Edited 2017.05.19
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Micah had barely made it out of there alive.
Okay, that's wasn't true. It had definitely been easy for him to grab food and water rations and the emergency evacuation backpack from the house (hey, you never know when disaster will hit), and it had been easy to actually up and leave, but the hardest part was making sure that he didn't catch the disease too.
So many people had caught it in that first day, scarlet and bone coming up after a few hours, the jarring movements sending fragments of broken ribs through hard-working lungs. People who contracted the disease died within hours — and in rare cases, minutes — of catching it. And Micah did not want to die. Nosiree. So he grabbed everything he thought he would need, including some medical masks and gloves and stuff from the first-aid kit in the bathroom, and drove his parents' car out of the city until it ran out of gas. His parents were too busy dying to care about whether their son would wreck their car or not. And Micah was pretty sure that his little sisters had caught the deadly plague as well...
He was walking along the side of the road, a backpack slung across his shoulders, a surgical mask across his face. Even though he was well away from the city, he wanted to be extra sure that he was safe from the disease. He stopped, wiped sweat from his forehead, and rummaged through his pack of supplies for a bottle of water, trying to see what else was in there that he could use to (hopefully) survive.
Micah slapped his forehead hard enough to leave an angry red mark. He'd forgotten a weapon, of all things. (He'd found the water bottle, though.) Now when night rolled around, he would have no way to defend himself — he'd be an open target for all the hungry night creatures all around, that were lurking, waiting for night to fall, waiting for the time when he'd be the most vulnerable. (Not that there'd be many creatures, but coyotes were common here, and who knows what they'd do if they were hungry.)
A branch snapped in the distance, and Micah whipped his head around to stare at the bush the sound came from. He slipped his water bottle back into his backpack, then zipped it up and pulled it up onto his shoulders in one swift motion. Looking down, he quickly snatched up a rock from the side of the highway and cocked his arm back, prepared to throw the minute he saw movement.
"Who's there?" he called.
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A/N: Like I said, it's a short story for now, so the chapters (parts?) will be relatively short. BUUUUUUUUT that means I can update more! Anyways, who (or what) do you think is in the bushes?
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Edit: I just realized how short this is whoa
but yea
me and the lovely sturmfreitae are going through and editing this monstrosity
so prepare yourselves for a lot (and i mean a LOT) of reposting and minor changes to my first completed story
YOU ARE READING
This Is The Apocalypse
General Fiction"Truth is, everyone dies in the end. What does it matter what we do, if our legacies will be gone before we know it?" "Well, we lived. Isn't that enough? Does it matter how long our legacy is?" ~*~*~*~ A story about a plague, death, gang fights, and...
