For two weeks now, I've been on my own, and from the very start of it he has been following me. In dire times like this, people do often band together - for company, for survival, whatever the case - but this...this is not normal. No part of this could qualify as normal. Infected do not randomly mellow out and tag along with people. People - sane people, did not allow Infected within ten feet of them. Everything about us is positively screwy, but that's how it is now.
Do I trust him? God, no, of course I don't. Once he may have been a decent man, now infected with a virus we do not yet understand and transformed into a deranged monster. A Smoker, as that particular type had been called. However, he is the closest thing I have to an ally these days.
Currently, he is curled up in the corner, on top of a pile of blankets, a ratty old sleeping bag, and the coat he adamantly refuses to return to me. Comfort, I suppose, is a luxury we all seek, in whatever form we can find it. At some point, he must have removed his jacket, as it's lying in a heap on the floor nearby, and he keeps flopping about uncomfortably. Understandably. It's freaking hot in here; the sun set a few hours ago, and still it seems as though the trailer's only purpose us to boil the two of us alive. Beggars can't be choosers, though, and even if it's not the most comfortable place to bed down for the night, it is safe. The red door before me had proven that much. So, we can deal for a while longer.
Besides, it had a bit to offer on its own. Inside, laying forgotten on an old card table, there had been leftover cans of food when I first arrived, plus the pile of blankets my - the Smoker is currently occupying. Having soft things to sleep on is always a plus. Now, I am no pampered little princess, not by any means, but one can only take so much sleeping on plywood, you know?
So, on to the big question: how did I end up traveling with an Infected?
It's a funny story, really. Not 'ha-ha' funny, of course. It's also a long one, now that I think about it. In two weeks, we have been through more than I had been in the other twenty-four years of my life - but before I get to the fun stuff, maybe I should make some introductions. One day, someone is going to find this journal, and wonder who in the hell this crazy woman was.
Not going to lie, I want the credit I deserve.
My name is Rachele Evans. Before the world went to Hell, I was a nursing student, working as a waitress at The Nook, the lonesome little diner on Main Street. Reading this, you obviously can't see me, so...I'll be blunt here. I'm short. I'm fairly plain. The term 'muffin-top' was coined for people like me, simple as that. My brown hair is constantly frizzy, no matter what I do with it - not that that matters now. I've never fired a gun in my life, hate the thought of blood (yes, I was going into the wrong career - that's very clear to me now), and the thought of killing anything makes me sick to my stomach. I'm honestly the last person you want to have along during an apocalypse. Hate to shatter your fantasy of the drop-dead gorgeous blonde heroine who somehow manages to survive the entirety of every zombie movie out there, but you'll just have to deal with it.
On to my companion. He's - honestly, I don't know where to start with him. A big ugly brute, if I'm honest, with his green skin and dangling tongue. I've...oh, I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I've named him. It felt strange to do it, believe me - I mean, this man was once a human being, and I named him like a pet. He doesn't seem to care, nor has he since I started doing it, and I think he's starting to grasp the idea that when I say 'Mick', I'm talking to him.
Yes, Mick. Why, I couldn't tell you - he just struck me as a 'Mick'.
That doesn't really tell you much about him, I realize, but I promise that, by the time you reach the end of this journal, you will know all you need to about him. And, now that that's out of the way, I can get started.
Two weeks ago, I was returning from a family visit in Toronto. Nothing out of the ordinary there, as I tried to make a trip up there as often as possible - and still, I'll remember that day forever. For as long as I live, with my mind still my own, as that was the day I learned exactly what it felt like to be completely and utterly alone.