I used to be a respected man. I owned an Ice Cream shop. But now? No one is interested in Ice Cream now. Only raw human flesh.
Ever since the night of the Lunar Eclipse, when it rained emerald green rain, anyone who was watching the moon and didn't feel the rain drops on their skin were infected.
No one knows why. No one cares.
Not in my town, anyway. Most people in my town were watching the Eclipse comfortably settled in their homes, watching through windows. They didn't feel the green rain searing their skin, burning the sickness away.
They were infected.
Some call them Zombies. Others stick to "The Infected". I don't call them anything. I haven't spoken since the Eclipse.
My reasons for silence are simple, I suppose. My wife, Emma, and my daughter, Sophie. I killed them. You've probably guessed why.
Infected.
I carry a shovel wherever I go. Only the stupid do not arm themselves in times like these. Today I walked to the grocery store, my shovel in hand. haven't eaten in two days.
I know scavengers have picked the store clean, and headed West, where there is rumored to be a Safe Haven of sorts. I will head West too, but first I have to see if anything edible still remains at the store.
As I near the grocery store, I notice that all the windows are broken. The door has been propped open by what looks to be a human corpse.
I step inside and scan for scavengers. They are dangerous. Ruthless. I keep my guard up even as I turn to examine the body propping open the door.
I know him. He was a friend of mine. A teacher. I wonder how he died. He does not have the look of someone who had the virus. His skin has been tinted gray with death, not tinted green with infection.
He is still wearing his glasses. I know he preferred them off when he slept. I gently take them off his face, fold them, and tuck them snugly into his jacket pocket. It's the least I can do for an old friend.
I reminiscence about the good times we had together while I eat.
He tastes almost as good as Emma and Sophie.