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'The outbreak hit the whole world pretty hard. It wasn't slow reports all pointing to one obscure answer, it was slow reports because of one obvious reason: zombies. Living bodies rotting, craving for the flesh of living creatures to continue living. However, they were alway hungering flesh. Never full, always hungry. So, predictably, the whole world went to hell in a handbasket. But of course zombies weren't our only problem. Oh no. See, the zombie infection spread as normal infections do; invade the body, take control and then fight until it dies. However, it was rare that a human body could fight off the infection, and of course those that could were few and far between, because we aren't lucky enough to have millions of them. As with all infections, some people were extremely susceptible to it, or could somewhat fight it off. These people mutated and only added to the horror that had already taken over planet Earth. Yay. There is some light at the end of the tunnel - even if the tunnel is filled with zombies, mutations and savages who... Well, let's not get into detail on the wrong thing here. The point is, there's light at the end of this dank, pathetic tunnel. That light? Me.' I took a deep breath, staring into the camera lens. This is what I had become. A woman talking into a camera as if it's her only friend. Kind of pathetic, huh? I stared at the camera lense for far too long of a time before I finally shut off my camcorder for what may be the last time. I looked around, observing. I picked a nice location for what may be my final recording. When I say nice, I actually mean it for once. Usually anything that's promised to be nice is a lie nowadays and you have to take what you can. Discovering this place was a miracle. A beach with twinkling sand and a calm sea. No zombies or mutations. No savages. Just me and nature. Looking around, you would never be able to tell that the whole world was victim to itself. It was good to finally gain some peace, even though I knew I couldn't totally relax because there was the risk of being attacked at any minute. But this was close enough. I took the pin out of my hair, letting my hair fall down to my shoulders. It had been dyed a deep vermillion. It always was my favourite colour when I was younger and the joy on my face when I found the dye was somewhat unbelievable. Dyeing my hair proved difficult, but I managed it. I slipped out of my clothes - yes, I actually had clothes! Admittedly they were salvaged, but this was the apocalypse. Take what you can find and be grateful for it! I managed to retrieve a white kimono off of a poor japanese woman recently. Her name was Kimiko - 'slightly cliché', I thought while stripping it off of her corpse. It fit like a dream and I was able to fight while wearing it, which was a huge bonus. It didn't quite suit me, but I didn't care. The kimono came off first. Next I pulled off my ash grey trousers. They offered at least some leg protection, though not much. I had these when the apocalypse started. I was wearing them as I fled my home. Blood had stained a small amount of the trousers, but that was expected in this world. Finally, off came the underwear. Couldn't go for a swim with them on, could I? My skin felt rough. I hadn't washed for about two weeks because water was scarce, so this beach was perfect. I stuffed my clothes into my bag and then stored the bag inside an old canoe on the beach - again I thought of how things were incredibly cliché. I turned towards the water and made a steady walk towards it, ready to turn back at any moment. But there was no need to do so. Nothing jumped out at me or surprised me, for once. I slowly walked into the water, feeling it caress my bare, naked skin. The liquid was cool and refreshing, 'As it should be', I thought. The waves were peaceful, and I was finally relaxing. Months and months of despair, loss, pain and regret all washed away in the sea. I felt the currents and the way the sea does what it wants, and I actually felt happy. I let out a laugh and beamed a smile. Maybe this was the good following the bad. I regretted thinking that instantly. The beach, relaxing and happiness, it was all the calm before the storm.
If you find any survivors in this world, the first thing they'd say is to never relax and always be alert. I have lived by this rule for several months now, and I am an idiot for thinking I could relax. A high-pitched, blood-curdling, animalistic screech alerted me of an oncoming attack. I shot out of that water like a bullet. I needed to reach my equipment before the zombies reached me. Otherwise... Game over. My feet gripped uneasily on the sand and I started to hate myself for choosing such a nice place. Maybe that recording really was going to be my last? No! No time to think about that! There were zombies nearby and I was naked for Christ's sake! I figured that it was a large pack of zombies, judging on the putrid smell that had filled the air. 'Just my luck,' I thought as I reached the canoe, 'I finally relax and this is the party that joins me.' My hand dived into the canoe, retrieving my bag. I had about a minute until the zombies reached me. So many split second decisions were made in that minute that I surprised myself for thinking so fast. I pulled on the kimono, grabbed a hunting knife and my trusty silenced pistol, and made a sprint for the group of zombies headed my way. My knife sliced satisfyingly through the skull of the pack lead, blood spurting onto me. Holding back the vomit, I quickly dispatched another three with quick shots to their heads. I felt a hand grip my shoulder, and my knife slammed backwards, impaling a zombie's head. I took advantage of this and swiftly made the zombie into a meat shield. 'Oh the irony', I thought as the zombie's comrades sunk their teeth into its flesh, believing it to be me. Their moment of shock was short-lived as a few more shots cracked their skulls, leaving them to flop onto the ground, truly lifeless. My knife proved to be my best ally in that fight. Close quarter combat meant it was too difficult to aim a decent shot, and my knife gleaming a sickly red brought a smile to my face as I sliced through the group with ease. The group was big, but badly organised. No command, no order, just a shamble of slow movement and failed grasps. The group went down, as expected, and I lined up a shot to take down the screeching zombie that alerted the pack of my existence. But, naturally, he had disappeared. Gone. Able to hunt me another day. I observed the carnage that had unfolded. The carnage that I had been in the centre of. Corpses littered the sand. Some decapitated, some with holes straight through their heads. One thing was certain, though. They were dead, and I was alive. I threw my weapons to the ground. The group was dead and again I was alone. Even zombies brought happiness to me. They had been trying to kill me, yes, but they were once people, and it had been far too long since I had social contact. I inspected the bodies. A few wore nametags. I collected these, adding them to my growing collection. My growing collection of nametags; the only reminder that other people once inhabited these lands. I searched through them, finding the one I held most dear. It was white, with red typing saying, "Hello, my name is:", and there, in scruffy, untidy writing underneath it, was the name "Alex". It was the nametag I retrieved off of my son. He had been killed during his first day of his new job. He was only sixteen. Sixteen years old and turned into one of them. I can still remember him clearly; his naïve brown eyes which he gained from my side of the family dark brown hair from his father's. A smooth face and strong jawline. Crooked nose, sharp eyebrows and a smile that made my heart melt. He was my little man. He was taken from me. I clutched that nametag to my chest and let myself collapse onto the sand, filled by memories of Alex. In all my days, I don't think I've ever cried so much over one person.