Immune

I hit the glass of the door with butt of my gun, slightly satisfied when it shatters and I move out of the way of the shrapnel. I put my hand through and flip the little metal lock and pull the door open. I prepare myself for any unwanted visitors as I step into the abandoned grocery store. I looked down the aisles cautiously; it looked clear so I let myself relax a little bit, gun still in hand. I grab a cart and start going down the aisles.

Once the food ran out from my small town after two weeks I decided it was time to leave. There was nothing for me there anyways. I was in some town with quite a large population. I was still in Canada but I was heading to America. Where? I wasn’t sure.

                The cart jiggled as I walked down the First Aid aisle. It was eerily quiet but it was better than hearing the low growl of the ones infected.

                Eighty five percent of the world had died. Fifteen percent were normal and healthy, somewhere. I had yet to meet someone also immune. I had heard about vast amounts of people dying from an unknown cause a week before it hit everyone. I had heard it from the small radio I was allowed for my only entertainment. I had smiled at the thought, I had hoped it would hit me, and kill me. I shook away the memory.

                This was the second city I had driven through. Some still had electricity, this one did and I decided to get almost everything I needed to live and fulfill what I needed to do.

                I had three guns, two hand guns and one shot gun. I have yet to use to shotgun but the handguns have saved me from the infected ones many, many times.

Their eyes were usually an odd shade of gold, almost sickly; their skin was white and discoloured. After the first kills I shut off the valve that let me register they used to be people, they used to be somebody’s daughter or son, somebody’s sister or brother, somebody’s family. If I wanted to survive, I had to stop feeling emotion.

                I grabbed some pain medicine, multiple bottles, I grabbed vitamins. I grabbed multiple first aid kits, waterproof flashlights, a metal baseball bat, a few knifes and knife holders from the glass cabinet in the back of the store. I found a place for a small one in my steel toe boot, hooked one large one on my right hip, and one on my left, and threw some extra in my cart.

                I grabbed rope and ductape. Truth is I wasn’t sure what I needed, so I was taking everything that might be helpful.

 I went to the beauty section, the noise from the wheels on my cart filling my ears as I rounded a corner. I grabbed multiple hair elastics, ripping one off and putting my hair in a high ponytail. I grabbed soap, tooth brushes, tooth paste, shampoo and conditioner. I needed a shower and planned to find a hotel room.

                I went to the clothes section, grabbing some fitting black jeans and tank tops, I grabbed a light sweater. It was still summer, August fifth to be exact. I had stolen someone’s fancy cell phone so I could make notes on my plans, and look at the calendar that went years ahead. It’s how I kept track of time. It was 5:00 PM.

                I grabbed some socks and underwear. I hadn’t had many clothes to start with so I needed some. I went to the show section and grabbed another pair of black boots, identical to mine; surprisingly they were easy to run with. They made a clunk as I threw them in my cart that was filling up.

                As I strolled to the food section I saw myself in the reflection. I stopped and stared at myself. My dark hair looked greasy in its ponytail. My face had dirt on it, along with my body and clothes. My green eyes were hollow looking, empty. They had been this way for four years. Now they just had a hint of freedom, determination and numbness. I turned sharply away from the creature I saw looking back at me.