I saw someone hanging from a light post. It looked recent, they smelled like rotting meat. There were flies buzzing around them. It was a woman, a little older than I. How old was I? If it is 2022, I would be 22. She looked to be around her late twenties. The nameless woman was thin, thinner than me. She resembled a skeleton with her thin bony arms and sunken dead eyes. She looked like a type of person whose name would be Becky. Kit and I sat there for a while watching her body sway whenever the wind blew.

     I got used to the smell of rotting flesh rather quickly when this all started. People were dropping dead, in the beginning, faster than bugs getting zapped. Bodies didn't disappear; they laid motionless and decomposed slowly. Originally the smell was putrid to the point where it made me vomit uncontrollably whenever I exited a once populated building. The bodies were everywhere. It wasn't as bad anymore. A lot of the bodies now, from before, were piles of bones wearing clothes. 'Becky' I dubbed her, continued to sway slowly back and forth.

     I wondered what drove her to this? Was it loneliness or the starvation she was facing? People like me, the recluses who enjoyed isolation lived the longest. Others couldn't bare being by themselves for the rest of their life. I could bare it. I have been alone for a long time. What would be the difference without everyone else around? If anything, it was quieter, easier to think without other people around. Kit was bouncing up and down trying to bite at her loose shoelaces. It was amusing watching her tiny puffy black figure walk in circles excitedly jumping up and down to try and reach something impossibly high up. "You were probably a blogger or something." I said aloud to Becky.

     Becky looked like a blogger. Maybe even a writer. She probably had a cozy apartment in a city with a window that had a view of the surrounding buildings. I imagined her sitting with her computer wrapped up in blankets typing away at her blog while drinking a steaming cup of coffee. Becky looked smart. There was a pair of glasses, lenses cracked, on the ground below her when I first found her. She also seemed to be the type of person to go for long walks and meet up with her friends for comfortably priced dinners. Maybe Becky and I could have been friends.

     It was too bad she was dead. I couldn't do anything about that now. After a while when dark grey clouds began to roll in over us, I stood and called Kit over. Before I left, I took her glasses and put them on. My vision was slightly blurred; I felt better. I drove passed her one last time before moving on down the road. There was nowhere I was going in particular. I always wanted to travel, I haven't been able to until now. Maybe one day if I remember where this place is I'll see Becky hanging there. She'll be waiting, swaying around until the day I come back.

     Who knows, it could be tomorrow or in three years from now. I put her cracked square framed glasses on my dashboard. They slid from side to side whenever I turned a corner too sharp. In my rearview mirror were the approaching dark clouds. They were like grumpy grey masses coming to swallow me whole. It was going to rain, or snow. It was pretty cold already. For the rest of the drive, I wondered if Becky liked the snow.

     It started to snow weeks later. I parked underground in an old parking garage. I was in a city; whatever city it was I didn't know. Maybe New York. Detroit? The buildings were certainly tall enough. Was I even in the States anymore? I had been in this parking garage locked inside of the truck for a few days. I occasionally left to take a bathroom break, Kit needed one as well every few hours. It was cold in here, not as cold as outside. I laid awkwardly across the back seats in my makeshift bed reading the books I collected from the store.

     This was a fine excuse as any to begin reading them, again. I was nearing the end of the first novel in the series when I sound startled me. I felt my body tense at the loud clanging noise. It sounded like one of the doors to the stairwells slamming shut. There were many vehicles already parked down here when I drove in a few days ago. My pickup was just one of many others parked. Kit startled me, jumping onto my lap. The anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach made me want to puke.

     I was going to vomit. Someone was down in the parking garage with me. They were walking around, their footsteps heavy and echoing off the concrete walls. I wanted to believe it was a figment of my wild imagination. Maybe in the back of my head, I was desperate for companionship? No. I hated talking to people and was perfectly content with being alone. I closed the book and placed it gently on the floor of the truck and slowly sat up. I peeked out the back window and over the misshapen blue tarp, I could see a good amount of the parking garage. It was empty.

     It felt like my heart was pumping far more blood than needed; it's red fluid rushing and pounding in my ears. I couldn't see anyone and besides Kit's obnoxiously loud panting I couldn't hear any more footsteps. I leaned back and grasped for my book once again. This time I kept my knife next to me.

     I was on edge that night when I tried to sleep. It was pitch black and the only thing I could see was the faint glow of Kit's beady eyes. The wind from above was howling and some of it funneled down into the parking garage. It was like distorted howling. I felt as if I was being watched. Was I being preyed on? Was I tricked into a false sense of security and now they were just waiting to attack me when I was least expecting it? Kit was curled up at the opposite end of the back seat I was lying across just staring at me. I wonder what Kit thought about.

    Were animals capable of the same thought process as humans? Did they ask the same existential questions as we humans did? Now I was thinking too much. My hand ached from gripping the base of the knife so tightly. I've been alive too long to become a casualty now. I looked away from Kit and up at the ceiling of the truck. It was blank and dark. There was no light.

I couldn't stay awake.

     My father and I were sitting by the river. He looked sad and thoughtful at the same time. His dark hair was greased back with his overuse of hair gel he made sure to lather on every morning. He smelled of cheap cologne and cigarettes. We weren't skipping rocks or even throwing them. He picked me up from school early, it was cold, we walked here.

I've told this story before.

     He asked me how my day went; my day was always satisfactory when I was in school. The river was tranquil, and the leaves crunched underneath my feet as I toed at the ground with the front of my dress shoe. The sky was cloudy - no it was sunny out. "You know I love you, right?" he sounded, sad. I knew he loved me. I was his only child, I was his prized possession. Why wouldn't he love me? I was his flesh and blood. I nodded, slowly. He grabbed my hand and sandwiched it between his two larger hands. They were warm.

     I noticed the red underneath his fingernails. "I had to defend myself today." he said keeping his grey eyes focused on my face. He was looking at me but not truly looking. His eyes were glazed over with something comparative to defeat. I stayed quiet, he squeezed my hand harder. "The police are coming for me." he whispered to me. I could hear the sirens approaching the area. I looked down to his hands, to the red under his fingernails, and then back up to his defeated gaze. I felt like screaming, like crying. I could only process that they were going to take him away.

     They were going to put me somewhere, separate him from me. "They can't do that." I said shaking my head. He said he was defending himself. They came for him, I could hear them in the forest. Their loud voices shouting reports to one another, the crunch of the leaves under their boots. I stood from the boulder we were sitting on, he let go of my hand. I felt cold, a chill run through my body. My eyes burned, I could feel the tears forming at the corners. He stood as well and let the palm of his hand rest against my cheek.

I ran after that.

     The morning was cool. The knife had fallen from my hand onto the floor of the truck. I rubbed my eyes, they were wet. Kit perked up immediately when I clambered over the seats into the front. The windows were foggy, and my hot breath left my breath in puffs of fog. I twisted the keys in the ignition and the truck roared to life. Kit jumped into the front passenger's seat just when I began driving out of the parking garage. I didn't get far outside. There was a thin layer of snow blanketing the ground, a few centimeters at least when the front right tire deflated. I never wanted to scream now more than ever.

     I slammed my hands against the steering wheel before resting my forehead against it above the horn. I left Kit in the truck wrapped in a cocoon of blankets in the back seat. The snow gave off a satisfying crunch with every step I took. It was cold, freezing actually, and my shoes were soaked through. The truck was parked in the middle of the road left unattended, I had the keys. I was nervous, my hands were shaking. I couldn't tell if they were shaking out of nervousness or from the cold. What difference did it make? I needed another tire. There were plenty of other trucks around here. I just had to find the right one.

     The weather became bitter and the snow began to fall again. I found a truck, the exact same model as the pickup, and knelt next to the front tire. My hands were shaking, fingers ached with every movement I made. I have done this before, stealing tires. It wasn't really stealing anymore. The person who owned this vehicle was dead. Those who didn't die, who weren't like me, ended up like Becky.

I hated the cold.

     My stomach growled, it ached. I hadn't eaten in a while. The supermarkets were a breeding ground for animals and insects now. All of the disposable food items were left to rot. There were a few cans of food in the back of the truck boxed away. I scavenged what I can when I feel like it. I began humming. It was an old tune to an old movie I watched when I was younger. I couldn't remember the name of the film, but the main tune stuck with me. It reminded me of happier times. My fingers were bright red. They felt brittle, like glass about to shatter if moved improperly.

     I drew in a shaky breath and threw the tool to the side. The sound of metal against pavement echoed off the buildings surrounding me. The sound made me cringe, I looked around while my hands were still firmly gripped on the edges of the tire. Again, my heart was thumping in my ears. Thump, thump......thump, thump. I pulled the tire off; my arms felt like they were about to be ripped from their sockets. By the time I got back to the pickup, I was frozen. I leaned the tire against the side of the truck and opened the door climbing inside.

     It wasn't any better in here. The truck wasn't even running. Kit poked her head out from the pile of blankets in the back, I could see her in the rearview mirror. "You must be...damn warm." I muttered, teeth chattering as I spoke. I began rubbing my arms trying to create some friction. I needed warmth. I shook my head and looked out the front window. This wasn't safe. I needed to get the tire switched and drive somewhere where I could disguise the truck. After a moment I stepped outside again into the snow.

     The storm was picking up just as I got the tire fixed. My fingers hands were red and dry. I started the truck and turned the heat up all the way. Nothing but cold air came through for the first five minutes as I drove. The engine needed to warm up. I could hear Kit whimpering in the back, I couldn't blame her. If I could I would be whimpering too. There was an old shopping center up the road. I pulled into the parking lot; I could hear the snow crunching underneath the tires of the truck. I glanced down at my clothes.

     They were soaked through which left me shivering. The shopping center had clothing, probably winter attire as well. I took Kit with me, hooked her to a rope which I tied to the belt loop on my jeans. In this weather, it was easy to lose a small animal like her. I pulled the glass doors open and they slammed shut behind me from the wind. I felt the rush of cold air brush against the back of me as the sound of the doors slamming shut echoed through the wide corridor. I rubbed my hands together and brought them to my lips to blow hot air onto them.

There were a few clothing stores. It brought back memories of walking throughout the few malls in the area on weekends with my father.

     It had been raining all afternoon. My father and I ran inside of the mall to escape the onslaught of rain pouring down from the sky. It didn't seem like it would let up for a while. I was shivering, my red raincoat taking the brunt of the storm. I cringed at the squeaky sound my shoes made with every step I took. I looked up at my father, his usually greased back hair was soaked and falling in front of his eyes. When he looked down at me, he smiled. "Well, what do you want?" he asked with a smile.

"Everything."

He laughed.

     I stood staring at my reflection in one of the store windows. The mall was dark. There hadn't been power anywhere in a long time. I couldn't recognize myself; I looked older, more tired and wise. The apocalypse changed people. I was disheveled, shivering like a leaf in the wind. Kit was at my side, she looked cold too. When I was young, I wanted the whole world in the palm of my hand. But didn't every child? We didn't have much but my father wanted to give me the whole world.

It's funny how time works.

     Now I had the whole world. Everyone was dead and those that were still alive were either offing themselves or fighting with each other. It was just me and Kit. In the end, my father did give me the whole world, literally. The world is in the palm of my hands now. I'll be by myself until the day I die. The thought of that made my chest ache. I never wanted to share the world as much as I did now at that moment as I stood there staring at myself in the window. I was the loneliest person in the world.

     I moved on, not giving my reflection another glance as I walked past all the store windows. There were several stores I entered. I took what I needed. In the beginning, I couldn't believe I was one of the only people who survived the virus. I spent my time trying on the elegant clothing in what used to be the most expensive stores. It got boring, all things did given time. Some things were not fun to do by yourself. There were a few bodies in the mall, most nearing the food court. I avoided them.

     It was still difficult to gauge how the disease was contracted. I avoided bodies ravaged by the disease as much as possible. If I ever had to move any, I would have my whole body covered just in case. Like my father used to say, better be safe than sorry. From afar I could see that the bodies were somewhat still intact. From above, leaning over the balcony and looking down into the food court I could smell it. The smell of old rotting meat. "Come on Kit." I said, tugging on the rope fastened to my belt loop.

     Once again I was braving the storm to get back to the truck. The truck was safety. Staying in one place too long was dangerous. Those that were still alive, the ones that travelled together, probably killed for steady bases. We were the most dangerous beings on this planet. When boredom arises and there are no rules left to abide by, well, people do unforgivable things. From my brief experiences around groups of people, I have seen how those who are the boldest lash out. I've seen people hurt each other out of amusement and treat others who are struggling as if they are nothing.

     I stood in the foyer of the mall in front of the doors I entered through. Outside was a blanket of white, I could barely see a few meters past the sidewalk. The sky was hidden by the fast flakes of white falling from the clouds. Kit was whimpering, her head butting the back of my leg. I get it, outside was scary. But wasn't everything scary? The ground you walk on could collapse at any moment, the food you eat could very well be spiked with a deadly toxin. I picked her up, hiding her in the coat I took from one of the stores.

     It was a puffy white coat. I tore the tag off with my teeth and slipped it on when I found it. At least I would blend in with my surroundings, keep people from spotting me. I zipped the coat up feeling Kit wiggle around in there as I did so. Before I opened the door I pulled the fur lined hood over my head so I was covered. The frigid air hit me as if I was walking into a brick wall. The snow was crunching underneath my shoes. It was already up to my ankles.

     I continued walking, staring ahead at the white wall of snow raining down. My legs seemed to memorize the walk back to the truck. I let my body do the moving, my mind was occupied elsewhere. My eyes were darting around, my skin was crawling. It felt like hundreds of tiny microscopic centipedes were dashing across my skin. I thought back to the parking garage, lying in the pitch-black darkness on edge. The sound of that heavy door falling closed followed by the heavy set of footsteps. The truck was in sight, I could begin to see the outline of the blue tarp pulled over the boxes. It came more into view the closer I got.

Then again, so did they.