Derek Reese
Entry One:
Dear Journal,
My last one kinda got lost in a river running from zombies, so I guess this is Entry 1 of my new journal. My name is Derek Reese, but my friends call me D.R. Or shorty, but I don't like that one. I am a survivor. I suppose since the story was lost, I will have to re-tell it.
I was 9 when the Zombie outbreak started. It was on that day I lost my family, but not from the virus. Not from the panic. Not from criminals and murderers. Hell, for all I know they are still alive this day. It is because they left me. They abandoned me. Something I was never able to understand. they were always there for me, always. Both of them at my birthdays, giving me presents, giving me the best education money could buy. They loved me. Or at least, I thought they did.
On the day of the zombie outbreak, there was so much panic. I woke up to fire and smoke. I screamed and shouted, but no one came. I ran out of my bed and into the street. There was panic, looting. People shooting each other on the streets. A saw a man, who headed a Humanitarian group, kill a couple just to increase his odds of living by taking their supplies. And my parent's car was gone. So was most of the food, baseball bats, and anything that could be used as a weapon.
But they left me.
It was then I was grabbed from behind, and beaten. When I woke up, I was in my room again, tied to the bed. The door was open. The looters not only assaulted me, but they left me as zombie bait to keep themselves safe. However, their knots were absolutely horrible, and I broke free. I got my cargo pants, for the most pockets I could get, as well as my jacket. I still had my bat from baseball practice hidden under my bed, and I took that. I left, hoping to find some survivors who were friendly. However, when I did finally meet some, I learned something horrible.
I couldn't speak. The looters had taken that away too. They had hit my vocal cords in a way that made me a mute. A mute with no way to learn sign language. Eventually I created my own version of sign language, moving from simple expressions to as complicated as I could make it. It is honestly more like charades, but other then writing, its my only way to communicate. I keep hoping that one day my vocal cords will heal, that I will be able to speak again, but after 5 years my hope has diminished.
I can't remember much of my parents anymore. I hate them, I know that. I thought I knew them, I thought they cared. But when there was a real crisis, they left me. For a 9 year old, that is a good reason to hold a grudge. I hope they are dead, but honestly, I just never want to see them again.
Overtime, I picked up new skills. I was always a quick learner. I learned how to repair cars, how to drive, both defensively and offensively, as well as learning how to repair other things. I also learned Archery and Shooting, though anything with massive recoil I can't use.
I guess this is it for this Entry. My new Entry 1. My name is Derek Reese, I am 14 years old, I cannot speak, and my IQ is higher then some Rocket Scientists. I was abandoned by parents who I thought loved me, attacked by strangers for reasons I don't want to say or know, and even then, I still care about others. Its the one thing I have left. The survivors I travel with, they are my family now, even if I don't always show it. I cant, for a simple reason. My last family I cared about, I was wrong apparently. And I am afraid to find out if history will repeat itself.
Entry 2:
I might as well start explaining how I got where I am now. It was only a few weeks after the outbreak, and I was a nine year old boy on my own with a backpack full of food. People thought the stores would be emptied, but they were wrong. So many people died in the panic and the killing, every market had tons of food. I was walking through the woods. Why had I wandered in the woods? Well, zombies still had eyes for seeing, and ears for hearing, so nature areas were somewhat safer, if you didn't get eaten or attacked by wild animals. However, there was another reason.
Zombies could smell too. And I stunk so badly the Zombies thought I was an all you can eat buffet. I had not taken a bath since the outbreak started, and I was not the only one noticing. And, as a nine year old, I REALLY didn't want to admit I needed one. But, the zombies could actually smell me from meters away, and that was a potential health risk.
Of course, for my high IQ, I had no sense of direction. I was lost. Eventually, I found a stream that when I waded into went up to my waist. Of course, I was looking for a lake, but this was just as good. I went swimming, losing myself in the water. I nearly lost my life too, when a zombie came after me. But I managed to get my weapon and smashed it's face in.
That was an important lesson I learned. Zombies don't need air.
