Living with Survival: Part two
Chapter one: Smoke trails
Dear Jon
I have saw the pain you have been going through over the loss of your
Family over the past ten days, and I can't bear to see it anymore. Please don't
Follow me as I will be back as soon as I've found out if Tim is dead, I'm going to search that
church for him. Ill return here when I know whether he is dead or not. At least then you can have true closure over your brother. I will be back within a day or two.
I love you.
He kept the letter in his coat pocket. Close to his heart. As if it were some kind of good luck charm. Praying and wishing she was still alive. Even hope began to creep into Jons mind as he silently weaved through the streets of London. It had been a while since he had aloud himself to hope for just about anything. All the while the ominous trail of smoke rose from unknown part of the city. He couldn't take his eyes from it the entire journey.
He had left the safety of an out of town shop, with only a crowbar and a rucksack full of tinned food and water. The car he had started out with was far too loud to navigate the dead streets of London. Noise attracted what was left of the infected, and considering he was now on his own, he felt stealth was his number one option.
It was only until he got closer and closer to that smoke trail that burnt its way into the sky, that he noticed a growing dread in the pit of his stomach. That smoke was close to where he had left his brother Tim only a few weeks earlier. That damned church, last he saw of it, the apparent sanctuary had been ransacked. God knows what happened to the families that were cowering between its pews., Ripped to pieces no doubt, along with Tim.
The burning made him gag. It had been a garage forecourt. Along with a few cars, it was now a smouldering ruin. You could tell the infected attracted by the blaze had come and gone, fresh blood on the pavement from where they had vomited or fell over and smeared their filth on the footpath.
It was only through poking around in the ash did he find it. A small skeleton, about the size of a young woman and a half burnt satchel nearby that once belonged to Liv, these were the remnants of the one he had grown to love.
He wept amongst those ashes; dirt covered his face as he embedded his head in the black dust. "Oh God, Oh God no" Jon sobbed. Jon sobbed and sobbed. Nothing left now. He lost a few hours to grief. Night was coming fast.
He drew a cross in the cinders "Mum"
He drew a cross in the cinders "Dad"
He drew a cross in the cinders "Tim"
He drew a cross in the cinders "Mike"
He drew a cross in the cinders "Liv"
He drew one final cross, that's when he heard them. A couple of hundred feet down the road. Three maybe four of them coming his way fast. His gut wrenched tight. Jon pulled out his crowbar and did what he had never done before. He moved forward instead of back, and instead of running, he charged the infected head on.