One year later

Chapter Five

I awake the next morning with a light head and a heavy heart. I spend the first minute looking around in confusion, until everything sinks in. I fleetingly think of Daniel, before shaking my head angrily. He can do what he wants. I get up, sling my pack over my shoulder and leave.

It's early dawn, the golden sunlight that shines down from the sky making the world look happy, peaceful. Scanning the road, I see a reasonably intact grocery store and decide to start there. It's as good a place as any, I guess.

Inside, the store pitch black, and I snap on my flashlight, the powerful beam lighting up dozens of shelves and discarded trolleys.
So far, it hasn't been too promising. Things like bread and biscuits crumple to dust, and some cans of food are so old they're bulging with bacteria. Others have completley evaporated. There are however, plenty of cans that look safe, and I pull out a carrier bag, gathering up cans and putting them inside it. I'm entirely focused until I hear a noise.

A muffled thump, some distance behind me. I freeze, shifting the flashlight's beam so that it's pointing down the ailse.

Nothing.

I narrow my eyes and continue dropping cans into the bag, keeping an ear out for . . . Whatever that was.

Once the carrier is full, I put it into my pack and pull out the other bag, leaving the canned section to go to the bottled water aisle. Once again, there are bottles that are crawling with germs, but after finding a whole section that look clean and safe I begin to fill up the bag.

I become so absorbed I don't even notice the walker that's been creeping up on me, until it's almost too late.

A flesheaten hand closes around my arm, and I spin around, letting the carrier bag drop to the foor. Realising I'm unarmed, I shine the flashlight at the walker, who recoils, hissing and snarling. Finding that my arm is no longer in it's grasp, I swing the flashlight and club the walker in the head. It makes a strangled sound and lies twitching on the floor. I stand over it, breathing heavily, before stamping on its head once to make sure it's dead. After I'm certain, I begin scooping up the bottles from the floor.

Two minutes later, and both bags are full. I smile to myself, knowing that this stuff will keep us alive for months. I manage to cram the other bag into my rucksack, before stepping out into the sunshine. I then pause for a moment, unsure of what to do next. I had no idea it was all going to go so smoothly. Should I just go back? Or should I go look for Daniel? I mean . . . He could be dead for all I know. Or worse.

I snap out of my thoughts as I hear a yell. It sounds like it's coming from my right, and it's only getting closer.
"Help!" The person yells. I freeze. It sounds like Daniel. But it doesn't make any sense. Yesterday, while we were walking along the highway, he said something that stuck in my brain.

"I don't get why people always yell for help right before they get killed," Daniel says, shaking his head.

"But why wouldn't they? They're scared, desperate for someone to rescue them," I say, looking at him. He rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, but it's only going to draw in more walkers. Honestly, shoot me if I ever do anything like that."

But here he is, yelling out the very word he swore he wouldn't. Something's up, but I decide to go and help him, the idiot I am.
I follow his voice until I get to a dark side street. I can see him, up at the other side. He looks miserable.

"I'm so sorry." He says.

"Sorry for wh-" I'm cut off as a hand goes over my mouth.

"Lookie who we have here," a voice snarls. I thrash around, trying to escape, but the person holds me tight.