Rain falls heavy; roaring thunder echoes through the ominous clouds. My vision is now tainted by the unforgiving weather. I cling my pistol tightly to my chest. Only three bullets left. There is no hiding from them. They stagger around using their sense of smell. Probably the only sense that is truly intact in the living dead. They wander aimlessly through the dark, wet scene before me.

Carnage and destruction scatter amongst the trenches and muddy terrain. Like a scene from a horror movie that was once just an image on a screen. “It’s not real, sweetheart,” my mother’s distant words flutter through my mind. Now, it’s as real as it can get.

“Now or never,” I mumble to myself. In the distance I manage to spot a military jeep that’s turned over; sparks of red and yellow flicker around it. It’ll burst into flames if I wait a second longer. “Run”, I motivate myself to sprint in my worn out, muddy boots. The blisters scrape and sting my feet as I run without hesitation. Adrenaline pumps through me.

In the corner of my eye, I see one of the dead meeting my pace. “Aim for the head,” my father’s final words repeat in my mind. I turn to take my shot, the bang of the bullet scraping through the air hurts my ears. My victim slumps over and ceases to follow. I keep going; my ears ring from the deep sounds surrounding me. I manage to make it to the jeep when something clings to my left arm. I meet the cold, empty eyes of another infected; it’s rotting teeth are chomping at the air reaching for my flesh. Its grasp pulls me closer to its slobbering mouth. I swing my right arm around. Again, no hesitation; my pistol aims at to the center of its gray, crumbling forehead. Another loud bang rings through the thick air. One bullet left. I check my surroundings. Sparks continue to radiate around the jeep. More dead encroach around me; the numbers rising. I leap for the console of the ticking time bomb before me. My fingers shake as I fumble through the wreckage. “Ammo, weapons, anything.” I reach down every crevice and cranny in the jeep when I notice the three dead soldiers slumpped over in a titled fashion. I resort to searching the dead men’s gear. “Yes!” I scream. I find a sling of grenades and a sharp hunting knife. No ammo for my pistol, but a semi-automatic rifle with a full strap of ammo gleams in the storm of rotting flesh and hammering rain. I pull it from beneath a dead soldier. I say small prayer for their souls.

That’s when I hear it. Flames start to grow. I stow away my new found treasure and jump off the back of the jeep. The blow erupts and I fly through the air. I land face down in the thick mud. As I clear my eyes, my hands scramble, and check for my weapons. They’re still with me. I take no time to look back and the running continues.

I have to keep going. I have to find more supplies. So I sprint through the night and await what daylight will bring. Running as fast as I can to reach something, someone, and avoid the corpses that desperately prowl for more prey.

Tears and sweat stream for my already damp cheeks. Realization that my entire family has been slaughtered pounds in my chest my over and over again, but I keep going. Faith still pulses through me, but it’s starting to dwindle. I try to ignore my emotions while I continue to keep my pace. No where to hide, no one to help. There’s nothing waiting for me, yet I just keep running.