CHAPTER 2 AUGUST 15TH, 2037

I don’t even know why I continue to keep this journal, sometimes it seems pointless, but I fear that it will only become a record of the extinction of the human race. Months have passed, our small group has done what it can to survive. It is becoming harder to find fresh water to drink. The virus has continued to mutate, contaminating any freshwater deposit. Kennedy hypothesizes that our bodies are immune to the virus and that our bodies would adapt to this “infected water”, but the rest of us refuse to take that risk. By now most stores we rummage are already bare, or the food inside has begun to decay. The only organic source of food we can find are edible plants. Kennedy carries a book showing plants and roots we can eat. The pictures inside are starting to become warn and faded, but it has helped keep us alive these last few months.

“These roots are terrible,” Connor complains as he takes a small bite of his found dinner.

“I’m sorry, I did the best I could,” Kennedy apologized.

“Don’t be sorry. Connor is just being a grump,” Penelope apologized. Penelope had really begun to open up the last few months. I think she is starting to trust us more.

I laugh, but I kind of agree with Connor, these roots are terrible. But I guess we have it better than any other survivors. That is if there are any left. The last few months the only humans we have seen have been infected. I often look at my hands and wonder if the virus is somehow inside me, slowly killing me. Those kinds of thoughts have been floating around in my head since I watched my loved ones die. What makes us special? Ugh, these thoughts sometimes seem worse than facing off against a zombie.

We have begun sleeping in pairs, the nights don’t seem as long this way. We’ve also begun to make it a point to change safe houses every couple of days, or as soon as zombies seem to find us. Whatever comes first it seems. It’s amazing how many non-perishable foods we have been able to find since we started becoming more mobile. We’ve been at this place for a few days now, all the rations have been cleared out from the pantry and cupboards. Tomorrow we search for another habitable location. We have been lucky the last few nights, at least this house came with a fireplace in the living room.

The warmth from the fireplace feels good on my skin, even on this hot New England, summer night. It’s more like a comforting feeling. Like a warm hug on a cold night. I can see out the broken living room window from where I am sitting. The sun is starting to set outside, I can see the once clear blue sky has now become a soft orange color.

“It’s almost beautiful outside,” Penelope says, pressing her back against the wall and sliding down beside me.

“What?” I ask, my mind still lost inside my journal.

“Outside, the sun setting. It’s almost beautiful, that is if you can get your mind past the living dead that continue to try to kill us,” She says matter-of-factly.

“That’s a big thing to try and forget,” I say in almost a whisper.

“I agree,” Penelope smiles, “but this sunset helps slightly.”

I look outside again; the sky is slightly hypnotizing. I can almost make out a rainbow of colors making up the sky. Pinks and reds mix in with the orange. Green treetops obstruct the view slightly, and the top branches looking like they are reaching up toward the sky. Then I hear a screech from a wild bird and just like that I am sucked back into reality. I watch as the random bird flaps around violently, screeching as another bird attacks it. The two bird’s claw and bite at each other until both of them fall out of the sky, presumably dead. Seems like quite a metaphor, humankind was flying high, only to be doomed by one of their own. We deserve this. As long as humankind has existed, we have found a way to kill ourselves.

“Who’s taking first watch?” Connor asks, pulling me out of my deep thought.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anytime soon,” I say.

“I’ll stay up with him,” Penelope chimes in.

“That’s good, because I am exhausted,” Connor says with a big yawn.

I pack up my journal and pull out my handgun. First shift is always brutal. I check my clip, it’s still full. I can’t even remember the last time I fired off a shot. Connor curls up on the floor in front of the fireplace, giving Kennedy access to the old brown sofa. It doesn’t take long before we hear Connor snoring. The sun has just set fully, there are a few streetlights on outside, most have burned out but the ones that remain on give us a clear view of what is coming up and down the streets. I stop Penelope from doing the inspection, a nighttime job that we have grown accustomed to doing as a precaution. It seems silly but Connor and I have tried to protect the girls from as much danger as possible. I nod my head toward Penelope and then towards the door. She nods back in agreement and I place my hand on the doorknob, grasping it tightly. I pull the door open and stand behind it, Penelope points her gun at the empty doorway before nodding her head. I slip out the front door, the warm august breeze sends slight shivers up my spine. I pull my hands toward my chest finding it hard to take a full breath. Ever since the release of the Omega Virus, and the information that it is spread through the air, I’ve developed a slight phobia of the air. It sounds crazy, even in my own head, but it’s hard not to think of what the next breeze could be carrying our way. I check the exterior of the house, while Penelope stands in the doorway watching my back. From the porch I can see down the road. Even with most of the street lights off, I can see the block of abandoned houses. There are no lights coming from any of the houses, instead each house seems to radiate pain. My heart drops as empathy starts to kick in. Thoughts of families suffering as some watched their loved ones die, only to come back to “life” and attack them.

I’m starting to over think this. I’m thinking so much that I didn’t even realize Penelope calling out to me.

“Yeah?” I ask

“Are you ok? You kind of spaced out there a moment,” She asked. Worry filled her voice.

“Sorry,” I reply, “just having problems wrapping my head around this whole ‘end of world thing’ still.”

“I get that. It’s almost like no matter how much time passes, things will just never feel the same,” her voice trails off as she finishes her sentence. I can see her eyes dazing out as she stares down the road.

I close my eyes momentarily, listening to the sounds of silence around us.

“We should get back inside,” She says.

I slowly open my eyes and nod before following Penelope back into the house. Connor and Kennedy are both passed out asleep. Connor is on his back now, his arms and legs sprawled out loud snoring sounds rumble out from his mouth occasionally. Kennedy is curled up in the fetal position on the couch, her back turned to us but her sleep pattern is noticeable. Her legs twitch and spasm every couple of minutes. Penelope and I rest up on the other side of the room, our backs firmly against the wall. Another one of our rules, we always keep our back to the wall so that we know exactly what is behind us.

I pull my journal back out of my bag and begin writing again. Penelope pulls out a worn-out book ‘Dealing with the unexpected’ before she slides on a slightly damaged pair of reading glasses. Pieces of tape are wrapped around several areas of the frame. One of the metal ear pieces are bent slightly upward. She pushes one of the lenses back into place before placing them lopsidedly on her face. Her nose twitches as she works to center them better on her face, but they continue to slide down her face causing her to sigh before taking them off and placing them back into her bag.

“Well this is just shit,” She complains.

“Sorry about your glasses,” I say closing my journal, my finger holding my place.

“Its fine,” She sighs, her hands slowly rubbing her forehead.

“I can put my journal away if you’d like to talk,” I say, trying to relieve some of her stress.

“No, its fine,” She huffs again, “no need for you to suffer just because my eyes are bad.”

I tuck my journal back into the front pouch of my bag and position myself so that I can look at Penelope better. I have no idea what I can talk to her about, we’ve spent the last couple of months together fighting for our lives, and it’s not like we can talk about the last movie we saw. But I don’t want her to be upset either, so I just shut down my mind and open my mouth, “So what were you planning on doing with your life before, well, before all this.” My goodness I’m stupid.

Penelope looks at me dead in the eyes, almost like she is trying to figure out how I could ask such a stupid question. She pulls her eyes away for a moment, her normally pale cheeks become flush, a small grin forms on her lips as she slowly looks me in the eyes again, “Honestly? Ever since I was three years old I wanted to be a singer.”

“Really!?” I ask with a slight chuckle.

“Yeah, why is that so funny?” she asks, slapping me playfully for laughing at her.

“I don’t think it’s funny,” I respond still chuckling, “actually I think it’s kind of cute. Were you any good?”

The smile fades away from her face, as her eyes lower to the ground, “there was a time,” she begins slowly, “I sang in the shower, at church, in school, anywhere that would allow me to.” Her words stop short as she wipes away a stray tear from her eye socket.

“What happened?” I asked softly.

“I haven’t really talked to anyone about this before,” She says, a lump caught in her throat as she speaks.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want,” I assure her.

“No its fine,” she says, “I mean it was another life. A time before I had ever even pulled a trigger on a gun. A time when I went to sleep and didn’t have to worry that I either wouldn’t wake up, or would be woken up to some zombie trying to kill me,” she trails off. She turns her head to the side not wanting to see the tears welling up in her eyes. She rubs her eye sockets thoroughly with the palms of her hands.

I place my hand softly on her shoulder, I don’t know what to say to her even though I’ve had the same thoughts in my head. “I’m sorry if I said anything that upset you.”

“It wasn’t anything you said,” she replies turning her head back to me. It’s dark in the room, our only real source of light coming from the fireplace but I can see the redness surrounding her eyes, “I just feel like I’m cursed sometimes.”

“I get that, honestly I do,” I say thinking of everything that had happened in my life.

“It’s not just this whole apocalypse thing,” Penelope sighs, “it’s like I was saying, when I was younger, I did everything I could to make my dream come true. I practiced and practiced until my sophomore year at high school. I can still remember that day like it just happened to me. I was so excited; I had gotten the solo in the winter concert. The music teacher even told me I had amazing talent. She was going to talk to her friend, who was a talent agent, into coming to the show to see me. I rushed home after school and found my mother sitting on the couch crying. My heart sank when she called for me to join her on the couch. Her voice alone told me it was bad news. My father worked for Meditrust, it was a company that created new medicines. He was away on business that week, as always, but this time something went wrong with the plane. The police had said it was a mechanical problem, something to do with the engine. They never found all of his body, the wreck was so massive. I lost my mother that day as well, not psychically but mentally. She just stayed on that couch muttering that dad was coming home soon. The company paid us well, but eventually the bills began to pile up. It wasn’t long before they shut off our lights and gas. I dropped out of school picking up as much work as I could, just so we could keep the house.”

“Wow,” the only words I could mutter after hearing her story.

“I know,” She says breathing heavily. Her chest rising and falling slowly as she tries to open her mouth to speak. “You know what, that actually felt pretty good. I’ve never told anyone that before.”

“Well I’m glad I could be here to help you,” I say as I watch her run her fingers slowly through her hair.

I can hear the wind chimes ringing softly outside. I turn my attention back to Penelope who also heard the wind chimes.

“Maybe it was just the wind?” She says hopefully.

“When are we ever that lucky?” I say getting back to my feet.

Penelope stands up beside me, wiping away any stray tears that remain on her face. I cock my gun, I can hear Penelope doing the same as we look around the room. Connor and Kennedy are still passed out in their respected positions as we make our way through the room. I make my way over to the window, it’s eerie outside. Clouds cover the moon, leaving the outside blacker than I could ever remember.

“Do you see anything?” Penelope whispers to me.

“No. The street lights are shit and there is no moonlight,” I reply, “stay here and watch over Connor and Kennedy. I’m going to check out the rest of the house.”

“Are you sure that’s safe?” she asks grabbing ahold of my arm, stopping me in their tracks.

“No,” I answer honestly, “but it’s the best option we have. No point in waking them up early until we know what we have, but still I don’t think it’s wise to leave them alone.”

“But what if something attacks you?” she asks panicked.

I lift her hand off of my arm, cupping it firmly in my hands as I smile at her, “We can’t always be pessimistic. I can handle myself if the need arises.”

“I know, I just…” he words trail off. Her eyes give her away as she searches for the words, “just promise me you’ll be safe.”

“I promise,” I say as I release her hand from mine.

I can feel her eyes following me as I leave the living room. The dining room is eerie, we had barricaded the window with the table and a hutch, leaving the dining room in complete darkness. I reach around in my left pocket, shuffling through the mild mess I keep in there until I feel the cold metal shaft of the flashlight I keep in my pocket. We don’t normally use them, not because of the zombies, they might as well be blind instead we try to avoid them because of marauders. The tiny light creates a path for me through the darkness. Drawers are removed from the cabinets, random items sit casually on the floor. We didn’t care originally when we found this place, we just rummaged through taking the few meager items we thought would be useful. I point the light at the swinging door that leads to the kitchen. It takes me a moment, I try to act brave when the others are involved but when I’m alone I turn into a coward. I finally build up the courage I need to kick open the swinging door and burst into the kitchen. I shine my light around the kitchen, which like the dining room is a mess with things tossed onto the floor, the refrigerator planted firmly in front of the window. I feel a cool breeze crawling across my back and I use the light to search for the source.

“Son of a bitch,” I mumble as I stop the light on the back door. The door has been kicked in, a hole in the middle of the door lets the breeze in.

I slowly back up, my back pressed against the wall. I lower the light beam stopping when I see a trail of blood. I slowly step away from the wall, my light focused on the blood trail, following it from the back door all the way to the pantry closet. I hold my breath as I make my way over to the pantry door. I notice blood on the brass door knob as well as a small pool of blood in front of it. I exhale slowly as I turn the knob. I can hear slight sounds behind the door as I throw it open and take a few steps backward. The beam of light shines brightly on a scared boy. He can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen, scratches and bite marks ravage his body as he sits huddled in the pantry scared. I lower my gun and drop to my knees.

“Are you ok?” I ask him.

He shakes his head no.

“Do you want to come out from there? I have a friend in the next room that can help, fix up your wounds,” I say trying to coax the kid out of the pantry.

“You can’t help me,” he says, his voice barely audible.

I shake my head in agreement, “Your right, I can’t. But my friend, she went to medical school. She can patch you up and stop all that bleeding.”

The kid lifts his head up, “are you sure?”

“Yeah. I trust her with my life,” I reply, reaching out my hand.

Slowly he responds, his hand trembles as he reaches for mine. It takes me a moment but I eventually get him back on to his feet.

“What’s your name?” I ask him, as I help carry him out of the pantry.

“Nathanial. But everyone calls me Nate,” he responds, his face wincing with every step he takes.

“Nice to meet you Nate, my name’s Damian,” I say trying to take his mind off the pain.

I manage to get him through the dining room, although there is some trouble evading all the objects on the floor. I get him back to the living room where we are greeted by Penelope pointing her gun at us.

“We need to get Kennedy up,” I say, “NOW!”

Penelope holsters her gun and runs for Kennedy, shaking her wildly. Kennedy and Connor both open their eyes and sit straight up.

“What’s going on?” Kennedy asks confused.

“We’ve got a live one,” I call out as I lay Nate down on the floor.

“You let in a complete stranger?” Connor asks angrily.

“No. I found him hiding in the kitchen,” I say walking over to him as Kennedy begins to check on Nate.

“You know our rule about survivors. We don’t take anyone into our group that badly hurt,” Connor argues getting right up in my face.

“Than what was I supposed to do? Kill him? Let him bleed to death?” I say in my deepest voice. I can feel my blood pressure rising as I argue with him.

“Would his life be worth it if we find out he is infected? What if he is leading a group of marauders toward us right now?” Connor grabs my shirt, pulling me close to him.

“Every life is worth it,” I growl at him as I force his hands off me, “I don’t know how you can have the balls to stand there and tell me I should have let him die when we have the means to help him.”

“What if he is playing us? What if he tries to kill us?” Connor asks.

“Then I’ll kill him myself,” I say softly to him, “but it won’t come to that.” I turn away from him and head over to Nate and Kennedy.

“It had better not,” Connor’s voice travels across the room and into my head. I try to ignore him as I watch Kennedy slowly begin to patch up Nate’s wounds.

“Is he going to be OK?” I ask.

“From these wounds, yeah. They are just minor flesh wounds, there’s just a lot of them,” Kennedy answers, never looking up from working on Nate’s abrasions.

“What about infection? Is he carrying the Omega Virus?” I ask.

“There is no way of knowing,” Kennedy responds, “we are just going to have to wait and see what happens.”