I used to have a name. I used to like things: colors, sports, life. I
used to know and love other people. Now, I don’t have any of that. I
honestly can’t remember my name, what I used to enjoy or what I thought
about things. All I know is how to survive.

This ruin started almost a year ago. A search party was sent out for a
missing person, and they found them. Except, it wasn’t really them. The
person’s case was more zombie-like than human. When she-it, rather, was
discovered, we were all fascinated.

Naturally, it stayed a simple enthrallment until it got out of its
caging. After that, America ceased to exist as we knew it. Half of the
population was a zombie, with the other either dead or fighting for a
single life of their own. Us living went into hiding or tried to find
the people close to us, no matter how dangerous it was.

I was one of those individuals. My family and I had been separated in
the chaos after the breakout, so I went looking for them. It was a
risky journey, even if you managed to get a good car and the top guns.

Somewhere between Chicago and Indianapolis, I met Shane. Since I
couldn’t introduce myself properly due to my lack of a name I could
remember, he gave me one. It was Lucy, plain, but I liked it. It gave
me a sense of identity again. We spent a good few weeks together,
talking about our lives before the ‘apocalypse’, sharing tips and news,
and just about anything else we could think of. I learned from him that
my family was dead, but since I had him, it didn’t really matter. I had
a new family.

Shane had heard about a plan to escape the zombies forever. If we could
just get out of the country, we would be safe again. Since border
security was high, it would be tough to get into Mexico, but from there
we could fly to Europe and get as far away as possible. There wasn’t
much thinking about whether it was a good idea or not, we automatically
made it our new goal.

The next day we set off after a short breakfast. If we were lucky and
the roads were clear, the trip would be quick and easy. We took turns
at the wheel until the fuel light started glowing at us, almost
mockingly. Shane stopped at the next station and got out, telling me to
stay until he came back. When he did, I was sure that the coast was
clear and it as safe to use the run down bathroom around the side of
the building. There was a map next to the door that I studied. We were
close to Mexico, just a few hours of driving left.

I heard someone shouting and the garbled noises that are usually
emitted from a zombie. As I rounded the corner, I saw that Shane was
fighting a couple away. From my spot, hidden behind a trash can, I
raised my gun and shot one, killing it. The other then switched
directions towards me, forgetting Shane. He took the chance to kill it
by completely decapitating it.

“Thanks Luce, they must’ve been hiding somewhere inside the store,” he
said gratefully to me. We worked as a team, protecting each other when
we needed it.

After we set off again, I noticed that Shane had started acting
strangely. He was shaking and sweating a lot, and wouldn’t look me in
the eye. I dismissed it as nerves and excitement for the looming
border, and ignored it after that.

At last, we saw the high fence that they had erected to control the
border. As we grew closer, an officer stopped us, informing us that we
had to go through inspection to make sure that we weren’t carrying the
virus. Shane and I were taken to adjacent rooms and checked over. I
knew that I was clean, and that was exactly the outcome of my
examination.

When I exited, I saw them taking Shane outside, back to the American
side. I ran after them, but they wouldn’t let him go. He had been
bitten, they said. He was carrying the virus and had to be shot so he
couldn’t pass it on to anyone else. He looked and me apologetically and
said that it happened when I was in the bathroom, before I got back. He
told me that he was sorry and followed them submissively

They led him out and shot him, square between the eyes. I just stood
there and watched it all, I couldn’t do anything else. No tears fell, I
was too angry and grieved to do anything but let them steer me back to
my car. My last friend in the world who truly knew what life was like
for me and the other Americans living in hiding was gone for good.

I now live in London, and still go by Lucy. I still haven’t remembered
my original name or what my hobbies or interests were before, but I’ve
built a new personality for myself. I spend every waking moment
campaigning for the world to go back and get our American back for us.
All I want anymore is to ruin the zombies as my revenge.