noel fisher

⏸apocalyptic

It may seem dramatic, but nine weeks is a long time. Too long, really. Especially because it's been nine weeks since Willy joined the military. Nine weeks since you last saw him. Every night and day was long and boring. Whenever anything did happen, you had nobody to tell. Nobody was there.

But, it's been a month since the dead came alive, and the alive became dead. . . and then alive again. The people you once knew were no more. The letters from Willy had stopped, because nobody was alive to deliver them. However, the letters he sent before told me his whereabouts. So, that's where you were going. It would take about three days on foot to arrive, and that's if you made it that long.

You were alone, because, the last time you had a group, you didn't like what you saw. Too many people die too quickly. Too many people went mad. But, as you were running low on water in the middle of no where, you were open to almost anything.

Which is why you cried for help, towards the car driving down the dirt road towards me. Waving your hands in the air, your throat went dry from dehydration and screaming. It had been two days since you started your journey, and it was becoming harder each day.

The car finally pulled over, about twenty feet in front of you. Qucikly going towards the car, three men in uniform came out, and made you stop in your tracks. Their expressions and urgency didn't seem friendly, and the way they grabbed your arms was rough.

Even after many questions, crying, screaming, and none of them speaking, they drove the car to a concrete building, with electric fences surrounding it, and dead bodies littering the yard around it. Looking around, there was nothing but sand. Secluded.

"Come on," One of the men demanded, before dragging you from the car. It only took one of them to control every move you made.

"Where am I?" You asked, as the breath escaped your lungs. Stepping over dead bodies, they ignored your question, and pulled you inside the building. Here, other men in uniform didn't care about your existence, as they went about living. Speaking Speaking to one another, and some even joked around. All in uniforms.

"Number?" The man holding your arms spoke to another man in uniform, who's name tag read 'Pvt. Daniels'.

"Seventeen." He responded, before grabbing your other arm, and using a sharpie marker, wrote TS - 17.

"Seventeen? What is that?" You tried asking, though it was hopeless. It was as if none of them heard your voice.

The man escorting you dragged you down a hallway, until he stopped, to unlock a door. Inside, it was like a closet. Other people, who were not in uniform, sat with their backs against the walls.

Pushing you inside, the man shut and locked the door again behind you. You had fallen to the floor, and pushed away from the other people, who looked at you in silence. You sat in a corner, afraid of everyone around you.

"What's your name?" A man across the closet asked, quickly, and quietly. You almost didn't answer, as your voice was raspy and tired, from the lack of water and sleep.

"What's happening?" You asked, not answering his question. You glanced over at the two people next to you. A boy and a girl. The girl rested her head on the boy's shoulder, as she slept. It reminded you of your failure to make it to Willy.

"Don't know," The man finally responded, letting his head lean against the wall behind him, too. Hugging your knees close to your chest, you still didn't sleep.

It felt like hours in this room, until a few other men in uniform came inside. Cowering away from them, one held a clipboard in his arms.

"Three. Ten. Seventeen, and twelve," He read off, as the other men in uniform started grabbing people. Since you were number seventeen, one of them grabbed you, harshly. You, two boys, and another girl were dragged from the room. The boys remained quiet, as you and the other girl whimpered for help.

"Where are you taking me?" You asked again, as they led the four of you down the hallway again, into a different room.

This room looked like a bathroom; tiled, and short walls that seperated shower heads. Two other men in camoflauge had their backs to you, as they stared down at a zombie. Civilians, with their eyes closed, and looking limp, where chained to some pipes. Qucikly, you tried pulling away from the man in uniform.

"Let me go! Please!" You screamed, as the man struggled to keep you under control. This grabbed the attention of the two men, as they turned around to see what the problem was.

"Let her go!" You heard the familiar voice of Willy yell, sternly. You quickly turned your head towards his voice, to see him running over to you. When the man holding you didn't let go, Willy pulled a handgun from his belt, and pointed it to the man's skull. "Take your fucking hands off of her, or I blow your brains out." He warned, making the man let go, putting his hands up in defense.

You didn't waste any time to run towards Willy, as he put his gun back in his holster. Wrapping your arms around him, he did the same, and held you, tightly.

"Are you okay?" He asked, pulling away, slightly, to look at you. It felt incredible to finally look back into his eyes, and feel his hands again. You nodded, before resting your head on his chest again. "She's not a part of this." He told the other men in uniform, who all stared. "Got it?" They nodded, before going back to work, and chaining the others to pipes.

Willy pulled away again, and kissed you. It almost made you feel normal again, after weeks of nothing but dead people roaming the streets. It a sense, it made you feel alive again.