Survive: The Walking Apocalypse - Part 4 *EDITED*

Time is passing by far faster than I would like. The sun is falling from the sky and dusk is beginning to set in. The world is awash with grey, as if the planet's life is slowly being drained, along with its colour. Even the crimson that stains the concrete, grass and my own clothes begins to fade away into the black; a colour that will forever return to haunt me for the rest of my life.

My uncle's home is slowly creeping closer as I walk, run and stumble, but it is not close enough. The darkness will envelop me, blind me and leave me at the mercy of the infected monsters that still hunt for prey, before I ever reach it. My eyes can't seem to help glancing up at the streetlights every few seconds, willing them to bless me with their glow. They normally turn on around this time, but I don't appear to be so lucky. With no electricity, this town will be dead by morning.

Who am I kidding; it already is dead. I sigh, knowing it to be true. The screams that once tore their way into my mind have been silenced. All is quiet now. It is just my sister and I, walking down a lonely road. Searching for hope in a town that is dead. A literal ghost town, in every sense.

That's what the monsters really are. They're ghosts; shades of the past. People that once felt happiness, sadness and love, but no longer. Now they are only empty shells, doomed to rot until they crumble.

There is hope, however. I refuse to let go of it. As long as my sister and I still live, there will always be hope for us. My uncle is alive. I just know it. My gut is telling me that he is still alive, and in a world that has been reduced to ashes overnight, my gut is the only thing that I can trust, for now.

The monsters have thinned out substantially. The further I walk into town, the fewer there are. They all seem to be walking in the same direction. It is like they are following the living, chasing after their screams and the scent of their blood, while trailing death behind them. Many of them stayed behind to feast on remains or to chase their victims through the winding streets, but most moved on. The ones that remain, the ones that I have seen so far, seem to linger in place. They never seem to move very far until something grabs their attention. I wasted minutes of precious time huddled behind an abandoned car, waiting for a group to move out of my path. They stumbled around, but never far enough for me to pass them by without drawing their attention. I grew tired of waiting, held back my fear and forced myself to run through them.

After this, I began to pay far more attention to them. They all behaved in the exact same way. It was only until a dog began barking in the distance, and when they started moving toward the sound, that I realised how brain dead they are. Their minds seem empty of thought, reacting only to the hunger that most likely drives them. They're just like the creatures that I've seen in films. Zombies; a name I refuse to call them.

I'm not even sure what to call them. Infected, I suppose. That is the sanest option. Perhaps labelling them as anything other than people is inane and silly, but it helps me separate them from the person they used to be. It helps me put them out of their misery. Though, if I'm truly honest with myself, it just helps me kill them. I don't care for their misery or any pain that they may feel. They are a threat to my sister and I, and for that, they must be disposed of. They may once have been people, but I will not be naive or optimistic about them. Until proven otherwise, they can't be saved and, until proven otherwise, they are no longer people. Not anymore.

I quiet my stream of thought and chastise myself. Getting lost in my own head is probably a bad idea. The sunlight is slipping away faster and faster, but at least the road ahead seems clear.

Lucy lays cradled in my arms, fast asleep. Tears stain the skin around her eyes still, but for now, she has escaped from this nightmare, if only for a moment.

She looks so small and fragile. Her tiny hands are wrapped into my t-shirt and her head is resting softly against my chest. I am so afraid for her. This world, with all the infected, will break her. She's so young, so impressionable, that even if the world was to miraculously recover tomorrow morning, along with our parents, she'd still be scarred; changed. That is what I fear most. I've read the books, I've seen the films. I understand, at least on a basic level, that something this emotionally traumatising will change a person forever. I can feel it changing me. All I can do is protect her from everything that I can. Keep her safe and survive.

I give the streetlights a final glance and sigh resignedly. The power is definitely out. It is almost pitch black now. I can't continue walking if I'm blind. Who knows what I'd bump into. At the best of luck, a lamppost. At the worst ... I'd rather not dwell on that.

I need to get inside and rest until morning. I survey my surroundings, examining all the nearby houses that are still close enough to see in the dimming dark. Almost all of them have their windows smashed, the door kicked down or simply wide open. Infected could easily have wandered inside by now, I'd rather not risk it.

Then I see one house. The door is closed and appears untouched. A single window has been smashed, but boarded up by a large wooden panel. A car has been driven through the fence and stopped on the grass, its windshield badly cracked and falling a part, but I can't see anyone inside. It seems to be my best option.

I step off the path and through the gap in the partly destroyed fence. The house has a large porch with wooden bannisters all along it and a small bench nestled in the corner, against the wall of the house. The house sticks out over the front door, creating an overhang and draping the porch in dark shadows, but the door is still easily seen. I walk up to the front window and peer inside. I can't see anything except for the faint outline of furniture, but it looks mostly undisturbed. Perhaps no one was home when the herd came through town, but then who repaired the window?

Stepping up the two small steps leading onto the porch, I reach my hand out for the door. Then I stop, my right hand half way extended, the other still cradling Lucy and the baseball bat drooping from its fingers.

Something doesn't feel right.

My body grows tense and I carefully glance over my shoulder. Nothing is there. I strain my ears, listening for the slightest sound. Again, nothing. The town is silent and so is this street. If that's the case, then why do I feel so on edge?

Then I hear it. The faintest sound imaginable, but I hear it. A light, rasping breath, coming from the shadows to my left. From the corner of the porch, next to the bench. In front of a window I failed to notice on the side wall, multiple cracks and fractures painting its surface. I hear it coming from right beside me. I stare into the shadow's depths, but all I see is black. Then I stare at the window, and in its reflection, I see two eyes staring back at me. White, soulless eyes.

I back away, my heart throbbing inside my chest. I hear it pounding in my ears and it drowns out the sounds of those rasping breaths. I take the baseball bat from my left hand, and hold it firmly in my right. Lucy still sleeps, completely unaware to what is happening around her.

One slow step at a time, I inch further and further away. It hasn't noticed me, somehow, but I still can't see it properly. I take another step back, but the ground seems to disappear and I fall.

I forgot about the two steps leading down from the porch. I fall flat on my back, a loud gasp of air leaving my throat. The sudden shock of movement nudges Lucy awake and she stares up at me, bewildered.

"What happened? Where are we?" She asks quietly, but not quietly enough.

The rasping breaths suddenly grow louder and alert, increasing in pace. I hear loud shuffling within the shadows and then a tall and thin figure walks out and blocks the front door of the house. Its silouhette towers over us, like a true monster.

I scramble to my feet and back away as fast as I can. Lucy glances to where my stare is so fixated and almost screams, but I plant my hand over her mouth.

"Quiet," I whisper, "Don't make a sound. I'm putting you down onto the ground. Stay close to me."

She nods vigorously, eyes wide and on the verge of panic.

I slowly place her down and she immediately huddles behind my leg, like she did earlier.

The silhouette ambles toward us, almost falling down the stairs as well, but somehow keeping its balance. It wheezes out another breath and raises an arm as if to grab me.

I grasp the bat with both hands and pull it back, ready to swing. The figure walks closer and closer, raising both arms now. Its limbs are so long and thin, that they stop me from getting within swinging distance. Its fingers inch towards my face, almost scratching my skin. I keep backing up, further and further, in hope that I'll get a chance to take it down. Losing patience, I swing and smack one of its arms. It knocks the figure slightly off balance, but before I can ready another swing, the arm moves back into place, fingers grasping for my face. I try to jump back, but one of my legs refuses to move and I fall over instead. Lucy squeals as I almost crush her beneath my weight. She had held onto my leg so tightly, that she had stopped me from moving it.

The silhouette is a giant now. It stretches far above us, enveloping us. The arms now appear as tendrils preparing to trap us in an embrace.

I panic. I sit up, seize Lucy by the arm and pull her up with me. I dash to the side and around the infected, no longer caring if it lives or dies. I just want to get away from it. It inhales a loud, disgusting breath and turns to chase us. I don't spare it a second glance. I jump up onto the porch, seize the door by the handle and swing it open. I am met by more darkness, but at least it will separate us from the monster outside. I pull Lucy inside with me, spin on the spot and slam the door shut behind me. I bend over, hands resting against the cool, wooden surface of the door and breathe in large gulps of air. I close my eyes and count until my heart stops racing.

A loud thud resonates off the door, followed by another. The door shakes lightly on its frame. I turn and shove my back against it, pushing all my weight into the door. The thuds slowly subside, until eventually stopping altogether. I sigh with relief and slide down the door's surface.

Before I hit the floor, Lucy slams into my chest. Her arms wrap around my neck and she pushes her face into my shoulder. She collapses onto the floor with me and just sits there. I wrap my arms around her; one on her back and the other resting in her hair. We stay like this for a while, with only Lucy's soft whimpers to fill the silence.

"I'm so scared, Ryan," she eventually whispers, "I just want to go home."

I stare into the black surrounding us. I feel like my heart is about to crack. "I know, Lucy. I want to go home as well. But you know we can't do that," I clear my throat, fighting back tears, "We don't have a home anymore."

Silence takes over again.

I feel empty. Truly empty, like my heart and soul has been wrenched out. This is our first moment of peace, our first moment of rest. This is our first moment to let all the hurt and pain sink in. I'm trying so hard to fight back tears, that I'm afraid to say anything else.

The house joins in on the silence, and for that, I thank it. It must be empty, for any infected would have come looking when I slammed the door shut.

"We don't have parents anymore either, do we?" Lucy asks. She sounds so timid, like she's afraid of the answer.

An answer I fear to give. I don't want to accept it. I've blocked out the loss of our parents this entire time. Refused to mourn them. Refused to let any pain inside. I've kept my head in the moment, allowing adrenaline to take control.

Now I find that impossible. My body starts to shake uncontrollably and tears begin falling against my will. I feel Lucy pull away from me and one of her tiny hands reach up to touch my face, to touch the dampness escaping from my eyes.

"No, Ryan, don't you cry too," she begs through her own tears, "You're meant to be like daddy now, aren't you? Daddy never cried," she says. Not because she's ashamed of my tears, but because she doesn't want to see me hurting as well. She needs someone to pretend nothing is wrong, that nothing can ever upset them. She needs someone strong, someone like our father. Can I be that person? I'm not so sure anymore. I was never sure.

"I know," I tell her, pulling her into another hug, "Everything will be okay. I promised to get you somewhere safe, and I will. I'm so sorry, Lucy."

She sniffles, pulls back and pecks me on the cheek. "It's okay."

We return to the silence. Lucy is slowly falling asleep, and I don't wish to disturb her. Instead, I simply sit in the darkness, on the cold floor, and hold onto the only thing that matters in the world.