100 Days

Chapter One

Ninety-three days. That's how long it had been since the first day of the outbreak. Ninety-three days is how long it had been since she lost her parents, her sisters, her family... Anyone she ever loved. Counting the days had been her way of keeping her sanity. She wishes she could allow the insanity, the cruelty of the world, the anger in her heart to consume her. But she can't. Not when she knows there are still survivors out there.

In the ninety-three days since the dawn of the dead, she'd spent the first five hiding in an attic, crying. On the sixth day, she had no choice but to find food and water. She doesn't quite know how it went from six to ninety-three so quickly. Grief and immunity can do that to a person, she guesses.

Letting out a sigh, the nineteen-year-old moves to the window, pulling back the curtain slowly. No change, not that she really expected one. The snow remains untouched, the traps for the zombies remain perfectly placed, and the gate is still locked. There's nothing else out there to look at besides the woods in the distance.

Shaking her head, she lets her hand drop to her side, anxiety milling about in her brain. There have to be other survivors. There's no way it's just her. Especially considering her condition? There have to be others like her. But what if she truly is alone? What if she's the last person alive? What if everyone is dead?

The anxiety wells in her chest now, panic gripping her for a moment. Sinking to her knees, she puts her head down on the ground, letting the cool wood center her. Forcing herself to take deep breaths, she begins to calm down.

That had been one of the worst parts of this whole apocalypse. Sure, losing everyone she ever loved was number one. But number two was the panic and anxiety attacks that haunted her every day. Before, whenever she had one, she'd call one of her parents, and their voices would always calm her down. They would wash away her panic and bring her back down to reality, far away from the terrifying heights she would fly herself up to.

But now? It's just her. She hadn't seen anyone since day thirty-five. Fifty-eight days have passed without seeing or talking to anybody... No wonder she's going insane. Bringing herself back to her feet, she rocks unsteadily, her hand going to the cold window to steady herself.

The panic attacks always left her unsteady. They winded her, drawing out all of her strength, leaving her empty and worn out. Sometimes, the feeling would last hours. She wouldn't be able to do anything. But more frequently, it lasted mere minutes. The biggest problem she had to worry about was relieving the ache in her chest that threatened to stick around forever 

Raising her gaze, she desperately looks out in the woods, hoping to see something... Anything. She wouldn't even be mad to see a zombie at this point. At least then she would have a purpose: go out and kill it. But there's nothing, only the wind rustling the trees. That's the only company she has now. Well, besides for the crackling fire.

Pulling the curtain back over the window, the woman turns around and leaves the room, going downstairs. No wonder she's so lonely; the fire had gone out some time while she was sleeping. She knew she should have added more wood before she went to bed. It's not even that the cold bothers her much anymore. She just likes the added company the fire brings. The sound of it crackling almost convinces her there's someone with her. 

Going over to the woodpile, she grabs a few small logs, adding them to the bottom of the fireplace. She stacks some branches on top of the logs, making sure it's not too big or small. She walks to the kitchen, making sure to get the matches and gasoline.

She pours a small amount of gasoline on the logs, using the matches to light the fire. The fire takes instantly, racing along the trail of gasoline. This was her favorite part. The way the fire ran through the liquid, racing to get to the end of its trail as if it was a hungry zombie running to its terrified and helpless prey.