July 9th­­, 0003 PA

Dear Mom,

My ankle doesn’t hurt anymore. I think it’s safe to say it’s completely healed. On the other hand, that means I don’t really have an excuse not to go look for dad.

Where would I even start, though? He has the map. I know the general direction he went off in, but it’s been three weeks. He could be anywhere by now. And that’s assuming he isn’t… one of them.

Ugh. I hate thinking about that.

A faint red glow suddenly dominates the eastern side of David’s peripheral vision. Startled, he stands and raises Carl defensively.

Is that... a flare?

David relaxes and lowers the crossbow. He doesn’t know much about flares. They’re shot out of guns when someone’s lost at sea, and... yep, that’s pretty much as far as his knowledge goes.

It’s kinda mesmerizing to watch. The red glow rises into the still night, peaks, and slowly begins to descend back down. He can hear the voice of his little sister in his head, screaming, “Fairy!” and giggling excitedly.

He ignores her voice and the pained twinge in his chest, focusing back on the flare. What if it’s Dad? What if he needs David’s help?

...No. That’s not realistic. David knows that, he just doesn’t want to accept it. Dad hates it when David has to leave the house. He wouldn’t willingly call his son out into “the big bad world,” no matter what.

There’s someone else out there.

July 11^th, 0003 PA

Dear Mom,

Last night, I saw a flare in the sky. Someone might need help.

I always forget there are other people alive out there. There were seven and a half billion people on the planet before everything went to crap, so obviously not all of them are going to be dead, but it’s always a surprise when I see signs of someone else.

I know I’ve been waxing poetic about how lonely I am, but... I really don’t want to go and check it out. If Dad were here, I’d consider it. But he isn’t.

I mean, that’s understandable, right? It’s safe here, and Dad might come back.

Speaking of Dad. He’d probably go over there without a second thought. Huh. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t come back. Maybe there’s already been some flares, and he’s headed towards whoever the person is?

Then again, what if it’s a trap? I’ve seen enough zombie movies to know that people can be even more dangerous than the dead heads. What if this ends up like “Zombieland,” where it’s just someone pretending to need help so they can rob me of everything I have? You know me. I’d just let it happen. I’m about as intimidating as a stale cookie.

They might actually need help, though…

Three days later, there’s another flare.

It’s faint because the sun is out, but it’s unmistakable. He hasn’t stopped coming to the roof and looking to the east since he saw the first one.

Just like the first time, he watches silently as it rises, peaks, and falls.

July 12^th, 0003 PA

Dear Mom,

Dad is probably dead.

There. I said it. I’ve been in denial for so long. I didn’t want to think about it, I still don’t. But I have to face the possibility. I’ve let my denial get in the way of reality for way too long.

Scavenging shouldn’t take more than a week, tops. Sure, he might be holed up somewhere. He may have gotten lost. But we both know dad; he’s got the best navigational skills, like, ever, and he’s not the type to just sit in one spot and wait for death.

So, there’s a distinct possibility that I’ll never see Dad again.

…it’s weird. Shouldn’t I be crying or something? I just admitted to myself that I might be the last person in our family alive. And yet, I just feel kinda numb. Maybe it’s shock or something. You’d know more about it than I do, since you’re a psychologist and all, but you’re also dead. That’ll put a stop to any kind of questioning.

Today’s the day.

David’s leaving the house, for the first time without his father.

He really doesn’t want to, but the last of the food is packed into the small bag on his back. Unless he wants to starve out, he has no choice but to leave in search of food. And, well, if he decides to stop and check out the flares while he’s gone, then that couldn’t hurt either.

It’s weird. Before everything happened, he’d be stoked at the possibility of leaving the house and doing what he wants by himself. Now, he’d give anything to have either one of his parents by his side.

He reaches out for the sliding glass doors that lead out the back of the house… but wait! He has to double check for Carl and Bertha. He ignores the fact that he can feel their comfortable weight on his back and side, and instead takes the time to extract his baseball bat, and then the crossbow.

He puts them back and faces the door again, a small smile on his face. Dad’s weird habit of naming the weapons has rubbed off on him. In a weird way, it makes him feel less alone.

He takes a deep breath and steps outside.

July 18^th, 0003 PA

Dear Mom,

I’m going to look for food, and then after the flares.

I think I’ll go insane if I spend another day in this house. No offense to you or anything, but being completely and utterly alone kinda gets to you after a while. Plus, the last two cans of beans are in my bookbag right now. I really can’t afford to wait until they’re gone.

At least this way, I’m doing something. I don’t think I’m ready to try to find Dad. That thought terrifies me. But I might be helping someone by going after the flare. That’s all you ever wanted for me, isn’t it? To help someone.

David navigates the streets he grew up in with a practiced ease. He tries to avoid engaging the dead heads if he can, especially the ones he knows personally, but sometimes he has to introduce one to Bertha or Carl.

He wishes for the thousandth time that he hadn’t gotten himself hurt on the last scavenge. If he hadn’t, then he could have gone out this time with his Dad. Then at least they’d be together, wherever Dad is now.

He shakes the thought from his head. Screw getting food. Someone’s out there, sending out flares, and he’s going to help them.

July 20^th, 0003 PA

Dear m

I never explained what PA means, did I? Sorry about that.

You know how in history, they have the letters BC or AD or whatever to show what era of history they’re talking about? Well, PA means “post-apocalypse.” I figure we’re in a new era of history.

If you wanna know, PA started with that news cast. Remember? The one about the kid that went playing in the woods, and ended up in the hospital when his mom found him with bite marks? Yeah. I know there were other cases of similar things happening, but that was the big one. The one that got everyone scared.

David’s just thinking that maybe he should have thought this whole thing through a little more when the third flare goes off.

It's so close by that he can hear the sound of it going into the air. He fixes his gaze on it.

This is it. Do or die time. This is his last chance to back out and go look for food instead.

After a moment's deliberation, he takes a deep breath and steels himself. There's no way he's backing out. He absentmindedly dispatches a nearby dead head with Bertha, before jogging in the direction of the flare.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.