I don't prefer to be on my own. It just works out that way. I've been with a few different survival groups but nothing ever sticks. They all have some sort of personal problem, that causes a lot of outbursts. But then again I don't blame these people for living in the time and age of the beginning of the apocalypse. I'm a quiet person, I don't enjoy conflict, so being with a group of people with post-traumatic stress isn't really my type of scene.
I suppose I should start from the beginning. Hi, my name is Sinclair. I'm now 18 years old. I wouldn't say I can survive without any help, but then again, i'm not exactly searching for a partner to ride with me on this rollercoaster to hell. Even if I do get lonely. It doesn't matter to me anymore. Maybe if I hadn't been alone from the beginning, it might bother me more. But I have been alone. Ever since this thing started roughly 3 years ago.
When the first sign of outbreak started in New York, I was walking home from school. And that's all I really remember. It all happened so fast and somewhere in that blur is the cause of my families death. Mom, step-dad. Two older brothers and one younger half-brother, but still my brother with no doubt. All gone. I don't know if they died while I was gone or if they left me behind when they heard the news.
I didn't live in New York my whole life. When I began eighth grade we moved there. The apocalypse started when I was almost finished with ninth grade. I have more family back in Michigan which is where we moved from. My oldest Brother, Christopher, was in college when we moved and he wanted to finish school there. My dad stayed in Michigan, too. If I could go back to Michigan and try and find them I would. But if I do return, i'm scared of what I might find.
When I was a kid my real father would always take us hunting. I enjoyed shooting. That's how I got so good with a rifle. So much that my father gave me his when I moved. I didn't understand at first because there wasn't anywhere close to us in New York for us to hunt. But later I realized that it was a promise. A promise that I would come back. If not to visit him, then at least to hunt. And I did go back. I'm skilled with more than just a rifle though. I'm also good with a bow. My love for hunting stretched farther than those though. I used anything I could. Including knives. But at the time I was learning to use these weapons, I never thought that one day, I would have to use them on people. Living people. And definitely not the living dead.
At first I wasn't going to leave the city at all. I thought that sooner or later I might just go to sleep and not wake up. But it didn't happen. I stayed inside my apartment. Slowly I started making my way out, because I ran out of food. Started searching the neighboring rooms. Kept myself healthy. But I never left the building. Not until about 3 months later when I finally went down to the main lobby.
I had only killed 2 or 3 zombies. Most people tried leaving the city and just got trapped on the streets. So most undead were outside. But that moment that I saw him. Jacob. My youngest brother. He was only eight years old when all this went down. I hadn't seen him. In my mind I had hoped that he and my family got out alive, even though somewhere inside me knew that that most likely wasn't the case. I saw him standing there facing the wall. Until he heard the ting of the elevator, and turned toward me. Only it wasn't him anymore.
He began to walk toward me until his paced picked up and he ran. That's when I grabbed him by the neck holding him back. I cried and cried as he scratched at my shoulders. I fell to the ground scrambling for my knife inside my belt loop. I finally got it and I stabbed him in the stomach. Over and over. Finally one to the head and he stopped. His lifeless body fell on me. I layed there in shock. Quickly I pushed him off me and scooted over to the wall where I stared at what once was my little brother.
That was the moment that everything changed. I saw more zombies as they turned the corner. I got up and clicked the up button for floor number 7. I walked lifelessly to my room. I grabbed a backpack put as much food as I could carry. I got my rifle from my moms room and slung it around my back. Also the handgun my brother kept in his closet. Put my knife back in my belt loop and said good-bye.
I try not to think of that moment.
Getting out of the city was hard. It wasn't a one day mission this literally took a few months. Some places were so overrun that I had to go back and restart. When I finally got out, I stayed in a small cabin. It had a lot of food but of course this was only the beginning of the apocalypse so not many places had been raided. I stayed there for at least 2 years. It didn't feel like a home though. Its just that it was safe there and it didn't remind me of anyone i used to know. I had taken a few trips back into the city for supplies. I had a few visitors. People of course, sometimes they'd accompanying me on runs, but when things got out of hand I had to do what I had to do to survive. Weather that meant kicking them out or threatening to kill them.
But finally the time came where it was time to move on. To move on from New York completely. So I packed up as much as I could in my bag and headed out. Where to? I had no idea but I did know that sooner or later I would be in the right place at the right time.