Those Who Remain

CHAPTER ONE

My dad used to say that the best way to clear your head was to keep walking until you found your way back home.

"Just keep walking, Butterfly." He used to say. I've been walking ever since.

He always used to call me Butterfly. It used to annoy me so much. But I got used to it after a while. He said that butterflies are meaningful.

That they're associated with transformation, growth and beauty. Which are all good qualities.

He saw those qualities in me.

Even though it annoyed me at first, it's a special bond that I share with him. And it's something that I can always cherish.

My dad and I spent countless hours, hiking through the mountains, searching for something we couldn't quite name.

We didn't know what we were looking for, but we knew that we'd find it out there in the wilderness.

The mountains were our refuge, our sanctuary, our escape from the chaos of the world below.

We didn't know how much worse it could get.

FIVE YEARS AGO

At first, I didn't think it was real. The three of us sat around the television, our eyes fixed on the screen as the news lady recounted the gruesome details of the latest zombie attack.

My parents and I sat frozen on the couch, unable to form words, our hearts pounding in our chests as we tried to process the sheer horror of what we were seeing. The room was silent except for the sound of our breathing, which had become ragged and uneven, as if we were all struggling to take in enough air.

I remember feeling like I was in a nightmare, unable to wake up or escape the terror that was unfolding before us.

As the news segment ended and the screen faded to black, my parents and I exchanged a look of mutual horror and disbelief.

But our shock was quickly replaced with a sense of urgency, as we remembered that we had to act quickly to protect ourselves and my mom, who was sick with cancer and especially vulnerable to this virus.

We knew that this was just the beginning of a nightmare that was about to unfold, and that we had to do everything in our power to stay alive.

My dad turned to me with a look of determination in his eyes.

"I'm going to go out and try to find some medicine for Lucille," he said, his voice steady despite the fear that I could see lurking in his eyes.

"I need you to stay here and take care of her." He points at my mom.

"You'll be safe as long as you stay inside and keep the doors locked."

I knew that he was right, but the thought of him going out into the danger-filled streets of our city made me feel sick with worry.

"Please be careful," I said, my voice shaking. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you." But my dad just smiled at me, a sad sort of smile that told me he knew what was at stake.

"Don't worry about me," he said. "Just take care of your mom. I'll be back as soon as I can."

My dad clasped my hand tightly for a moment, his eyes searching mine for any sign of doubt or fear.

"I love you, Butterfly." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're the bravest person I know, and I'm so proud of you."

I felt a lump form in my throat as I tried to say something back, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, I just nodded, my eyes filling with tears as he turned and walked out the door.