THE END TO AN ERA the walking dead

0. day 60

He ran fast. He was never much of a runner, but now that he had a reason to, he was rather motivated to stay ahead. He didn't expect them to be so... fast. They were dead, mostly, but why were they so damn fast?

Ira Whitlock was terrified. He had faced many fears throughout his life, like snakes and the color yellow, but had come out relatively unscathed. Those fears were childish, seemingly insignificant compared to being slowly devoured to death. To feel the agony of dull teeth forcing themselves through your skin, piece by piece until you are but a puddle of carrion.

But fear is still fear.

The woods were an endless labyrinth of dead leaves and trees flimsy from the dry autumn weather. Ira did not have a destination in mind, only to keep going until he was either eaten or safe to finally allow himself to breathe. The uneven ground made his steps fumble and his backpack slap against his back. He could feel a shoe untie.

He had quickly learned not to shoot at them, these predators relied mostly on sound and smell to find their prey. He still had his military-issued gun but kept it safely in his holster. His only other weapons were a serrated knife and himself.

Ira inevitably tripped. Running through the forest while branches, twigs and other debris whipped at his shoelaces unknotted one. He was running so fast that his tumble turned into a somersault. He quickly looked back, gauging how much time he would have to retie the lace before the dead were too close. He grabbed the shoelace and desperately tried to retie it. His hands were shaking, shaking. Still shaking from the trauma he endured a few days before.

Do not think, Ira thought. Do not lose your focus.

Of course, he lost his focus. The insurmountable pressure of not dying and his mind forcing himself to relive the memories over and over.

A growl was too close.

"Motherfucker!" Ira exclaimed, absolutely fed up with the stupid shoe. He yanked it off his foot and promptly sent it soaring into the dead's face before bolting once more. Albeit, the forest floor repeatedly stabbing him in the foot was unpleasant but at least he wasn't dead.

The boy had a plan. A possibly stupid plan, but a plan nevertheless. Once he felt he had gained a good distance away and found a sturdy-looking tree, he began to climb it. All those weeks of climbing rope and scaling rock walls were paying off.

Ira looked down, the dead thing was staring up at him with his shoe stuck in its mouth. He straddled the tree branch and rested his forehead against the trunk, finally having a moment to breathe.

It stopped when he heard a thunk and the growls ceased. Wide-eyed, Ira analyzed the floor. He could vaguely make out something other than his shoe protruding from the dead's head. He saw movement and heard leaves crunch out of the corner of his eye, catching his attention.

A man made his way into his line of sight, grabbing the arrow and ripping it out of the corpse. He looked around for what it was chasing and caught the bright blue eyes of Ira hiding in the tree. The stranger seemed to notice his footwear situation and pried Ira's boot out of the dead's mouth. He held it up into the air.

"This yours?" His voice matched his appearance. Gruff and commanding, but not mean.

Ira wasn't sure how to respond. How do you continue a conversation during the end of the world? He settled with a simple "Yep."

The stranger was clearly waiting for him to climb down and retrieve his shoe, but Ira knew better. He didn't know this man, his intentions, his weapons, is he alone or does he have friends?