The bags of luggage where packed and in the back of the truck. They had enough food to last a couple weeks. She glanced around looking for anything else she thought that they would need and then headed out the squeaky screen door. She missed the sound of planes overhead. Her husband sat in the idling pickup and waited for his wife to pull away from the house she grew up in. He watched for any sign of disruption in the golden fields. She looked up at the leaning house. The not so white paint was peeling from the frame and the door was crooked on its rusting hinges and the tile in the kitchen was cracking. The old farmhouse had been through many storms and she had to let it go now.

A shot rang out and pulled her from her reminisce and she spun around, praying he hadn’t been bitten. One of them lay in the grass. Blood seeped from the fresh hole in her head. Her bottom jaw was missing and the skin on her arm burned. Her leg was broken and a gash, old and purple, covered her stomach. The dead roamed the land now. People had been nearly wiped out with the plague, and only a few where left to live, if you could call it that. Now the two of them were on the abandoned road to look for others who had survived the end.