The Age of Despair

Chapter I - The Future is Dead

          Two months have passed since I've seen another living soul. At least, one that didn't want to kill me. There was a woman and her husband a few weeks ago who held me at gunpoint for the small amount of food I had left. Luckily, the things got to them before they got to me. I ran for a while before ending up in this dense forest. I still haven't figured out what to call them. Things aren't the best description, but zombies are too stereotypical. Monsters give them too much respect, but fuckers seem to fit. After they stole the world from us, it's the least I could do to get back at them. I scanned the tree line to check that no more fuckers were there. My stomach rumbled out of retaliation; the pit of hunger had been steadily growing for the past few days. A week ago, I stumbled across a farm that had ample food and medicine. While the group's leader, this old guy and his brunette daughter, were reminiscing, I snuck onto the land and grabbed one bag of food and one bag of medicine. I had already run out of the food, but the medicine was definitely going to be useful. If I wanted to head back up north, back home, I needed as much food as possible and at least a bag full of medicine. I still had the cooler I grabbed from my apartment, but it was going to run out soon. Especially in this heat. The plan was already set in my head: follow water until I reach the ocean, follow the ocean until the Jersey Shore was reached, and curve into New York. It would take a while, but it would work. Still, I needed at least one more bag of food, and that farm was the only place in sight. It would take an hour to reach. Checking that my boots were secure, the knife in my belt was hidden, and the revolver in my backpack was loaded, I started walking north.

***

          The white and green house was right there, behind the thin cover of trees. Last time, the window was my entrance, but there was a light in the lower floor now. There had to be another entrance. An attic, basement, something. Keeping my hand on my knife, covered by my loose shirt, I creeped towards the back of the house, watching my every step. One small sound could mean being caught. The trees fell back as my protection faded, exposing me to the open field. If it was just the old man again.... I could deal with it. Pressing my back against the wall, my feet shifted towards the side until my eyes were able to see towards the front door. I was about to make a dash for it when a group of people ran out of the house, all mad and screaming at eachother. There were more than just the old man and his family; there was no way to get past them. A sharp pain pulled at my stomach. I needed that food. A distraction would work, but there was nothing to use in sight. A few rocks, the trees, my knife and my painfully light backpack. The rock....that could work. Crouching down, I gripped it and got ready to throw towards a particularly bulky tree far enough away.

          "The medicine is gone, Shane!" The old man, from my first trip, spoke out and made me pause before completing my plan. "Bullshit!" There was a lot of shoving, evident by the man's grunts, before another husky voice spoke up. "Carl needs that. I don't care where it is, but we're getting that medicine or else we're going to have some problems."

          "We already have problems! Otis is dead!" A female screamed, a pang of sadness in her tone. More shoving, more pushing. Another woman, with a southern accent, broke up the chaos. "Stop! It disappeared a week ago, along with some food. Trust me, if we could give it to your boy, we would, but we don't have it."

          I didn't have the patience for this. There was only so much time before they realized somebody stole their stuff, and that the "somebody" was me. Using all my strength, I threw the rock that was the size of my hand towards the trunk of a tree far away and ran around the other side to get in through a window. The door was a lost cause. Evident by the moment of silence followed by footsteps, the loud bang produced by the rock worked in my favor. The window I ducked into led into the main hallway downstairs, where the stash I stole from last time was. The layout of the house was easy to remember, and my backpack was bulging at the seams with canned food in no time. Time to get the hell out of here. Running out of the window again, I grabbed my knife. Just in case. The trees were close; so close my hand would graze them if my arm were stretched out. The heavy weight of the backpack relaxed my grumbling stomach a bit, but my nerves shot back up to a hundred when a bullet hit the tree closest to me, inches from my face. Shit. Running into the forest, I looked back to see who pulled the trigger: a blonde woman with a contorted expression on her angered face. She jumped like she was about to chase me, but was pulled back by an equally furious man before the large group slipped out of my view.

          The farm was far enough away that my long strides were able to become a leisurely walk. The woman never chased me, but her close shot still had me on-edge. The group had more than doubled since the first time I stole from them, but as long as my plan was followed we would, hopefully, never cross paths again. My makeshift camp came into view. It was flimsy with just my cooler of medicine, threadbare tent, and tin can sculpture. After the tins had started piling up, I decided to melt them and mold the soft mixture into improvised anatomical models; exactly like ones I used to use for work. It was the end of the world, but I wasn't about to give up my passion. Dropping the bag of food, my eyes fluttered out of fatigue from the past few days. It took longer than expected to reach my camp; only an hour to reach the farm, but the gunshot compelled me to take an alternative path that added an entire day to my route. Truthfully, I had strayed from the path quite a bit to play with wild rabbits --- their fluffy bodies were irresistible. But I was here now, and the only thing in my mind was getting back to New York; back to my brother, back to my friends, and out of this hellscape. There would probably be more fuckers up north, but then I would actually have a group, not just me. These past few months alone had been unbearable, and I was more than ready to leave.

          "You best shut the hell up!" A hoarse voice called out from seemingly nowhere, throwing me back in surprise. Did these people really track me down all the way to my camp? The boy that needed the medicine, the woman with the bad shot.... No. It wasn't them; they had bigger problems than me. When the voice grunted, my curiosity got the best of me. Following it, and the very loud footsteps the person was making, a ravine appeared in front of me. Clearly, the man hadn't seen it as a series of grunts resulted in him laying at the bottom, staring back up at me. The man had short brown hair, squinted eyes, a raggedy top, and dirt in places I didn't think dirt could reach. As he muttered nonsensical remarks at me, something about him irked me....like I had seen him before. "Shit," I muttered. He was the guy who held the shooter back; he was part of them. Just as I realized, so did he as his eyes widened and his body jolted up. My feet took off before my mind processed my situation as he started chasing me. "Hey! Stop!" He grunted, panting in both exhaustion and pain from the fall. I had a head start, but my backpack was weighing me down and the guy was damn fast. "Stop! Dammit!" He yelled again, reaching out his hand and grazing my shoulder. I jerked my body forward, tripping over a log in the process. Pushing my body up and over, I came face to face with a blade. The man was pointing an arrow at me, holding a crossbow and glaring like he was ready to kill me right now. "I needed it, the foo-"

          "Don't care." He held out his hand, gesturing for the backpack. I had no choice -- he yanked it out of my raised hands. "You gonna kill me.....dude?" He grunted again. What was up with him and animal noises? "Nah. I'm taking you back." Still holding the arrow to my forehead, he dragged me up to my feet and moved the crossbow to my lower back. "Not dude. Daryl." I hummed in amusement. He was threatening my life yet still found it necessary to do introductions. "Move....dude."

"Not dude. Lena."