Emily walked silently through the forest’s wasteland. She has been traveling nonstop for weeks, only stopping when she thought she heard people. After the disaster, she had headed south, traveling toward her hometown of New Orleans. She knew the chances of anyone surviving were slim to none, but she had to see it for herself. The undead girl made her way mostly on her own two feet. The bombs had destroyed mostly everything. In her journey she saw things she refused to think back on. Not only death, but what people are willing to do to survive. She learned quickly how to defend herself, with the bit of training she had done with Enders before the explosions. She wondered if he was still alive.

When she arrived in former New Orleans, her heart broke. Her city had not been attacked forthright, but the radiation had killed off most of the whole city. Few survived. Those who did had built bonkers and storage areas after hurricane Katrina. By the time Emily had arrived a civilization had been built in the rubble. In all, there were about thirty people of the 340,000 who resided in the Big Easy who lived.
Emily stayed in New Orleans for almost a year. She gathered food, water, and other supplies from neighboring cities. It helped that she didn’t need any of these commodities to survive. Being dead has its perks. And its drawbacks.

Nature and survival had not been kind to Emily. Rain, sand, being struck by lightning, and other weather destroyed her skin. Maggots and even a wolf attack had made parts of her bone and muscle exposed to air. Emily found it necessary to cover her body fully and wear a mask. She truly looked like a zombie.

After being with the New New Orleaneans for quite some time, their leader decided they wanted to head East toward Florida’s larger cities. Emily followed them. She was an asset in finding supplies and fighting off animals and marauders. She was also very good at carrying supplies, her body never tiring from heavy loads.

The group had made it as far as Tallahassee before disaster struck. They were outnumbered and outgunned. The mutants they encountered were far too powerful. All of her friends were killed; Emily was stabbed through the heart. To survive, Emily stayed on the ground. To this day, Emily wonders if she should have continued fighting, to have died with her friends.

For two weeks, Emily stalked the murderous band and picked them off one by one. But their leader had been too powerful for her and was able to get away with a few of his followers. She had wanted to continue searching for him, but realized she needed to move on with her undead life.

Emily has spent the last few months heading back up north toward New York City. She carried a small pack of supplies, dried fruits and meats, along with first-aid equipment. Several weapons were hidden under her clothing. She stepped out of the perimeter of the dead forest and surveyed her surroundings. From the light of the moon, she was able to see that a small shack stood in the distance. The masked girl made her way to the building, hoping no one was pointing a gun in her direction.

Jack Little had started venturing past the city limits, to the decaying forest that lie on its outskirts. The resources she used were starting to become quite unreliable (resources meaning the pesky, unfortunate people who accidentally crossed her path). She only targeted the ones with full bellies, not the ones who were just as desperate as she was. Three years into the apocalypse, she had gotten pretty good at convincing others to give her their food and water, and maybe even their shoes. A sturdy pair of shoes was very hard to come across those days, unless one went to Celeste’s Bunker and traded for them. But the trader usually set outrageous, exorbitant prices for such coveted items, so Jack had no chance.

As she climbed over rubble and navigated the collapsed heap that once was a highway, she wondered if many inhabited the woods, and if she’d face any resistance or attack. The trek was exhausting enough; she really didn’t want to have to deal with prickly people defending their territory. The past few years had served to make her more wary of human contact, so much so that she disliked seeing another face (unless said face was handing her supplies), much less fighting one. That was the last thing she wanted to do. The teenager prepared herself anyhow, as she neared the forest, or at least what remained of it. It wasn’t very green anymore, not very lively. The lack of sun and abundance of acid rain had greatly destroyed the foliage, combined with whatever radiation had seeped into the soil.

Jack took a moment to arm herself, trusty old baseball bat in one hand, stolen switchblade in the other. The aluminum bat had proved itself worthy over the past three years, having smashed and whacked many an object and person. The fact that it was still usable after so long was a feat within itself. The switchblade was a recent acquirement, after a particularly dense man had tried to cut her in her electric form. He gave himself a nasty burn in the process, and had thoroughly pissed the young woman off. After pumping 600 volts of electricity into him, she took the knife and his food, and went on her merry way.

But she wasn’t completely inhuman. She left the first aid kit, since he’d need to treat those nasty burns.

On the edge of the forest, there was a small, blackened shack, shreds of moonlight illuminating its exterior. The nineteen-year-old tentatively neared the hut, weapons brandished and body ready to go electrical at any notice. She kicked open the door, deciding catching someone by surprise was better than getting ambushed herself, and discovered that…

…there was no one inside. Whew. Jack checked in any hiding places, though there weren’t many in the small, one room shack, and gave a sigh of relief when she didn’t find anything. It appeared the place had been abandoned long ago, with cobwebs adorning the corners of the shack, and the cupboards swiped clean of any food or supplies. There was a healthy coating of dust on the mattress, but that didn’t stop her from pouncing on it. It was the first decent-looking bed she had seen in a while.

She wiped off some of the dust and laid on it, tossing an old, dirty blanket over herself. Her pack sufficed as a pillow. She kept the switchblade in the pocket of her faded jeans, and the baseball bat on the edge of the bed, where she’d easily be able to grab it. Eventually, despite the anxiety she felt with being in a new, unknown place, the young woman fell into a light sleep, hand hovering near the metal bat.

Emily made her way to the one-room shack. The windows were too filthy to look inside them. Emily checked the doorknob and it wasn’t locked. She put her ear to the door. No noise came from within. The woman slowly opened the door to the shack and checked the interior. A single bed lay in the corner of the room. It was too dark to tell if the lump on it was human or just a wad of sheets.

She contemplated if she should draw a weapon before addressing the dark, but decided against it. Still, she kept her hand on her machete as she called out. Emily kept her back to the open door, just incase she had to run. “ Is anybody in hea?