Chapter Text
You had no clue what was happening, not really. Just that it seemed like the whole world was dying. Mom and Dad were talking about it, how everyone was getting sick, how there was no cure. You'd asked Dad one night if he was trying to cure the sick people because, after all, he was a scientist. He said he wasn't, that he was working on something even better. Something that would keep us safe. At the time you trusted him. In the end, his kindness was nothing short of a curse.
August, 2023
You stroke Dell's soft fur, kneeling over your backpack filled almost to the brim with supplies. The trip would take about a month and a half, maybe two by foot—you didn't really have a choice. Maybe it'd be longer than that. You glance over at the shelves stocked with cans, vaguely noticing the dust accumulating on the lightly-colored wood. Each shelf was filled with something different; books, cans, paintings, mason jars. It was doubtful you'd ever return to this old house you managed to consider a home.
Would it feel better to clean up one last time before leaving?
No, probably not. It’d be better to leave while you still had the nerve.
Out there you could hunt, but couldn't preserve meat—not with your current resources. Dell, however, would need it. You both could go a couple of days without food, but you couldn't do that to her. After all, she was your protection, your ever-loyal watchdog. Your best (and only) friend. She was everything, what mattered the most in your small little life.
When you and mom her found Dell, she was just a puppy. Lost and abandoned, you'd decided. She came up with the name Delphine, wanting it to be French as a reminder of her family there. Your family. *He* would never allow her to leave or to see them, forever confined to the four walls where held her captive. She never told you that, but you knew. After people started getting infected, you’d ask about them, if she wanted to try traveling there somehow. Eventually you stopped. Seeing them again was just a fairytale, nothing more than a wish on a birthday candle or a shooting star lost in the horizon.
"C'mon, Dell," you call, and she bounds over, discarding the old tennis ball from her drool-covered jaws.
You throw your backpack on your shoulder and turn around, taking in the small house before leaving one last time.
There was only one bedroom painted plain white with two twin beds stripped of their bedding. Across from it the bathroom with yellow, flowery wallpaper. A clear vase of whatever flowers you were growing always sat on the back of the toilet, a habit you'd kept from her. The living room had hardwood floors, a singular faded yellow couch, and a wooden table with a TV that didn't work. The kitchen was in the corner on the right, opposite of where the bathroom and bedroom were. There was a refrigerator and a white porcelain sink, neither of which worked, of course.
The cupboards were filled with herbs and spices and other things you and her had grown or gathered. Whoever the house belonged to before was eventually washed away and replaced by an equally small family, if you could even call it that. Over time you'd tried to make it your own, but you never had the heart to. The most you'd done was keep it clean and stocked, occasionally finding more plants to make it less empty. Small pots lined windowsills and little tables. Various different plants, succulents, and flowers that didn't really serve much of a purpose became a daily distraction. You talked to them regularly, not that you'd ever admit that to anyone else. But it was lonely, and despite being empty it was practically suffocating. After finding little notes exchanged by some travelling group wandering through town about a Firefly basecamp somewhere in Seattle, it was a dream come true. Almost.
With a sigh, you turn around and push the white, chipped door open. Dell barrels through, elated and unaware of the trials ahead.
You pad down the worn steps of the porch, the stained shoelaces of your shoes tightly secured. Planting your feet firmly in the dirt and without looking back, you walk.
The sky was a myriad of colors, ones that burned their memory in your mind. It was a fiery welcoming of the sun, sure to send its harsh rays down to create yet another inevitable obstacle. A constant reminder that this was life or death, not just a daunting challenge or a journey written by a long-gone author in the yellow pages of your collected novels, bookmarked with leaves and petals despite the creases that remained in the corners before you learned not to bend the delicate pages.
Now they sit gathering dust, just as you'd left those shelves. Left for the next family, lost and afraid. Running.
Everyone had something to run from.
Since the run was rising, it was nearly seven in the morning—plenty of time to get a head start and cover as much ground as possible. You glance at the sun, dreading the 1,500-mile trek west to rainy, foggy, cold Seattle. Off to the Fireflies, to find the light.
Your time with the Fireflies was brief. You owed them a favor for saving your life from FEDRA soldiers during a botched escape, and now they were your only option to living a better life. There was no way you'd return to another Quarantine Zone to starve. The notes you'd found mentioned the Fireflies' renewed search for a cure, and what better way to achieve that than by experimenting on an immune person—you. If you could help them find a cure, it would give meaning to everything that had happened. Your miraculous survival, her death, your family's disappearance—it would all have been for a purpose.
Despite it being early in the morning, it was fairly hot already. Slipping your backpack off and tossing it onto the warming pavement, you begin to remove your flannel. Underneath you wore a simple black tank top, spaghetti straps annoyingly loose across your shoulders. You secure the thinning fabric around your waist, grabbed from the almost barren closet of the previous owners.
A warm breeze rustles the leaves of the trees, stirring memories you’d much rather forget. Not that it mattered anymore, since every step you took brought you closer to a new beginning and further away from the comfort of your home.
No, not quite your home. It still belonged to whoever lived in it before. You were just borrowing it. Just like your home back in Texas would probably be borrowed. The bunk beds hastily made before departure, the jam-covered toys left behind but not forgotten, the vases housing rotted flowers, the clothing nibbled on by moths. All left behind in haste. It was borrowed.
Eventually, you'd return. For now, you would find a new home. It's not that the one you were borrowing was bad, but the corpse that laid beneath the land there haunted it, tainted it. It took you forever to get the nightmares to stop, but you couldn't stop the looming feeling that shadowed your every move, every laugh, every smile. No matter how hard you scrubbed the wood, the tiles, the carpet, it carried a hint of metallic aroma. In parallel, the dirt smelled of rot and decomposition. It was suffocating.
The journey from the countryside to town was familiar, a route you'd traveled often to gather books, pencils, notebooks, and watercolor paints—items that breathed life into the house. Including some foam letters in pastel colors that you stuck on the wall across from your bed, spelling out “almost.” Your own sick little inside joke.
The library proved especially valuable when you unexpectedly started bleeding and you thought you were moments away from death. Though, as twisted turn of fate, it was normal. And frequent. You adapted, collecting clothing, pads, tampons, and those rubber cups that took embarrassingly long for you to figure out.
As you approach the mini-mart, your pace quickens. Dell bounds ahead, anticipating a treat. You chide yourself for not planning better. This trip wouldn't be necessary if you'd stocked up when getting clothes for the journey. A small smile forms at Dell's excitement, but it vanishes as her demeanor suddenly shifts. Her tail straightens, hackles rising. You draw your bow, alert for the telltale clicking of infected. Crouching low, you press against a tree. A faint moan reaches your ears—a runner. Heart racing, you slink to the store's side, peering through a tiny, grime-covered window. After a moment, you spot it shambling through the produce section.
You slip through the front doors quietly, holding the door so Dell can wiggle through, too. You dart behind a shelf, Dell hot on your heels.
Slowly, you nock an arrow, waiting for the runner to pause. You watch it stumble, kicking a rusty can across the floor. Drawing back as far as you can, your arm trembling with the tension, you aim squarely at the runner's head.
The arrow whistles through the air, burying itself just above the infected's ear. You listen intently for any more threats as you cautiously approach the fallen runner. Dell, back to her curious, treat-seeking self, sniffs around for any other intruders. Her relaxed demeanor reassures you that the coast is clear.
"How'd you end up here, buddy?" you mutter, using your foot to tilt its head, searching for any familiar features. Unsurprisingly, it's a stranger.
Kneeling down, you tug the arrow back out of its head.
In the town of Rushville, Nebraska, there were barely any people. The population here was less than a thousand, mostly made of elderly people which you found out by scavenging in houses. There were almost never any infected around here. This was the first one you’d run into in months. It made you wonder where this one came from, and if there were any more you were going to run into anytime soon. Hopefully not. You just needed to grab your shit and hurry out of here.
One great thing about this small town full of old people, a lot of things in the mini-mart were left untouched, meaning there were plenty of cans of food to choose from. You headed down the isles, Dell eagerly following behind you.
“Aha,” you exclaim, reaching for a can of baked beans. It was one of the better canned preserves to choose from.
These were your favorite as a kid, and you’d just recently ran out. You grabbed three, then grabbed two of some canned chili for good measure. Scanning more of the isles, you searched for something Dell would like.
There. Beef jerky. Only two small bags remained, but that would suffice. You broke the seal on one bag, pulled out a piece, and stashed the rest in your backpack. Though you didn't dare try it yourself, Dell adored it and had never grown tired of it—at least, not yet.
"Dellie, sit," you command.
Tail wagging, she plops down on the tile.
You offer her the piece. "Gentle."
She devours it so quickly, you wonder if she even chews. Regardless, it's time to move on. You decide it's best not to dwell on the stray infected unless absolutely necessary. Exiting the store, you shield your eyes as the sun beats down on you both. Its warmth feels almost comforting in the face of your impending journey.
West. You're heading west.
A whole new life awaits you out west