Follow Me

Chapter One -It Ended With a Bang-

I remember when it all started.

The virus took my family. It took my friends. Hell, it took the whole damn hemisphere.

It yanked away Jesse's  and my whole world in one fell swoop.

Now we're alone in this harsh, post-apocalyptic shit basket.

Now all we can do is survive. And for the past four months, I'd say we've been doing a pretty good job.

My brother's steady breathing beside me helps me concentrate on staying alert and awake. I look down at him for a split second, taking in his boyish features, and then glare back out of the windshield. He rarely gets any sleep. I am thankful that he can get some rest, for now.

My eyes scan the expanding landscape before us. It's what it usually looks like. Deserted, yet has an uneasy occupance lurking around somewhere. Not zombie in sight. Yet.

I revv the mustang's engine, speeding faster down a road that's littered with empty cars, clothe tatters, blood, and newspapers. I'm not exactly sure where we're going. I just want to get as far away from Boston as I can. The memory of my mother's torn up, bloody face makes me shiver. I couldn't have gotten out of there fast enough.

Allow me to introduce myself.

My name's Anastasia Rose. I'm seventeen years old and I am a survivor of the zombie apocalyspe.

I'm your typical rebellious, hulligan. Got a mouth on me the size of Texas, and master in the art of sarcasm. I come from a broken up neighborhood, filled with the worst kind of scum you can imagine. Drug dealers. Murderers. Gang members. Rapists. You name it, we have it. . . had it. . .

My mother had been a prostitute. She did what she had to do to put food on the table and made sure we had clothes and shoes without holes in them.

My father was a drug dealer and had been in prison when the world ate shit. I don't even know if he's alive. I wouldn't be sad if he is dead. He beat my mother and abused Jesse and me when we were smaller. I have a scar on my side from where he shanked me when I was eight. Jesse has multiple cigarette burn marks on his arms from where Dad put his cigarettes out and Jesse had only been five. We'd go to school repeatedly with bruises and cuts on our bodies and faces. He sent our mom to the hospital a couple of times, too.That bastard can burn in hell, as far as I'm concerned.

My brother, Jesse, is my only reason for living. He's usually a pretty sweet kid. He's smart (unlike me), funny, and patient. He is my baby. When he was born, I was three and even then I took care of him as if he were my son. My mom was almost never home, to no fault of her own, so I had to raise him, bathe him, and feed him. And I never once complained, because I liked doing it. He's is the only thing that matters to me and, if I have to, I will give my life to save him and keep him safe.

The little gas tank light blinks on, telling me that I'm running low on fuel. A sign on the side of the road says that there's ten miles until the next gas station. I sigh. Let's hope we make it.

Jesse stirs in his seat and yawns. His ashy blue eyes flutter open, sleepily taking in our surroundings. From my peripheral view, I see his eyes land on me. He sits there staring at me and I start to grow self conscious.

“Take a picture, Jess, it'll last longer," I snap, jokingly. He chuckles for a second, before growing serious.

“You look tired," he states, in a matter-of-factly tone. I scoff.

“That's probably because I am."

“You could go to sleep, if you want." I look over at him like he's crazy.