I stared. Chest heaving, lungs ragged, it couldn't be true. I wanted to pass out, but not from the fatigue that had begun to weigh upon my travels, but from the relieving sight of other survivors. Lack of human interaction was beginning to wear down on me in unthinkable ways. Ways that burn away the humanity left beneath my fragile Surface.

My social needs have been denied long enough, I thought angrily. I almost hoped that the people might find me and take me in...if not kill me first. People were once what I lived for when it first started; being the hero was what brought my fearful mind peace at the end of the day. Fighting for others brought me solace for the longest time. But everyone dies. Survival almost seems pointless without someone else to live for, almost...I learned the day I was born that being alone was better than suffering at the hand of others, yet here I am. Here I am silently pleading for some weak group of strangers to take me in. Being alone was always better, had anything changed for me? Had anything changed at all?

"It still is better!" I growled. I couldn't be stupid enough to put my life on the line for another person, much less a group of them. The more dead weight the worse, I concluded bitterly. I wasn't about to throw it all away for the weak and he dying. Every man for them self.

A little reluctantly, I turned away from the smiling children and the laughing women. Hisses filled my ears as I trudged away. I stepped away from their camp and listened to their gleeful fun fade into screams of pain as they were devoured by the undead. As they were torn apart I scaled the branches of the closest tree and listened to the death of the innocent. I listened motionlessly as a few survivors scrambled by my perch. Watching them go I knew what remained couldn't be good. I listened as the silence was restored. Screaming fading meant nothing worse than no one remained alive. I listened as the dead began to walk as their second kind of life began. I was too late to help them if I wanted to.

My fault, this is all my fault, I thought somberly. I could have helped them but instead I turned away because if the past that threatens to smother me. I turned away in order to preserve the lone wolf image I have grown into. Because of my selfish actions, more have died. I could have helped. I could have saved some of them...I could have saved them...could I have?

I refused to think about what I could have done any longer. Carefully I slid down from my hide away. It's all over, I thought forcing myself towards the ruins of the camp. I can't save them now, i reminded my less merciless side. I can only use their weakness to save myself. I can scavenge their mistakes to prevent my own.

My feet felt heavy as I circled around each tent gathering anything that seemed useful in the future. Knives and ammo. Canned foods, bottled water, this camp was well stocked before it went down. I crammed as much as my camping bag would hold onto my back yet so much remained. Greedily I began filling more bags full of food and supplies even though I would never be able to car it all myself without a car.

"A car!" I exclaimed feeling dumb for not having a vehicle of my own; to my relief a large ford sat beside the furthest tent, awaiting my use. I smirked, a truck of that size could do so much. Eagerly I dragged a few of the bags towards the motionless car. Everything was beginning to look up for me. Nothing would keep me from these supplies. Hurrying between the tents and the bed of the truck I loaded the vehicle as full as I could the manage. Slamming the bed shut I ran around and threw open the drivers side door. I stared in horror.

I choked back a scream as I edged around the front seat to the side of the mangled carcass of a small child. It's face had been horribly disfigured by the hands of the undead. Its eyes had been torn from within its skull leaving the gory residue in the two sockets. Black blood leaked from the two holes onto the leather seats of the back seat. A pink bow laid beside her bloody visage indicating that her long bloodstained locks had been pull away from her face before the attack had taken place. My heart lurched at the sight of her intestines entangling her torso and the remains of her once pink overalls. The sight sickened me. The apocalypse was no place for a child, yet thousands were milling around with their insides hanging out of them as they searched for the flesh they craved. I imagine the girl laying before me stumbling around in search of food as she rotted away. The image sent shudders up my spine.

"It's okay sweety, it won't be like that for you," I murmured to the reddened body. As crazy as it seemed I almost expected the girl to nod at me if not respond, but I knew my imagination was wildly impaired from a life of surviving alone. Anger filled me at the reminder. Because of my screwed up life, this little girl had died before she even lived her life. Because of me, I looked around at the bodies...because of me.

Unsheathing the Bowie knife I dug it into the skull of the torn child. With a twist for good measure I retrieved my weapon and gingerly pulled the child into my arms. Blood ran down my arms as I carefully maneuvered my way out into the midst of the night. With a sad smile I laid the child's corpse down beside another disfigured body. As a precaution I stabbed the second corpse in the head to prevent the child any more disfigurement.

"Goodbye," I muttered softly. Turning quietly I almost fell to the ground in fear. The pleading eyes of another living person greeted me as I aimed the barrel of my Glock 18 right between his eyes.

"Jesus Christ girly, put that down!" He hissed in a husky redneck drawl. I ignored his command and shoved the piece harder against his head,

"Shut the fuck up," I commanded. the man smiled a bit and murmured,

"sure sweetheart, sure."