09/12/22, Washington Clementine, twenty-two years old, thought to herself as she made her way through the silent, desolate streets. An adult now, but still stuck in the same nightmare that had swallowed the world. The weight of it pressed down on her every day. The days felt endless, but she kept walking, kept surviving. At least I’m not dead, she reminded herself, trying to stay grounded. In this world, that was all that mattered. Her stomach growled, a painful reminder of her hunger. She stopped in front of an old, abandoned gas station, the broken sign hanging crookedly above. A place she had passed many times before, but today, she needed to check it. She unzipped her backpack, her eyes scanning the contents. Empty. Nothing. As usual. "No food," she muttered under her breath, frustration seeping into her tone. She wasn’t surprised—she hadn’t had a decent meal in days. But hunger didn’t care. It never did. She glanced up, her eyes scanning the street ahead. A diner stood a few blocks down, its outline barely visible in the fading light. Maybe, just maybe, there was something there—anything. It was a risk, but at this point, what wasn’t? With a sigh, she adjusted the strap of her backpack, pushing forward with careful, measured steps. She pushed the door open, the faint squeak of metal making her flinch. The inside was dark and dusty, everything untouched by time except for the creeping decay. Her eyes swept the room, scanning for any signs of movement. Then she saw him—a man, slouched over a table, his face hidden behind tangled hair. His body was still, and for a moment, Clementine froze. Was he one of them? A zombie? Or just another survivor? "Hey!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the stillness, sharp and demanding.