I have been walking, it seems, all my life; hiding in shadow for most of it. A scavenger. A loner. A picker of the bones of dead animals already stripped bare by those much stronger. A man—if I can even be called a man—without family, friend or even simple acquaintance.

Memories of my mother are merely faded images—glimpses of my earlier struggles—but, at least, I had someone who protected me, taught me. Someone who loved me, if only for the briefest of time.

I know not why the world is the way it is, it has been like this since before my birth; it is all I have known. My mother regularly spoke of what she called ‘The MAD Twins’; two great leaders, she said, who refused to back down. Two conflicting ideologists who dragged their armies, their peoples, and all who dwelt on this once fertile, beautiful rock into their own pitiful pissing contest. From what began as words, escalating into the cataclysmic destruction of almost all and everything.

I have known nothing else but survival, sometimes at the cost of others. Yes, I have killed—too many times, it’s true—but only in defence of myself. Only when necessity has dictated such action. And only those who were ‘different’, those who were hunting me. They did not have the same red and black markings on their skins, nor the blisters or boils which used to cause me such pain, but are barely noticeable now. Their skins are smooth, unblemished. Almost as if they escaped the worst of the MAD Twins’ fight.

The hunters would call me ‘infected’, a term I do not understand. They would chase me down, back me into corners, force me to react. I did not wish for confrontation, but they brought it upon themselves. I have learned not to feel badly for these attackers; they did, after all, provide much needed sustenance when at my lowest. A full meal when I was starving.

Till now I had never seen others like myself. Only the hunters. But, this day, at first light as the sun rose and I was seeking shelter from its painful rays, I espied two who looked as I do. Two ‘infected’, carrying the same red and black scars, the same boils and blisters. It was only for a few seconds, as they disappeared into the tree line, back toward their own shelters no doubt. But they were there, two of them. Were there more? Were they a family, or, even better, a larger group?

My excitement feels limitless, but I must contain myself. I must wait until darkness falls before I seek these other infected out.

Will tomorrow be the beginning of a new life?