The body dropped on top of me, the hundred-and-eighty-something pound man pinning me to the ground. His rotten smell enveloped my nose causing me to gag. But I knew I had to hold it down, otherwise I'd suffocate in my own stomach waste.
I shimmied my left hand into the inner side of my pant waist, tugging out a worn dagger and stabbing the man's gut to push him off.
With great strain his body slowly slumped to the side, allowing me to turn over and hurl.
What little that was in my stomach was now under me, and my body felt exhausted.
That was the second close-call in the past day that almost sent me to my own immortal death.
"Fuck!" I spat, punching the cement beneath me, "Fucking fuck!"
I gasped and sat on my heels, looking up at the setting sun. There was a stale taste in my mouth, and I didn't want to waste the water I had to rinse it out, so I pulled out a cigarette instead while adjusting myself to be able to see my ankle. Or in other words, the ankle that the man had grabbed.
Relief filled me as I realized he hadn't broken my skin with his filthy nails that were filled with this disease.
I remember sitting at home with my brother when we were younger saying how the world needed something to purge people. I know that's awful, honest I do, but we were young and heard all about over population issues and all of these terrorist threats.
When the virus hit the news, it seemed like a blessing.
But it wasn't.
It wasn't a blessing because it wasn't natural.
A blessing is something from the natural world that brings a person luck or sense of calm.
This was neither.
I pushed myself up, setting into a steady jog across this street. All the doors of the large houses were bolted down with wooden planks, metal poles and simple cardboard. As the sun kept setting, my panic was returning.
I remember when it was the sixth night when the disease started, we weren't too scared because media hyped things up, we knew that. We knew that. But when I was in bed, the front door started banging. Really, really aggressively. It woke my fifteen-year-old self, as well as my older brother. Mum and dad were already up, they were always arguing and for the past few days they were arguing about whether to stay at home or visit our grandparents. But I was really scared. Adrenaline hit me, see? And my heart was racing. My brother's room was right next to mine, and I rushed into his room full of fear, to see that he was in his clothes, a backpack on his back and his sword on his waist. He got that sword for his ninth birthday. He loved Japanese culture, so a family friend got him an antique katana. He looked at me when I walked in and asked if I was okay. I hugged him.
Dad when to check the door.
That was the first mistake.
That was the first damned mistake.
The thing lunged at him.
It didn't bit him anywhere.
It tore him a part.
Drove its hands into his chest with its nails. Mum ran down to help him, but they travel in packs. They're smart. They're very smart.
My brother and I stayed in his room.
My breath was coming quicker, I was running faster. The sun was almost gone. I finally saw the lighthouse. Thank fuck.
But like I said, they're smart. This disease... I know people would call them zombies. I know people get angry when shows call them 'walkers' or 'undead' but I can't use the term zombie. The disease is a strain of rabies and tumour cells. The people who made it thought the two could cancel out one another. But it made a mecha-virus. A terrifying virus. The cancer cells multiplied muscle cells and tissue as well as rapid brain cell growth. It protected their minds while giving increased strength and longer limbs. Then the rabies... it made them crazed. Rapid movement, sharper teeth and longer nails. It shut down the analytical mind and amplified the murderous, kill-or-be-killed. Then once they began eating flesh like cannibals, it warped their sense of sanity to the extreme, just like how cannibals are affected.
As I reached the water to the lighthouse I dove in without hesitation, swimming to the little island. And by the time I made it to the door, the sky was purple.
My brother was always into dressing up as a superhero- spiderman, batman-- even as a Jedi master. He had his sword ready as I quivered behind him, we both were watching the door.
We heard and saw the door shaking. I felt tears forming. He was sturdy. Finally, the doorknob began turning. Really slowly. I thought about how in movies they did this to create suspense, but it was the killer toying with the prey. The door shot open and the thing jumped at my brother. I remember screaming as he swung his sword against the man's head. It was rusty, but it cracked his skull and he dropped. My brother was heaving. More were coming through the door and he was slicing them. When there was a break he shoved me, his backpack and something I didn't see under his bed, and he pushed several dead bodies over the bottom so I couldn't be seen or smelled. And I was trying not to cry. I was confused as to why he wasn't hiding with me. But I waited under the bed for days. Waited for him to get me. Waited for me to stop being afraid. But finally, I pushed out from under the bed, and stood up.
My legs were sore, as well as me back. I tucked the little package he left into the bag and looked around and grabbed what I could. I also checked around the entire house for useful items. By the time I got to the front door, I noticed that mum and dad were tucked on the couch, looking like they were asleep, and the front door closed. I sighed and opened it while saying goodbye to mum and dad.
I threw my shoulder against the door, falling into the lighthouse. Up, up, up I went. Finding my little sleeping ground by the rotating light. I sat on my sleeping bag, looking through my backpack. At the bottom was the little package my brother left me.
I added another day to my journal.
It had been Seven Hundred and Eighty-Two Days.
Just over two years.
I sighed and pulled out the package. He would be Twenty today.
I opened the package for the second time and reread the note inside of it.
Keep going, Isabelle, I'm out there. I love you. I'll find you by grandma's as soon as possible. When you get there, wait for me. I'll be waiting for you too. But you need to get to -----
I dropped the package in water before I read it. But I'll get there. The sentence after talks about me meeting someone. Someone by town hall. The lighthouse is a thirty minute walk to town hall, and I sit there all day, and come back here to sleep. I've been doing it for two years.
I heard the Lighthouse door open, fear slicing through my skull. I grabbed the knife and huddled against the wall, waiting.
When the virus hit the news, it seemed like a blessing.
But it wasn't.
It wasn't a blessing because it wasn't natural.
A blessing is something from the natural world that brings a person luck or sense of calm.
This was neither.
I pushed myself up, setting into a steady jog across this street. All the doors of the large houses were bolted down with wooden planks, metal poles and simple cardboard. As the sun kept setting, my panic was returning.
I remember when it was the sixth night when the disease started, we weren't too scared because media hyped things up, we knew that. We knew that. But when I was in bed, the front door started banging. Really, really aggressively. It woke my fifteen-year-old self, as well as my older brother. Mum and dad were already up, they were always arguing and for the past few days they were arguing about whether to stay at home or visit our grandparents. But I was really scared. Adrenaline hit me, see? And my heart was racing. My brother's room was right next to mine, and I rushed into his room full of fear, to see that he was in his clothes, a backpack on his back and his sword on his waist. He got that sword for his ninth birthday. He loved Japanese culture, so a family friend got him an antique katana. He looked at me when I walked in and asked if I was okay. I hugged him.
Dad when to check the door.
That was the first mistake.
That was the first damned mistake.
The thing lunged at him.
It didn't bit him anywhere.
It tore him a part.
Drove its hands into his chest with its nails. Mum ran down to help him, but they travel in packs. They're smart. They're very smart.
My brother and I stayed in his room.
My breath was coming quicker, I was running faster. The sun was almost gone. I finally saw the lighthouse. Thank fuck.
But like I said, they're smart. This disease... I know people would call them zombies. I know people get angry when shows call them 'walkers' or 'undead' but I can't use the term zombie. The disease is a strain of rabies and tumour cells. The people who made it thought the two could cancel out one another. But it made a mecha-virus. A terrifying virus. The cancer cells multiplied muscle cells and tissue as well as rapid brain cell growth. It protected their minds while giving increased strength and longer limbs. Then the rabies... it made them crazed. Rapid movement, sharper teeth and longer nails. It shut down the analytical mind and amplified the murderous, kill-or-be-killed. Then once they began eating flesh like cannibals, it warped their sense of sanity to the extreme, just like how cannibals are affected.
As I reached the water to the lighthouse I dove in without hesitation, swimming to the little island. And by the time I made it to the door, the sky was purple.
My brother was always into dressing up as a superhero- spiderman, batman-- even as a Jedi master. He had his sword ready as I quivered behind him, we both were watching the door.
We heard and saw the door shaking. I felt tears forming. He was sturdy. Finally, the doorknob began turning. Really slowly. I thought about how in movies they did this to create suspense, but it was the killer toying with the prey. The door shot open and the thing jumped at my brother. I remember screaming as he swung his sword against the man's head. It was rusty, but it cracked his skull and he dropped. My brother was heaving. More were coming through the door and he was slicing them. When there was a break he shoved me, his backpack and something I didn't see under his bed, and he pushed several dead bodies over the bottom so I couldn't be seen or smelled. And I was trying not to cry. I was confused as to why he wasn't hiding with me. But I waited under the bed for days. Waited for him to get me. Waited for me to stop being afraid. But finally, I pushed out from under the bed, and stood up.
My legs were sore, as well as me back. I tucked the little package he left into the bag and looked around and grabbed what I could. I also checked around the entire house for useful items. By the time I got to the front door, I noticed that mum and dad were tucked on the couch, looking like they were asleep, and the front door closed. I sighed and opened it while saying goodbye to mum and dad.
I threw my shoulder against the door, falling into the lighthouse. Up, up, up I went. Finding my little sleeping ground by the rotating light. I sat on my sleeping bag, looking through my backpack. At the bottom was the little package my brother left me.
I added another day to my journal.
It had been Seven Hundred and Eighty-Two Days.
Just over two years.
I sighed and pulled out the package. He would be Twenty today.
I opened the package for the second time and reread the note inside of it.
Keep going, Isabelle, I'm out there. I love you. I'll find you by grandma's as soon as possible. When you get there, wait for me. I'll be waiting for you too. But you need to get to -----
I dropped the package in water before I read it. But I'll get there. The sentence after talks about me meeting someone. Someone by town hall. The lighthouse is a thirty minute walk to town hall, and I sit there all day, and come back here to sleep. I've been doing it for two years.
I heard the Lighthouse door open, fear slicing through my skull. I grabbed the knife and huddled against the wall, waiting.
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