Apocalypse | m.c

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- M I C H A E L ' S P O V -

I loosened my grip on my assault rifle after killing another walker, reassuring myself that there were no others nearby, and to my surprise, there wasn't. Usually they're seen in groups of three or four, wandering around like lost souls. But that's what they are, lost souls, searching for any source of meat they can find, human or animal.

At times I actually feel sorry for them. They didn't choose to be eaten alive by the starving undead, and for their remains to rot and seep into the dirt. They were once living a not so happy life, surviving through the age of the apocalypse. The average life these days consist of hunting, building, killing and surviving, all for what? Just to die and become like the rest of the people I once cared about? Become a walker?

I continued to walk, my black combat boots treading through the damp dirt beneath my feet while my eyes wandered, looking for any signs of movement.

The memories from about an hour ago come flooding back. The screams of people I was meant to help protect alongside other men on watch last night. Huts were set on fire, my people burned to death while I fought for the place I called home for three years. I was one of the lucky few that made it out before the raiders took over our camp. I remember seeing Joe, the leader of the camp and also my good friend, lay lifeless amongst ashes. I remember seeing bodies of children hugging their mothers tightly before brink of death. I remember hearing my peoples cries of help but knowing I could do nothing to save them as all our supplies were burned down with the rest of our camp.

My memories came to an end as I heard leaves crunching behind me in the distance. My breathing became heavy and my hands became sweaty as they wrapped tightly around my rifle. I spun around, my gun ready to shoot whoever, or whatever, was there.

"Hold your fire," Scott raised his arms in surrender, his skinny frame moving towards me slowly. I let out a sigh of relief. Scott had been my friend for as long as I remember and his deep, dark eyes had seen just as much horror as I have.

"Relax, if it was a walker they wouldn't get to you that fast. You know how slow those things are." Scott imitated a walker, quite badly may I add. He always seemed to lighten the mood, even in the worse of times.

I released my rifle with a huff so it was hanging by my side. "Have you seen any survivors yet?" I checked my watch, it was getting dark so we had to find somewhere to sleep until morning. Sleep sounded like heaven right about now, neither of us had slept since the raid.

"Nope. But I saw some movement over by the river towards the North. I think it was just another walker though. Nothing to worry about." Sometimes Scott takes things too lightheartedly and it makes me worry, especially in times like these when even a single walker could lead to death.

But it's funny how people are now. I heard that people back in the twenty first century feared the apocalypse, now we are more afraid of people than we are of walkers. You never know who will kill you at first sight and who will question you. Now that we lost our home because of humans, that just makes our trust for strangers even less existent.

Scott and I were now side by side, stepping over fallen trees and rubble of old buildings deserted in the forest of tall pine trees. I looked over at Scott who was adjusting his black duffle bag on his shoulder, then ruffling his short blond hair between his slender, pale fingers. We had managed to gather some decent looking cans of food, some different types of medicine bottles and syringes, and some ammunition. It was enough to last us a four days, give or take.

It was then that I saw the slightest movement over by a grey rock through the corner of my eye.

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