It took me ages to find my purple bag. I had left it in the changing room, hanging with the clothes I didn't take with me.

I pulled the bag open and shuffled through its contents. Everything was in there. I sighed with relief and took a seat on the chair in the room.

As I rested, a shadow passed under the door. I froze and my breath got caught in my throat. I slowly gripped the gun in my pocket and pulled it out.

The door made a small creek as I opened it. Bloody footsteps made a trail where that thing had passed through the walkway. I followed the footsteps, careful not to touch anything. When I made it past the corner, I saw what passed my door.

It was a human with torn, bloody clothing. She turned to face me. Her face and hair was coated in layers of blood, and she had no right hand. "Please," she reached out with her stub. "help me, it bit my hand off. Help me. Please!"

I backed away. That was how the infection first started, right? Biting someone. She was one of them. Or was going to be one of them.

I raised my gun deliberately and pointed it at her head. My hands began to shake uncontrollably. My fingers laid themselves on the trigger.

"Please, no!" Her voice began to be hoarse, and droll dripped from her bottom lip.

Her mouth began to leak a pool of blood. "Oh my God!" I exclaimed.

I shot my gun. The bullet must have hit her in the head, because she gurgled, and fell on to the floor.

I dropped the gun on to the carpet that was now a pure red and I ran.

Ran and left everything that was mine in the store.

Ran to get back home.

To leave this place.

We were no longer safe.

I was out of breath when I got to the doorstep.

"William!" I screamed.

I dropped on the floor in to the fetal position.

Of course, why did I think it was safe? I should have known someone would be residing here other than us.

Dry sobs came from me, and I shook with each cry. "William?" I called through the house. Didn't he hear me scream?

I crawled to the foot of the stairs. My body shook yet refused to cry. All I could do was moan.

Did I really kill that woman? Or was she technically already dead? Had I murdered her? Even if I really did, didn't I have a right to? I was protecting my life. I had to in order to survive. I should of.

Right?

I pulled myself up with the railing, and took each step gradually.

When I finally made it down the hallway, I opened the door.

Blood covered the bed. The blanket hung from the edge of the bed.

In the corner was a zombie. It was feeding off of Will's corpse.

I watched it's head bow down in to Will's open stomach. It's tongue licked the blood from his skin.

I clutched my stomach and hurled. My hair got wet with all the tears and my clothes was covered from the splatter of the puke as it hit the floor.

I glanced up, wiping my mouth. The Hunter was staring at me, it's mouth leaking blood.

I pressed my back up against the wall. I didn't reach for a weapon. I stared back at it.

A moment of silence passed us. I sat up from the wall. "Murderer." I whispered. "He's dead!" I yelled. "Damn you, you sick bastard!" The zombie cocked back, looking at me in surprise. Small tears dripped from my chin.

I remember all the times I had spent with Will. I remembered his laugh, that concerned look on his face. His sarcasm. However it was his touch I craved. It somehow made me feel safe.

Sadness took over.

I couldn't go on.

The only reason I had that bit of saneness and humanity I once had was because I had a companion. I had someone to fall back on.

And I lost that. And I couldn't continue on, even if someone was going to save me tomorrow.

So I slumped back on to the wall.

I let the Hunter pounce at me.

I let him bite in to my skin, and I let the blood flow on to the carpet.

I let myself scream my lungs out, and I let myself welcome the new light.

Hell, I even reached for it.