The Will to Survive

The Will to Survive

This is the diary of James Taylor, Texas, December Fifth, 2014:

This diary is my way of making sense of all this shit. The first infections started a couple of years ago. I remember it so clearly, it was a summer day in Texas, one of those cruel days when the heat reaches well above a hundred. I was walking around our fifty-eight acre land in Central Texas, looking for a good spot to do a little target practice. Once my dad started trusting me with his 45 automatic pistol I took it out as often as I could. I was getting pretty good; now I could shoot one-handed at a target from ten feet away and hit it dead on. Now that I think back, it’s pretty damned lucky I had that gun with me. We all heard of the CDC doing tests and compelling people to get away from major cities and avoid the "Infected" at all costs. I lived in a small school district. When our school was shut down, my friends and I didn't think much of it. There were no signs of infection. Hell, we didn't even know what the infection was. We ignored it, figuring it was some bird flu bullshit, and took advantage of the free time we had to ourselves. I decided to use my free time for target practice while I could, thinking to get as much uninterrupted practice in as I could before school reopened. I had just emptied the first clip on the target and injected the second clip with deft precision, when I was suddenly grabbed and dragged down. Adrenaline pumping, I rolled away, kicking out at my assailant and getting back on my feet. I still had my ear plugs in so I hadn't heard it coming. What I saw slowly crawling towards me was so hellish I couldn't even begin to comprehend it. It looked like a man missing half its face, its skin was rotted to the bone. But the worst thing was the way it moved. It had been momentarily stunned by my kick, but when it started trying to stand up, there was no trace of intelligence in it's eyes, just the instinctual hunger of a mindless beast. I warned, what I presumed to be a man to stay down or I would shoot. I fired a warning shot, but it kept coming. My father taught me I should “Only shoot to kill” but I'd never killed a man before and I had no idea what else to do. The creature pulled itself up using a small tree (leaving its rotten fingernail embedded in the bark) and lunged at me. Reflexively, I jerked my gun and shot it in the stomach. It staggered from the shot but lunged at me again. I kicked it in the leg, knocking it off its feet, then brought the pistol to its forehead and pulled the trigger.

Authors Note:
(This is just the introduction to a series I am hoping to start. I will post this short story here and if enough people like it I will work on more stories in this series, and if you have any opinions or advice you would like to touch on please contact me. UPDATE: I have heavily edited the original rough draft to this I would like to give special thanks to Tiggy, Lox, and Lightbringer who all gave great advice and helped to greatly improve this.)