Alexander

I've been heading north for over four months now. I left the shelter in the mountains when they started to run out of food, of course that wasnt the only reason - I met someone in that cabin and what he told me gave me no choice but to head for the Canadian border. The guy called himself Styx, he was kinda creepy and I didnt enjoy having to be so close to him but he had information I needed and I wasn't about to let him go until I had it.

"Wind's getting up, we should lock everything down and get inside the truck." I started to bolt the steel panels over the windows and check the seals. Styx kept chopping wood for the furnace, it kinda freaked me out the way he kept that axe with him all the time but it sure did come in handy if we were ever attacked so I wasnt about to complain.

"Inside you say? Inside? Why would I want to go inside on such a lovely night?" Styx stood on top of the tree stump, spread his arms out as if to embrace the world. His figure outlined against a dark, yellowed sky. It started to rain.

"Come on man, stop messin' around and get in here." I could smell the air thickening, it burned my throat. Styx picked up the logs from the ground and hopped into the truck through the top hatch sealing it shut behind him. "I think that we could reach the wall by tomorrow, if we make good time." He shrugged, ignoring me and slumped himself into a corner clutching his axe tightly. If what this freaky little man had told me was true, and Travis was alive in that place, then I will find him.

Alexander

I remember my parents once telling me that I was a very depressing child; apparently I once asked my grandmother when the world was going to end so I'd have something to look forward to. Of course, she told me not to be silly and that I needn't worry about such things. She was wrong.

It's been a long time now since everything stopped, I still remember it well, or maybe I don't and my mind has filled in the blanks with random images that seem to make sense. Either way I dream of those images all too often. When you see your family and friends die slowly all around you and you're dragged screaming from your home by men in biohazard suits because you're "special", it kinda leaves a scar. I have a funky gene that everyone said made me one of the lucky few to survive, five years old and alone in what's left of the city that was once my home and they called me lucky. There and then, I would have given anything to die with my family but I am here and this is now and I have a lot to do.