Driving his cop car along a dirt track, Stefan Salvatore scrubbed an exhausted hand through his unruly hair; he had been driving for 12 hours straight, stopping only to relieve himself. He was alone and desperate. His left ankle was swollen and throbbing, the Tylenol he had taken hours ago having well and truly worn off. He thanked God that the car was an automatic. All of a sudden, a deer ran out in front of the car. His sluggish reflexes, dulled by fatigue, stopped him from hitting the animal, but the car careened out of control and piled into a tree. As the bonnet buckled, Stefan was thrown forward, halted by the seat belt that his law-abiding self had prudently fastened. Old habits die hard even in this brave new world.
He flopped back in the car seat, hands gripping the steering wheel and the hot tears started to fall. He wept for himself, for his friends and for his partner. He wept for his brother who he hadn't heard from in nearly six months and could be dead for all he knew. In the early weeks of the zombie apocalypse, the South End Boston PD had been at the sharp end of martial law. Each police force was tasked with erecting barricades to keep the human population on lock down and the zombie menace out, while the armed forces tackled hunting down and annihilating the undead. An area with an already high crime rate, there had been an explosion in looting. Stefan and his partner, Kai Parker, had generally let petty crimes slide, but racketeering, well that was something else. When their neighbourhood had been over run, the remaining police had retreated to the station. When the swarm over ran the station, only Stefan and Kai made it out taking with them as much weaponery and ammunition as they could carry. It had been touch and go, but they had escaped.
They had intended to head south on the I93; Stefan's plan had been to find his brother, Damon, a former cop who now worked as a security guard for a private Cape Cod marina. They soon realised that it would be back roads only and heading south at that particular juncture would be an atrocious idea. So, they headed west with no real plan, just survival and the search for somewhere to hole up away from the major conurbations. Twenty-two-year-old Kai had been the rookie that no one had wanted as a partner: he talked too much, laughed at his own jokes and had a reputation as a bit of a maverick. When the chief had summoned Stefan to his office, he had at least had the decency to deliver the news in an apologetic manner. Their partnership had been rocky at first, but that didn't stop Stefan missing the cheeky little shit who had made his life hell and the only thing worth living for in equal measures. The tears continued to roll at his latest loss. For the first time since this whole thing started, he felt helpless; Kai had been the last link to his humanity except for brother and as each day went past, the chances of seeing him again became vanishingly slimmer.
Stefan knew he shouldn't stop, but he had no idea how he could carry on. He hadn't seen a zombie since he and Kai had been attacked four days earlier. Considering the horror, they had already encountered, a group of five zombies should have been a doodle, a walk in the park. He could use the excuse that they were tired, had been taken by surprise, but in reality, it had been a moment of carelessness that had cost Kai his life. Stefan closed his eyes reliving the memories of his final moments - the look on his face as he first realised he had been bitten, his begging Stefan to put him out of his misery, his last words forgiving him for what he was about to do. Putting a bullet through his brain had been the single most horrifying thing that Stefan had done. He was spent, emotionally wrung out. This was it. If he died now, who would care? He lent his head gently against the steering wheel and passed out.
On paper, Caroline Forbes-Saltzman should not have survived a zombie apocalypse. A Princeton graduate in art history, she was usually found at lunch or organising functions for the charities of which she was a patron. She was married to Alaric who was a rising star in the law world and a future political hopeful. Caroline wanted for nothing, a spoilt socialite with a high-maintenance lifestyle. What people didn't know was that her father, Senator William Forbes, had expected his only heir to enjoy the same things as he did - hunting, shooting and fishing - and therefore Caroline had grown up to be an excellent shot who could skin a deer and gut a fish like a redneck. In addition, Bill had had the wit and foresight to know that President Trump's martial law strategy wasn't going to work against an unrelenting army of zombies. Early on, he had urged her to gather supplies and her mother and head up to their cabin in the woods with the promise that he would join her within a week. Her mother had refused to leave their plush home in their wealthy Massachusetts home town, so tearfully Caroline had gone alone.
As the weeks turned into months, Caroline was beginning to go stir crazy sequestered away in the cabin. Sure, she had food and a nearby stream supplied water for drinking and bathing. Solar panels provided her with electricity; there was even a back-up generator, along with a ham radio set up which in the early days had given her hope that others were alive. One by one her fellow radio enthusiasts had fallen silent until hers was the only remaining voice in the wilderness. She knew from the chatter that the entire government had been wiped out, her father likely among them. She doubted her mother had survived. Then there was Alaric who hadn't even sought her, just high-tailed it towards Martha's Vineyard where his family owned a summer house. For all she knew, the Saltzman clan could be sipping champagne on a zombie free island, but she doubted that. For someone whose personality usually shone with positivity, this apocalypse had caused her to doubt an awful lot.
Caroline had always been an early riser, so her morning hunting trips were no big deal. The early bird catches the bunny or deer or whatever. What did shock her was the Boston PD cop car just off the dirt track, wrapped around a tree. Fortunately, it was hidden enough to put off all, but the most persistent zombies. Whoever had driven it here must have been lost, probably disorientated, maybe injured and that could never lead anywhere good. Despite every instinct screaming at her to stay away, she crept silently up to the car and peeked in. A man either asleep, unconscious or dead was sat in the driver's side. She couldn't see his face, obscured by the car's steering wheel, unruly hair curling over his cheek. Gripping her pistol, her father's words echoed in her ears "strong stance, Caroline, relax your shoulders, breathe". She paused, hand on the car door, mentally steadying herself. Her finger squeezed the trigger, cocking the firearm, aiming it at the man's head. One final centring breath and she ripped the door open, prepared for the very worst.