Just cross-posting this from ao3 (where I'm strawberryqueen) since there seems to be more Stand stuff on this site. Warnings for descriptions of death and illness (and a mention of abusive relationships) that go part and parcel with this book. I'm totally new to this site, so advice would be appreciated if you have any!

Dayna Jurgens was tough, and she knew it. She had survived an abusive father. She had survived an even worse boyfriend, and when that same boyfriend had pulled a gun on her after she told him she was a lesbian (and a libber, which might have been worse!) she'd been able to easily disarm him. She survived - and thrived, finally, despite not having the easiest time as a young queer woman. And more recently she had survived the apocalypse. But she didn't know how she'd survive this.

Just this morning she had watched the two men she'd been travelling with have their heads blown in and for the first time in a long time she'd felt powerless -

That's not true you felt powerless watching her cough up her own blood

...

"Today I had the smallest number of kids at gym in my whole career"

"Don't worry about that, babe, it's flu season and it's coming down hard on everyone - even I have it."

"Hey now that looks bad! You know what you are going to bed right now - shut UP - and I will take care of you - SERIOUSLY!"

...

When you'd screamed into the phone that your girlfriend was DYING and the lady at the emergency room had just said "everyone is, son" when your voice was so hoarse from crying that you couldn't even choke out the words to send her off once you admitted to yourself she was really gone. There was no Dayna-and-Rosie just Dayna Jurgens once again. Alone like you hadn't been since the day you came out to your family except Dayna seemed to be the only one left in the whole city of Xenia, Ohio and I guess, honey, you better git up stand up and do something about your sorry ass, in the words of that long ago roomie from college.

So Dayna had got up, stood up, buried her 3 day dead girlfriend, gathered some meagre possessions and got out on the road.

She rode away from their (only her's now - was it even her's any more?) house on the outskirts of town, her only consolation the familiar feel of a motorbike between her legs, the pack on her back weighing her down not nearly as much as the memory of closing her girlfriend's eyes for the last time. She stopped to vomit for the fourth time that day, noticing only after that the stopped car behind her contained four dead bodies.

She could do this, she could keep going. If she was anything, Dayna was a survivor. Since she'd wrenched the gun from Joe's hands, since she'd left Georgia and everything she knew to hitch up to Ohio with the love of her life after college, she'd made do with what she had and fought for what she believed in the whole time. Rosie used to joke that if Dayna ever met the devil she'd run straight at him and go for the jugular, but in those weeks after the plague she hadn't felt so brave. And now . . . it was like every worst nightmare (before the plague; these new ones were, well, they were different) she'd ever had was crushing down on her. How was she supposed to get out of this?

Thank you for reading! Reviews would be appreciated.