Post by Deleted on Oct 13, 2015 14:10:22 GMT -5
It wasn't blurry. She wished it was. In the movies, it always was. Perhaps it seemed as if her life was a movie, and that all of the wretched memories would come to her in vague, blurry flashbacks. She'd go on, day after day, the screams blaring clearly through her eardrums, and her memories phasing in front of hers in full color, reviewing what her life had been. It seemed a malicious turn of fate, as if she'd really been so awful before the Outbreak Day that now, karma was intentionally serving her a bad plate. When with people, she only ever imagined what life could have been like if she'd never meet them all. But alone, she couldn't rid the people she'd met from her mind. It was silly perhaps, to think she was safe. To think they were safe; that they had a chance. But as her brain reflected out her most recent history of events, it was clearer than crystal that her sense of stability was her own misjudgment. It was unfair that of all of them, she was the one who'd outlived them.
She had always known what she'd had to do. She'd known since having heard the blood-chilling cries down the hall at nine in the morning so long ago that it was time to get her ass up and go, and to always be ready to get up and go. Somehow, however, it hadn't fully translated. It still felt surreal. There was always still the possibility that one morning, she'd blink really hard upon waking up, and instead of the memories spilling out for display, she'd smile and realize it was just television. That she could pause for popcorn, instead of pause to hear if there were dead inside any building she'd cross.
Really, she hadn't a clue how long she'd been out on her own. It couldn't have been more than a few months, give or take. If she thought about it hard enough, she could judge the time based on small little moments. Julia and Jake's departure with Ruth in tow, waking up that morning to a light snow and their rooms empty. To waking up another morning with heavy snow, and the three of them, Clyde, Oakie and herself swapped little gifts they'd made for one another, knowing that if Christmas had yet to pass, they'd miss it later if they didn't celebrate. To a rainy afternoon after a fight between the boys over tea had left them frantically packing up the car and leaving their little safe haven. To a hot sticky day when Oakie suggested finding a better group when they had gone on a search but had come up with nothing. To the humid night when shit had hit the ceiling. To the brutally sunny day when she pulled over to only leave him behind, tears spilling.
Now it was getting colder, and she could tell, even from curled up in the safety of her vehicle, that the leaves were turning. That final day with Oakie, the leaves had been green, but now they were yellow. Some, even red. It was Autumn. It was funny to think that just a few short years ago, she'd know everything about today. What day it was and what month it was, even the time. But now, she could only guess that it was roughly fall. She'd have to remember to grab her jacket from the bag in the passenger seat before taking off again.
Micah drove often. She drove and drove and drove. It was the best way to do everything. To get places, to leave places. To think, to sleep, to eat. To avoid those things. To avoid what life had become. The more she drove, the more chance she had of not running into the dead. Sometimes she'd have to park and get out, get rid of a few and push cars out of the way. Occasionally, she had to park down a street and run up and check for a herd before proceeding or turning around. And sometimes, she even gave herself the freedom to get out just to stretch and enjoy the weather.
Today was not the day for taking luxuries like that. Today was the day to scavenge. Alone was not the best situation, but it was her only option. She'd been driving since she woke up, before the sun rose and colors masked the sky like a Van Gogh. She'd passed a town not too long ago, maybe some hours. It was in her ability to turn around and grab some supplies, but she wouldn't. It'd be a waste of resources. Micah could almost here Oakie in her head,
"Don'tcha dare, little lady. Just 'cause we shit outta luck doesn't mean we gotta goah lookin' for where the crick dries."
So she pushed on. Pushed and pushed further in her car, eyeing the gas tank every so often. That was always her biggest problem, other than food and water, was gasoline. She'd push her little dirty mess around until it ran dry. Lucky for her, she'd been able to stumble upon at least one car a day, and she knew how to siphon gasoline. And maybe, if luck was in her favor, as the fuel tank began to lower, she'd find somewhere to be.
//time jumping a few hours//[/i]
Hunger. If it wasn't the gasoline, and it wasn't the water she'd been sipping once at every few hours, it was the hunger. She tried to kill it with her sips of water, but normally it'd never let up. Micah would have to wait it out. She didn't like rifling through her small bottle of Ibuprofen to cure her stomach aches. Not after one particular morning in the house when she was sick, and the only thing laying around to be helpful was the Ibuprofen. Micah knew she'd have to be careful, more careful.
Her stomach growled, twisting heavy knots deep into the pits of her stomach and sending shivers into the corners. She really needed to eat. Her gas tank wasn't extremely low, but it was hovering towards being empty the more she drove on. She would not, she could not, let herself end up without her car and her last remaining sanctuary. Ditching the car was always her last resort, but having to choose to leave the car for her own benefit was not a favorable option. But she was hungry, starving even. And if her tiny little Fiat gave out on her, she'd be forced to walk to find food. There'd be no quick escape if needed, no shelter to cover her when she was tired. It'd be her and her own two feet. And the thought of walking during the darkest of nights frightened her greatly.
Stomach growling, she drove on. Before too long, a fork split the road, and taking a right, she continued. in the distance stretched acres of land. Crop land, she guessed, but it was more than likely unattended to, and had probably been that way the past few years. However, amazed, something stood out against the golden foothills of wheat and green delves of corn. A small structure, something architectural. Curious, she neared, going up and down on the rolling hills of Virginia before passing onto a straight passageway. As she closed in, the structure grew in size. Tall and, from the looks of it, still in tact. Desperate, Micah couldn't take chances. Her only hope was to drive closer and park, then risk going into whatever building that way to see if any passerby had come and gone and left behind niblets. Sure, she had some bags of goldfish and pretzels, but that was emergency only. This wasn't an emergency, but it sure as hell would be if she checked out of the building with nothing to show for it. And perhaps some gasoline had been left behind.
Micah closed in. It looked like a farm of sorts. No one seemed to be out and about. Turning down a gravel road, she scouted for a safe hideaway for her dim pearly car. It took only a few brief moments before she was able to pull safely into some brush, tucking it away into a small crevice among the trees. Gingerly, she reached across the car into the passenger seat and zipping open her foresty-green bag, reaching her hand in and searching around. A thin NorthFace emerged, and in quick movements, she pulled her torso into it, grabbing her bag, gun and machete and climbed out. Sliding the bag around both arms to sit comfortably against her back, she quietly shut the door and drove the key into the driver's side, turning the lock into position. Hesitantly, she progressed into these promising lands, shoving her keys into her jeans pocket, gun into her waistband, and machete into the saddle-like pocket Clyde had stitched up for her, tied both at her hip and thigh.
She was nervous and hungry and alone. But it was risk or death, even if the primary led into the latter.
She had always known what she'd had to do. She'd known since having heard the blood-chilling cries down the hall at nine in the morning so long ago that it was time to get her ass up and go, and to always be ready to get up and go. Somehow, however, it hadn't fully translated. It still felt surreal. There was always still the possibility that one morning, she'd blink really hard upon waking up, and instead of the memories spilling out for display, she'd smile and realize it was just television. That she could pause for popcorn, instead of pause to hear if there were dead inside any building she'd cross.
Really, she hadn't a clue how long she'd been out on her own. It couldn't have been more than a few months, give or take. If she thought about it hard enough, she could judge the time based on small little moments. Julia and Jake's departure with Ruth in tow, waking up that morning to a light snow and their rooms empty. To waking up another morning with heavy snow, and the three of them, Clyde, Oakie and herself swapped little gifts they'd made for one another, knowing that if Christmas had yet to pass, they'd miss it later if they didn't celebrate. To a rainy afternoon after a fight between the boys over tea had left them frantically packing up the car and leaving their little safe haven. To a hot sticky day when Oakie suggested finding a better group when they had gone on a search but had come up with nothing. To the humid night when shit had hit the ceiling. To the brutally sunny day when she pulled over to only leave him behind, tears spilling.
Now it was getting colder, and she could tell, even from curled up in the safety of her vehicle, that the leaves were turning. That final day with Oakie, the leaves had been green, but now they were yellow. Some, even red. It was Autumn. It was funny to think that just a few short years ago, she'd know everything about today. What day it was and what month it was, even the time. But now, she could only guess that it was roughly fall. She'd have to remember to grab her jacket from the bag in the passenger seat before taking off again.
Micah drove often. She drove and drove and drove. It was the best way to do everything. To get places, to leave places. To think, to sleep, to eat. To avoid those things. To avoid what life had become. The more she drove, the more chance she had of not running into the dead. Sometimes she'd have to park and get out, get rid of a few and push cars out of the way. Occasionally, she had to park down a street and run up and check for a herd before proceeding or turning around. And sometimes, she even gave herself the freedom to get out just to stretch and enjoy the weather.
Today was not the day for taking luxuries like that. Today was the day to scavenge. Alone was not the best situation, but it was her only option. She'd been driving since she woke up, before the sun rose and colors masked the sky like a Van Gogh. She'd passed a town not too long ago, maybe some hours. It was in her ability to turn around and grab some supplies, but she wouldn't. It'd be a waste of resources. Micah could almost here Oakie in her head,
"Don'tcha dare, little lady. Just 'cause we shit outta luck doesn't mean we gotta goah lookin' for where the crick dries."
So she pushed on. Pushed and pushed further in her car, eyeing the gas tank every so often. That was always her biggest problem, other than food and water, was gasoline. She'd push her little dirty mess around until it ran dry. Lucky for her, she'd been able to stumble upon at least one car a day, and she knew how to siphon gasoline. And maybe, if luck was in her favor, as the fuel tank began to lower, she'd find somewhere to be.
//time jumping a few hours//[/i]
Hunger. If it wasn't the gasoline, and it wasn't the water she'd been sipping once at every few hours, it was the hunger. She tried to kill it with her sips of water, but normally it'd never let up. Micah would have to wait it out. She didn't like rifling through her small bottle of Ibuprofen to cure her stomach aches. Not after one particular morning in the house when she was sick, and the only thing laying around to be helpful was the Ibuprofen. Micah knew she'd have to be careful, more careful.
Her stomach growled, twisting heavy knots deep into the pits of her stomach and sending shivers into the corners. She really needed to eat. Her gas tank wasn't extremely low, but it was hovering towards being empty the more she drove on. She would not, she could not, let herself end up without her car and her last remaining sanctuary. Ditching the car was always her last resort, but having to choose to leave the car for her own benefit was not a favorable option. But she was hungry, starving even. And if her tiny little Fiat gave out on her, she'd be forced to walk to find food. There'd be no quick escape if needed, no shelter to cover her when she was tired. It'd be her and her own two feet. And the thought of walking during the darkest of nights frightened her greatly.
Stomach growling, she drove on. Before too long, a fork split the road, and taking a right, she continued. in the distance stretched acres of land. Crop land, she guessed, but it was more than likely unattended to, and had probably been that way the past few years. However, amazed, something stood out against the golden foothills of wheat and green delves of corn. A small structure, something architectural. Curious, she neared, going up and down on the rolling hills of Virginia before passing onto a straight passageway. As she closed in, the structure grew in size. Tall and, from the looks of it, still in tact. Desperate, Micah couldn't take chances. Her only hope was to drive closer and park, then risk going into whatever building that way to see if any passerby had come and gone and left behind niblets. Sure, she had some bags of goldfish and pretzels, but that was emergency only. This wasn't an emergency, but it sure as hell would be if she checked out of the building with nothing to show for it. And perhaps some gasoline had been left behind.
Micah closed in. It looked like a farm of sorts. No one seemed to be out and about. Turning down a gravel road, she scouted for a safe hideaway for her dim pearly car. It took only a few brief moments before she was able to pull safely into some brush, tucking it away into a small crevice among the trees. Gingerly, she reached across the car into the passenger seat and zipping open her foresty-green bag, reaching her hand in and searching around. A thin NorthFace emerged, and in quick movements, she pulled her torso into it, grabbing her bag, gun and machete and climbed out. Sliding the bag around both arms to sit comfortably against her back, she quietly shut the door and drove the key into the driver's side, turning the lock into position. Hesitantly, she progressed into these promising lands, shoving her keys into her jeans pocket, gun into her waistband, and machete into the saddle-like pocket Clyde had stitched up for her, tied both at her hip and thigh.
She was nervous and hungry and alone. But it was risk or death, even if the primary led into the latter.