I keep making my way up the road, the sun shining in my face. I've been walking for 3 hours now, and I can still see the city. I'm proud of myself. For finally leaving the place I had called home. My stomach grumbles but I don't eat anything. I just take a small sip of water.

I look to the right on the ground and see a body. It's dead. I'm sure because I see the bullet hole in the forehead. I walk over and take the sunglasses off it's face. As I dust them off, I see my reflection. I don't look the same. Physical features maybe, other than the accumulation of dirt, but my eyes, they're hollow. They're dark. Dead. I may look it but i'm not the same person. I know why, too. It's because I had to kill my own brother. The sweetest and smartest boy in his third grade class. The one who wrote that his favorite thing to listen to was the sound of his big sister singing. I miss him.

I don't know where I am location wise but I know I'm still in New York. I come across a house. One with a garage and deck and driveway, not like the others. The others were small cabins, this was real. I try the front door but its locked. I walk over to the garage and pull up the door. There's a beautiful almost untouched black motorcycle. I'm mesmerized. I walk over to a red set of metal drawers. Inside the second drawer there's a crowbar. I grab it and head back to the front door.

I knock on the door twice. I don't hear anything so I do it again. Still nothing, so I jam the crowbar in the door and force it open. My first step inside and something grabs me. I turn and shove the crowbar horizontal in its mouth so it can't bite me. I get my leg up and kick it in the stomach. Its falls against the wall and I force the crowbar through the bridge of its nose.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and throw the bloody crowbar on the ground. Someone has been here already because all the cabinets are raided. They probably came in the back way. I search the drawers for anything useful. I check the entire living room plus half the kitchen until finally, something I can utilize. Keys. Or to be more specific keys to that brand new motorcycle in the garage. I scramble for them, seeing that they are kicked almost completely under the refrigerator. I run out the front door and into the garage where the bike is parked.

Now, since everything went down when I was 15, I had only just started drivers training. But long before that my grandpa had an old motorcycle. He would always take us for rides on it and show us how to take care of it. And. How to drive it.

I put the keys in and turn. YES! It started! I check the gas gauge and its about half full. I take the keys out and go back into the house. I go upstairs to a kids room. I grab a backpack off the back of a door and shove a blanket in. Also a lighter from what I assume was the parents bedroom. I head to the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet. I find Claritin, Ibuprofen, extra strength Tylenol and some cold medicine, along with some band-aids. I put everything into the bag.

On my way out, I pass by a full body mirror. I go back and look at myself. Bloodstained clothes with holes in the knees of my jeans. Not to mention my shoes are practically falling apart with each step. I search two more bedrooms and one happens to be a girl roughly my age. I can tell because all over the walls you find posters of boy bands and other singers. Not that I had any of these on my walls. I wouldn't say i'm a tomboy because I can be girly if I wanted. But I wasn't the kind of person who put posters on the walls and dream't of meeting the people in them. I just listened to the music and was happy.

I go in the closet. I find a black pair of jeans and a loose gray shirt which I don't notice is a crop until I put it on but I didn't care. Then I see a nice leather jacket hanging on the back of the door. I grab it and put it on. It's a little big but it's a jacket all the same. I shove the clothes to the sides of the closet and see some shoes in the bottom. But their all to big. I go in the parents bedroom and find some black womens' combat boots. These should last me a while. I lace them up, grab my extra bag, and head back downstairs.

I find a helmet hanging on the wall. I tuck my hair into it and steer the motorcycle so it's facing the other way. I get on and put the keys in the ignition. I slowly turn the twist grip on the right handlebar which is the gas. So far so good. I get out to the street and start driving along the road. It feels weird at first but i'm a better driver than I thought I would be. Things are going to be a lot easier now that I have a vehicle.

That night I slept inside a train conductor booth. Not the safest or most promising of all places but it got the job done. I step out and see a zombie a good 90 feet away. I grab my bow off my back and get an arrow out of the quiver. I aim. Breathe. In, Out. Its been awhile. Right through the head and then stuck the cross road post behind it. I put the bow back and drive up to the sign. I grab the end of the arrow and yank it out. After I wipe it on the ground I put it back in the quiver as I look at the Welcome to Pennsylvania sign. I flip the shade of my helmet down and i'm back on my way.