Last One Standing

[Locket]

Wylie stood in the middle of Times Square, shivering against the echoes. There shouldn't be echoes in the heart of New York City. Instead, the air should be thrumming with life and noise, so loud that visitors cringed and covered their ears against the onslaught. But the city was empty, deserted like the ghost towns in old movies. Wrapping her arms about herself, she pulled the woolen shrug tighter and stepped by an empty hatchback. Her footsteps reverberated down the street and she cringed. Shhhhhh. Shhhh now, or you might call Them. As frightening as the silence was, more terrifying was any noise. Noise meant life, but of the blood-sucking, killing sort.

The night after, she had found Them. Already terrified and confused, she had locked herself in her tiny apartment and tried to sleep. Bundled in layers and layers of blankets, Wylie had curled up on her tiny trundle, stuffed rabbit clutched against her chest. Despite her fears and tremors she had drifted off, only to be awoken later by a noise. There was someone outside the window. Something sniffing. The sniffing turned to scratching as whatever it was tentatively tested the strength of the dingy window. Now more frightened than ever, Wylie had tried to convince herself it was only a rat even as she unwound herself to grab the baseball bat she kept by her bed. The sound of her moving inside traveled outside the window and the thing began to scratch harder. Eyes wide, Wylie had tiptoed towards the window, scared to know what was the other side but also too scared not to know. With a trembling hand, she drew back the green curtain and screamed. Throwing the curtain back into place with a vicious jerk, Wylie ran out of her apartment, bunny in hand and bat forgotten on the floor.

Still in Times Square, Wylie shuddered at the memory. She had run from her small apartment and barricaded herself downstairs behind the front desk. The small storage room was the only place she could think of with no windows and a strong deadbolt. She had spent the night there, shivering and crying and wishing for daylight. When she returned to the apartment the next morning, Wylie found the window smashed and everything in disarray. The cupboards and refrigerator had been ransacked with every scrap of meat gone, and her pillows, bed, couch, and clothing had been shredded as if by a knife. Ordinarily, she would have blamed it on vandals, but the thing outside the window was no vandal. It was like nothing she had ever seen.

Wylie glanced to either side as she stepped across the street. As far as she could tell, the creatures only came out at night, but still... Five days since the Day, and she was all alone.

 

[Lessien]

How could Liesel Marsden have ever called Wal-Mart Purgatory?

It had everything. Canned food. Flashlights with batteries. Fuel logs. Hatchets, matches and lighter fluid. Blankets and pillows. Rifles, pistols and ammo. High Plexiglas windows and doors that could be locked tight, and plenty of things to barricade them with. Clothes, even skirts and dressy tops if she wanted to feel pretty. Not that there was anyone to see her, she thought, twirling before the full-legnth mirror and admiring the way the black skirt fell about her knees while the silvery top hugged her torso and her long, platinum blonde hair tumbled down her back. Too bad.

Too bad. That was all she'd let herself think about the Day. Too bad ninety-nine percent of the population vanished, replaced by those....things. Too bad she was all alone in an abandoned Wal-Mart with no electricity. Too bad the Things still wanted her.

Liesel needed to come up with a name for the Things. Fifteen days since the Day and she still called them the Things. Funny, but there was nothing else that fit. They weren't vampires or werewolves or anything else from those stupid horror movies her boyfriend had, for reasons surpassing her understanding, dragged her to whenever they were in theaters.

Strangers worked....sort of. So did Scary Things. And Evil Scary Bad Bad Get It Away From Me. There really wasn't a name for them. All Liesel knew was that they'd chased her into a Wal-Mart when she made the mistake of going outside one evening, and Wal-Mart had been her home ever since.

She was hungry. What time was it? Time to go shopping.

She needed to do something about all this frozen stuff and all the produce, she thought, wrinkling her nose. It was starting to go bad. Soon the maggots would come....

Shuddering, Liesel ran past the rotting tomatoes and salad dressing and made a beeline for Canned Goods. Another can of soup heated over a fire would be for dinner, and the thought was revolting.

But it was all there was.

 

[Locket]

Seven months since the Day. Brown eyes darted around anxiously. If she had dared concentrate on something other than her immediate circumstances, Wylie might have thought back on her first week alone and laughed at how pathetic and helpless she had been. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she had forgotten how to laugh. In her little hideaway, one of the many and the latest, Wylie sat crouched in the corner, knife between her legs, meticulously sharpening it on a flint rock, concentrating on each rhythmic stroke. Hair flopped into her eyes and she blew it away, somewhere in the back of her mind making a quick note to hack it off again.

There. The knife was sharpened to satisfaction. Wylie carefully slid it back into its leather case and unbent her back with a quiet sigh. Tally marks were scratched into the wall, marring the rose wallpaper. The sturdy brick house was ideal for now, but she knew she would have to abandon it eventually. She always had to leave her hidey holes. Their noses were too sharp, Their taste for blood too keen. Already she had killed two, dragging their bodies into a ditch nine blocks away to divert others.

I know, I know. But my back hurts. Give me five minutes. Wylie's eyes cut to the grinning volleyball resting on the shelf next to her bunny. Wilson, named after the Castaway "character" had been her constant friend for over four months now. Having conversations in thought with him was borderline crazy, but as long as she didn't cross over into speaking out loud, then everything was fine. Wylie cast a baleful glare at the ball, wishing he wouldn't nag so about the tear in her shirt. Whenever he nagged, he took on her mother's voice, and that made her think about things she would rather not consider. Just stay sane. Stay sane and stay alive. Don't end up like those Others.

 

[Lessien]

"Happy birthday to me...happy birthday to me..." Liesel hummed to herself, strolling the aisles of the Wal-Mart she now called home. It had turned out to be the perfect hiding place, what with all the nifty things to barricade the doors and places to hide at night, just in case. Liesel had run into a problem the first few nights; They had smelled the meat and stormed her Wal-Mart, very nearly finding her. The next morning, she had quickly taken all the meat outside, dropping it off several miles away with the aid of a mountain bike.

Smiling in anticipation, Liesel grabbed a package of AA batteries, a CD player with good speakers, and a Goo Goo Dolls CD, then took them to the most comfortable beanbag chair she could find, lit a few candles, and curled up with a romance novel to enjoy her music. Acoustic chords poured out of the speakers, and Liesel smiled.

And I want to get free
Talk to me
I can feel you fallin'....

Were the Goo Goo Dolls still alive? Even if they were, it didn't matter. How were they supposed to record any new songs with the Things lurking about? Liesel shrugged and pushed these thoughts out of her head, then munched on a Twinkie. Those things kept forever, and today it was her birthday cake, the music and romance novel her birthday present. The thought brought tears to her eyes. Before the Day, her birthday would have been celebrated with a giant cake covered in frosting flowers, dozens of presents and guests to go with them, and much laughter.

But not today. Her first birthday since the Day was celebrated alone with a love story, love songs, and packaged food fat girls ate when love was missing.

Guess we've got something in common, then, Liesel thought, opening another Twinkie.

 

[jelly_bean]

Owen Parren was never one to complain, and he was not about to begin now. What did he have to complain about? It was a year since he left his dead end job. A year since he'd seen another human being. A year since humanity as he knew it had ceased to exist. Now it was man against beast, the way it should be. He had never felt more invigorated, never more alive! He was making good time on his lifelong dream, to hike across the entire continent, from west to east. Of course, it had been a rough start since he was used to living in comfort, but he had quickly adapted. The worst of the memories was the encounter with that weird... creature. He had never seen anything like it before, but he had managed to ward it off. Other than that, Owen couldn't be happier.

At the moment, he was living in a small tent he packed up every few days to move further along in his journey. A bedroll, a pillow, a blanket, some clothes, and a few pieces of survival equipment were all he had... he had run out of things like matches a long time ago. He found the challenge invigorating, though, and was very good with his flint now. His tattered map showed him he was now somewhere in Wyoming, which meant he had a long way to go in his travels, but he relished the thought.

As for food, he hunted a great deal. He still had bullets for his gun, but he was now rationing them, using different ammo for the most part. He was able to fashion small, extremely sharp darts with his hunting knife, and with a bit of poison applied, was able to take down most game. All in all, he was well-sustained, and he didn't miss his old life one bit.

Well... perhaps besides the lack of those things.

 

[Locket]

((Good, you guys! Now, and this goes for you and anyone else about to post, post when you can, jumping through different spots in the three years. You needn't wait for the others to post and may go at your own pace))

 

[Locket]

((This will be my last post until the rest of you are where you want to be with your character))

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The sound of the snow and ice snapping beneath her boots was muffled by the flurries swirling about her. Face drawn and mouth set, Wylie hiked the pack further onto her back and took another step. Her labored breath soaked into the scarf around her face and warmed her cheeks but it wasn't enough. The cold nipped at her nose and made her eyes water, but the girl didn't seem to notice or care. Winter. Winter in New York was the sixth level of Hell. Winter in New York alone was... Nothing. She couldn't describe the feeling and was too tired to try.

Somewhere a pack of wolves began to howl, their cries echoing off the surrounding skyscrapers until they seemed to be on every side. Maybe they were. Wylie pushed against the side door of the museum, grimacing as her shoulder popped. Finally, it opened and she rushed inside, slamming the door behind her to shut out the snow. In one fluid motion, Wylie dropped the bag to the ground and turned on her flashlight. The lights had died three days after The Day, so now most buildings were dark day and night.

Wylie dragged her bag down the hall, every noise bouncing off the marble floors and limestone columns into the darkness beyond. She hated this place, hated the darkness, the echoes, the unknown corners that seemed filled with danger, but it was solid and full of fuel. As she walked through the art section, past the Rembrandts and the Picassos, she knew how the character in the Time Machine felt walking through the ancient museum of a long lost civilization... his. Everything was familiar but without meaning, cold and alien. In the portraits were happy people, but the idea was remote and vague. As she walked through the main lobby, Wylie averted her gaze from the large grandfather clock.

Safely tucked away in the security room, Wylie double checked the chair stuffed under the doorknob. "Well," she told Wilson, "I'm back." That night she lay curled inside a fur coat Grace Kelly wore as the Princess of Monaco and watched the noose sway in the rafters above her head.

 

[Lessien]

The big Plexiglas doors greeted Liesel like an old friend. While the idea of entering Wal-Mart with the electricity off was unthinkable before the Day, now it was no trouble. Liesel dropped her backpack on the snow and pulled the doors open with gloved hands, then swung the backpack onto her shoulder and entered, leaving one door open slightly.

The backpack contained a pile of sticks, which she dumped onto a charred circle on the tiled floor in what used to be the Produce department, but was now just skeletal shelves and display cases. She lit the fire and watched the light dance eerily on the empty glass pastry and meat cases.

Funny that her best friend was dead. Before the Day, Wal-Mart would have been alive with families, single moms and town drunks desperate to buy a few items and dash off to the next thing in their busy lives. Now it was empty save for her, the last drop of living blood in a dead department store.

Liesel breathed deeply and watched the fire, inhaling the scent of woodsmoke. No electricity. No heat, save the fire and battery-powered space heaters, which she saved for the coldest nights. No company. This was home.

 

[Sylvengard]

ONE MONTH AFTER THE DAY​

A single day can change a person’s life. Too well does Ryan Jones know this proven fact of life. One twist of fate, one change in the flow, one kink in the daily grind; it can be disastrous. Thirty days ago, Ryan's life met one of these days. Life changed, but a powerful, frightening change. His family was no more, his friends were not. His thirtieth birthday was two and a half weeks ago, and he celebrated it by himself, by the light of a candle in his basement. He had a girlfriend, after his three former wives, but she was gone too. His career as a cage fighter had vanished, just as quick as those who set him up for it did. Gone.

Six feet tall and every inch of it ripped muscle, Ryan stood in the basement of his small house. On the table before him were his most treasured items save his fists - his guns. His shotgun, hunting rifle, and the handgun that his father gave him. Every time he looked at the latter he was reminded of the man that was brutally gunned down in a dark street during a gang riot. The gun was what Ryan intended to kill the gang leader with when he got around to it, but his life turned and he became a cage fighter instead. It was an ongoing mental battle, and the thought of jailtime always turned him. Now the gang was no more, the people who made it gone.

Ryan leaned on the table, fingers splayed and dirty brown mop of hair hanging. His muscles flexed as he began to push down on the table, press down in a flare of anger that was gone in a moment. No time to have a mental breakdown. Glancing at the wallclock - a round, plain black clock with neon lights - he smiled weakly. '7:30.'

Taking his hunting rifle from the table and shoving the handgun down the back of his pants, he stomped up the creaky old basement stairs while shrugging into his brown coat. Life changed since the day that took nearly everything from him. Now his daily grind was different, like something out of a Stephen King novel. The day was his time, the night something elses'. Night was the time to hide, hide from one of the few things that scared him. Early on, he almost got caught, but he learned quickly to lock doors and kept his firearms at the ready. They would not get him - God help him he would not go down.

It was a good day, he brought down a deer and managed to get it back home. The supermarket was open, as it always was, the manakins staring blankly at him in a mockery of life. Food was avalible by the truckload, and free. Of course that which did not spoil within the first couple days of no electricity was free, but that which did was useless. It stank, too, like some crap from the depths of Hell. What he would do after the dates printed on the boxes ran past was beyond him, and he prayed it would never come. Luckily there was a firearm store down a quarter of a mile from his house, a small place that stocked his basement with wooden crates of glorified lead for his guns. Animals found their way into the depths of New York, and animals were a part of his food. They supplied the meat, and he learned from books how to perserve his bounty.

Three minutes to four, the nagging alarm on his watch called out, and he thanked God again that the batteries were not dead yet. Why should they be? Well, with something like this, anything was possible. He got home quickly, hurrying into the welcoming arms of his house, and closed the door behind him, not needing to glance out the know that the sun was still an hour from setting. Going around the house, he pulled iron windows down over the ones of glass, and he locked up the doors with steel and keys enough to mke a jailor jealous. He built all of his protection, made them all to replaced the early ones of simple wood. Never again would he trust his life to wood - not after the third night of his nightmare.

When everything was finished, he eased back into a red arm chair and waited, listening, shotgun across his lap. He knew he would hear them screaming in the night, scratching at his windows, howling at him to open up, to breakdown and beg for death. The first night was horrifying, a constant run from shadows. But knowledge of their existance made it no better.

Every night he fell asleep in that chair, and every morning he woke to the weight of his shotgun across his knees. A constant, eery cycle of life, and he was always the hunted. Lucky for those that he once knew, they were . . . gone.

 

[Sylvengard]

ONE YEAR AFTER THE DAY​

So. twelve painful months alone in an empty world, all of New York to himself, and it was just dandy. When the day existed, it was a continuous vacation, all then to get back into hiding for the hours of night. Avoid night, avoid death. It was the new law of living.

Now, doing seventy down a street whose name meant nothing to him, Ryan kept one hand on the top of the leather-bound steering wheel of his crimson pickup truck. He'd found it down by the auto lot, and the keys were in a drawer behind the desk. Easy enough, right? Volume up loud, a song from Korn beating on the stereo, electric guitar hitting home inside him. His head took on a rythmic bobbing motion in the bliss of music. and his left foot beat the floor of the truck. The road was empty, as usual, and it was his. The asphault sang to him as the truck roared past the various buildings. It was pretty close to paradise on earth, if he had any say in it.

The CD came out with pressure on the eject button, and in went a Nickleback one that he listened to for a time before switching it again for UnderOATH. His windows were down, volume up, speed higher than a cop would have allowed a year before. But there were no cops, no authority. It was his town, his city, his . . . earth, perhaps. He never went farther than what he knew; what would happen if he did not get back in time? He had never actually seen what urked in the night; only the results. He heard the howling and screaming in the night that was all too human, but glimpsed no more than shadowy, wiry, forms moving in the light of the moon. It gave him that feeling he had as a kid after watching Nightmare on Elm Street for the first time and having to get through the night in his dark bedroom. Well, this was real, Kruger was not. His guns were real as well, however, and the lead inside the cold barrels. They would not get him . . . not now. He lasted a year, and he could go more. It was his town, his city, his earth. It belonged to him. Nothing could stop him.

 

[Locket]

((*bump* Alright, I don't want everyone meeting all at once. Since Less and Role are further along in their character developments, we three need to scheme. Who is more likely to meet each other first?))

 

[Sylvengard]

((Interesting. *sits down to think* Well, since Ryan thinks the city is his and drives around in his truck, she might see him and get him to stop. On the flipside, he could always swing in for a little visit to Wal-Mart Just thoughts))

 

[Lessien]

((Anything that works is fine by me ))

 

[Locket]

((OOC thread please ))

 

[jelly_bean]

Two years. Two years and Owen was making great progress on his life-long dream. According to several road signs and his new map, fashioned out of a sturdy piece of bark (he retraced everything from his old map, which finally fell apart a few weeks ago, he was somewhere in Illinois. He could barely even remember what his old life was like... how had he ever stood being so caged up? He felt beyond free, able to spread his wings and soar for the first time in his life! There was no one to ask nosy questions, no one to tell him he "needed to get a job", no one to try and push their beliefs about how he should live his life on him.

Along his travels, he had continued to fine-tune his survival skills... he didn't even need normal bullets anymore, although he still had a few left. He had caved in a bit, however, when he passed a shopping center--he had replaced some of his clothing for less torn ones, although the new clothes didn't look very sturdy either. Owen was quite clueless as to how to make clothing, so he conceded the world could be a bit better... free-spirit as he was, he was highly uncomfortable thinking about the topic of nudism.

At the moment, Owen was trekking his way down a dusty old road that was as abandoned as the rest of the earth. He was so used to the weight of his pack he hardly felt it. Boots pounding the earth, he paused to glance at the position of the sun. It had been so many years since he had used an actual clock to tell the time, Owen couldn't recall how many. Adjusting his shoulder straps, he pressed on, as always keeping an eye for... strange movements. Of course, he had only seen one thing of extreme alarm once, but that had been a long time ago... perhaps he imagined it.

What could it have possibly have been? Certainly not a human. Humans have been gone for a long time... I don't know why, but I'm sure glad they are. Game hunting is open all seasons now!

 

[Sylvengard]

PRESENT DAY​

Cross-legged atop the worn pool table in his basement, Ryan sat bent over his black electric guitar. The thin cord ran away like a snake to plug into the amp on the floor, volume cranked up loud. Both hands moved quickly, one picking the strings, the other sliding harmoniously across the frets. AC/DC came from the speakers; a reflection of his action on the guitar. But then a string snapped.

Like a whip, the silver length of the thinnest string lashed back, only to lay motionless a moment later. Cursing, Ryan removed the broken string, and crossed the room to retrieve his spares from a box. Searching through it, there was no string to fill the spot of the broken one. He had picked up his guitar three months before after not playing it since the day that changed life, but he was beck in the flow now. Sadly, most of his strings were gone, and he would have to go get some. It would have to be a quick trip, he knew, with one glance at his watch - the neon LED read "6:00"; almost an hour until sundown. He would have to be back by then.

He gathered his jacket and shoes, and a small sack in which he could carry things quickly. Ten minutes later the engine of his red pickup roared to life and he was on his way. Turning up the volume, he popped in a CD, much to his dismay that the radio still was only static. He drove quickly, going for the only place he knew sold strings, which was Dee's Music Store just about seven miles down.

Minutes later, the sky was a bit darker, and his arm was now quivering slightly. Regardless of the shotgun in the passenger seat, he still was leery about being out after dark. What would happen? He was sure that the car would not keep him safe from the hell that broke loose every night.

Ryan scanned the buildings he passed, seeing nothing but random stores and businesses. A Chinese place, a small hairtrimmer, a bookstore. Then, in all it's glory, Walmart loomed, and without thinking, he turned into the parking lot. He debated with himself, an argument of one person, and decided to check in there for strings. If all went well, he could be back at home before the demons came. It felt kindof like the video game Doom 3, and he felt just as afraid, in a Nightmare on Elm Street kind of way. In a way like "it could never really happen to me" sort of thing, but you were still afraid to close your eyes and sleep. Would it really matter though if they got him? A world of darkness. It would be theirs. Despite himself, he had decided time and again that it was not his time to go. Not yet.

The door swung shut behind him as he killed the engine before the doors of the Walmart and stepped across the sidewalk. With one hand he shoved the door open, not breaking his brisk pace, and went in.

((I left it kind of open for you, Less. Tell me if there's anything that should be changed (since you know your character's home better than I do) or if you need some more ground to work on ))

 

[Lessien]

The doors slid open, and Liesel jumped to her feet, dropping the romance novel. Heart pounding, she grabbed a pistol and a flashlight, raced out of Bedding, and headed toward the doors. Was it Them? They had never opened the doors before....then again, she had never forgotten to barricade them before....

Liesel slid to a stop just before the doors. What she saw wasn't nearly as frightening as Them, but just as surprising.

It was another human being.

She blinked. This was no hallucination.

"You..." Her voice sounded strange, even to her. "You...what....how'd....I didn't...." She took a deep breath and tried again. "Who are you?"

((Liesel's Wal-Mart has...well, it's been turned into her home. All of the meat, produce, and other perishible stuff has been disposed of, leaving most of the Food section empty. Some of the canned food is gone. There's a charred spot on the tile near the entryway, surrounded by smooth, round stones that Liesel uses to build fires. There's another one near the back entrance. She sleeps in Bedding on several down comforters and pillows, surrounded by battery-powered space heaters. The Clothes section looks like her bedroom floor--strewn with clothes and whatnot. That's pretty much it....))

 

[Sylvengard]

Like something out of a story, everything changed once he stepped through that door. He froze up when he saw it, the thinned figure in the shadows of the back of the store, directly down the main aisle from the door. Everything seemed to spin and suddenly he could see as clear as day, for the worse. Hundreds of the lanky monsters like undead from a movie infested the store, and as his footsteps sounded on the tile, they turned in unison. He could imagine them licking their lips, with their strange pale blue tongues, but many had neither.

A scratching sound on the tile made him spin to look one of the zombies in the face. Black, lifeless eyes stared at him, yellowed teeth gnashing. It's nose was no more; only two nauseating slits of dark, ripped flesh. Hair, unwashed, hung matted to the sides of it's face, stringy and disgusting. Bone was visible on it's arms and chest where flesh was torn open like a shredded article of clothing, sticky with dried blood.

This was not exactly what the "reality" part of his head told him they would look like, but nonetheless it stood before him. A high-pitched scream sounded, joined by many more. Abruptly, the thing before him lunged, hands reaching for him, mouth opening wide. It caught hold of his arm, moving faster than he could pull back in his paralysis, and its head lowered to bite his arm--

"Who are you?" a thin, beautiful woman in her late twenties asked. The shock from zipping from Hell to Heaven in one fell swoop almost made him dizzy, but he managed a half-hearted answer regardless. "Ryan. Ryan Jones." he said stupidly. It was a daydream, he knew, and now he was back. Maybe it was all the tension. The urgency of getting back before sundown was gone, forgotten.

What was going on? His mind screamed at him, his brain became bombarded with a million thoughts. A human! Who is she? It was like being trapped in a box - he was thinking half intelligibly, but his brain was not actually connected to his body, and it did little good.

 

[Lessien]

Liesel watched the man as he seemed to disconnect from this world, frozen with fear of something only he could see. She almost rushed for him, but just then, he recovered.

"Who are you?" she repeated.

"Ryan. Ryan Jones." He seemed like one of the heroes from the romance novels she'd just abandoned, tall and muscular, waltzing into her sanctuary out of the blue. Her heart pounded, and it took her a moment to remember her manners.

"I'm...I'm Liesel. Liesel Marsden." She looked at him, memorizing the silhouette that stood in her open doorway with the sun setting behind him.

Sunset! "Uh, why don't you...come on in? And....just...close the door. It's almost dark." If he had survived this long, surely he would know what sunset meant.

 

[Ellesar]

For several days after the incident, Sierra Zeiler couldn’t bring herself to leave her home, and she just stayed there, waiting for her brother and sisters to return home. A small part of her realized that they would never be returning home, but most of her refused to accept that possibility. For those several days, she just sat around in the dark, fueling the depression she had sunk into. After a couple of days, though, Sierra’s survival instincts started to kick into action, and she forced herself out of the depression, and upstairs, carefully walking through the broken glass that was a result of her anger and depression. Her first stop was in the twins’ bedroom. Just standing in the doorway, she looked around and let the memories come before entering and choosing a small memento of them. Placing that object into her pocket, she went into her brother’s room and did the same. Finally going into her own room, she grabbed the backpack that she had always used for camping, and quickly stuffed some necessities into it, as well as several packs of batteries that she found lying in a junk drawer. Hefting the backpack onto her shoulders, she grabbed a flashlight and her car keys and headed downstairs and outside. She just looked at her jeep for a few moments, thankful that she hadn’t parked in the garage for once, and wondered where she should go.

“The city… Maybe there’s still someone left in the city…” Sierra muttered to herself as she dropped her backpack onto the passenger seat and then climbed in on the driver’s side. Starting the jeep, she nearly cursed aloud when she noticed that she was low on gas. “Dang it! I TOLD Alex to put more gas in before he came home!” she railed out loud at her younger brother, who had gotten his driver’s license only a few weeks prior. The realization that she wouldn’t see her brother again suddenly hit her, and she slammed her fist against the steering wheel angrily before starting the car and backing out. Without another glance back, she drove away from her house and headed for the city, keeping a wary eye on the gas gauge. She never made it completely to the city, but ended up pulling off just before and made it to an empty parking lot just before her car died. Sighing softly, Sierra looked up to see where she was…she had pulled into a Cabela’s parking lot. Glancing toward the mid-afternoon sun, she hefted her backpack again and then jogged toward the doors. Circling around to the back, she broke the lock on the door and then entered and barricaded that door since the lock was no longer functional. “This’ll have to be my home for now…” she muttered as she turned on her flashlight and shone it around.

------

Ten months. It had been ten long, lonely months since the Day. Sierra hadn’t seen a living soul since she made the empty Cabela’s her home, even though she left the safety of her home a couple of times during the day every few weeks to walk to a nearby grocery store to stock up on her supply of canned foods. Occasionally, she would walk to a bookstore that wasn’t too far away and pick out a few books that she wanted to read before heading back home and barricading the door once she entered. Making her way back to Camping, she ducked into the tent she had claimed and turned on the battery powered lamp so that she would have some light. “A year. It’s been almost a year since the Day…” she muttered as she wrapped a thermal blanket around herself to keep warm. Depression had threatened to take hold of her multiple times during those long months, but Sierra had just barely managed to keep it at bay. Sighing softly, she pulled out one of the books she had gotten and settled down to read while her dinner cooked over the small campstove.