In every religion, they have a different story of how the earth was created. For Christians, it’s the creation story, God took 6 days to create the world and on the 7th day he
rested. For evolutionists, it’s the big bang theory, we all evolved from one spec of DNA, and all that. Honestly, I’m not entirely interested in how the earth began. I’m too busy
working on how to stay alive since it ended.
It was Sunday. I remember that much. I remember I was sleeping. I was supposed to be woken up by my sister at 9:25. And I suppose, in a stupid, ironic, disgusting way… I was.
I had my face buried in the pillow when I heard her screams. Instantly I sat up, freaked out. I was worried someone was breaking in, although, they had no reason to pick this
house. We lived in a squat place. At least, that’s what my mom and I called it. We shared the house with three other families. My dad was a logger. He was gone 9 months out
of the year, and drunk the other 3. My mom worked 2 jobs and cleaned the squat house to pay rent. My sister went to the elementary school down the road, but I dropped out
of high school to help my mom. I shouldn’t say I dropped out. Technically, I didn’t start. I was supposed to be a freshman, but ended up being a no-show. Instead, I taught
myself. I cleaned the squat house for my mom, and once a week I took my sisters wagon to the library and filled it with books. I knew algabra and calculus, and could quote
most of Shakespears works by heart. My mom drilled me at random intervals, making sure I was remembering everything I read. I was looking at a career in child psychology,
and hoping to get a scholarship in it. That was the only way I was going to college, and everyone knew it. The only other goal I had set in my mind was that Claire, my seven
year old sister, was going to be happy. I never got around to the first, and I lost the latter. When I woke up to Claire’s screams, I thought someone had broken into Claire’s
room. So I reached into my nightstand and pulled out a six inch long switch blade my father had given me in a drunken fit. I stalked quickly into her bedroom across the hall.
My ‘bedroom’ was a closet that had been used for cleaning supplies. A few months after we moved in I cleaned it out and fit a nightstand and toddler bed in. I stuck all of the
cleaning supplies under my bed. There was no standing space, so in order for me to get dressed I had to push the bed over an inch and a half so I could partially open the
drawers on the nightstand and stand on my bed to put my clothes on. I managed to slip out the door and across the hall to where my mom and sister slept. I cracked open her
bedroom door, and seeing what was inside, flung it the rest of the way. My sister was trapped in the farthest corner with a man in a tattered black shirt and torn blue jeans. He
was surrounded in what looked like a pool of…
“Oh my god.” I whispered. I ran up to him without thinking and jammed the switchblade into the back of his skull. He went slack and crumpled to the ground. I stared at him
in horror, wondering what I just did. Then I noticed that his skin lacked the normal color. He was pale, as though he’d lost a lot of blood recently. That’s when I noticed that
his stomach had been torn to pieces. Strips of his intestines were falling out onto the floor, hanging like pieces of limp rope, coated in blood. I glanced anxiously over at Claire.
She was half slumped over on the ground and her face was hidden from me. I sucked in my breath and leaned down, brushing her hair out of her face. Faster than my eye was
capable of seeing, he head flicked up and she bared her teeth at me. I shrieked and threw myself backwards. Her eyes had drained of almost any color. Her pupils had gone
from black to a foggy gray, her irises from a pale green to a rusty brown. I screamed again and kicked at her.
“Claire! No!” I fumbled blindly as she dug her nails into my skin, clawing her way up close to my chest. I tore the switchblade out of the man’s head and pointed it at her
threateningly. “Don’t come any closer.” I whispered. She twitched compulsively for a moment and wailed. Not a human wail, of pain or fear. A feral, guttural scream, like
one that comes from a dying animal. I screamed with her and covered my ears. She ducked and started tearing at my shirt with her teeth. I batted at her, hitting her softly in
the face with the blunt end of the blade. She snapped at my hand, but only briefly, returning all of her attention back to my blouse.
That’s not doing anything, stupid! My instincts were screaming almost as loud as I was.
Well, I can’t just stab her. I retorted.
That thing is not a ‘her’. That’s a ‘what’. And that ‘what’, needs to die.
“You’re right.” I whispered. I flipped the switchblade around, twirling it in my fingers as I had been for months whenever I got bored, and placed the blade delicately against the
back of her neck. “I’m sorry!” I screamed. I’d studied human anatomy for five months. My mother wanted me to be able to name every bone, tendon, and blood vessel hidden
in the human body. And eventually, I could. And by knowing all of this, I was able to tell you the quickest way to kill a man. Or a seven year old girl. I applied enough pressure
to break skin, then , enough pressure to snap the tendon connecting the brain to the spinal cord. Claire’s lifeless body fell against me, and I threw her off of me. I stood up and
looked back and forth between the man and Claire. Both had sheet white skin, eyes with white pupils and rusty brown irises. And both had their stomach’s torn apart, complete
with intestines and arteries crudely falling from their abdomens. I glanced down at my shirt, and saw that Claire had practically shredded my shirt. I stumbled to the window,
which had been broken by the man in the black shirt. People were screaming in the streets, running from people with torn open stomachs and bloody mouths. There wasn’t any
point in running really, the slaughter was going on in every area. No matter where people turned there was another massacred person ready to attack. I sat on the windowsill
and watched in utter amazement for a few minutes. A thousand words seemed accurate in describing the horror that lay outside, but only a few stuck in my mind. Apocalypse.
Zombie. Wait… I spun around and stared at the limp bodies. Zombies? Of course. It hit me with a stunning force. I’d read a million books on Zombie apocalypses, and disasters
. All fiction, but still, a better source to go off of than anything else. At least it had taught me something. I grabbed the sheet off Claire’s bed and nailed it to the window, using
some nails and a broken bed post. I went to the entrance to our floor, which led into a small room we called a living room. From there, you could acess the one bedroom, single
bathroom, and the ‘supply’ closet. A.KA. my bedroom. I towed my bed and nightstand out of the closet and threw them in front of the door. 100 pound barrier with my clothes
in it. 95 without. I decided to keep my clothes in it for now. I pulled Claire and my mother’s matteress out of the bedroom. Another 95 pounds added to my baracade. I dragged
out my mothers antient dresser, full of clothes and a spare drawer full of cash and food. Thank the lord my mother prepped. I laughed as I opened the forbidden bottom drawer.
Cans of pears, peaches, corn, condensed milk, and about forty other items. I took those out. Then I spent the next hour moving the 200 pound dresser in front of the door.
No one, not the living or the undead, was getting through that door. I did the windows next. I chucked the man in the black t-shirt out the window in the athroom. I had to
stop to lose the contents of my stomach, but the bellows of sirens and dying people reminded me of what I was doing. I wasn’t going to die here. I wasn’t going to die for a long
time. That’s all I knew. That’s all I cared about. I finished throwing him away, and I stopped to watch the undead attack the bleeding corpse. I would have to stop and observe
them later. Strips of information flew through my brain faster than I could process them.
The undead can smell blood like sharks.
Their eyesight will have undoubtedly disinagrated, due to lack of blood flow. And yet, It seems the general consensus that their hearing and sense of smell will have sharpened
due to the disuse of sight.
When one of the five senses is terminated, the other four seem to absorb the unused blood, and nerves, thus becoming ‘super senses’
The only way to survive in an apocalyptic disaster is to take as few survivors as possible and run. Get out of the cities and rural area. Farm houses, barns, and old school houses
are the safest. Get to an area away from people. Gather food, water, anything you might need to survive and put the shelter in lockdown.
Aquire a large stash of weapons. Firearms;knifes; makeshift-spears; ect. You will also want to find a bounty of ‘distractions’ such as smoke bombs, firecrackers, and noisey
I nearly slapped myself. I couldn’t stay here. It was in the middle of a city. A fair sized city at that. I could wait here and die, or gather the proper supplies and head south. Why
south? My instincts asked. I shrugged. When my mother had taken Claire and I on trips, we’d always gone south. We had grandparents down there. Think. Did you see any
farmhouses? I had to sit and think for a moment. There was one that wasn’t in the city… but it wouldn’t work, it had burnt down last fall in a freak accident. Somelightning had
struck the roof, or something. It lit up like a candle. I remember there was a road, a couple of miles away… my mom said there was an abandoned boarding school. In the bomb
raids way back when, the headmistress and her wards had to pack up in the middle of the night and run. Apparently, as they were trying to hike back to town they got gunned
down by a couple rouge soldiers. The headmistress, her daughter that was helping her run the place, and the 15 kids she was teaching, all dead. Apparently, nobody ever went
back to the old place. Out of grief, of just in the confusion of the war. That means there was a giant, abandoned school for the taking. It wouldn’t have been abused, because
no homeless people ever ventured out there. Why would they? From the town it was 13 miles away, and very well hidden. It would be in bad shape probably, but nothing that
wasn’t fixable. It would have plenty of room, and a kitchen. I ran back to my Claire’s room to get a duffel bag when I saw her body. I would have to get rid of it. And just like
that, the shock wore off. Grief hit me full force. It felt like someone had jammed the switchblade into the stomach and twisted it a few times. Claire was gone. I had failed. I
hadn’t protected her. I had killed her. This thought made me suddenly aware of the blood that my body was coated in. I wouldn’t have access to warm water for weeks, just
assuming that the place I was going to was somewhere I could get hot water. I had too much too do, and as the screams outside got louder, I realized I had far too little time. I
got out and dried as fast as possible. I had to be inhuman. I had to shove aside my emotions if I had any hope of surviving. So I did. I cried. I sobbed for the next few minutes,
until I couldn’t any longer.
You’re finished. I told myself. I relized I still wasn’t doing aynthing and jumped. If you’d seen me, you would have believed I was mad. I pulled Claire’s wagon into the living
room, but decided it might make too much noise. But at the same time, I couldn’t carry countless pounds of supplies I might need. I toosed Claire’s body out the window, just
like I did with the man, keeping my face expressionless. I put all of the cans and foods I had found into my duffle bag, packing my clothes inbetween them to eliminate the sound
of the cans clashing together. I debated for a second but finally gave in, putting the duffle bag in the wagon. I found a small blanket and rolled it as tightly as I could before
packing that too. I found a plastic Safeway bag and packed it full of things that might be hard to find. Shampoo, conditioner, a hairbrush, two handfuls of bobby pins and
hairties. I bit my lip and put in my eye liner. I couldn’t leave my eye liner. Not my FAVORITE eyeliner. My mascara I could leave, but I threw in my blood red lipstick. If I was
going to survive I might as well look good doing it. I managed to fit that in the corner of the duffle bag so it didn’t take up any extra room in the wagon. I was suddenly
extremely grateful for one Red Rider wagon. I dug all of the water bottles out of the trash and filled them with water. I put them in Claire’s school backpack. Condensing was
key. The money went into a ziplock bag at the bottom of the water bag.
Within weeks paper money and coins will have become irrelivant. Any civilized survivors will have resorted to the barter system.
Of course. But I still had weeks. Hopefully. I paused to catch my breath before running into the bathroom and grabbing a couple unopened boxes of soap. Back into the
bedroom for a throw pillow and a first aid kit. My wagon was getting full. A small sewing kit Claire had gotten for her birthday, toilet paper, a poster, and books. I only had
room for a couple books, so I had to choose. I stared at my stack of books,which counted as my headboard. This wold destroy me.
Maybe I could come back for them? I thought. Logic told me no. So I grabbed Wicked Lovely by Melissa Marr, and A Midsummers Night Dream by Shakespeare. I hadn’t
read all of the latter. It started a little too slow, so I had always made it about halfway and stopped. I wedged them in and noticed I had room for 1 more. I filled it with Gone
with the Wind by Margerett Mitchell. My favorite book. It was of course, the widest book I owned, which is why I had not made it my first choice, but I couldn’t help it. I just
couldn’t leave Rhett and Scarlet. I knew already that I would need them. I wasn’t an emotionally strong person. I just wasn’t. Books were what persuided me to drop out and
help my mother. Books were what had trained me for this. In a sick, tormented way, I was excited. I was happy that this was happening. I had always wondered if I could survive,
and now I was finding out that yes. I could. I prayed silently that there would be others like me. Others who had taken the time to read YA books about an imaginary appocolipse.
that would ‘never actually happen’. I was the only person I knew who actually payed attention to those kinds of books, and now it was going to save my life.