text: Any feedback on this first chapter of this short story is welcome. I just want to see if this is worth continuing writing or not. Thanks! Chapter 1: There’s nothing out here anymore. Occasionally we’ll pass a car or two pulled off to the side of the road, but for the most part, it’s just fields and hay bales. We’re headed to Rainwood, North Carolina. Supposedly, there’s a safe haven there. My shotgun’s in the back seat, and I’m holding onto my pistol, only because David told me that you can’t ever be too careful out here. You never know when you’ll come up on something that can take your life in an instant. Especially if you’re in the situation we’re in now. Our gas tank is empty, and our car is stopped, dead. David turns to me. “Alright,” he says as he unbuckles his seatbelt and grabs his gun from behind him, “let’s go.” I reach back, grab my gun, and put my pistol back in the holster on my hip. Luckily for us, there’s a several car pile-up on the highway about thirty yards from where we are. Maybe we can find some supplies, some gas, or even better, another car. David slings his gun over his shoulder, and I do the same, and we begin to walk. The silence, aside form the slight buzzing of insects around us, is comforting. It makes me feel safe, like I know were alone out here. Like *they* aren’t one step behind us everywhere we go. When we arrive at the jam, David immediately tells me to start searching the abandoned cars for supplies. He walks to the semi-truck about a quarter mile away from me, and I begin searching the cars in front of me. There’s about nine or ten here, so it shouldn’t take too long. Or at least that’s what I thought until I opened the back seat of the first car. I stop, frozen in my tracks, staring. Toy cars, a teddy bear, a baby’s car seat... all covered in an unnatural amount of blood. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, and even though it’s hard not to, I can’t cry. I have to be strong, or, at least pretend I am for David. I don’t want him to think I’m weak, or that he has to always protect this “innocent girl.” What the hell happened to the world though? “Stop.” I tell myself. “Stop questioning. It’s over. The damage has been done.” David always tells me that you can question all you want, but questioning isn’t going to get you anywhere. You just need to deal with the circumstances the way they are. So I need to let this one go, as fucked up as it is. This can’t be our fault like the preacher on the radio said though, can it? He said, and I quote, “Sinners. You, your friends, your family, all of you. You are the cause. You’ve brought this on to yourselves. Almighty God has judged you, and this... this is your punishment.” No, this can’t be my... our fault. There’s no way we can be blamed for the state of the world now. But when someone pins the blame on you like that, you feel bad. You feel bad for the death, the innocence, and the heartache that the world has come into. “David?” I call out, and he answers almost immediately, “Yeah?” “Come help me search the rest of these cars.” I say, and he walks to where I am. As he arrives, he sees the car seat and toys, and I can tell that he feels just the same as I do about it. “Keep looking.” He tells me. “I got this one.” I can tell he doesn’t want it, the sadness is in his voice, but as I walk away, I’m thankful that he’s there for me. I’m glad I don’t have to look through the mess in that car anymore, though I can’t help feel bad for him. I walk to a Nineteen-Seventy’s looking pick-up truck, and peek over the edge of the bed to see if there’s anything worth taking. A toolbox. That could be good for something, you never know. I hop in to the bed of the truck and look at the small metal box in front of me, hoping, just hoping that there’s something useful in it. As I open the lid, I glance at David, now searching some sort of two-thousand’s SUV. He’s got the same serious, concerned look on his face that he always wears. I look back down at the box, now open, to see a pistol with two boxes of nine millimeter ammo next to it. The next thing out of my mouth is a cheer. “Shhh!” I hear David from behind me. He’s right. Those things, the dead, could be anywhere. I cover my mouth with both hands. “Sorry!” I say in a whisper, and wave at him to go back to his business. In the normal world, back before the outbreak started and the virus spread, it was just some stories on the news. ‘Ya know, “A man viciously attacked another man at So-and-So Mall today, taking a bite out of his flesh...” or “So-and-So Prison was quarantined today after several inmates killed and ate two of the guards, displaying the same symptoms of those infected in Asia, Europe, Australia, Mexico, and America...” But after a while, things got more serious. The CDC called it a virus, religious groups called it the wrath of God, and apocalypse nuts called it the zombie apocalypse. Whatever it was, it spread like wildfire. Soon enough, ninety-percent of the world’s population (or, so reported the World News) was infected, and there really wasn’t any hope of a cure, or survival at all for that matter. The army moved in and they were overrun almost immediately by the infected. Civilians were told to stay indoors and wait for help, though it never came. Bombs were dropped on the streets, cities were devastated, highways piled up, and people were killed. So now we’re here. David and I could be some of the last living people on the planet. The rest are either dead or turned into those monsters. So we just try to survive. That’s our goal. Survival. Naturally, when we heard word of a safe house in Rainwood, we thought it was the best possible thing that we could do for ourselves, considering that, prior to this, we set up shop in the storm cellar of a farm house, living off of 1 can of sardines a day, split between the two of us. You could say it was pretty hard for the first couple of weeks. I pull the pistol out of the box, but immediately retract my hand when I feel what I know see is a sticky clear substance, kind of like saliva covering the handle. I don’t want to think about what that is or why it’s on this gun, so I just pull out my bandana and wipe the handle off. As I put the two boxes of ammo in my backpack and the gun in my belt, I hear David yell, “Sarah, we’ve gotta’ go, now!” Quickly, I stand to my feet and look toward where he’s yelling from, but I don’t see him anywhere. To my surprise, however, what I do see are the brake lights of a silver minivan. I hop out of the bed of the truck almost to excitedly, and run toward the van. I open the door, and sit it the seat trying to catch my breath. “Tank’s full.” David says, and I turn to him, smiling. He smiles back, and begins to drive. This is the first good thing that’s happened to us since this all began. As David drives, he asks me if I’ve found anything valuable. Without a word, I smile and pull out my backpack. “What?” He says with a chuckle. I know he’s going to like this. First, I pull out the gun and hand it to him. “Nice! Jericho nine-forty-one. This is good.” He says happily. “That’s not all buddy.” I say as I pull out both boxes of ammo. “What? Are you kidding me? This is awesome!” he says even more excitedly than before. He smiles and so do I. It feels so good to know he’s proud of me. Ever since this all started, and ever since I met him, he’s been the only person I’ve had, so it’s good to know that at least someone is. And that’s it, we’re back on the road again. We’ve got a good ten-hour car ride ahead of us. That’s four and a half states to cross through, and that’s only if everything goes smoothly. Rainwood, here we come.