The Last Survivor: A short tale

Prologue

The undead did not love, but they remembered love with a savage loyalty.

Kim Harrison

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The world around Violet was quiet, the kind of quiet that made her uneasy. She sat on the front porch of her family's farmhouse, the sun just beginning to set on the horizon. The air was cool, and a light breeze rustled the leaves on the trees surrounding the property.

She had been spending a lot of time outside lately, trying to enjoy the peace and quiet before her life changed forever. She knew something was coming, something bad. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, but the feeling had been growing inside of her for weeks.

Her parents had been sick for a few days, and Violet had been doing everything she could to take care of them. They had been suffering from a high fever and a terrible cough, but they had both assured her that it was just a bad cold.

Violet wasn't so sure. The way they were coughing, the way they were sweating, it all seemed off. But when she tried to convince them to go to the hospital, they both refused.

"I'm sure it's nothing, honey," her mother had said. "We'll be fine in a few days."

But they weren't fine. Two days later, they were both dead. Violet had been devastated, but she had also been confused. How could her parents, who were healthy and strong, be taken down so quickly by a simple cold?

As she sat on the porch, lost in thought, Violet heard a rustling in the bushes near the edge of the property. She stood up, peering into the darkness, but saw nothing. She tried to convince herself that it was just a small animal, but the feeling in the pit of her stomach told her otherwise.

Violet knew that something was out there, something she couldn't explain. And as she stood there, staring out into the darkness, she couldn't help but feel that her life was about to change in ways she never could have imagined.