Remnants of the Great war

Trenches

"It's been god knows how long since the breakout. I don't know if my family is safe, or even if my enemies are. I've been trapped in this damned trench for months. Those things are still wandering No Man's Land. I haven't spoken to another soul for days. Who am I anymore?"

I sigh and close my journal, placing it back on the table. As I step out of the dugout, a soldier approaches me, his face grim. "We're out of rations," he whispers.

My heart sinks. "We need someone to go out and get us some food. Follow me," he continues, leading me to a dugout filled with anxious faces.

"We need a volunteer. Someone has to brave the outside and fetch supplies," he announces softly.

The room falls silent as the soldiers debate. My stomach growls loudly, breaking the tension. I hesitantly raise my hand. "I'll do it."

The soldiers nod in agreement, handing me a helmet and an empty rifle with a bayonet attached. I take a deep breath and step out of the dugout, scanning No Man's Land for any sign of danger. I time my exit carefully, then climb out of the trench and make my way toward the dense forest.

Among the trees, I spot a weathered barn. My heart races as I approach it. I listen intently—there's the unmistakable clucking of chickens. This is the place. I push open the creaking gate, trying to be as quiet as possible. Inside, I find a lone chicken and swiftly stab it with my bayonet, collecting a few eggs as well.

As I leave the barn, I spot a man standing nearby, staring at the dead chicken. "Sorry, was this yours?" I ask, but before he can respond, he lunges at me, striking me with brutal force. I struggle to fend him off, finally managing to stab his leg with the bayonet. He screams in agony.

Before I can react further, the undead appears, drawn by the commotion. They close in on the man, tearing him apart. I can't bring myself to look, paralyzed by guilt and fear. I turn and flee back to the trench, the sounds of the man's screams echoing in my mind.