Zombies. That was it. The infection had started a few years ago. December 21st, 2012. The infection was spreading. Every being in this god forsaken world was becoming a bloodthirsty monster. It was now 2015. December 21. The anniversary of the earth's downfall.
Dylan sat with his family at the dinner table. His father said nothing, his mother looked cautiously at the window. " Everything will be fine mom." Dylan reassured his mother. " They'll find a cure." But Dylan had no way of knowing this. He stared at his plate and didn't look up. He could see his reflection in the plate. His Normally straight black hair was now messy. He kept thinking of other things he had forgotten as he heard a scraping at the door. His father got the shotgun they kept near the door. Before a shot went off, a dog blasted through the door, reducing it to splinters. It bit Dylan's father instantly and the shotgun's blast only hit the table. Dylan grabbed a steak knife and drove the blade into the dog's back. This only made it mad. Dylan took his father's gun and shot the dog, which fell on the floor. Dylan looked at his father. He was already becoming one of them. Dylan took the knife out of the dog's back and slit his father's throat. He would die normally this way. He looked over to his mother. A bullet from the shotgun shell had hit her chest. Dylan now had no family. But his thoughts ended when the dog sprang up and bit his leg. With a shriek of pain, Dylan fell. He felt fire in his leg. He had no choice. Taking a broken piece of glass, he cut his throat.
Dylan woke up screaming. The painful memory had been recounted in his dreams yet again. He looked at his leg. He had no scars, but he had three years to live. Only three. He used to have six. In 2012, he had six. It was 2015 now. He had a scar on his neck. He hadn't succeeded in suicide. He was only left with no family and a horrible realization that animals could be infected. He was with a group of survivors.
Alyssa, who was sixteen, was driving their F-250 down a dirt road into pretty much deserted wastelands. She had joined the convoy after her zombified brother tried to kill her. Then there was Viktor, who was Russian. He moved to the US in hopes of safety from the infection, but no luck. Lucas, who had chosen to leave home even before his family died, and Molly, her parents died saving her from a hoard of infected citizens. All were around sixteen, had guns, and had knowledge of this apocalypse. Unlike others, who had desperately tried to rebuild their old societies, these teenagers had faced reality.
They knew what was happening was permanent.
