. Reviews are necessary! Any comment at all on this story is welcomed. It doesn't even have to be constructive. I need to know your opinion so I can learn to write better. And now, without further adieu, Survival.
Survive. That is your only thought, only reason. Every move you make is to try to get you through to the next morning. And you do everything you can to live through the next day.
When did this all happen? When did everything change? Six months ago, I was a normal teenager; I cheered on our high school varsity squad, I ran cross-country, I had friends, family, a boyfriend, my life had been perfect. Now, it's ruined. My parents are dead; my friends are gone. It's just me and my little sister Mary left to fight the world. Six months ago, if you would have told me zombies were going to take over the world and I would be left to fight them off and save my family, I would have laughed in your face. I would have told you to take a break from the constant video games and sci-fi movies. Today I live every moment in fear; planning out where to hide next, finding them before they find me.
Here's what happened, apparently the U.S. government has been planning a secret project to use for the military; not a big surprise really. They wanted to make a drug that once ingested wipes your mind. Supposedly, it would allow the army to pick up enemy soldiers, and after they had been drugged, train them again to fight for our side. It was a revolutionary idea, and it worked. It just had some unforeseen side effects. No one knew this of course, until a small dose of Drug 831 got out. There was a small leak at one of the centers where it was stored. (At least that is what the lady on the news said when they were telling everyone to evacuate the immediate area.) Once the drug was out, it spread like wild fire. There was chaos everywhere. No one knew what was happening. One day people are going about their normal business; the next, all their friends, and neighbors are sick, running a fever, and forgetting things. It turns out, the drug does wipe your mind. It leaves you with only the essential brain functions needed to survive. You lose your memories, your reason, and even emotions. Now half the population is running around like zombies. (There really is no other way to describe it.) And the best part is they all try to kill you. They think you're food; by the time they realize you aren't good for eating either you're already dead or you've already lost so much blood that you're a goner anyway. Then in 30 seconds they forget and are back to trying to eat you. It's barbaric to watch. I've seen enough of our group being taken out to know for sure.
After our safe house was attacked, Mary and I ran. Our parents were killed during one of the initial outbreaks. We have been staying with one of our neighbors in her summer home in Florida for the past few months. It was pretty nice, running water, comfy bed, fresh food. The whole deal. It couldn't last long.
We have been running for about a week, hunting for food, and trying to stay out of the cities. It's getting dark and I have just found a good place to sleep. It was an old tree house out in the woods, probably built for hunting deer. It was high enough off the ground so we wouldn't have to worry about being attacked tonight. That was good, because we needed sleep.
We had just finished cooking some rabbit we shot today over a small fire, when I heard Mary say something.
"Where are we going now?" Her voice was calm, but I could hear the unshed tears.
"I don't know yet. I thought I heard something over the radio about a new safe house out in Miami the other day. We'll head there and see if we get lucky."
"Oh, ok." She looked down. "Sara?"
"I'm scared." She sounded so small and timid. After seeing her running for her life and taking out 10 zombies with a hunting rifle you found in an abandoned house, it was hard not to forget she's only fourteen.
I pull her into my lap and lay my head on hers as she begins to cry. "I know, Mar-Mar. I know." I put out the fire and sat there with her and prayed, like I do every night, that this will all go away.