Woke up in a trailer park outside of Riverside. The morning was foggy, wrapping everything in a heavy, suffocating silence. The air clung to my skin, cold and damp, like the world itself was afraid to make a sound. First thing I did was cover the windows of my trailer with sheets—can’t risk unwanted eyes looking in, dead or otherwise.
Checked my trailer for supplies. Bare shelves, empty fridge, nothing but dust and regret. Needed to scavenge. First stop—the trailer next to mine. A lone zed stumbled outside, its jaw hanging slack like it had already forgotten how to bite. One swing, and it was down. The window was cracked open, so I pulled myself in.
Inside, two naked corpses-turned-walkers jerked to life—probably a couple before all this. They lunged, arms outstretched, eyes clouded and lifeless. I swung hard. First one dropped. The second took two more hits before it stopped moving. Their blood pooled around my boots.
I caught my breath and searched the place. Found some corn, salami, peanut butter, and jam. Jackpot. Also a riot helmet and a fanny pack—small victories, but anything helps. Every little thing is a step toward staying alive.
Headed back to my trailer, dumped the loot, then went out again. This time, I searched the trailers to the left. Looted four in a row, taking down any zeds that got in my way. Scored some more food, drinks, and a half-eaten pizza. The best find? A tattered letter titled "The Last Testament."
Back at my trailer, I washed off the blood before sitting down to read it. The words hit like a punch to the gut:
“To whoever finds this letter, I hope you’re not alone in this wretched world. I write this as a final testament, a chronicle of what we once were. We were a group of survivors, bound by hope and resilience. We fought tooth and nail to stay alive, facing hordes of the undead and the ever-encroaching darkness. We formed a family of sorts, finding solace in each other’s presence amidst the chaos.
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But one by one, we fell, overwhelmed by the relentless onslaught. I am the last one left, and with a heavy heart, I pen these words. Know that we fought bravely, that our spirits were indomitable until the very end. May this letter be a testament to our strength and a reminder to never lose hope. Carry our memories forward and build a better future. You are not alone. We may be gone, but our spirit lives on.”
Whoever wrote this had people. Not just survivors—family. They fought, bled, and hoped together, refusing to let the world break them. But in the end, it didn’t matter. Now they were gone, their voices nothing but fading ink on a crumpled page. They held on as long as they could. It still wasn’t enough.
Took a deep breath. No time for distractions. I needed a bag. Went back outside, cleared a few more zeds, but I got careless. Attracted more attention than I should have. Killed them all, but exhaustion crept in fast. Reached my target trailer. Front door—locked. Windows—locked. Forced one open, and that’s when I heard it.
An alarm.
My blood turned to ice. The second that alarm blared, I knew I was screwed. I took off running, my breath sharp in my chest, legs burning as I raced back to my trailer. The siren cut through the air like a death knell, echoing through the park, calling every damn zed within earshot straight to me.
Inside, I stayed low, heart pounding. Through the thin walls, I could hear them—groaning, shuffling, feasting. Tearing flesh, wet chewing, bones snapping. On what? The corpses of the ones I had killed earlier. The smell of blood must’ve drawn more of them in. I gripped my bat, but I knew better than to move. Just had to wait. Had to hope they’d lose interest before they found a way inside.
I stayed put. No choice. The night was long.
Plans for Tomorrow:
- Check if the trailer doors are still secure.
- Scavenge for a bigger bag—carrying everything by hand isn’t gonna cut it.
- Find more food, especially water—running low already.
- Map out escape routes in case things go south.
- Avoid any more stupid mistakes.
End of Day 1