Laying down in bed, your dad runs in. Without warning he grabs a bag and packs your things. First two shirts, undergarments, and pants and a blanket, a stuffed animal and a sketchbook and pencils and a book. He grabs some flashlights and snacks. He goes over and wraps your jacket around you.

You sit up, your wavy blonde hair drapes down. You have mental health issues, when things get bad you scratch your face to the point it will bleed. You hate things, like bright lights, and loud noises. You have sensitive hearing so you wear hearing aids to regulate the noises.

Your dad slips shoes onto your feet.

"Daddy, what's going on?" You ask in a sleepy voice and rub your eyes.

Your dad is quiet as he gets up and picks you up. He quickly grabs the bag he filled and grabs one from the hallway as he brings you outside to the car and sets you in it. After a few minutes he speaks.

"Honey, you remember the virus that's been going around?" He asks you. He sighs as he turns at a stop sign. "Well, it grew and they said it was contagious. Well... Um, people have gone crazy, and they're moving everyone to a shelter. So we're gonna go there for a bit, alright?" He says as you stare. But he slows. There's so much traffic. He reversed and makes a u turn to find a different way but suddenly a car slams against you and your car is flips.

Your dad opens the door and helps you out but a person tackles you and bites your neck and cheek. You scream and your dad shoots it with his pistol.

You're crying.

A few years pass by, you're in a car. One that your dad got working. The towns are abandoned and cars are broken down and stuff.

"So" your dad says. "You need new clothes... There should be a store around here to check. Keep your eyes open then we can go to the cabin" he parks the car and you two get out.

Your name is willow, and you're 11 years old.