Chapter Two

I spent some time making my way through the grounds, clearing out pockets of zombies, picking off shufflers, and collecting three other infected survivors. They were all freaking out as I had and their eyes had the same lost look in them. I focused everyone by reminding them we weren't dead yet.

"One hour," I told each of them as we met up. "You can waste it crying over shit you can't change or you can get revenge. Personally, I plan to take out as many of these fuckers as I can."

Together, armed with whatever we could find, we aimed for the armory to figure out why the hell we hadn't heard any shooting after the initial barrage. Had I mentioned we'd been organized? There were people assigned to make sure the guys on the perimeter could reload indefinitely and I knew for a fact we'd received a truckload of ammunition when the bureaucrats took over the camp. We'd been reinforced with trained adult soldiers, too. I hadn't seen any of them, which gave me a good idea of what we were going to find.

I wasn't wrong. At some time during our perimeter shift, the armory had been cleared out. The bureaucrats were gone. The civilians were gone. The other campers and instructors were gone. Every vehicle with a running engine was gone. The entire fucking camp had pulled out, sacrificing those of us on perimeter guard for the sake of safer evacuation.

In the back of my mind, I knew why they'd chosen us as the sacrificial goats. If we were dead, the people in charge wouldn't have to answer any pesky questions about why underage kids had been shoved on the front lines with loaded weapons instead of being evacuated. Sure, the end of the world was a good excuse, but we weren't actually soldiers and this wasn't an actual military base.

The guys with me were shocked and they felt the same sense of betrayal I did. They turned toward the building with Sergeant Jacobs, intending to go get answers, but I called out to stop them. "He stayed behind. He's still here and he didn't have to be. I don't blame you for wanting answers, but we don't have much time left. Why waste it yelling at the one guy who didn't abandon us? Hell, you'll be putting him and everyone else in danger if you go back. We're all infected."

At that point, I felt like I had a high fever and I knew I looked like I was about to keel over—because I was. My initial cold rage had fizzled out at some point and I now I only felt tired. I thought I could hold it together for another ten, maybe fifteen minutes. I doubted I'd last much longer than that.

"Are you saying we should just kill ourselves now and save them the trouble?" Cadet Richards snarled. I didn't know his first name. Our instructors hadn't been keen on letting us get familiar with each other.

"You can if you want," I replied calmly. Thinking should have been hard, but my thoughts seemed to grow clearer and clearer as the virus ate through my brain. "We don't know jack shit about what's happening except what's on the news. What if they already have a cure somewhere and they just haven't dusted this area with it yet? If there's even a small chance of coming back from this, I'm taking it—even if it means turning into one of them for a while."

"The news is still broadcasting in places," Cadet Harold commented. "I watched some before my shift started. The CDC grounded flights quickly enough the virus didn't have a chance to spread off the East coast. They're creating a militarized zone down the center of the US using the Great Plains as a staging ground and relocating all the survivors on the other side of the Rockies."

"Fat good that did us," Richards spat.

"It is good, shithead," I spat back. "It means medical labs are still working on the problem and civilization hasn't fallen yet. There's still a chance to come back from this." I cussed as I wobbled in place, my knees threatening to falter under me. "I don't have time to argue. I'm packing a bag, holing up in the woods, and I'm going to let myself change. You guys do what you want."

The third guy, Cadet Hanson, said nothing through our argument. He was a small, scrawny guy compared to me. We shared a bunkroom, so I knew him better than the others. The only reason he'd been sent to military school was because his parents were religious nuts who'd found their son's digital stash of fantasy novels and believed he lacked discipline. Sometimes, the looks I caught him throwing in my direction made me wonder if fantasy novels were all his parents found.

He gave me one of those heated glances now, which made zero sense. I was known for having an incurable resting-bitch-face. Even when I was completely relaxed, I've been told I seem like I wanted to kill someone. It had to be even worse in that moment because I was literally dying.

"Bye," I said to him.

"Good luck," he replied, giving me a tight-lipped smile.

I headed to the cabin holding the bunkspace I shared with seven other guys. I packed a bag with spare clothes and a rolled up blanket—don't ask me why I thought I'd needed them. My brain wasn't functioning very well by that point and I was working off instinct.

Then I made the mistake of sitting down to retie my academy issued combat boot. As soon as my ass hit the side of the bed, I realized I wouldn't have the energy to stand up again. That left me fucked. Ambling around as a zombie in the great outdoors would have been safer than being inside a building humans would eventually search. I wasn't going to get a chance to be cured. I was certain someone would come along and blow my head off sooner rather than later, probably by some survivor who didn't get the news this wasn't a safe place anymore.

Unfortunately, I didn't get a choice in the matter. Getting up and leaving was out of the question now. I leaned over to make myself fall onto the floor and I used some of my remaining strength to roll under my bunk. I'm not sure why I thought it would do any good. Sure, I was out of immediate sight, but it wouldn't matter when my zombified self climbed out to attack people. On the other hand, I'd said I was going to hole up to die. This was a good of a hole as any.

My pack fell over with me and my blanket rolled out. I stared at it for several minutes as my mind continued to fail, then I blindly reached out to grab it. My fever was starting to become a distant memory. I was cold. Blankets meant warmth. I didn't have the energy to unfurl it, but knowing it was there helped.

Tired. I was so damn tired. I closed my eyes, telling myself I'd figure out a better plan once I got some sleep.

I hoped the cafeteria would have toast in the morning. My stomach probably wouldn't be able to handle anything heavier.

Was Hanson really queer or were his glances just my imagination? What should I do if he was? Did he like me? Fuck, did I like him?

Why was my stepmom such a bitch? What did my dad see in her? Would they miss me?

Hey, God, if you're listening—forgive me? For, like, everything?

I don't want to die.