I won't let you give up

Ch. 1

Run.

Run.

Run.

Each step he took sent a throbbing pain up his leg, but he couldn't stop running.

The howls from behind him fueled his desperate rush, scrabbling of angry claws coming nearer every second.

Run.

He cut corners and dodged barriers, distancing himself from the screeching.

Peter knew this city like the back of his hand.

He had lived here all his life, after all.

The frantic pace slowed, and he slumped against a wall, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.

"This sucks," he told a puddle of water in front of him. "This really, really sucks."

The puddle, of course, made no reply.

A flash of movement had him darting to his feet again, eyes alert and wary.

It could have been an animal, after all. But even the animals couldn't be trusted.

The sickness, called the A virus, infected all living creatures, passed by saliva. Something about the chemical makeup of the substance carried the bacteria perfectly, leaving whatever got bitten to succumb to the same fate.

It paid to be careful.

Either way, it was time to get back to base.

When he arrived at his small building, he pulled the key from the chain around his neck, sliding it into the lock.

The door creaked open, and he stepped into the chemical room.

'The chemical room' was where he disinfected after a trip to the city.

Probably how he hadn't gotten sick yet.

Though that day shouldn't be far off.

Would it really be that bad, he mused. To escape? This isn't life.

Finally he made it to the tiny room that held his possessions, what few there were.

The bed was nothing more than a blanket on the ground, and the small stash of food consisted of two granola bars and an apple, not including the food he'd gotten on this run to the city.

The only clothes he owned were ragged jeans, torn t-shirt, faded tennis shoes, and one hoodie, which he pulled on, curling up on his blanket.

Late March wasn't the best time to be alone in the city, not after the rioting and killing, along with the virus.

It was a bad place.

The zombie people(he hadn't found another name for them yet), weren't completely mindless.

They still retained basic functions, not including speech.

But they were intelligent, in the way that animals know how to kill their prey.

With that happy thought, he let his eyes close.

"May?"

His younger self's voice echoed through the house, cheerful as ever. "May, guess what?"

His aunt appeared, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "What?"

"I made a windmill!" He beamed. "I'm smart now!"

She bent down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, laughing slightly as he screwed up his face. "You always have been, mio piccolo genio."

His smile faded. "Do you think my mom and dad would be proud of me?"

"Of course they would. They loved you just as much as Ben and I. And they would be just as proud."

His eyes lit up. "Really?"

The door opened behind them, and a strange thud sounded.

"Ben? Is that you?"

A strangled moan sounded, and May stepped towards the front room. "Peter, stay here."

He stayed, only peeking around the corner to see what was going on.

Ben was collapsed on the floor, eyes rolled up in his skull, blood dribbling from his mouth.

May was frantically wiping it away, only to have it seep back again. "Ben? Ben, please wake up-"

He shot up with a gasp, clutching at his head. "May, they-" his breath hissed through his clenched teeth. "They're coming! Get Peter and go!"

May scanned the room, then her gaze turned back to her husband. "Ben, what's happening? What's wrong?"

The glass pane shattered, and hands darted through, along with enraged howls.

May gasped, her face going white as she slipped on the floor, grasping madly for a hold. "Peter! Baby run!"

She grabbed his hand, jerking him toward the closet. "Remember what I said, baby. Run. Don't look back. We'll  be fine. Now go."

He hesitated, and she pulled him in for one last hug. Them... "Go!" She cried, pushing him towards the trapdoor.

The door shut, and he heard screams.

Peter woke with a gasp, heart pounding.

May.