Chapter 1: Road Trip Gone Bad
You'd wonder, at times, how many more days and years you're going to be on the run until this mad, apocalyptic, voodoo thingy ends. Right now doesn't seem to be one of the times you should be wondering.
Four days ago, you had set out from Atlanta for a road trip to Birmingham and Nashville. You planned to sleep in Birmingham for a two days before setting out to Nashville. That was the plan.
You got to stay in Birmingham but when you went to Nashville, the whole place was crawling with those things. You had stepped on the rev and gotten out there ASAP when they started chasing you.
You turned on the news that day and it told you that Atlanta was a surviving place. So you went there, back home.
You regret doing that.
Once back in Atlanta, you could even hear a pin drop. The only weapon you had with you was a pocket knife and with that, you entered home, only problem was, it wasn't home anymore. No more people buzzing around or the bustling noise, just the howling wind and dried paper in the air.
You took tiny steps into the deserted place, barely containing your fear and suspicion. And then, a few more steps ahead, you heard a moan and a rancid stench hit your nostrils. Adrenaline pumped and your senses heightened. You were frightened for sure.
And then, you had taken a step backwards when it came hobbling out, skin flayed and bones jutting out. It jogged to you and snapped its jaws, trying to bite you. When it had gotten too close, you stuck your knife into its skull deep before running back to your car.
Curiosity killed the cat.
More moans had rang and when you'd gotten into your car and started the engine, you sped off without a second glance.
That was how you lost your knife.
A few miles ahead near Interstate 85, your car ran out of fuel and without another choice, you got out of the car with your backpack.
That's how you got into this position.
You sigh and sling your backpack down to do an inventory check, opening the zip. Your face contorts into a mixture of hopelessness and frustration. You have spare clothes, one granola bar, an emptied water bottle, and a handkerchief.
You almost zip it back up when you remember that what your father always said to you when going on a road trip. "There's no harm in taking a map of your hometown with you. You never know when you'll lose your way and end up stranded."
Quickly, you rummage your bag for a map, which, thankfully, you remembered to pack. Snatching the piece of paper, you unfold it and analyse it for a moment. Currently, you are in Interstate 85 and you think for a minute.
Betting it all into a city was dangerous so you guessed that each of them were overrun. The only place you have left was, well, nowhere. Feeling more than depression, you squat down before hearing a loud vroom from behind.
Looking back, you see a speeding, red Dodge Challenger from Atlanta. It is more than noisy. You scramble out of the way but unfortunately, it didn't see you.
Fortunately, you hear more engine bursts and you scream, "Help, please!" And thankfully, the driver isn't an insane psychopath, so it isn't speeding. The driver halts the truck and jumps down.