Fragments of the Past | Ellie Williams

Two (II)

Present day.

Somewhere far from Boston.

"Shit."

Vienna rubbed two pieces of wood together, anxiously trying to start a fire.

It was the dead of winter. The now 19-year-old was hiding out in an abandoned house, completely on her own. She was bundled up in clothes she found in the creaky old drawers in one of the bedrooms, draped in the leather jacket from the mall that she hadn't taken off since she was 14.

Since the QZ, she'd been through numerous groups. Finding wandering non-infected people wasn't hard. However, she recently got split up from her latest group, and she was looking for the next major city she could find in hopes of human civilization. Preferably, not an aggressive human civilization. She learned the hard way that not every human group is necessarily excited to see non-infected people. Not everyone is trustworthy.

So now, the blonde found herself scowling at the splinter from the wood she was trying to make a fire with. No fire, yet she was now slightly injured. Injured and cold.

"Great, Vienna. Just great," she muttered to herself, flicking the splinter out of her thumb.

The house she was in had once been someone's cherished home. The remnants of a family's life lay scattered around—faded photographs on the walls, a broken mug in the corner, a child's drawing crumpled in the corner. The house felt eerily alive with the ghosts of its past inhabitants. Vienna shivered, whether from the cold or the haunting atmosphere, she couldn't tell.

She finally managed to get a small flame going, the fire crackling to life and casting dancing shadows on the walls. The warmth was a welcome relief, and Vienna held her hands close, soaking in the heat. She sighed, her breath visible in the frigid air.

"Alright, time to move," she whispered, standing up and stretching. Her muscles ached from the cold and the constant tension of survival. "Next stop, Seattle. Let's hope you're not a complete ghost town." She looked down to an old world tourist picture she found of Seattle at an abandoned gas station, stuffing it in her pockets after memorizing the city's exterior.

Packing up her few belongings—a worn-out backpack filled with scavenged supplies, a rusty but reliable knife, and a pistol with just a few bullets—Vienna steeled herself for the journey ahead. She had a map she'd taken from a gas station, its edges frayed and torn, but it showed the way to Seattle.

She stepped outside, the biting wind immediately cutting through her layers. The landscape was a bleak, snow-covered wasteland, the once-bustling suburbs now reduced to desolate ruins. Vienna pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and started walking, her boots crunching through the snow.

As she moved away from the house, a sense of unease settled over her. The quiet was oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of an old building or the distant howl of the wind. She had learned to trust her instincts, and right now, they were screaming at her to stay alert.

Hours passed as she trudged through the snow, her breath coming in frosty puffs. She was making progress, but the journey was far from over. She was passing by an old school when she heard it—a low, guttural growl that sent a chill down her spine. Turning slowly, she saw them: a group of infected, their twisted forms shuffling towards her.

"Perfect. Just perfect," Vienna muttered, her heart racing. Her mind immediately went into panic mode, thinking of each possible escape route. But Vienna didn't have time for strategy. She had one objective: run.

She turned and ran, her legs pumping as fast as they could through the snow. The infected were close behind, their growls growing louder. Vienna's breath came in ragged gasps, her lungs burning from the cold and exertion.