Amelia Evans's Story

Amy pranced carelessly through a maze of trees, the sun barely shining through the canopy of leaves above. A soft light lit the small forest, creating a feeling of safety, like home. Amy exclaimed in fits of laughter and deep breaths of fresh air. She was young and she felt radiant in her four-foot, nine year-old body. Her tiny cream, floral dress twirled around her legs and her long, silky hair trailed behind her as she weaved deeper into the forest.
As Amy progressed past the numerous clusters of trees, the branches slowly crept into the way of her path. They began tugging and tearing at the fabric of her dress and her delicate skin. Her pace slowed with every new scrape and cut, and soon she was taking reluctant steps to avoid further pain. Her dress wrinkled and was torn in several places, and her skin was covered in dry blood and dirt. The sky had taken on a dark glow and Amy became frightened.

"Amelia?" A voice called from behind.
Amy turned reluctantly. She was uncertain of who or what beckoned her, and her smile had already, long ago faded into a nervous glare. She stared into the mass of trees, her view lit only by the weak light of dusk.

"Amelia!" The voice revealed concern and subdued panic. Amy immediately recognized the voice.

"Mom?" Amy responded, in a questioning but eager shout, back at the silhouette, which crept closer from a distance away. Amy was puzzled, however, at the unfamiliar feeling she felt at the presence of the being approaching her. It slightly resembled her mother of what she could see; the shadow of her beach wave curls, her thin figure.. But something was off about her. Her movements were unnatural; she jerked and twitched as she approached. Amy couldn't help but take a step back.

"Where are you going, sweetie?" The figure spoke in exerted breaths, as if unable to breathe. It's mechanical speech set off a warning bell in Amy.

"Who are you?" Amy retorted in a hoarse voice. She struggled to swallow, to clear her throat. She didn't take her eyes off the figure as it continued to approach.

"WHAT are you?!" Amy asked in desperation, as if begging. She wanted an answer, she wanted to know where her mother was.. her REAL mother. What did this thing do to her?

"I AM your mother!" It finally responded, stopping abruptly a bit a ways from Amy. The shadow of a nearby willow tree obscured the figure's face from view. The sound of it's labored breathing filled the surrounding air.

"And I asked you a question, young lady!" The creature seized Amy's hand, finally revealing itself in the gloom. Amy could see it wasn't her mother. It was one of them. What were they called again?
Where it's eyes were supposed to be were depressed black holes, and trickling from them was deep red blood, running down it's pale, sunken cheeks.

"Why are you leaving me?" It wailed sorrowfully. In that instant, Amy felt guilt, sadness, and grief overwhelm her all at once instead of the intense terror she had felt immediately before. Her eyebrows, once portraying frightened surprise, sunk down above her eyes... and she began to cry.

"I'm sorry.." Was all that Amy could utter before the zombie yanked her hand up towards it's gaping mouth and ripped through the skin, flesh, muscle, and tendons in her wrist. Amy howled in pain--

With a jolt, Amy awoke in a cold sweat, instantly sitting up with a box-cutter gripped in her hand, fully extracted and extended, and on the offensive. She was breathing heavily from the scare, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. As soon as she was certain she was safe, she lowered her weapon and calmed her breathing. Before she had realized it, she was 18 year-old Amy again. She wasn't a child anymore like she was in her dream. Amy remembered ripping open boxes with the box-cutter and resting on the floor of the post-office. She knew she would be able to find valuable things from the packages that were meant to be sent out and delivered, and she had found a few canned foods and bottled sodas. She was lucky this time. Most of the trips she had taken to grocery stores, gas stations, and restaurants had all ended in failures, ending in unwanted encounters with the flesh-hungry undead, and with the desperate living. She was able to scavenge a fair amount of goods when she happened upon one of many of the torn open letters littering the post-office's desks and floors. She began reading letters addressed to loved ones from loved ones with messages of bittersweet goodbyes. Amy had fallen asleep reading them and she suspected they were directly responsible for her dream. She knew this because she hadn't dreamed in a very long time, at least not since her family died.

Amy sighed.
"I can't miss them. I'm not allowed to.." She thought maybe if she told herself this, she'd stop thinking of them.
She wiped away the sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her sweater and took a deep breath to collect herself before getting onto her feet. As routine surveillance, she inspected her surroundings. She walked around a bend to the hallway entrance and began to yawn when she spotted a zombie outside the building of the post-office.

"Great." Amy commented grimly as she exhaled exasperatedly.
It stared at her through a window with it's empty gaze for a few moments before walking her direction towards the barricaded door in front of her. It began it's signature zombie door-banging and Amy picked up her bag, now stuffed full of supplies, slung it onto her shoulder, and across her chest.

"I can never catch a break, can I?" She mocked sarcastically as she gripped the handle of her fire axe, lifting it off the floor.