This is a story I started writing a few years ago and since I'm taking some time before beginning the second book of my chronicles I decided to publish this story in the meantime.

I hope it will be an enjoyable read and that you will take the time to write a small review on your way out! ;)

People say you learn a new thing every day – well I think they say that and if they don't, fuck it. I certainly learn new things every day. Or every few days anyway. For instance, I learnt yesterday that yellow was definitely not my colour after spending the day staring at the wall of the house I was currently in. Today I am learning that lying on your back on the remnants of a mattress while waiting for the inevitable is boring as all hells.

At first, having the mattress was exciting. When all you've ever known is a world full of walking dead putrid ex-humans – or zombies if you'd prefer – a mattress is a real luxury. I can't remember when the last time I slept on one was. It must have been years ago. So anyway, yeah, imagine my delight when I realized the ruin I'd entered was furnished with a mattress. Sure, it's pretty battered, kind of old and really thin, but hey, it's better than the floor.

But even the presence of a mattress between my back and the floor can't excite me enough to make me forget about the hours passing.

I lift my arm and look at the deep bite mark there. I cleaned it but didn't bandaged it. My thoughts at the time were that there wasn't much point wasting bandages on a dead man. Understand that when I did that, three days ago, I believed I would be transforming into a flesh-eating monster. I kept my gun at the ready, so that I could shoot myself before I started turning. However, like I said, that was three days ago.

From having seen it first hand, I know the turning is faster than that. I've seen people turning almost as soon as they were bitten. Some take a few hours. Some last as late as two days after the bite before turning, but never more than that.

Except, I've been lying on this fucking mattress for three days and there has been no changes at all. Not even the slightest urge to dismember someone. Just a dry throat and a grumbling stomach.

I sigh heavily and sit up.

If this is how it's going to play out, there's no point in me just staying there and wait for something that might never come. I guess I should consider myself lucky and get on with my life, or survival depending on how you view it.

With that in mind, I get to my feet and stretch, yawning widely. Feeling much better, I cross the few meters separating me from my messenger bag. I picked it up in a supermarket in one of the ghost towns I passed through. I've had it for three years now and it contains all my possessions.

I take out a roll of bandages and wrap it expertly around my wounded arm. That will do the trick for now. I drink a bit of water and open a can of food. Once I'm satiated, I decide it's time to move out. One of the first rules of survival in this post-apocalyptic world, is to never stay in the same place for too long. And according to this rule I've already stayed too long in here, it's high time to hit the road.

I pick my leather chest piece and put it over my shirt. It covers my chest and the top part of my back as well as my shoulders. This type of protection became really common after the zombie outbreak, ten years ago. For me, it has always been an inherent part of my life, as I was only five when the world went mad.

The chest piece isn't only for protection. I have three knives strapped on mine, which I can quickly take hold of if necessary. On the left shoulder are pockets for ammunition and both shoulders have metal rings attached to them, which can be used to pass a rope through, if I ever feel like going climbing.

Having checked my knives were all there and ready to be pulled out, I pick my pouch which has other survival-friendly items in it and attach it to my belt. I put my gun in the holder hanging from the other side of said belt and swing my bag over my shoulder.

I glance around, checking that I'm not about to leave anything behind. I stare briefly at the mattress.

Good bye my friend, I tell it jokingly in my mind, you will forever be in my heart.

The sunlight hits my eyes as soon as I leave the house. I groan slightly, lifting a hand to protect my eyes from the bright light. That's what I get for having blue eyes. Well, strictly speaking, they are sort of halfway between blue and green. But anyway, the point is: light colour. At least I tan easily. It would've been hell for someone who spends his life on the road to have a skin that burns at the first ray of sunshine.

Feeling slightly comforted by that thought I leave my home of three days. For good.

I don't have any specific rules about destinations but it's rare for me to go back to the same places. The main reason for that is that I mostly travel by foot and you don't get very far by walking. So I mostly travel from one ghost town to another, avoiding the cities in which the remnants of humanity is holed up.

Back when the first outbreak happened, authorities barricaded some cities and let all the non-infected people inside. Well almost all. There had been those who had been deemed unsafe and left to survive outside. Like me.

The sound of gunshots snaps me out of my reverie. I tense immediately and run in the direction of the noise, as quickly and silently as I can. I plaster myself against a wall when I get close enough. My eyes widen as I catch sight of the swarm of Walkers slowly making their way towards me. Well not exactly towards me, but rather towards a rather short male with a black undercut who's busy shooting at a pair of Walkers who are a bit too close to him for comfort.

I swear internally. Well, isn't that just fucking perfect?! That will teach me to break survival rule number 1.

I bite my lower lip as I try to decide what I should do. The guy is a good fighter but he won't get very far against a swarm. I myself, had taken on packs of five or six zombies on my own before, but swarms were another matter entirely. Forget five or six, you had them by the dozen and no matter how good you were, the only thing to do was to run for your life.

Except that guy can't run because the way is blocked. I see a Walker launch himself at the man and narrowly miss him. Next second, the Walker is sent flying by a powerful kick. The dark haired man doesn't have time to rejoice though as three other Walkers approach him.

All my hesitations vanish in that moment.

I take out my gun and shoot in the melee. I'm a damn good shot if I say so myself so I'm not too worried about hitting the guy. Anyone who plays the survival game has to live with the eventuality of taking a stray bullet anyway.

"Get over here!" I yell, still shooting at the Walkers.

Sharp silver eyes meet mine and a second later he is racing towards me. I fire my last bullet and start running too, the man hot on my heels.

The good thing about Walkers is that they are really slow, so running is usually quite effective. Problem is, they don't give up easily, so we're going to have to get out of here and quick. Which isn't going to be easy.

"I don't suppose you have a car?" I call over my shoulder as I race through empty streets. "Oh fuck."

I stop abruptly and grab his arm, quickly leading him away from the two Walkers barring the street. We run in back streets for a few minutes before taking a break in an alley which will give us cover for a few minutes.

"We can't keep running like that." I say, clicking my tongue as my eyes dart around, constantly checking for any sign of an undead.

"If you've got a better fucking idea, don't hold back." growls the man with irritation as he hastily recharges his gun.

Hearing his voice, lower than I expected, somehow surprises me into looking properly at him. He is short. As in really short. I mean I'm not that tall either, but he's something else. He can't be taller than six foot three or so. His skin is fairly white and it contrasts sharply with his silky black hair. His eyes are light grey, almost silver, and seem designed to glare at people. Despite his obvious irritation, his expression remains completely blank.

My eyes travel over his body – a nice body I note absently – and I realize that this guy has to come from the cities. Not only are his clothes spotless (well they look spotless next to mine), he's equipped with a chest piece – unlike mine it stretches above his chest but doesn't cover it. What really catches my attention though are the wrist protectors he is wearing. They're half leather half clothe and cover his wrist and the top of his hands. I have seen people with those before. It seems to be an essential part of the outfit for citizens. I've been wanting some for years, but have never managed to get my hands on some. Obviously they are post-outbreak items which means they are only sold in cities and seeing as I can't even go near those without risking my life…

"Will you fucking listen?!"

The man's snappish tone makes me look up at him sheepishly.

"Sorry." I say humbly, trying not to let my eyes wander towards his hands.

"I was saying, I got a couple of rifles stashed near here." says the man in a bossy tone. "If we can grab those, we can probably try our luck against the swarm."

I glance at him appreciatively.

"Bit suicidal there." I say with a grin. "I like that."

He meets my eyes with a slight frown as if he's not sure what to make of that.

"So where are the toys?" I enquire.

He tears his gaze away from me and motions for me to follow him, which I do. We check our surroundings carefully before rushing out of the alley and running towards what must have been a warehouse.

"So you do have a car!" I exclaim as I stop in front of the army jeep parked inside the building.

"Yeah. Needs fixing though. Which I can't do with all those fuckers around." mutters the man, making his way to the back of the vehicle.

I take my time to check out the car as he rummages through whatever he has stored behind the seats.

"So…You have a name?" I ask at last.

"Levi." he says, before throwing a rifle in my hands. "You?"

"Eren." I answer as I test the gun with a happy grin. "Pleasure to meet you."

I doesn't take long for us to make our way back to the front of the swarm after that, especially considering they have advanced quite a bit since we left them behind. We stop shortly to evaluate the situation before rushing in.

I notice silver eyes examining me from the corner of my eye, and turn to face Levi.

"What?" I ask.

"You look like a brat, how old are you?" asks the man bluntly.

I snort.

"You look like a brat too and you don't hear me commenting." I say, turning back to the swarm and readying my gun. "But to answer your question, I'm fifteen."

"Well fuck." he comments dully.

I find myself laughing as I run out of cover and start firing at everything that moves. Maybe this will prove to be a good day after all.

"Not bad for a kid." comments Levi much later, once all that is left of the swarm are putrid bodies splayed on the ground.

"Hey don't underestimate a suvvie!" I exclaim trying to sound offended and failing miserably.

'Suvvie' is the name given to those who were under seven years old at the time of the outbreak. Back when the infection started, people were quick to realize that children younger than seven years old tended to be infected way quicker than others. Nobody knew why. I mean, we don't even know what caused the outbreak in the first place. At any rate, all kids under seven suddenly became public enemy number one. Those who were in 'clean' neighbourhoods – that's to say neighbourhoods where no zombies appeared – were fine, but others like me who were at the heart of the outbreak were automatically considered infected. As a result we were banned from the barricades and thrown into Hell. Even now, we're still considered dangerous and kept out of cities. For those of us who survived throughout the years, they invented the shortened, and supposedly cuter, version of 'survivors': suvvies.

I scan the corpses trying to see if any of them had some interesting loot. They usually don't but sometimes you get lucky. Today wasn't a lucky day apparently, so I make my way back to Levi.

It's at that moment I realize he has been staring at me.

"What?" I ask starting to feel self-conscious under his piercing gaze.

He seems to realize what he's been doing and averts my gaze.

"Nothing." he mutters turning away.

"It's not nothing, you were staring at me like you'd just seen a ghost." I protest, falling in step behind him.

"I just didn't expect you to be an actual suvvie." he says.

"Uh? Why not? Or rather, you know a lot of other fifteen-year old who'd be touring the zombie-infested country?"

He glares at me over his shoulder.

"Fuck off." he snaps. "I've never met or even heard of a living suvvie before. You were thought to be all dead three years ago."

My jaw goes slack.

"Say what?"

I know I must look like a fish, eyes wide, gaping and all. But I feel entitled too. I mean, it's not every day you learn that you might just be the last of your kind. Because let's face it, I've never had any means of knowing how many suvvies had actually made it. I rarely meet any myself. I passed by a few in my younger days but that's it.

"So you're saying I'm an endangered species?" I say, my voice becoming dangerously high-pitched.

I hear a soft snort, which for some reason makes me calm down a bit.

"Yeah pretty much."

I mull over the thought of being one of the last suvvies as we make our way back to the warehouse. It feels strange to come to the realization that I might be the only one left out there. On the other hand, I suppose it should have been expected. Citizens are known to shoot us on sight if we wonder to close to the barricades. That's why I usually steer clear of cities. Sure, I don't have 'suvvie' written on my forehead, but there aren't that many fifteen-year old who travel on their own these days. Obviously it has been worse before. It's a little too much to ask of people to believe you aren't a suvvie when you're ten, alone, outside and armed.

Yeah, it has definitely been worse.

I sigh as I approach the car, which Levi is already working on.

"So where are you going once that beauty's fixed?" I enquire.

"Mitras."

"Mitras? That's like the end of the world!"

I'm exaggerating of course. But in a country as big as this one, distances are a bitch, especially if you're used to hiking. Of course, if you add a car to the mix it's another story.

"How long is that going to take?" I ask trying to keep the conversation going.

I'm usually one for senseless talk, but silence with Levi around is unsettling for some reason.

"Ages."

"Uh?" I utter surprised. "Even though you have a car?"

Levi straightens and sighs heavily.

"Yeah well, having a car is nice and all, but it's fucking useless when you run out of fucking petrol."

My eyes widen in understanding.

"How long until you run dry?"

"Probably till the next ghost town. Not much more." he grunts. "Now shut the fuck up and let me work."

Charming. Why do I even bother with this guy? Oh, right, he has a car! – yes I'm a sucker for vehicles, got a problem with that?

Although the vehicle in question won't last for long apparently, but still, a car is a car and I haven't been in one in years. Last thing I came by was a motorbike. It was six months ago. I was able to use it for about two days before I ran out of gas. It was hella cool while it lasted and I regretted having to leave it behind but as Levi had so eloquently put it: "it's fucking useless when you run out of fucking petrol".

After watching Levi work in silence for about thirty seconds, I decide I've got better things to do. I walk out of the warehouse and choose a nice sunny spot not too far away. I sit down and rummage inside my bag. I fish out an old map which dates back to before the outbreak and unfold it, spreading it out on the ground in front of me. I pinpoint my current location rather quickly, being used to the ritual. I haven't gone very far since the last time I checked the map.

I was in a place called Merrymound which looked anything but merry and I am now in Snowlake City which has neither snow nor lake. Makes you wonder what drugs they'd been on when naming the damn places. Anyway, the two towns are only separated by about 200 miles, which amounts to a three and a half day trip. It's a short trip compared to others. Usually I'm lucky if I manage to clear the distance between two ghost towns in a week.

I let my finger trail upwards until it reaches the name Mitras. Levi said his car could last until the next town which means we would have to go on foot from there. That means a solid month of walking, without counting supply runs and breaks. Counting large, it would take anywhere between two and two and a half months. Unless of course we manage to get our hands on another ride, but I wouldn't count on that. If I decide to go with Levi I'll be in for the long haul. Not that I have anything better to do of course. Plus Mitras isn't so far from Stohess and Stohess has a nice settlement outside the walls of the city. I can spend some time there, as long as no one takes too much interest in me and my suvvie status.

When Levi leaves the warehouse, having visibly finished the repairs, my decision is made.