Running. It is the earliest memory I have - my toddler's waddle quickening as I try to reach my father. I don't remember his face, but I remember the feeling of falling into his arms and knowing that this was home.

I was raised by my mother after my father left us. Raised is a strong word, I think - we more or less supported each other through the travails of daily life. It wouldn't have been half as hard on our own if we hadn't once known what it was like to have more. More possessions, more love, more peace. As with all things, however, life went on, and we moved on with it. My toddler's waddle had developed into a confident stride and a fast yet steady pace, in more ways than one. I had, however, forgotten what home was. It was hard to remember especially after my mother died.

I don't feel sorry for myself. If I am anything after all those experiences, it is a realist. I am aware that my personal losses don't mean anything in the big picture and that all the people who enter your life will also leave it at some point, one way or the other. I don't think of myself as cynical or jaded; I merely believe people are capable of good and bad things, and that I should savour every moment that I am alive and experiencing things. I just make sure I don't end up getting so attached to something that I fall, hard, when it ends. My father's arms are no longer there to catch me.

Life has been a bit of strange one for my generation. We are not so old that we are too mired in the old ways to survive today, but we are also not so young that tinned peaches and repurposed clothes are all we know. Oh, I glossed over that bit, didn't I. I was on my early morning jog when the world ended.

It started like any other day. 5 AM, crawl from bed to kitchen for tea and a banana and manage to feel half alive and awake before pushing myself through the door for my daily jog. Even in freezing winter, I was running. I was no longer running towards or away from anything - my feet rhythmically hitting the road and the little puffs of condensation from my breathing helped keep me sane through a long working day. I was on my usual route and saw the usual one neighbour who also liked running at this godforsaken hour, gave him my usual nod of recognition and went on at my usual pace. The only thing out of the ordinary was a strange woman standing in the middle of the street like she was lost, or perhaps waiting for something.

"Hello?"

I know I'm an antisocial git and overall not-very-genial person but something wasn't right. Perhaps she was just wandering in half-sleep, or had a mental condition and needed to be gotten somewhere. I slowed to a slow walk, like approaching a jittery animal, and tried again.

"Hello? Are you alright?"

Maybe it was the early hour and the utter stillness of the air but I saw her fingers twitch. I was approaching her from behind so I couldn't be sure if she had heard me, but I could hear her rattling breaths from where I was. From where I shouldn't have been able to. I berated every step I took, telling myself this was a bad idea and I should just run, but some strange instinct took over and moved me closer to-

CRUNCH!

I had stepped on some stones. The roads around here had needed a new coat of tar three years back. I grimaced at the thought of the crumbled granules stuck in the grooves of my running shoes and thought there was a metaphor in there somewhere. I looked up to find she was looking at me now.

Everything seemed perfectly normal - her face was stiff as a mask and her eyes curiously blank. Her fingers twitched again. Then she took a deep, rattling breath through her parted lips and suddenly my heart was racing.

I started running back the way I came almost before I fully voiced that thought in my brain. Every time I looked back, there she was, doing a jerky walk/run combination that seemed almost like an invisible puppet master were pulling at some invisible strings. As I turned the corner, I ran into something and prepared to scream when a hand covered my mouth and an arm went around my back. It was Usual Neighbour.

He motioned to me to be quiet as he slowly pushed me behind him. He was holding a thick branch and tensed up in fight-or-flight mode. He ignored my whispered, half-formed what? and readied the makeshift weapon which- oh gods it has blood on it. And some bits I'm pretty sure I don't want to identify. My brain is on overdrive and shut down, simultaneously.

The next few minutes went by in a blur: the strange woman tumbled her way towards us and Usual Neighbour clubbed her with the branch and bashed her brains in. It was a bit too early in the day for something so horrifying, I thought, nauseated. Neighbour looked at me and must have figured I was liable to go into shock, so he grabbed my chin and forced me to look into his eyes.

Usual Neighbour's name turns out to be Mike. Four months hence, I was at Mullins Military Base, listening to Mike tell me he needed my help with a sensitive mission.

A/N: I do not own any of the elements of Zombies, Run! - this is a work of fanfiction purely for non-commercial purposes.

That aside, hello everybody. This is my first attempt at writing Any fanfiction, so all constructive criticism is welcome. If you think it's awful, blame Tumblr for inspiring me to finally write one. I suspect it will wrap up in 3 to 4 chapters, no more. More cinnamon rolls in the next chapters, we swears.