I was 17. I stayed in that shell of a family home for 18 days. I mourned for longer.

When the sickness came it was rife. First the elderly and young were struck down, then everyone else felt its sting. Indiscriminate, it killed until so few remained. We were the cursed ones. Why were we cursed? I lived in my family home in total darkness with the festering bodies of my family stowed in a single room, the only mercy was that I covered them with a bed sheet. I had survived.

It took just less than a month for humanity to fall from power. The hospitals shut first; The power and water soon after. Anarchists waged war against the government. The reprocusions were brutal and unforgiving. Whilst I stayed inside my cocoon of a home, windows boarded, door unopened.

I don’t know why I survived. I don’t know if I wanted to. But I did and now I am here.

I was woken by the car alarm, I had forgetten we had a car on the gravel drive just meters from where I fitfully slept. The the sound of wood creaking. The boards were coming off. There was life outside. I reached for the matress over the window and then stopped. Why would they want to come in? Raiders, they must be. I had to arm myself. The family heirloom, a sword, hung above the window in my parents room; the room in which they still lay.

I grabbed a handtowel on the way and wet it in the bucket of now stagnant water. As I turned the door knob I heaved in one final breath and placed the towel over my mouth and nose. I saw the bedsheet, I looked away and to the window. The sword was there. I stepped on the bedsheet and drew away, I couldn’t do this. To get to the window I would have to step between the bodies. The smell was starting to get to me I counldn’t take it, so I tip-toed between them, my foot caught on the final shape and I tripped. I banged to the foor, towel in hand. The smell hit me. I had made enough noise to wake the dead. With a final spin I grabbed the sword and scabbard and fled from the room. I would not return soon.

The creaking was still there at the window as I came back to my room – the old lounge. Light had begun to flood the once grand room. It looked a sad reflection of its former self. The boards were holding well. The intruder was having trouble. They probably didn’t know I was here, presumed everone dead. I had the element of suprise. The sword blade glinted in the light. I had no idea how to use it, I had seen films though – before the sickness.

They did not wait to get all the boards off. Once a large enough hole had appeared light flooded the room. They were coming. A sudden smash of fallen glass made me jump suddenly. They were coming. A shadow blocked the light flooding through the broken boards and that was it. They were in.

He drew back the curtain. I saw him then. A big man, broad with black fuzz spreading across his lower face. He was dresses for practicality not style. His muddy brown jacket reached the top of his black boots, the type you see on soldiers. He was grizzled and squinted into the dim lit room that had become my world. The sword caught the light and he saw me.

He didn’t look shocked to see me. I was rooted to the spot in fear; He could see this. He walked straight up to me. I didn’t move away. I was a picture in dirt and mess, my eyes the only white. He placed his hand on my shoulder and said “do you want to come with me boy?”