Infected Journal: Entry #1 Happy Birthday: Part 1
/After surviving the spread of an infectious plague a young man sets out to search the wasteland for Valentine's Day gifts for his girlfriend.
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"Remember, no hospitals, schools, malls, military bases, police stations, or supermarkets," Marcus said.
Fast forward a couple of months, and here I am—trapped in a goddamn mall, clutching a giant heart-shaped balloon, a box of expired chocolates, and an oversized white-and-red teddy bear. I look like I just raided a Valentine's Day sale.
The security office seemed like a safe enough spot to stash the goods until I was ready to leave. The gifts? For Melissa—my lovely, oblivious reason for this mess. A Sunday back, I asked her what she would’ve wanted for her birthday had the outbreak never happened. Without missing a beat, she said, “A huge red heart-shaped balloon, a large box of dark chocolates with caramel filling, and a big-ass teddy bear!”
So, like the romantic jackass I am, I went out to find them. One-stop shopping, I figured. What better place than the mall? Answer: anywhere else.
Clearly, I’m a genius. Which is why I ignored Marcus’ explicit warning about places we should never go. “Us” being the group of survivors I run with. Marcus is our de facto mayor-slash-sheriff. Makes the rules, gives the orders. We follow them because, well… they keep us alive. But common sense took a backseat the moment I imagined Melissa’s amber eyes lighting up. Seeing them wide with joy is one of the last good things left in this world.
Now, I’m trapped. A hundred infected pounding toward me, closing in on the security office. I tear through the desk drawers, shoving aside paperwork, junk food, and pens, praying for extra ammo or any clue on how to get the hell out of here with the gifts before I’m ripped apart. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada.
I’ve been in some bad situations since the outbreak, but this? This might top the list. If I don’t move in the next ninety seconds, this security room becomes my tomb. Starvation doesn’t sound like a fun way to go, so that leaves me with Plan A—which, spoiler alert, I haven’t thought of yet.
Solution? Grab the gifts, lunge out of the room, and run.
Three runners spot me first. The rest of the horde lumbers behind. I’ve got enough bullets to drop them, but not with them this close. I need space. I veer around a corner, dump the gifts, and line up my shots.
First runner—headshot. Second—same. Third? I miss. My next shot catches it in the arm, but it keeps coming, fast and clumsy, until it crashes into me, dragging me to the ground.
By now, everything is reflex. Rule number one when you hit the floor with an infected? Lock its neck. One second of hesitation and it’ll tear your face off. Marcus drilled that into us. I brace my right knee against its hip and twist, flipping us over. Now I’m on top, my fingers clamped around its throat. My left hand scrambles for the gun, finds it, presses the muzzle against its eye—bang, bang.
It goes still. Limp.
I exhale, barely a second to breathe before I’m back on my feet, snatching up the bear, the balloon, the chocolates. The gunshots just painted a target on me. Everything in the mall knows fresh meat is still on the menu.
Now comes the real problem—getting out. The main entrances are swarmed. The infected, in their endless stupidity, haven’t figured out how to work a door yet, but they’re sure as hell blocking my way. And to make things worse? I have no damn clue where I’m going.
TO BE CONTINUED…