Elle McBriar

July 18th, 4 months and 6 days after the first zombie report

I woke up in a cold sweat again.

The fear gripping at my throat.

I struggled the breath, the anxiety clawing at my skin and making me tremble.

I trained myself not to scream. After waking up with nightmares and crying every night, I learnt it's best not to scream. Noise attracts zombies. I learned that the hard way.

I checked the time on my digital watch, 6am.

I always wake up around this time.

Sighing, I push the light sheet off my body and stand up, craning my neck so I don't hit the roof.

I peered outside, peeking through the tiny crack between a sheet and the van window. Nothing to be seen currently, but it looks hot. The sun is already blazing, I can feel it in the air.

I yanked on a pair of cotton shorts and a grey tank top, tying a thick, camouflage coat around my waist. Even though it's probably 100 degrees outside, I can't risk anything. I sweat my tits off but it's better than nothing.

I tie a coat around my waist because it hides my gun, shields my stomach from any hands that try to grab me and sometimes there's sand storms, and you can never be too careful.

Opening the van door as quietly as I can, I pick up my pack, lugging it over my shoulder.

Today is the day I leave my van behind. It was nice, having somewhere to sleep, but it's too exposed, and the food supply is running out. I re-locate at least once a month, it keeps me sane, having something to do, and it lets me know if there's zombies nearby that need killing.

Tying up my hair with a rubber band, I stuff the blankets, my clothes and other extra necessities I need into a duffel bag.

After the outbreak, I went rifling through my house. Since I couldn't use the stairs to get to my room, I had to use anything I could downstairs.

I took my Dad's old camping pack, I shoved that full of everything I could find in the kitchen cupboards. Water bottles, a couple knives, forks and spoons. I even swiped a small pan to cook food in. I wrapped a butchers knife in an oven mitt and placed that in my bag.

I felt like a thief in my own house.

I bid farewell to my ransacked house, after doing one last checkup to make sure I didn't leave anything behind.

Carrying the duffel bag in my hand, I kept an open eye for anything that could be lurking. I make sure to check behind me every so often. And I feel relief swarm my body when I see nothings there. I feel fearless now. Seeing a zombie is as scary as seeing someone you know in public.

Except I'm killing them...

* * *

Walking through the richer part of Brickwood, I notice less and less cars are piled up on the road. The houses are completely caved in, walls missing, doors missing. It's even scarier than my neighborhood.

I turn into a random driveway, my hand cramping from holding the bag. As I flex out my fingers, a shiny object reflects in my retina, causing me to squint.

What is it?

Looking around cautiously, I walk over to the jeep-truck, seeing a shiny pair of keys sitting in the ignition. Jackpot!

They left their keys, in their car. In a jeep-truck that is bigger than me! A car designed for off roads. It's perfect. I feel excitement bubble over me as I run to the passenger side, assessing everything inside.

No interior damage. Tail lights broken, scratched edges and a bruised bumper, but she's ready to drive! I hop in the drivers seat, throwing my bags beside me. Everything has to be in reaching distance. If I can't reach it, leave it.

That's my rule.

Closing and locking the doors, I start the ignition, hearing the engine roar to life as a smirk finds it's way to my face. I could run over so many zombies with this and still be able to drive it.

The tank was half full. I guess I'm getting gas.

The only reason I avoided it before was because I was scared. I was almost killed at the gas station once, I won't let it happen again.

Turning the sharp corner, I see the empty main road, deserted with crashed cars still lined up neatly. Like kids lining up outside a classroom.

Taking a deep breath, I step out of the car, my converse hitting the ground. I finger my gun in my holster, feeling it against my finger tips. Doing a quick check of the gas ground, I pump normal gas into the engine, popping the boot as I wait for it too fill.

Holy pregnant cow!

My eyes are wide as I open the boot. It's not exciting to a normal person. But to me, a person going through a zombie apocalypse... it's exciting!

Two big, red plastic containers used for storing fuel! And they're full! Score!

Rope, a handgun, tape, a hammer and three rounds of bullets.

I feel faint. It's almost like- it was made for me.

I pull everything out, shoving it into the duffel bag in the front seat.

After closing the boot, securing the gas lid and putting the gas pump back in it's place, I felt pretty confident. But that didn't last long.

I heard the familiar sound of groaning and heavy breathing to my left. I wasn't close enough to get to the car so I had to shoot them from where I was standing.

But when I turned around, I nearly shit myself.

Four old, rotten and gory zombies were making their way too me. I pulled out my gun, flicking the magazine open. My eyes went wide, 6 bullets? That leaves me with one? Fuck!

I started my aim, peering through the target and shooting once, twice and then a thud to the floor. After the third one dropped dead, I holstered my gun and jumped in the jeep, locking the doors. But I opened the drivers window, re-filling the magazine with 12 bullets as I shot it square in the face, twice.

Blowing on the barrel like a cowboy I closed my window, doing U-turn as I drove down the main road. With no destination.

I grabbed my journal, stopping on the side of the road.

I killed 3 zombies. They ambushed me in the gas station, again. I think they're breeding, which isn't true otherwise I'd 100% be dead.

I hit the jackpot though. I found a jeep with full gas containers, rope and other survival things. I know it's stupid to say I'll survive this, because I won't.

I'll die alone, a virgin. A sad, lonely virgin.

Closing the journal, I slipped it inside my bag, starting on the road again. It was only midday, which meant I had til 5 or 6 to find somewhere to sleep.

I contemplated in my head just driving to New York, it's only an hour. But that place is literally infested with zombies. Just before the last ever news report cut out, the only humans was the camera man and the reporter.

Scary shiz.

But after driving for a while, I come across a grocery store. It looks fairly new. Obviously it's raided. I can tell by the broken glass and a sign that is no longer there.

Parking as close as I can, I hope out. Slipping the handgun into my pocket as I feel for the other gun. Both knives are tucked away in my socks. My pack, weapons and everything else is in the jeep. It's locked. I always lock the cars I steal.

Most zombies just want to eat you. They're incredibly stupid. They can't even walk in a straight line let alone open unlocked car doors, but I still want to take precautions.

As I entered the store, cringing at the bell at the top of the door. That's going to get me some customers. I strolled down the aisles. This place is untouched. So many food items remain stocked. Magazines, tampons, shampoo, band aids, everything is here! I hit the freaking mother load.

The back end of the store is dark. Completely dark, I go to my gun, feeling the cool metal on my finger tips. I don't want to kill anything today. I turn around, eyeing the jeep through the broken glass. I could make a run for it, but there's so much food here.

But the cock of a gun makes me stop in my tracks.

"Die fucking zombie."

And next thing I know, I'm on the ground, a bullet inside me.

* * *

hiiii!

this is some scary shiz!!

i can promise you it's going to get so much more interesting, just trust me!!

happy reading!