Once upon a time, in the land of the undead "AKA zombies" there lived a family of six whose existence seemed inconsistent. But
somehow, they turned out to be humanity's last hope. And I plan to tell you the story of how our family, yeah… it was my family,
survived. Thrilling, isn't it? So get seated, grab some popcorn, 'because this is going to be a hell of a story.
It all began on the 17th of November, "the spring lights," they called it. Laughter filled the air, sounds of fireworks and smiling faces.
Some would say it was the best day of their life. "May! Don't go too far, stay close, okay?" my mom screamed, calling out to our
littlest. "Yes, mom!" she replied, grinning with joy. My mom, Theresa, she was a sweet, fun person. Honestly, I don't know how she
ended up with my dad. My dad was more of a—how do I say this?—a strong-headed country folk. "Michael J. Buckles, that's a badass
name," he would always say. So yeah, you could imagine my childhood: Jonathan and Thomas, the twins, and finally me, Jenna.
Now you've met my family, let's get back to my story.
It was about 20 minutes, and there was no sign of May. I called to my brother, Thomas, "Have you seen May anywhere?"
"No, I haven't. Aren't you supposed to watch after her, Jen?" Thomas replied.
"Come on, let's find her before Mom and Dad freak out."
Thomas bumps into a strange man. He looked ill, was sweating profoundly. "Are you okay, sir?"
"There she is, Tom, by the Ferris wheel!" They both run towards her. "Why can't you stay in sight?" we yelled as tears ran down
May's cheeks. I felt sad seeing that tear run down her cheek. "It's alright, okay? No need to cry," I assured her. "It's alright, just
don't go running off like that again, okay?" She nodded while wiping the tears off her face.
Not so long after, there was a loud scream. "What was that?" Tom asked. "What's happening? Why are they running? What are
they running from?" I felt my heart pounding, my breath getting deeper by the second. I swear I tasted fear. It was like whiskey, or
was it vodka? And then suddenly, Dad pulled up with Mom and Jonathan. "GET IN!" he yelled.
We all got in the car. "Dad, what's happening?"
"We could take the Troy's bypass," Jonathan said.
"No, that road would be blocked. We'll take a detour. We should be able to cut through the bypass and get to Dreysville by sunrise,"
Dad replied.
"DAD! What's happening?" Dad looks at Mom. The last time they had that look was when I was 12, when Pablo died, and they had
to break the news to me (Pablo was my dog, in case you were wondering). "You're scaring me, Dad!"
"There's an epidemic," Dad replied.
"People are going crazy, killing each other. I think it's a virus," Thomas added.
"Are we gonna die?" May asked.
"Nooo! What makes you say that? We're just going on a road trip to see Uncle Pete. You remember Uncle Pete, right?" May nods
in agreement. "Don't be scared, okay?" We all exchanged glances, knowing THIS IS SOME FUCKED UP SHIT.
The car was a tense bubble of silence, only broken by the rumble of the engine and May's soft hum. Dad
gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, his eyes constantly darting to the rearview mirror. Mom, Theresa,
had May clutched to her chest, her face a mask of worried concentration. Jonathan, ever the pragmatic
one, was already pulling up maps on his phone, muttering about alternative routes, while Thomas, usually so
boisterous, stared out the window, his usual grin replaced by a grim line.
"Dad," I finally broke the silence, my voice thinner than I intended, "what exactly is an epidemic? Like, really."
He sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to carry all the weight of the world. "It means a lot of people are
getting sick, Jen. Fast. And it's making them… violent." He glanced at Mom, then at us in the back. "The news,
before we left, they were calling them… 'the infected.' They bite. They spread it."
A cold knot formed in my stomach. Bite? Images flashed in my mind: the sweating man Thomas bumped into,
the frantic crowds, the screaming. This wasn't some flu bug.
"Are we going to be safe?" Thomas asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"We will be," Mom said, her voice firm, despite the tremor in her hands. "We're going to Uncle Pete's. He has
that farm, remember? Out in the middle of nowhere. It's safe there."
Uncle Pete's farm. It was a place of childhood summers, of chasing chickens and riding tractors. Now, it
sounded like a fortress. The irony wasn't lost on me.
As dawn began to paint the sky in bruised purples and oranges, we saw the first signs of chaos outside our
car bubble. Abandoned cars littered the highway, some askew, others with doors flung open. Smoke plumed
in the distance. The "spring lights" had given way to something far more sinister.
"Stay down, kids," Dad warned, his voice low and urgent, as we passed a particularly gruesome scene: a mangled
car, and figures, too still, slumped against it. My heart hammered against my ribs. I squeezed May's
hand, feeling her small fingers tremble in mine.
"Jonathan, keep an eye out for anything, anything at all, on that phone," Dad instructed. "Thomas, you too.
Jenna, keep May calm. Theresa, help me navigate."
We were a team, now. A scared, uncertain team, but a team nonetheless. The road to Uncle Pete's suddenly
felt impossibly long, each mile a silent prayer, each shadow a potential threat. The "best day of their life" had
truly become the beginning of ours. And it was going to be a hell of a story, indeed.