Journey Through The Apocalypse

Chapter One

zom·bie

ˈzämbē/

noun

1.

a corpse said to be revived by witchcraft, especially in certain African and Caribbean religions.

Our trek begins on a rainy Spring, Saturday morning. I had gotten up around 7 AM like I normally do. I was 18 years old when me and my massive dog, Bear, began our own journey in a little apartment located in Denver, Colorado. Bear had always been the most important thing in my life since my parents passed away in a tragic accident about a year ago. Since then, Bear and I have been finding ways to survive the harsh adult life.

The rain was cold and grim. I got ready for the day and made myself and Bear some pancakes. We sat down and watched TV for a little while and during our favorite episode of The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack, an abrupt message came on the screen that read, "Emergency Alert System. Civil Authorities Issued a Contagious Disease Warning." I panicked. The TV had told me an infecious disease had broken out and was now spreading worldwide. That we should stay in our houses and make sure we were safe. I wasn't sure what was out there. I gave the rest of my pancakes to Bear and ran to get a backpack. I hustled to the kitchen where I found myself packing canned foods and stored weapons that I took from my dad when he passed.

Bear and I lived on the second story of the apartment. Living in between two assholes who don't know how to keep it down every once and a while. I ran to the balcony and looked around. The rain had calmed down a little and there was no one in sight. Suddenly, a bullet rushed right next to my head and I ducked. Another one zoomed past at rapid speeds, shattering the window behind me. The rain made it difficult to see anyone or really anything. I could hear Bear's deafening bark which only made us more vulnerable. I crawled my way back inside and tried to calm him down. I grabbed my bag filled with a couple food cans, a feeble pistol, a few knives and a huge bone to keep him serene during the chaos. I sprinted out the door, trembling. Continuous shots were fired, one by one each shot had me in complete and utter fear. With Bear behind me, we darted toward the car. Soaking wet, we made it. Luckily, no gun shots were fired on the way down the stairs, and around the garages. We got into the car, Bear was soaked and smelled of wet dog. I drove a 1987 Jeep Wrangler. Strong enough and could hopefully get us where we needed to go. Fortunately, I had just filled the gas tank a couple days ago. I took a deep breath and drove off.

My name is Nora Berlow, and this is my story.