He puts the truck in gear and we start rolling forward. Soon, we’re driving past dead cars again, trees all around us, Crestwood a distant memory behind us. I can’t help but feel scared. I can feel myself getting into survival mode. It’s not a situation that I’m fond of.

I don’t like to admit when I’m scared. I never have. When I was little, sometimes there would be a big storm coming through and everyone in the school would have to go out into the hallways or under the concrete stairwells away from the windows. I could remember so many of my friends crying like it was the end of the world. Ironic that the end of the world was only a few years away. Now most of them are probably dead and it would have been better if a storm would have just washed them away forever. It makes me sick to think of how many of my classmates might still be out there, their skin rotting to an ash-grey color, with black, soulless eyes, and the lust for flesh.

I want to throw up.

Gabe doesn’t say much as we drive. I want to know what he’s thinking but I’m too proud to ask. I’m not going to show my weakness; I’m going out strong. I’m as good as dead the moment he drops me off, but he will not see fear in my eyes - the reflection of what I feel inside.

I have no weapon. I barely have enough clothes to keep me warm. I have no shelter. I have no food. I’m starting from scratch. The worst of all those? - no weapon. I’m going to have to make do with a sharp stick or a rock, but if I come across three or more, I’ll be walking alongside the greyskins as one of their new members. That is, unless they consume me completely.

The sun rises over the horizon and blinds me until I pull down the visor in front of me. I close my eyes as we travel down the road and I try to listen to someone, anyone, at Crestwood, but the place is already too far gone.

Too far gone. That’s what I am.

We’ve been in the truck for at least an hour before Gabe pulls it over and sets it in park. We sit in silence for almost a full minute. As I look out the windows I see so many different colors. The reds, yellows, and browns mix with some of the more stubborn leaves that still hold onto their green from the summer. I don’t know which is more stubborn, the green leaf that refuses to change color or the brown leaf that refuses to let go of the branch. Eventually, they will all fall to the ground.