I remember it so damn well, my life was at its peak. I was the big shot of Arizona's underground cocaine market. I probably controlled at least 60 of the drugs coming in and out of Phoenix. I had more connections than half the dealers in New York, and I was only a small woman of 22 years standing at about 5'1". I was making so much money that I paid a body guard $500 a day just to guard my ass from jealous street urchins. Now that I look back on it, I laugh. Who would have thought those street urchins would eventually be crawling at my feet; not for cocaine or power, but for my damn flesh?
My current residence is in some old make shift camp on top of a 6,000 foot mountain, but I shouldn't say anything about "residence" because I move every couple of weeks. I can't tell you how many towns we've raided, how many of the undead we have killed. I've kept a journal ever since the first day my life went to shit. I kind of found it my duty to write about my legacy because I'm sure I'm the last person in the world with a photographic memory, like having a good memory in this new would means shit.
It all started on February 14th, yes I know, it was St. buy-my-love-day. I arose at 9:34am, thinking absolutely nothing of it. I walked straight into the kitchen to get myself a drink of Bacardi, yes I know, alcohol for breakfast is disgusting. It was funny how completely oblivious I was to the chaos outside of my large, suburban home while I was getting my early morning buzz on.
I was sitting on my couch about to turn on the TV when my phone began to ring. I begrudgingly got up to answer it.
"You're fucking dead bitch, you better run and hide because I have half of Phoenix's coke dealers on your ass," I rolled my eyes, it was my partner in crime, Lewis. Good thing I learned young not to trust anyone in this business. He didn't know where I lived, so I had about a half hour to get my ass out with the millions I just screwed Lewis over to make.
Just as I walked into my living room I heard a few screams, but thought nothing of it. Back then I was self centered and apathetic. If I saw someone being stabbed I would just laugh, in fact, I stabbed a few people myself. I am not proud of that now that I think of it in my more mature mind, anyway, back to the story.
I knew I had to get out quick, but little did I know there was a bigger threat beginning to take hold. I grabbed as many food supplies I could, I knew I would be living in the desert for awhile until I could assume a new identity. I grabbed a few guns and loaded them into my BMW. After everything was in my car I plunged the keys into my ignition and slammed on the gas and flew out of my garage.
I saw a small puddle of blood in the middle of the street. I felt a shiver creep down my spine, but I just shook it off. I've seen blood many, many times before, but that blood wasn't right.
Everything else seem relatively normal, little did I know something horrible was going to unfold. After about 40 minutes, I had made my way to downtown Phoenix. I stepped out of my car in front of an old, run down house. I knocked on the wooden door and waited a few moments.
"Adriana, what brings a lovely lady like you to a place like this?" A tall man named Phillip said, standing at the door. I always hated Phillip, but he helped me get to where I am today. Even though he lived in a shitty part of town, he was making enough money to own a mansion. Why he chose to stay here was because he had so many goons after him he needed to keep a low profile. The only reason why I chose to come to him is because he's the only person who could help me, he had helped me many times before. Why I hated him? He would only help me if I had sex with him, and I always did, because I really had no other choice. Lucky for me, he wouldn't have a chance to today. That ugly, selfish, brute wouldn't have a chance. That was the only time in my life I actually liked the fact the dead came back to life.
"I need your help, my ex-partner Lewis found out I screwed him over, he gave me about 60 pounds of coke to sell and I didn't exactly give him the money and now he wants to blow my head into bits," I shook as I explained. He wrapped his shoulder around me and grinned as he took me into his abode.
We both sat down, he whispered into my ear a few times that everything would be okay. I grimaced and tried as hard as I could not to punch him in the balls. He slipped his hand into my pants, I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists.
"Can you just get over with it!?" I snapped.
"Do not yell at me, I can do whatever I want you stupid cunt!" He yelled as he back handed me.
"Yes sir," I growled sarcastically as I spit out blood. He grabbed my wrists and put them above my head. Right when he was about to kiss me with that gross, slimy mouth of his, we both looked toward the kitchen as a window shattered. He forced himself up and stomped over to the window. I quietly followed behind him, and to my surprise there was blood and a few chunks of flesh left on the remaining glass. Phil silently tip toed down the hall. I retreated back to his living room. I heard him suddenly scream in terror.