51 Reasons not to Say Goodbye

1: The Past (part one)

It's been three years since the zombies took over the world.

Not a good three years. Not a repulsive three years. And certainly not a boring three years. I really don't know one word that could possibly describe them, so I won't attempt to find one.

I don't remember the whole story; I was unconscious for much of it. But since I've decided to write this journal, I pretty much have to tell that part. So here it goes.

I was eleven and overwhelmed by the world that Earth was turning into. My name, Luana, was an antique name fashioned by one of the great-great-greats on my moms side. Luana Valeria Chrisham. Very amusing, much love involved. Yes.

I lived (and still reside) in Texas, which is not as dry and unsettled as most people think. We lived in a nice house, just out of San Antonio. We drank well water and owned three horses. My family consisted of me, my dad, and my older brother, Jefferson. My parents were divorced and my mom and younger sister, Reagan, lived in Tennessee. We went hunting as a family, although I preferred shooting clay pigeons to live deer. Despite the divorce, we still had a strong familial bond and got together every summer. Basically, I had it as good as a twelve year old girl could get.

That was until March 2019, when TV broadcasts started reporting the uprisings in East Africa, the shortage of US troops, the ever growing debt pool, and the serial killers who were beginning to have more control than the government. So the president, our first woman president EVER, took a stand, because that's what strong women do. It worked out perfectly.

Just kidding.

Melanie Markson got shot in the head by one of those serial killers, and so the Vice President took over.

Two weeks later, despite the abundance in body guards, Aaron Keller, the Vice President, and two members of his cabinet got abducted by some serial killer. They were reported dead some time later. Because of the troop shortage, no one was sent to put an end to the killers reign. Local police officers started getting hurt, killed, or quitting.

I remember Jefferson, who was fifteen, rubbing his forehead. We all felt inferior to the chaos around us.

For my twelfth birthday, on April 26, my dad gave me a pocketknife, a can of mace, and told me not to go outside anymore. We were homeschooled already, so it wasn't that big of a change. Because the neighbors were all elderly, the only human interaction I ever had was with my family and some of my dad's friends kids.

And then hell broke loose. A band of scientists had been working on a serum that would use the chemicals formed by hate and evil and whatnot. It was supposedly designed to kill off the part of your brain that over-reacted to tragedy, thus making the aggressively violent a bazillion times more peaceful.

You know where I'm going with this.

When the chemical was inserted into certain brand foods, instead of targeting one part of the brain, it circuited out to many parts. It killed these peoples knowledge bases, making them (plot twist) way more hostile and violent, and killing off pretty much everything else.

It didn't affect us at first. We had just gone hunting, and were finishing up the meat from that. Plus, we normally went to the store once a week, and when the serum took over, the news broadcasters were able to spread the word in time.

They called them zombies, in honor of the fantasy zombie obsession that took place a couple of years ago. Zombie salvia, blood, and body fluid were considered poison (they contained serum cells that could be passed on if someone were to get it in an open wound or...for some reason eat the fluid.)

These zombies had heartbeats. They could be killed. They weren't green, although they had an amazing lack of hygiene. Vacant expressions. They usually had open wounds, due to the fact that they could not feel pain.

"If seen, you are to kill a zombie on sight. Go nowhere near the blood. Whatever you do, if there is a hoard, HIDE because they are AGGRESSIVE. Get to a safe place. The government and military are working on cleaning this up." Said the TV.

But alas, there was not much military.

By now, it was May 2019. My dad was no fool. "Pack your bags." He said to me and Jefferson. "We're going out to where there's no city."

I remember hastily throwing clothes and tennis shoes in a duffel. Some hygiene stuff, a flashlight, my Bible, a water bottle, a sheet and my favorite stuffed animal (Borris the duck), and some other necessities went into a backpack. I think I changed into a sports bra, cargo pants, boots, and a hoodie. I tried to cover myself completely. My pocketknife and mace were in my pocket.

I was only twelve. I remember the sheer force of terror, covering me like a cape, preparing to flow out behind me whenever I ran. Downstairs, Jefferson was helping Dad throw some stuff into a suitcase. Food. Bowls. Batteries. A towel. More water.

"It's okay Luana. We've always made it through." Jefferson said. Apparently my cape of terror had made it's self known.

The wall of hunting weapons. I followed Dad and Jefferson followed me. "She's not old enough." Jefferson said.

Dad hands me the compound bow. That one couldn't be set off by accident. He then gives me a sheath of ten arrows and packs more in the suitcase.

Jefferson had a shotgun. Loaded. More ammo somewhere. Dad had a shotgun and his 'decorative' machete.

I was was trembling so hard. That was when I passed out.

.....

When I woke up, I was in the truck. My dad's pumped up, black truck. We were on the highway. There were a few other cars in sight. My bow and arrows were on the floor, and I was in the backseat, along with some of our luggage. My head was on a pillow.

Jefferson, who was in the passenger seat, looked back and snapped a picture with his camera. It printed out and he handed it to me. "First morning of the big journey."

"Jeff." My dad says.

"Are we going to go to a store?" I ask.

"Honeybunches, people are stealing from the stores. Dangerous people. And zombies are still part human, they need food. Where do you think they'll be? And where does that put the immoral ones who decided to steal from the stores?"

"Like a tourist trap." I think I said. "What about gas?"

Jefferson said to look in the back. There was plenty of gasoline in the trunk. If there was fire, we would die.

"And where are we going?" I asked.

"Remember James?" Dad inquired. "He called me, one of the calls that actually got through, and he said his neighbors were all gone. He's setting up a safer place than we had. Fences. Strong men. If that's not there, we set up on our own."

My cape of fear wrapped itself around me. It swaddled me and smothered me. It would not let go.

This was a dream. Zombies were fiction. There was no possible way this was reality.

"Honeybunches, we'll be okay. You just-"

My father was cut off by his son.

"DAD LOOK OUT!"

And that was the first time I saw a zombie.

I could have mistaken her for human. She looked to be about seventeen. Messy hair. Terrifying. Pitiful. She stared at us like a deer in headlights.

My dad protected us. My brother took a sharp hit of oxygen. I started crying.

I didn't stop until there wasn't a house or building in sight, and we were driving through the open land.

And that was when my future began.