The morning light seeped in through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, rousing me from a restless sleep. The house I had taken shelter in was eerily quiet, the only sound being the distant moans of the undead. I took a moment to gather my thoughts, the events of the previous day still fresh in my mind. The office, the chaos, the… creatures. I shook my head, trying to dispel the horrific images. I had to focus. I had to get home.
I gathered my belongings, stuffing the meager food supplies into my pink, flower-patterned backpack. I slung the shotgun over my shoulder, the weight of it a grim reminder of the new reality I found myself in. I took one last look around the dilapidated house before moving the cabinet away from the door. The outside world greeted me with a chilling silence, the once bustling suburban neighborhood now a ghost town.
I moved cautiously, keeping to the shadows as I navigated the deserted streets. The sight of abandoned cars and empty houses was a stark contrast to the vibrant community I remembered. Every now and then, I would catch sight of a shambling figure in the distance, a grotesque caricature of the person they once were. I kept my distance, avoiding confrontation whenever possible.
As the day wore on, I found myself growing increasingly weary. The physical exertion, coupled with the constant state of high alert, was taking its toll. I needed to rest, but I knew I couldn’t afford to stop. Not yet. I had to get home. I had to know if my family was safe.
By the time the sun began to set, I was on the outskirts of the city. The familiar sight of my neighborhood was a welcome one, but it did little to ease the knot of dread in my stomach. The streets were deserted, the houses standing silent and empty. I quickened my pace, my heart pounding in my chest as I neared my home.
The house was just as I had left it, the front door slightly ajar. I approached slowly, my shotgun at the ready. I pushed the door open, wincing at the creaking sound it made. The inside of the house was dark, the only light coming from the setting sun outside. I called out, my voice echoing in the empty house. There was no response.
I moved from room to room, my heart sinking with each empty space. The living room, the kitchen, the bedrooms… all empty. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. They were gone. My family was gone.
I sank to the floor, the weight of my loss threatening to crush me. The silence of the house was deafening, each tick of the clock a stark reminder of my solitude. I don’t know how long I sat there, lost in my grief. But eventually, the need to survive overpowered my despair. I couldn’t afford to give up. Not now.
I spent the rest of the night fortifying the house, barricading the doors and windows as best as I could. I knew it wouldn’t hold forever, but it would buy me some time. Time to rest, to plan, to figure out my next move.
As I settled down for the night, I couldn’t help but think about the dream I had the previous night. The dream where I was a dog, struggling to survive in a harsh world. It felt eerily similar to my current situation. But unlike the dog in my dream, I didn’t have a friendly human to take me in. I was on my own.
As I drifted off to sleep, I made a promise to myself. I would survive. I would find my family. And I would not let this new, horrifying world break me. This was just the beginning of my journey. The road home was long and fraught with danger, but I was ready to face whatever came my way.