I'm not usually the mushy, overly-romantic type, but for her, I'd be anything. She brought out feelings and capabilities in me I never thought possible. The joy on her face that turned her cheeks bright pink; the sparkle in her bright green eyes that shone as brilliantly as a pair of diamonds, and the compassion in her heart that resonated in just about everything she did, all replenished me of the warmth and care I was deprived of all my life. For her, I would be mushy and overly-romantic, because that's what she deserved. She deserved a fairy tale, and that's what she was going to get.
She was to arrive at Central Park as the sun was setting, with her mother, father, and uncle by her side. Then, after splashing her feet around in the stream a little, she would look to the east, tuck a lock of her curled, sandy blonde hair behind her ear, and see my silhouette in the distance. It would not take long for her to recognize me, but in shock, she would falter. After 2 years of scarce letters, memories, dreams, and countless hidden tears, we would finally see each other again. In a bursting mixture of laughter and tears, she would run with all of her might into my arms, burying her face, now red with emotion, into my chest. There I would hold her tightly, lowering my face to smell her hair once again. How I missed the smell of her strawberry shampoo. My senses will threaten to overwhelm me – the warmth of her skin and the feeling of her fingers clinging to the back of my shirt, the smell of her hair, the sight of her standing in my arms, and the sound of her sobs and laughter ringing in my ears like a songbird – it's almost too much to handle. In the distance I see her family. If all went well, they would be my family in the near future. Her uncle grins from ear-to-ear but takes a moment to admire the other sites around him, never able to attend to one thing for too long. Her mother and father hold one another. Her mother is visibly crying, and based on what I know of him, her father will have a tear in his eye as well. In the perfection of the moment, even though I'd fight them back, I'd feel the warm, salty sting of tears welling up behind my own eyes. After 2 years apart, our life together could finally begin.
That's what should have been happening at this very moment. I try to push the daydream out of my head as I walk down the street, but it keeps replaying itself like a broken record. I have to stay focused. At this point, I don't even know if she is still alive. If she is, maybe she was fortunate enough to be evacuated. Shaking my head, I force that thought out of my mind too. Stay focused.
Raising my pistol up to my shoulder, I turn the corner and am nearly blinded by sun. It's the only beautiful thing in sight. As my eyes adjust, the last of the sun's evening light reveals an avenue of devastation, reaching past the extent of my vision. If not boarded up, then every other window is broken, and even the boards have desperate cries for help scribbled on them. There is not an upright trash can in sight, and the taxi cabs and cars that usually line the streets so neatly are now scattered, making the street more of a maze than anything else. I have to take a deep breath to keep the horrifying site from overwhelming me. Even after the last 2 years, I had yet to see anything quite like this.
For at least one thing, I find myself thankful. There do not appear to be any of them in sight. The infected, from what I heard, were more savage than any foe I ever faced before. If you were bitten, you would die and become one of them, and even if you were not bitten, a mauling from them would leave you wishing death upon yourself. It is peculiar, however, their absence. In the briefing (they really made it brief, too) they made it sound like they had taken over the entire country, yet here I am discovering one of the most populated cities deserted. My brow furrows in suspicion. It's just too quiet. Navigating through the destruction and the maze of taxi cabs, I close in on my destination. My heart rate quickens, but my legs cannot seem to move any faster for fear of what I might find - that she was now one of them, or missing entirely. I wipe the sweat from my brow as the house comes into view. A taxi had crashed into the small tree near the front door, almost blocking it off entirely. By the looks of things, it had been there for a while. Climbing over the taxi and making my way towards the door, I grow very uncertain of how to go about opening it. I cannot draw attention to myself if any of the infected are nearby or worse, inside, so the doorbell is not an option. That would rule out traditional knocking, too. I conclude that the best way would be to just enter in and prepare myself for anything, or at least try to. I reach for the doorknob but am forced to pull back. My heart sinks as my eyes fall upon the condition of the door.
There are scratch marks, deep ones. The knob itself has been knocked out of place but is still somewhat intact. The infected had already been here. I take hold of the knob but cannot bring myself to turn it just yet. Resting my forehead against the red door, it suddenly becomes difficult for me to catch my breath. I force my mouth shut to keep from gasping, but the weight in my chest grows heavier still. What if she's not in there? What if the woman I love is now one of them - a heartless monster - and now I am charged to put a bullet through her? What if she is in there and she's sick or hurt? My heart threatens to beat its way out of my chest soon. Finally, I turn the knob and force my weight against the door. It moves, but just barely. There is a strong resistance coming from the other side. My eyes go wide. Someone barricaded the door! My heart is now racing with adrenaline and hope instead of fear and dread as it was before, and before I can realize it, I am shoving the door over and over again, each time a little more desperately than the last. Then, as my strength begins to falter, the barricade gives enough for me to peer inside. The house is dark. Except for the mound of chairs and corner tables in front of the door, everything seems to be in order, just how I remembered it. After another shove, I am able to maneuver the left side of my body through the doorway, but my right foot gets snagged. My attempt to pull it free is interrupted.
A familiar "POP" suddenly breaks through the near-silence of the home so loudly that my vision blurs for a moment. The wall beside me tears open; shards of hot wood hit my face, one or two of them trapping themselves in my hair.
"Don't shoot!" I plead, throwing my hands over my head in defense.
"I'll be damned." The shooter responds.
I recognize his voice immediately. Uncle Jesse, even in the most serious of situations, always managed to have a comical undertone in his speech, and right now is no different, even though he was just shooting at me a moment ago. I look up and find him scrambling towards the door. With his help, I manage to squeeze the rest of the way through. After closing the door and reinforcing the barricade, Jesse embraces me like the long-lost nephew he never had. Somehow I had forgotten that I was taller than him. He stumbles over his words.
"It's so good to see you." He says. His hold on me is gaining strength.
"You too, Jesse." I reply, attempting to return the favor, though I've never been one to give hugs.
The man is clearly shaken and disturbed. I can only assume that he's had a run-in or two with the infected, but he's alive. That is what matters most. When he pulls back, I take his skinny shoulders into my hands. With all of the seriousness and concern I can muster, the question escapes my lips:
"Where is Emily?"
Jesse smiles and motions behind himself with his head.
"She's upstairs."