I did everything the same as before, but didn't waste time trying to figure out what was going on. I threw everything together into my car and left, intending to fill up with gas and get as many supplies as possible before the panic really hit. I stood in the doorway to our bedroom and looked at Michael's corpse on the bed, wanting to say goodbye but not knowing how. I didn't want to get any closer - I couldn't bear to see him dead and lifeless again. I just whispered "I'll be seeing you" and drove off.
I didn't go to Stewart's gas station and I didn't park up and spend the night on the side of a road. I didn't encounter Andy and Drew on the highway and I never saw Jackson run along the street trying to get my attention. Nothing happened except me driving along deserted roads, all alone in the world. There were no biters, no people, just me. It was strange, and I couldn't decide whether I preferred it to how things really were. I'd never felt so alone, and although I was trying desperately to ignore what was going on, my heart ached. I wanted to wake up - in the real world I felt scared, and here I felt miserable, hopeless. I didn't even know why I was still driving seeing as there was no point in going anywhere. Seeing your husband dead in your bed is enough to make anyone leave their house, but now I'd left I was unsure of what to do. Everywhere I looked was deserted of all life (or death), and although I should have felt safe, I didn't. I was just waiting for something to jump out at me and ruin the silence.