Revenge Over Redemption

Chapter 1

Kris ran out through the front door. As soon as she exited, she felt the cold and hardness of the ground beneath her on her bare feet, and the cold winter wind made her exposed skin get goosebumps. She sprinted away, and didn't look back. She couldn't. Whether anyone had followed her out or not, she only knew one thing- she had to get as far away as she could. She ran into the woods, ignoring the pines pinching her feet, and the branches hitting her from all directions. She only went one way, forward.
Her feet bled, and ached with every step she took, and she decided she couldn't go on. She quickly climbed the first tree she thought could support her weight, but didn't have to look very far. After sitting down, and looking around her, she let out a sigh of relief, as she realized that she was alone for what she hoped were miles. I made it out. She thought, and took another deep breath as she choked on her own laughter and tears.

"Don't leave!" I call out to my group, walking away. They can't hear me. I sit up leaning on the RV behind me, and press my hand to the wound on my stomach. Blood is pooling around me. I take my pocket knife and cut off the sleeves of my sweater to make a shitty makeshift tourniquet. The bleeding slows, and I call to my group again. They don't answer. My vision blurs, but I can make out the shadows of four figures walking towards me from behind. I turn around, and notice they're all wearing masks. I shuffle back, trying to stand up, but it's too late. They have me. I let out another desperate scream, when they cover my head with a sack. 

She woke up at dawn. For a moment she had forgotten where she was. She was lost, and alone in a world where less than 1% were alive. They left me to die. It's their fault. She thought. She had spent the past six months convincing herself she was good, that who she was before was still there, but now that she was out, she knew that wasn't the case. I'm gonna show them. She thought, and jumped off the tree. She kept on walking in the same direction that she had started in, hoping to eventually get somewhere useful.
Most of the day was filled with the same scenery, trees, and the occasional lake, but finally she made it out. A rest stop on a highway. She ran towards it to ask a car for help, but realized they were all empty. They must've abandoned it. She took a quick look around, and picked up a backpack with most basic supplies, and some clothes to change into. She looked for a car with keys still inside. She backed up a few steps, threw a rock through the window next to the passenger seat, and got in. 
She got out of her thin nightgown, and put on the clothes she found. They were a man's, and didn't fit her well, but she could admit to herself that the flannel, ripped jeans, combat boots and dirty old backpack worked great for the post-apocalyptic aesthetic. She pulled down the sun visor, and looked at herself, for the first time in months. Her face looked thinner and more tired than she remembered, and there was a scar that went diagonally across her cheek. Her brown eyes were slightly bloodshot, and her hair was a lot longer than she wanted it. She took her pocket knife, and split her brown hair in two chunks, before cutting it down to shoulder-length.

She started the car and drove off towards the nearest supermarket to stock up. When she got there, it really hit her how much worse it had gotten. The place was destroyed, hardly any food was left, and many of the shelves had been knocked down. She picked up some food, and medicine in case anything happened, and was about to leave when she noticed him. Robert. She looked closer to make sure it was him. It was. The corpse looked as if it had been there for several weeks, but at least it meant that they were here. She was getting something. She took his walkie- talkie and made her way back out.

I wake up in a dark room. The space feels unfamiliar and cold. It's illuminated by a single hanging light bulb, and smells of blood and dust. I look down at my body. The gunshot wound had been treated and dressed properly. I push myself into a sitting position and see it. I let out a scream and shuffle backwards towards the door. I try to open it. It's locked. 
I move as far as I can into the corner away from the body and start to cry. "Help!" I yell at the top of my lungs, but there's no response.
"Where am I? Let me out!" I sob, yet all I get is silence. This is my life now, it could end at any minute, and the last moments of it are spent here.

Kris headed out to the next place she thought they might be at. The storage facility. She stopped at the gas station along the way, loaded gas. She went inside briefly, and grabbed a water bottle and a pack of cigarettes for the way. 
She was about to enter Seattle, when she saw a black van in her mirrors. She hit the gas and took the exit to the city as fast as she could. She turned in random directions, as the van sped up towards her. She made a U turn and when they weren't looking, took a roundabout away from that road, and even when she was certain they had lost her trail, she kept going until she arrived.

I keep sitting in the same spot, clutching my knees, and hoping this would end soon. The door unlocks, and a beam of light shines through. A man stands in the doorway, and tells me to get up. I do as he says. He gestures for me to follow him, and presses the barrel of his gun against my back. He leads me into another room, across from the other one. This one has the same lighting, but has a chair in the middle, and a table full of what looks like torture equipment. My heart races, and I begin to sweat. "Sit," he says. I listen, and two more men walk into the room. They hold down my arms as the first man ties them to the chair.
"Now, we can do this easy. Tell me what you know."
I panic, not having the slightest clue about what he wants. I stay silent.
"Tell me what you know," he repeats, with growing impatience in his voice.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I choke out. He doesn't respond, instead, he grabs a scalpel and drags it diagonally across my cheek. It takes a few seconds for me to feel the pain, and the warm blood trickling down my skin.
"What are they planning?" he asked, putting down the scalpel and grabbing a blowtorch.
"I already told you, I don't know," I start crying, and then scream as he puts the blowtorch to my arm, burning the skin. "I swear I'd tell you if I did!" I keep screaming at the top of my lungs, until my throat becomes too hoarse to do so.