Things had not gone the way I had imagined they would.

As a matter of fact, they had gone in the exact opposite direction than I had ever allowed myself to believe during all those hypothetical "what if zombies took I've the world" conversations.

Sitting here now I can't help but laugh at how everyone I knew had joked that if the Zombie Apocalypse were to come I would be the girl to turn to.

The knot in my stomach tightens as I think of how, even when all those 'what if's' came to fruition, my friends and family had followed me with blind faith. Who else, after all, knew more about zombies than the local horror obsessed gamer girl?

Turns out George A. Romero and J.L. Bourne didn't make for great study materiel after all. I wonder how long they lasted? Hopefully longer than me.

Than we.

Things had gone fine in the beginning. News networks had caught the infection early, even though at first they had refrained from using the words "zombies". Thankfully there was a large part of society that didn't need to see a reporter die and reanimate on live TV before taking action. My close friends and family had been one of these groups, because all of us knew a zombie when we saw one.

For a while I had been the leader everyone had thought I could be. Dual pistols and all. I had lead us to the old abandoned asylum at the edge of town in the first days, had helped fortify it, and had played golf on the roof in the mornings. It's not as fun as it looks after a while. And Twinkies get old real quick.

I had also been the one to decide to let other survivors into our little fortress as they found us. It was the only right thing to do. In humanity's darkest hour only humane nature can save us. Or so I had thought.

We had, of course, inspected everyone for wounds. Everyone seemed fine, if not a little miffed at being strip searched. We hadn't thought the virus would infect an unborn fetus. A few weeks later what should have been a joyous birth of new life in a dying world turned into our undoing. None of us had considered turning our weapons on loved ones. It's hard for your finger to pull the trigger when that barrel's pointed at your lover.

It had only taken one day. I'm amazed at how fast everything fell apart. Our group of twenty five quickly dissolved into two lone survivors and one axe, huddled together in a locked room with an unsecured window. I hadn't had time to cry about what my forced hand had done, and I don't have time to now. Perhaps that's for the better.

I'm still not sure how Adam got infected. Maybe at some point as we ran from our once friends and family he had been nicked without realizing it. All it took was a scratch, which was something else the movies hadn't prepped us for. I remember looking out the window. I remember being on the verge of hyperventilation as I rambled on about how we needed to find boards and hammers and nails. We could secure the window and start from there. I remember saying a lot.

And I remember not getting an answer.

What I never considered is that a fresh zombie is just as quick as a live human. Adam had turned and went for me in record time. I had struggled with him and managed grab hold of the axe before he sunk his teeth into my neck. It's the worst pain I've ever felt in my life, even if he missed all the main arteries.
Fitting, really.

Adrenaline and fear gave me the strength to decapitate Adam, but they're long gone now. His body's around here somewhere, but my eyesight's all but lost. I can see the vague shapes of the debris in the room, the glow from the moonlight shining through the window, but not much else. I spent my last sunset loosing the fight for my soul. At first I gave consideration to going and finding a pistol. I'd probably die before finding one and turn, though. I have the axe however.

Many religions look down on suicide. But I'm hoping that there are exceptions for cases like mine. It's too late for me. I'll succumb to my wounds and turn before the sun rises. That I could be the death of someone else is not a chance I'm willing to take. If driving an axe through my skull meant my eternal damnation in lieu of becoming a zombie, then so be it.

My warmth went after my eyesight deteriorated, my entire body freezing but for the wound on my neck. That feels like it's on fire with heat and pain. I can feel my blood beginning to slow in my veins. My hearing is just fine, if not better. I know my body is falling to the virus, and for a brief moment I wonder if sound is how they detect their prey. 

I can hear hands thumping against the glass above my head as their owners groan, excited that a fresh meal's so close.
My strength's fading fast, and if I'm going to do this...It was never supposed to end like this.

I hear the window starting to crack.

As I raise the axe I give a final thought, a last worry, to the note I had written and slipped into my pocket, should someone find me. I had written it with the last of my fading eyesight, and I hope my handwriting is readable. Hopefully the zombies won't eat it once they get through the window.

Time to die.

"If this doesn't make it through my skull, and I die with an axe protruding from my head: Will someone do me a favor and make a scalping joke?"