Unsteady on his feet, your father dragged himself along the dunes that stretched along the coast on the sides of the property.

The smell of salt was in the air, carried by the sound of small waves lapping the sand. Reeds rustled as a wind ruffled your (H/C) hair. Slowly your eyes wandered over the grey beach. Dead trees stretched towards the cloudy sky.

A soft breath escaped you as your eyes narrowed. These were not trees that had been crystallised by the salt water over the centuries. They were crosses. And something seemed to be hanging from each one.

Or rather someone.

"That's why I told you never to get caught.", your father's voice rattled with lack of air as he came to a halt beside you.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, leaving white traces of salt. He had grown old. Of course he had been before, but now it was clearly visible. Malnutrition and little sunlight made him look like a walking corpse.

There was no mirror, but you didn't think you looked too different from him. Swallowing hard, you took a deep breath. Now you could guess where that acrid odour of iron and decaying flesh was coming from. No matter how long this world had been in this state of emergency, the cruelty of those still alive never failed to surprise.

Suddenly a movement caught your attention.

There she was again. The stranger.

From a distance, she was hardly bigger than a miniature and yet it was easy to recognise that it was her. The dirt that clung to her, the blood that covered her tanned skin was like war paint. Only you weren't sure if she wore the courage proudly or regretfully.

"We should keep going.", you muttered, your eyes still fixed on her as she approached a cross.

She seemed to be talking to someone, someone who had survived. A flick of her wrist made you hesitate, then she walked around the cross and cut something. Probably a rope. Another person fell into the sand. A loud cry of pain cut through the gushing of the waves.

Shaking your head slightly, you closed your eyes, adjusted your bag pack, the weight of which was cutting into your shoulders, and turned away. It took you a few steps to realise that someone was missing.

"Pa.", you glanced back over your shoulder.

Shoulders slumped, back bent and breathing heavily, he continued to stand at the edge of the dune, watching.

"They are fighting...", there was regret in his voice.

Frowning, you pursed your lips.

"They always do.", you replied and wanted to go on.

But again it took a few steps and he didn't follow. When you looked round for him again, he had sat down on a stone to rest.

"Pa!", impatience spread through you.

Tired, he grunted and gestured to ask for patience.

"Sit down.", he patted the empty space next to him.

Sucking the air sharply you had to bite your lips to avoid grumbling frustrated.

"We should get out of here before someone decides to follow us.", you said, a hint of reproach in your words.

It was reckless to stay in a place teeming with angry people who kept infected for entertainment purposes. And now all their prisoners were let loose. Armed.

There were few places you'd rather be than behind secure walls with like-minded people, but this was definitely not one of them. Especially for an old man who could hardly hold a rifle, it would be a thousand times better to walk away.

But if your father had made up his mind, it was hard to change. Defeated, you could not but sigh with a roll of eyes and sat down beside him on the stone. With a muffled sound, the backpack fell to the ground between your feet.

Immediately, the damage it had caused to your skin was noticeable. Dark spots had formed, some areas had rubbed off and a few drops of blood came out. Your father looked at the injuries from the side.

"I'll carry the backpack later.", he said.

You sucked in a sharp breath. And had to smile.

"Don't be ridiculous, Pa...", the smile faded, leaving nothing but disappointment that stung almost as much as guilt did.

He wouldn't be able to carry that bag more than a few miles. If any at all. One look at him was enough and you had to wonder if he'd make it through the night.

Food was desperately needed. Something that was more than just a few bites. Hunting for meat would be the next best thing.

But you had no bow and shooting an animal with a rifle not only would waste ammo it would also attract a whole lot of attention.

From both the infected and other survivors. If it were for you it would be best to stick to the shadows and not cause a rucks any time soon.

Wiping your face with both hands you tried to chase away the soreness that dug its teeth into your flesh. Your throat was dry, so dry even that you could feel the urge to cough your lungs out.

As you tried to wet your lips with your tongue they cracked and the iron taste of blood filled your mouth.

Your gaze returned to the beach.

The stranger had cut down another person and now the three of them walked towards the shore. Two boats were tied down, the water reaching barely over their knees.

While the other woman, unknown to you by her appearance, carried a boy the woman who had helped set you free put her backpack in one of the boats.

They exchanged a few words, things started to heat up. Fists started to fly. Blood painted the dark water in a reddish tint.

Swallowing hard, you watched as the brown haired woman pushed the other under water. She struggled, fought and tried to claw her way back to be able to breathe.

All of a sudden a mind changed. Screaming in pain, the two parted.

The fight was over, one woman left with the boy to start anew while the other broke down at the shore, sitting in the cold, salty water.

She was left behind. No one to love her. Not even a single soul to hate her.

She was all by herself now.