"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage."
― Lucius Annaeus Seneca
Two households, both alike in dignity
(In fair Verona, where we lay our scene),
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life,
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-marked love
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, naught could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage-
The which, if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
Romeo and Juliet. The only book I carry with me on this forsaken journey to survive the unsurvivable. To pursue the unpursuable. To live in the most unlivable. To care for one other person after the world ends. This is where my story starts, a long road to nothingness, after the world has ended and very few people that walk are alive. This is when most people stop trying to live, but I haven't stopped, because I have hope. I have hope that somewhere out there, there is a cure.
My story starts with, well, me. Avery Walsh, age twenty-seven. Dark brown hair that falls to the small of my back. Dark brown eyes that have lost the twinkle that my brother teased me about as children. Pale white skin that is only just slightly tan from being born in King County, Georgia. Average height, five-feet seven-inches. Skinny, mostly from the fact that the person I'm traveling with and I don't even have enough food to go around the both of us.
This friend, her name is Cyanne Henson. You could say best friends since we first started talking, high-school, freshmen year. She has lighter brown hair, a little bit longer then her shoulders. Pretty greenish-blue eyes and white skin, but tanner then mine. We went to the same college. Berkeley College, New York City, New York. That's where this whole thing started, the end of the world mentioned earlier. Cyanne and I, we've been on the run ever since New York got run over with, dare I say it, zombies. It may not be believed by the reader, but I can assure you, this is the truth. Now, we don't call them zombies. We call them Jerry's. It just makes it sound so much less intimidating.
Besides the lovely zombie invasion, we left "The Big Apple" to find my brother, Shane Walsh. Just about the only man I've ever known to hold off a full sized angry, hungry pit bull and give me a cup of pudding... at the age of twelve. He was the sheriff's deputy, last I saw him. Same with his childhood best friend, Rick Grimes, one of the many men I had had a crush on in my younger days. I got over that as soon as I met Lori, his fiancé that had had kept quiet about until four weeks before the wedding. No hard feelings for Lori, though. She became a great friend of mine. And then they had their son, Carl, one of the cutest boys on this godforsaken planet.
I have kept up hope that they are alive, and that's why we're going to Atlanta. Cyanne and I have heard it's a safe haven, the last. If anywhere my brother would go, it would be to a safe place. Those are just rumors, but it's the only thing we have left. The CDC in Atlanta. Hopefully, there will be people there who will help us and keep us safe. That's our hope. If that doesn't work out, well then hell, we might as well shoot ourselves on the spot.
On with the story. At the time, I am walking ahead, in the dark, around two in the morning... during a zombie apocalypse... scouting out for any cars that we could use, considering that no one else is going to miss them. We just ran out of fuel in our last car, and we need another one. It's easier then finding gas at a gas station. I can feel my scabbard tapping slightly against my leg, with a slight clang from the sword it's carrying. It hangs on tightly to my hip, looped in with my belt. My hand brushes against hilt of my sword while I hold on tightly with my right to a pistol.
Finally, something I'm looking for. A pickup, Ford F-250, to be exact. Trucks are always the best, being able to go over rough terrain, carrying lots of items, and I love anything to do with pickup trucks. It's black, which is always good if you don't want to get noticed, and we definitely don't. I walk around the truck, checking for jerry's. I try the door handle, opening it easily. The key is still in the ignition. Whoever had this left in a hurry.
I sit in the seat and turn the key. The engine stalls but after a few times it roars to life. I turn it off almost immediately. I get out quickly and close the door, no longer caring about being loud. The truck is louder then I thought it was going to be. I sprint, as fast as I can, going in the direction of where Cyanne was left. I can see her running towards me, her hair tied up in a messy bun on the top of her head. The pistol in her hand swinging at her side. The machete tied to her hip swinging. She greets me with an out of breath nod and we run, fast, towards the truck. No jerry's yet.
Something moaning pops out from the underbrush that lines either side of the highway. I seem to have spoken to soon. In a flash of silver, blood splatters and half a skull lands in front of me. We don't stop, I just nimbly hop over the skull half and run even faster, if possible, towards the truck. It just can't seem to come any closer, but thankfully, I reach forward, my hand no longer groping for open air. I never thought I could feel so much joy over feeling the touch of cold metal against my skin. I fling the car door open and shove myself against the seat, slamming the door just as quickly as it opened. Seconds later, I see Cyanne open the door and close it even quicker then myself. She screams at me to turn the truck on. I swiftly move my hand to the key and turn it, the purr of the engine making all my nerves melt away.
Almost all of my nerves. I can hear heavy hands hitting against the back of the truck. I take the truck out of "park" and I shove my foot onto the gas petal. The squeal of the tires tells me that's I'm going fast. There are slams and bumps as some Jerry's hit the sides and front of our speeding pickup truck. Our bodies are jostled side-to-side as I swerve, still speeding.
"M'kay," Cyanne laughs, slightly hysterically, "I think we're in the clear." She claps a hand on my arm and I let out a shout of pure excitement.
"Yes," I scream, "Cyanne, we're still damn alive!" I laugh and drive down the now empty highway.
18 HOURS LATER
We find our way into the edge of Georgia, and we come into sights with the CDC. A giant of a building, but it has an eerie feeling to it. The empty tanks and bodies all over the ground may have something to do with that.
I step out of the car, sword in hand, ready to kill anything that moans and walks on two legs... or... that could be taken the wrong way. Moving on! Cyanne steps out behind me with her over sized machete held at head height. We move forward cautiously.
There is some sort of shouting coming from the building, followed by banging. If I'm not mistaken, it's a group of people. A group of stupid-ass people at that. They're attracting more Jerry's then I can count, all coming towards us. I sheath my sword and pull out my pistol.
Out of nowhere, I can see a light pop out from the building. Someone on the inside opened the door. I am in shock for a moment. Then I hear a moaning and ungodly snarl come from behind me. I don't think. I can't pull, the trigger, so I slam my fist into the rotting face of a Jerry. My hand becomes covered in blood and cracked bones. The Jerry falls to the ground and I slam the heel of my boot into the same indent that my fist made, completing the deal.
"Run," I shout at Cyanne. I turn to look at her, but she's already on her way. I run after her, going fast, faster then what most people would call humanly, but you'd be surprised what a human being can do when their lives are on the line.
"Hold up," I can hear Cyanne scream, waving her arms in the air, machete swinging wildly, "C'mon! Don't close it yet!" Maybe the people turn around, maybe they don't. I can't tell if they hear us or not. The doors don't close. I finally am able to stop jumping over dead bodies, and I hit solid pavement. Cyanne right in front of me. We pass through the doors and I bump into something solid. I look up to see that familiar face and stupid "22" necklace.
"Shane?"
Hey, so, I really hope you like this first chapter. I just needed to set up the two main characters. It's kind of fun writing this, to be honest. Now, in every chapter, there's going to be a quote in the beginning. Also, I've got this thing with using Polyvore, this awesome website. So, with that, Cyanne and Avery's outfits for... basically the whole season, are on my profile. I hope that you review this story, as that is always appreciated. Warning you before hand, these updates are going to be irregular. Maybe two on the same day, and then I won't write anything for a month. It just depends on my schedule. Can't wait to here what you think!