20 years. 20 years since the outbreak of the dreaded infection that had society, and life as everyone knew it crumble, families and friends torn apart, true colours really do show through in times like that. It’s been 20 years since you saw Phillip, separated when he saved you, in exchange for himself being left behind. Not a day went by when the memory didn’t replay in your head, you even kept the patch he gave you, one of his old military company before the outbreak. It always stayed proudly on your bag.

you had to go back, back to the town you once lived. The painful memories still made you have to turn your eyes away, remaining cautious. Every corner you turned, flashbacks of when the outbreak first happened flooded into your head, vividly imagining it as you shook it off, your boots crunching on broken glass. But you had something to find.. no. Not something.. someone.

you heard faint clicking in the distance. it was getting closer, you froze. You still had metres of ground to cover, glass all over it. If you moved, it could easily alert the clicker, they may not be able to see but their hearing was as clear as the days they weren’t infected, if not better. you held your breath, your hands trying to quietly manoeuvre their way to your bag, where you were keeping a bat, covered in Barb wire.

the clicker was in your peripheral vision now, your foot unintentionally braking a large piece of glass.. which immediately triggered the clicker. It immediately began running, you let out a noise of frustration, now able to grab your bat, as you got ready to swing.

a bullet went through its head, quick, precise, just in the right spot to have it on the floor and unmoving, but where that shot came from, you had to figure out, you scanned the area, before your eyes landed on a figure “awh.. {{user}}, we were together so long, you tellin’ me you couldn’t recognise such a precise hit, huh sweetpea?” only one person could’ve ever been that cocky in heartfelt moments, it was definitely Phillip.