After leaving the main road and walking until you were out of breath and your legs were numb, you finally found a desolate house deep in the forest. Dropping your stuff in front of the door, you collapsed onto the ground and drank the remaining water from the bottle.

You raised an eyebrow at the empty bottle and sighed softly. In your haste to leave the city, you had only managed to bring a little water. It probably wouldn't last you more than three days. After resting for a few minutes to regain your strength, you stared at the wooden door in front of you.

You stood up and hesitantly knocked on the door. There was no sound at all. You carefully gripped the knife at your side and slowly walked around the abandoned house.

Moss covered the old house's walls, clinging tightly and twisting up to the roof. The paint on the walls had faded due to the weather, showing signs of time. There was a small window in the back, tightly shut. The curtains were drawn, so you couldn't see inside. But the glass was covered in dust, indicating that no one had been here for a long time.

You returned to the entrance, took a deep breath before turning the doorknob and slowly walked in. The old door creaked loudly, creating an annoying sound. The wooden floor beneath your feet creaked with each step. That was the only sound you could hear in the eerily silent house. It seemed that no one lived here, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You could stay here for a while while figuring out where to go or what to do next.

After searching the house for a while, you found nothing useful. The previous owner had left a long time ago, taking almost everything with them. All you found was a rug covered with dust and spider webs, a few old books, and scattered trinkets on the floor. There wasn't even a bed or a chair. You grimaced at the worn wooden floor covered in scratches and grime. You dusted off the old rug, spread it out on the floor then reluctantly sat down. After rummaging through your bag and calculating the amount of food you had, you estimated that you could stay here for about a week if you rationed your supplies. Once again, you sank deep into thoughts about the future lying ahead.

After resting for a day and regaining your composure from the recent horrifying events, you tried to wander around the house.

Despite finding no nearby water sources, you had encountered a few squirrels and other small animals, but you had no weapons for hunting. Even if you did, you wouldn't know what to do with them. Having always lived in the city, you had never learned how to survive in this condition. But hunting could wait, as your food supplies could last a while, but water was the real issue. You had only brought enough for three days.

Maybe you should venture further, but you were scared of getting lost. You had no sense of direction, hell, you didn't even bring a compass. And what if you encountered zombies? You had no idea how to fight them; you had never even gotten into a fight at school.

Returning to the house, you collapsed on the rug. As if your life before this shit wasn't miserable enough. Maybe you should find other survivors, learn from them, and rely on them. Given your current situation, you definitely couldn't survive on your own. You needed more food, more water, stronger weapons, and most importantly, knowledge to survive in the wild. But where should you even start?

You stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling empty. Strangely, why were you still trying? You should have thrown yourself from the cliff when you witnessed Atlanta being bombed. You had already been tired of this mundane and pointless life, and now, when the world finally caved in, what were you still clinging to?

Tears began to roll down your cheeks. You pulled out the knife strapped to your belt.

Self-defense? Who were you kidding? Looking at the old crisscrossed scars on the left wrist from the past, your breath turned shaky. It had been a long time since you had done this. You knew it wouldn't solve anything, but you craved the feeling of release. Now more than ever.

You closed your eyes.

The blade was cold and sharp on your skin. You pressed down. And the blade sliced right through your wrist. The pain that followed made you shiver slightly. Your ears rang with the pounding of your left chest, and your breath became rapid. Yet, the pain kept your mind strangely clear. You usually self-harm during panic attacks, where adrenaline significantly numbs the pain, as doing it while calm was much more painful. But there was something about doing it in a calm state—it made your mind feel clearer, and the burden on your shoulders seemed to lift, if only for a moment.

You opened your eyes.

Blood streamed down your arm, soaking into the long-sleeved shirt, turning it into a sickly brown. Your head spun from blood loss, your vision blurred as if you were about to lose consciousness. You collapsed onto the floor, slowly drifting into a daze.

•••

Five days later.

You tried venturing onto the main road to find more food but had to immediately turn and run after catching a glimpse of what looked like hundreds of zombies congregating from a few dozen meters away. They seemed to travel in packs. If so, you would have to wait for them to leave before coming back.

You were dying of thirst and had to go far from the house to find a water source. Every so often, you used the knife to carve a symbol on a tree, marking the way back. After several hours of wandering through the forest, you finally stumbled upon a small stream. The water shimmered in the sunlight like a beacon of life. You quickly knelt down, scooping water with both hands onto your sweat-soaked face and cracked, dry lips. The sensation of water flowing down your parched throat felt almost surreal. You drank greedily, water running down your chin, soaking your clothes but you didn't care. Your vision slowly became clearer, and strength began to return to your legs.

You sat there for a moment, as if reflecting on everything in the world, then took a few bottles of water from your bag to fill them.

However, at that point, you realized the water from the stream was rather murky. In your desperation, you hadn't considered that the water might be contaminated. You bit your lip, scooped a bit of water and sniffed it. It had a rather strange smell; you couldn't quite describe it. But you were sure the water was not clean.

You clicked your tongue, silently hoping that you wouldn't get sick from drinking dirty water. You still took the water just in case your body didn't react negatively to keep drinking it, and then returned to the wooden house.

•••

And of course, your body did react.

The next morning, you woke up with a feverish forehead. Your stomach ached, and you threw up continuously. The stream must have been contaminated, and now you were suffering the consequences of your carelessness. Your body, weakened further by vomiting, was severely dehydrated. You lied on the wooden floor, feeling exhausted in every muscle. Without clean water to drink, you might really die here.

Dying from dehydration while the world was on the brink of destruction? You mocked yourself. Truly, there couldn't be a more pathetic death. A part of you just wanted to lie here, waiting to lose consciousness and die a quiet, foolish death. With no one around and no one to know. But the other part of you—the survival instinct every human has—urged you to get up and save yourself.

That other part won.

You had to use both hands to push yourself up from the floor to stand. Your vision was blurry, and your body was weak to the extreme. You grabbed the backpack, unsteadily opened the door. You picked up a sturdy branch from the ground to use as a walking stick. A few days had passed, so the zombies might have left by now. Returning to the main road would be your best chance for survival since it was filled with cars loaded with supplies from people trying to escape the city. You should opt for that instead of continuing to wander in this damn wood.

You walked and walked. You had lost track of time. It had only been a week in this new life, and you were already losing the sense of time. It felt like an eternity before you finally saw the avenue with cars blocking the road. There were still some zombies lurking, but you had no other choice. You pursed your lips, trying to move slowly and make as little noise as possible, approaching the car closest to the fence.

You spotted a zombie about five meters away. It was standing with its back to you. You had to do this now or never. You hid behind the car, fortunately finding the door unlocked. You quickly grabbed the keys, slipped around to open the trunk.

Immediately, you saw two large containers of water along with piles of canned food and protein bars. You softly groaned in joy, then glanced back. It hadn't noticed you yet, so you had to grab what you needed and get out of here as quickly as possible. You grabbed several bottles of water and cans of food, stuffing them into your pack. You didn't have the time or strength to collect everything, so you took only what you needed. Finished, you didn't even bother to close the trunk, turned your back, and headed back towards the forest.

Just when you thought you had completed your first survival task, you accidentally stepped on a twig. The damn twig cracked loudly in the dead silence, and you swore under your breath.

You turned around, and the zombies were slowly turning towards you. They roared and began to move, charging crazily towards the forest. You exhaled in fear and immediately ran for your life. After the outbreak in Atlanta, you had observed and learned a few things about them—they don't run fast, often move in packs, and only attack when they see or hear a target. Maybe if you ran fast enough, you could make them lose your trail and hide in time.

And you ran, not daring to look back. Adrenaline temporarily made you forget the exhaustion from the fever, but once you got back to the house, the fatigue hit you a thousand times harder. You collapsed in front of the door, out of breath. Your ears rang with the sharp sounds, your breathing heavy and irregular. Sweat drenched your hair and clothes, dripping down your chin. Your eyes felt heavy, almost ready to faint, but you clung to the last bit of consciousness and looked back.

One zombie. Only one. It was the one near the car where you had taken supplies. Still charging towards you.

"Fuck me!"

You cursed, trying to stand up and open the door but couldn't. Your body seemed to no longer obey you, and your feet were glued to the wooden floor. You tried to reach out, using your hands to open the door while still sitting on the floor and crawled inside. The zombie was now at the door, sticking its head inside. This was the first time you had seen one so close, and you had never been so terrified. Its skin was pale and lifeless, its hair tangled and matted. Its yellow eyes were bloodshot, with dark, purple circles that no longer belonged to a human but were full of bloodlust. It growled like a beast, baring its teeth, trying to grab your hand that was struggling to close the door. You used every last of your strength to hold it back.

But you couldn't. Your strength was at its limit, your body exhausted. The zombie took the opportunity, slipped through the door, and lunged at you. You fell backwards onto the floor, staring up at it with an empty gaze.

Perhaps, this is the end.

But life never gives you a chance to rest.

A moment before you were about to be eaten alive, an arrow flew from somewhere, piercing right through the zombie's forehead. You stared in shock as it fell on top of you. You caught a glimpse of a man with a crossbow running towards you from outside. He grabbed the zombie off you and tossed it aside like it was nothing. He took your shoulders and shook vigorously.

"Hey, hey! Woman, do you hear me? Wake up!"

Your eyelids drooped, and you lost consciousness.