Chapter 3

                                    

                                          
Chapter 3
Running
Breathing
Numb
Running
Killing
Breathing 

Breathless, my lungs throbbing with every breath. Breathing is hard and my face tingles. The night was dark and cold. Twigs, leaves, crunch and snap under my feets' pressure. My heart thumping so loudly the flesh eating monsters could likely hear it.
The groans of the undead follow me closely as I run for my life, as fast as I can. The undead behind me, reaching out their blood, and rotting flesh covered hands for me. Trees racing by and disappearing out of my vision. My one goal is to get to the river. 
My hair trailing behind me, the wind graciously pushing it out of my face. Jumping over fallen logs and giant bushes with thorns. Legs pumping, sweat dripping down my face I slow my pace, after climbing nimbally over a fallen oak tree. I land on my feet making dirt spray up and around my feet. Dirt, grass, blood, and dust cover me. 
Why couldn't I just have left things alone. 
I was searching a warehouse looking for anything I could use. I was desperate for food and had nothing else to do. Look, I made a dumb decision, I know. I was just about done with the warehouse, medical supplies, food, ammo, I even found a new set of boots. But I was getting too greedy. It was mostly clear except for a few stray undead. I handled them and kept looking instead of leaving like my gut told me too. 
I did that sometimes. 
I ran my fingers over the empty crates on the shelves. Dust collecting as I traced my fingers. I turned a corner and spotted a locked door. Not thinking anything of it I ran over and jiggled the lock. I waited and waited but nothing came to the door. I was opening the door when a heavy force bearled into the door. Making me and a lot of my supplies fall over and onto the floor. I had just enough time to get up and unsheath my daggers before sinking one into the top of the undeads head. I had learned very early on in my fleeing that they only kept getting up until you took out the control, the one thing that makes everything happen. 
The brain. 
I heard more growls. More and more undead funneled out the small door. The scent of my fear and smell in general lead them right for me. I had gotten lucky with the first one but with the amount of them coming for me, I was unwilling to take them on. 
It wasn't like I couldn't, I was just being lazy.

This is where I had fucked up. I ran like my life depended on it. Which it did. I burst through the door I come in, and ran for the hills. I pushed past leaves, branches, bushes, the latter. I kept running. 
Now here I am, sweaty and sticky. I never liked cardio. 
Although my job required it, I never liked it. UNLESS, it is right after thanksgiving. 
(put summery of what job she has here, add something about liking torture and violence) 
That's why I feel so prepared for this new world. Nothing comes without a consequence and I was prepared to meet those consequences, for I am not afraid. 
Dragging my hand over my forehead I stagger in a direction unable to think rationally. Adrenaline is still coursing through my veins. The undead were everywhere, it wasn't normal for me to get chased. I was always on the run, only stopping for a night, packing up and leaving the next morning. Its been about 12 years since the ending of the world. It was weird not knowing what to do the next day besides survive, eat, and stay safe. And in those 12 years I have never left the woods for shelter, only going out for essentials like canned food and new clothes. The ones I packed hadn't lasted even a week. I relied on cans to support me when I could not hunt. It was easy to hunt when the weather permitted it. So Normally the weather consisted of rain and humid days, very rarely did I have a nice day. I mostly moved at night, for it was cool and the darkness helped conceal me.