Infection (1)

Chapter Three

"Go ahead, Walker! Open your present," Mom's voice said with enthusiasm. I looked down at the long box trapped within the wrapping paper, so long and colorful. Without hesitation, I ripped open the paper to the blank cardboard box, brown and wrinkled as my excitement was at its peak. I tore the box open and in it was the most beautiful thing in the world, something I've always wanted: A hockey stick; a beautiful black stick with a thick, blue, plastic blade.

"Whoa, it's just what I've always wanted," I screamed in excitement. "Thank you so much!"

"Don't thank me, it was Dad who had the idea and picked it out." I shot towards Dad, knocking him on his back in a tackle-hug.

"Thank you so much Dad! I love it so much and I love you."

"I love you too, Walker," and he bent down to kiss me on the forehead, his lips inching closer and closer...

But I woke up. Forged, that's all it was. I don't dare call it a dream. Dreams are supposed to be happy. That wasn't me happy. No, all it was was just a lie. Sure, it happened, but the concept is a lie... that concept of family that my brain projected into my thoughts. Mom is states away and god knows what happened to her since all this began. Dad is lying down on the floor in his own pool of dried gore by now. I doubt I'll run into any friends from school. As far as I'm concerned, I need to worry and focus on me. I mean, if I run into other survivors, then that's great too. However, I'm not going to make that my main focus. I sit up on my futon mattress and look around. The candles I had lit were burnt out, but the light that came in lit up the room to an extent, telling me that it was morning. I grabbed my hockey stick and stood up to stretch. I grabbed a can of beans and a little shoulder sack to put it in, and climbed the ladder to the outside. I wasn't sure why I was going up. I didn't have a set plan of leaving my hideout anytime soon if ever. Seems like the kind of place where I'd spend the rest of my days until I die. As I crawled out of the space, I looked up at the outside world. Everything seemed normal. The sun blinded my eyes, and I heard the cheerful music of birds tweeting about. What if all of this had been a huge ultra-realistic night terror? I thought to myself. Maybe I just ran away in my sleep? If that were the case, I'm imagining dad extremely puzzled. I decided to head towards the border of the forest and look around the park. Get some idea of what had happened. I was only about a mile out and could make it in no time at all. I started my little journey, which was anything but pleasant. My brain decided it was "think and judge yourself about how you killed your father" time. And trust me, that's the last thing I wanted to do...

"But please, doctor, there must be something we can do," My dad paced around the living room of our house anxiously while on the phone with doctor. "Medicine, chemotherapy, something, anything, please."

A pause.

"Mhm... yes. Yessir." He hung up.

"Dad... dad, is Mom going to be okay?" I asked, upset, "What is it... what's wrong... dad what's wrong with mom?"

"It looks like cancer... they haven't identified it yet but that's what doctors say. And it's moving far along..." I felt the warmth of my tears stream down my face... not my mom... the woman who helped and talked to me through every problem in my life. I couldn't let her be taken away from me. Suddenly my world was spiraling out of control... spiraling...

...To whatever is going on here. Having my life go from great to bad, then bad to survival, isn't how I pictured it going. I actually stopped walking for a second and thought to myself: Why am I still trying to live? What exactly is the point of even trying to push forward when I could die by society eating each other?

All very good questions, but my mind paused as I stopped only a few feet away from leaving the forest. I thought now would be a good time to plop down and enjoy some canned sweet beans. I quietly popped the lid off and chowed down my... feast. I thought, this is just getting ridiculous. I'm not built for survival. The wind started to pick up and the breeze was refreshing. The brisk air smelled of sweet maple sap in this autumn rush, my dark brown hair blowing in the wind made me forget all the troubles that are in this world. You know, the troubles of crazy cannibals trying to eat me in my sleep?

After finishing my beans I stood up and decided to climb a tree that looked easy. I went pretty high up. I climbed till I reached a part that looked out through in opening in the leaves and I got a view the park and some of the streets of (what was left of) my neighborhood. I wasn't pleased with any of the sights I saw.

Warzone. Houses with holes in the roof, windows broken, blood spewed over fences... and bodies. Chewed up carcasses littered the ground.

This wasn't a night terror. This was a real problem.

Then I saw what I didn't want to see the most.

Them. They were everywhere. Walking with a slouch, scavenging about for me. Or more people like me. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't look away. There's Mr. Tooble, who lived across the street from me, eating skin off of what looks to be an infant. My neighborhood is littered with so much death, and so many rotten corpses. I couldn't look away. Little did I know, that was a mutual feeling. I didn't realize it right away, but when I did my heart sank. I stopped breathing.

They couldn't stop staring at me, either.