"Run..! Go..! Run!"
She yelled, as I hear her voice break.
There came a moment when it hit me, this is real, this is happening, we're here; we are in this mess. I am here, commemorating all the things we have been through, I felt the time freeze as I captured a glimpse of her, reaching for me. I always knew when I look into her eyes I would see her fierce emotion, then I would know she knew how to get herself out of the position she was in, yet now, as I look into those fascinating dark hazel eyes, all I see is exhaustion and fear, as if she had lost all hope that there is.
She knew I knew; she had finally given up. My love. Can finally rest.
I was always afraid for this moment to happen, this moment where the love of my life and I part forever.
From that day, I have always carried those last words she yelled before getting swarm by the undead.
"Never look back."
'Never' the word always echoed through my mind, but I did it. I did what she told me to do. I ran away. I never looked back.
I could not say goodbye or say anything, at all. I don't know why I didn't. Maybe it's because I froze, because that moment where I lose her is the thing I dread the most. And it happened, right it front of me. So today, I'm caught with the pain.
*
On October 16, 2012, the first outbreak of the undead reached the news, however nobody seemed to have believed it. Even I didn't believe it. Two days later, the news popped up again, but this time, everyone who saw it immediately knew what they had to do; run.
But me?
I stayed. I stayed right there, at my apartment. I preserved water and food; I barricaded my door and my windows. I hid there like a coward. But what else could I do? I lived in the city, I couldn't do anything.
Thirty-eight days had passed. I could barely remember what New York City even looked like. I found myself laying in bed, my arms rested on my stomach. There was nothing to do, I eat, drink, sleep. The next day was the same.
I peered at the ceiling, thinking, why has life turned out this way? It's never going back to normal, is it?
I had no hope, and that's when I realized, I should just disappear. I wanted to die. I needed to die.
The next thing I knew, my hands were on a chair, as I pulled it, the metal scraped over the floor; it was rather loud, loud enough for those things to hear, but it didn't matter. I put the chair in place; I went on top of it; I put the rope around my neck; I let out a long sigh and kicked the chair off.
*
I thought for a second. I did it. I did it!
But then, as soon as I opened my eyes, I saw a woman. I realized it did not work. I was still here.
She didn't exactly tell me how she knew I was there, and how she knew I was trying to kill myself. She only mentioned one thing; that I'm lucky she found me.
"How's your neck?" She stated.
"Good," I say. I haven't talked to a living-breathing being for thirty-eight days. Of course I'm overwhelmed.
I was laying in my bed while she lured around my stuff. At that moment, I had millions of questions waiting to be answered. And I was losing my patience.
"Who are you?"
"You can call me Jaq."
"Jaq? As in, Jack the ripper?" I scoffed softly.
"No. Jaq the stripper, what do you think?" She joked, but I could tell by her deliberate face she was annoyed. "It's short for Jaqueline, alright?" She added. I enjoyed seeing her annoyed. Not being able to talk to a person for days who is not coming to get you is tough.
"How did you find me?" The question I've been wanting to ask for a while suddenly slipped out of my mouth.
"A drone. I tested to see if it still works, then I found you,
I live in the third apartment on your left."
I guess that makes sense. I blacked out entirely so, I shouldn't assume anything else. I didn't know what happened. She does. I'll just have to trust that she isn't hunting me.
"How 'bout you?" She spoke.
"Me?"
"Your name."
"Oh. It's August."
"Nice to meet you then. August."
"Nice to meet you too, Jaq the ripper." I grinned uncontrollably. It's nice to hear that the both of us had weird names.
I missed this; talking to a real person. Having their company.
*
Since the blockades in my apartment were no longer strong enough to keep the two of us safe, Jaq offered for me to move to her apartment, and I can say I'm surprised that her place was much cleaner than I thought it would be.
As soon as I stepped inside, two little kittens approached me. I was stunned Jaq could even feed her little babies during the apocalypse. As I went further, I saw her stacks of food in the living room, and more in the kitchen.
Hell, did she go shopping for these?
Jaq, who was behind me, shut the door close and secured it with two things, wood and metal, a long stick of thick wood, and a bat. Why didn't I think of that?
"You can sleep in my room," Jaq spoke, as she walked past me, walking to a room, which I assumed was her room. Apartments here only have one room.
"And, uh... I hope you don't mind the cats." Jaq said from her room, stepping out minutes later.
"Oh, not at all. I love them, actually." And I want to steal them from you, too. "What are their names?" I asked her.
Jaq was preparing their meals in the kitchen. "Bonnie for the girl, and Clyde for the boy."
Serial killers? Seriously? This girl.
"You named your kittens after killers?" I'm not shocked at all.
"Well, yes. I am Jaq the ripper, so," She chuckled. Her lips curling into one big smile.
I might add, Jaq is stunning when she smiles. When she laughs. Or chuckles.
I guess she missed that, too.
"Besides, those two are my little devils," Jaq scoffed softly, as she sets two bowls filled with cat foods on the ground. "Dinner time! Bon Bon! Clydey! Come here!" As soon as Jaq called out their names, the kittens went running to their bowls filled with cat food.
I wish I had a pet like hers, whom I adored as much as she does.
But I had a person, a person I adored as much as that; my little sister. Abigail.
*
When crisis like these occur, who do you call first?
I call my sister. I call her and make her run to my apartment as soon as she could. That way, I could protect her. Abigail is the only family I have left. I wouldn't let anything happen to her.
However, this time, it was different.
Abigail didn't call. I called her but nothing happened; went straight to voicemail. She didn't answer.
I called her thousands of times, left thousands of voicemails, but nothing, nothing happened. And all I could assume, she was dead. Bitten by the undead, turned to one of them, with those atrocious bloody eyes, and that nasty hunger.
Until one night, on November 13, while I was drowning in my thoughts about my sister's whereabouts, my phone rang, but not just any ringing. It was our favorite Rock Riff; Johnny B Goode by Chuck Berry. It was dad who listened to it every single day, then it became me and Abigail's favorite after he and mom passed.
As soon as I heard it, I immediately picked up the phone, because I already knew it was her.
"Abby?" I said. I was holding my breath, waiting to hear her voice.
"Guss?"
I breathe out a long but relieved sigh. I don't think I've ever been relieved this much before. Hearing her voice was the thing I needed most right now.
"I've been calling you for days. Where have you been?!" I yelled.
"I'm safe, don't worry."
"Where are you?"
"At home."
"What? What do you mean?" I stuttered. I knew what she meant by it, but I pretended not to. She's in San Francisco, our hometown.
"I'm in San Francisco, August. At home, you need to come here.
I'm scared, and you know that. Please, Guss, come home."
Abigail begged me to come to our home, but I couldn't. She knows I can't. I'm scared to. I went to New York to start over, to forget, to live. I didn't care about making friends or socializing. I wanted to ease my mind from my parents' death. Me going back and remembering just makes all my hard work pointless.
"I-I can't..." I sighed. After saying those words, I already felt the guilt of selfishness creeping through my veins. "I'm sorry."
"You're just like mom, always like her. But you don't have to worry, I am safe here. Come as soon as you can, maybe. I need you, Guss." She said. As she hung up.
And that was it, the last time I ever talked to her. After that, no texts, no missed calls, nothing.
I couldn't ask the questions I needed to ask. Now I don't even know if she is going to survive this. The questions were supposed to be about surviving, about getting together, but ended up being my fault for being selfish. However, it is my fault; I am aware of that.
I just wish I could do it, remember. If I could. I'd try my best to move on.
For Abigail.