Chapter Two Guilt
She was tired, exhausted, she stared down the valley into the town where it all started, 6 months had passed, unbelievable that she had survived that night and deep down she wish she hadn’t, she had run for all the right reasons and failed. She saw figures in the mist, her heart skipped, she stared, watching intently, the figures moved with little coordination, shuffling, she sighed, shaking her head she turned her back on the town.
Her thoughts went back to the night she ran, her stupid, silly idea on wanting to make things right, to stop that madman, she had failed, this was her fault, all of it, she was responsible, if only she hadn’t run, listened to others, this wouldn’t have happened. Friends had died, her family gone, there was only one person she cared for and she hadn’t seen them since the night she ran, she knew little of what was happening outside the country, how far this virus had spread, she had no idea how many people were left. She knew there were others, survivors like her, she stayed away, the guilt eating away at her, taking a part of her minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day.
She turned and looked back towards the town, cloaked in mist, the figures had stopped, all appeared to be looking in one direction. In the distance a sound, faint, gunfire, a single shot, then another, and another, the figures moved towards the sound, at first moving slowly, ungainly, other figures appeared from doorways, moving faster, the figures came together, coordinated, hunting, she could hear the moans from where she was stood, then a scream, a high pitched inhuman scream, the scream rattled across the town, echoing, then silence, nothing.
She fell to the ground, crying, sobbing uncontrollably, where was he? Why wasn’t he here? He had told her this would happen, he told her why he wouldn’t be here, he had told her it wasn’t her fault no matter what she had done or what she tried to do, the outbreak was inevitable, it was always going to happen, it was just a matter of time.
She wiped her eyes, she couldn’t carry on, every day was torture, she reached into her bag, the same bag she had used the night to run, the same bag that had carried the outbreak outside the walls, the bag was torn, the bullet hole a reminder of how she had escaped, a reminder of who had helped her, it didn’t matter, not anymore, she reached inside and felt the cold dead metal, her hand gripped the metal, fingers curled around the handle, today was the last day, today it would end, she slowly pulled the gun from the bag.
He watched from the hill, watched as she knelt and placed the gun on the ground in front of her, he watched and felt the sadness, his heart pounding, breaking, but he couldn’t interfere as much as he wanted to he couldn’t, he watched as she picked the gun up and raised it, he watched as he did every day as she went through the same routine, today was different and he watched.