AUTHOR COMMENT: This is the prequel to my new Daryl fic, the main man will be making his debut next chapter.
The stink of rotting flesh may have been my imagination that day, but it isn't now. Humans decayed away like sleazy figments and only some survived but never for very long. They either starved, went crazy or became one of them; thoughtless, uncontrollable monsters that severed everything to shit. I am tired, tired of this daily grind and tired of waiting for my turn to dance with the dead. I'm just so fucking tired.
This isn't that kind of story were I portray like I haven't heard of flesh eating corpses before or that I have to discover by an all-odds-against-me fight that I still manage to win by the last millisecond of luck that you have to shoot the fuckers in the head. No, if you're looking for one of those stories. I encourage you peacefully fuck off because I'm not in the mood for some clueless cunt bagging on my story-telling time. This is the story of a survivor, a natural born survivor. There's only one reason why I haven't died yet and that's stubbornness. I'm too stubborn to let some rotting highballs get in my way of living, too stubborn to kill myself and give the rotters one of their 5-a-day. I'm not likely to take shit from anyone, dead or alive. I remain by myself because, well there's only people like me left or maybe just some lucky bastards held up in a building. It's easier to be alone. The biters can smell you from miles away and the more of you there are, the more likely you'll die.
I'd taken in other survivors before, people who could hold their own. In the end, they couldn't hold it as well as they thought. I've lost some good people. Salt of the earth people, folks who stuck their necks out for me and I did the same. However, time caught up with us. Eventually, people die. It's nature's way and it's better them than me.
When it broke out, I was aimlessly drifting through life; doing odd jobs here and there in my town that intended nothing but bill-paying. I had a small group of people I would occasionally socialize with, for the most part; I stayed by myself. Nothing much has changed with the exception of more dead people. I didn't have a boyfriend, actually I can't remember the last time I had a boyfriend. There was a boy in middle school who wanted to pay me fifty dollars if I gave him a pair of my underwear and let him tell his little friends we hooked up. He's probably dead now.
The day before the new reports began, I had an appointment at the neighborhood doctors for an injection for something so insignificant I can't remember but I do remember the people. Elderly who look frightened and pallid as well as kids who clung secure to their parent's side picking at their fresh yawning formed wounds. There was rumors before of a cult who pasteurized in cannibalism, attacking strangers on the street, trying to devour them. After a while it wasn't rumors, it was true but it wasn't some Satan-based cult. The whole world was a science experiment that went thoroughly wrong. I recall the doctor smiling disturbingly and his face cooling when I hadn't displayed him a bite, when his steady hands motioned the needle to my arm; I had caught a waft of undead skin. The doctor didn't notice so I wrote it off, but the smell lingered with me until I fell asleep that night.
The next day I woke up to the sounds of squealing, sirens and helicopters. I watched the broadcasts and saw people eating...people. I'd seen numerous movies to know what was happening. I'm a lot of things but naive isn't one of them. I knew something like this wouldn't blow over, I secured my place and waited until the chaos calmed down and then made my escape. I fled to the country, where the population was slim and that was just the beginning of my tale.
Now, it's been almost a year and I think I've just found a new survivor.