"Is this how I die?" I think. As I'm pushed down on the ground by my ex-boyfriend who is trying to bite my face off. The only thing holding him back is the thick wood I'm gagging his mouth with, preventing him from biting me. How did he find me, anyway? The last time I saw him was a week ago in a nearby town during a supply run. I thought I hid behind a car but maybe he's following my scent or something. I'm usually very thorough when it comes to the matters of my survival. But his instincts are way sharper than mine. Even before, he was always right about things which annoyed me a little bit. But this time, that stupid fucking instinct led him straight to my hiding place!
Shit shit shit. How do I survive this? I'm getting tired holding him back. Soon my arms will give out, and I'll be his dinner. Maybe he'll start from my neck, bite into my flesh so hard I won't be able to push him away. Or maybe he'll start from the chest, that would be the most action these girls had in months. Either way I would be screaming in pain for sure, and very soon, die. Maybe it won't be that bad to get killed by him. I don't want my killer to be some random stranger I know nothing of. Even though it's trying to eat the flesh out of me, that face is a one that I used to kiss and play with. Still the same hand that used to tightly hug me. He still has that long hair falling over his shoulder. God, I miss him. But I will not die today.
I gather some strength to my arms and try to push him away again. But everytime I do, he comes in even more aggressively and I slide further to the back against the wall. I try to fold my right leg closer to my chest and place it against his stomach. I breathe in to gather some strength and may god help me, some courage and I kick and send him flying back 4 feet away. He lands on his back but quickly gets back up on his feet. Fuck, his reflexes were never this good when we were dating, thats just not fair! I grab the kitchen chair and throw it at him. The chair legs hit him right in his head and he fell to the floor. I was the athlete in our relationship and still am apparently. I grab my emergency supply bag, which I always keep right beside the door. It has every necessities to survive for a week in the wilderness, but obviously I have to find another safe place to crash at before it runs out.
I open the door and look back to find John getting up with an aggressive look on his face. That chair did no damage to him at all. I quickly close the door and hold my body against the door to keep it closed. He starts to push and bang the door to open it, and try to take out whatever is in my supply bag that can hold the door long enough for me to escape. I keep on grabbing onto things that are too important to use as a barricade. Flashlight. Water container. What the useless fuck… my sketchbook. Right when I was about to freak out I found a shirt and I started tying the door handle to the door frame lock using the sleeves. I knot it several times just in case it gets loose. After tying it shut, I stepped back from the door. I could hear snarling and growling noises he's making.
The love of my life, banging and scratching the door I just shut to save my life.
The love of my life, following me for 2 months ever since he saw me in the city.
The love of my life, infected with the same virus that is plaguing the world.
My lovely lovely John… A zombie.