When in doubt, run.
The would-be Eagle Scout writes his survival tip onto a piece of paper he salvaged from a wrecked Staples. He hopes that someone, one day, will find his work and use it to survive in the stark, decimated world. Well, Brandon thinks to himself, I better get going. My supplies are dwindling.
Brandon begins running along the throng of rusty cars sitting on the cracked road, an M16 slung over his right shoulder and a survivalist backpack slung over the other. He had never needed to use the gun, but he decided upon collecting it to intimidate those who came in his way.
Following a map he had picked up, Brandon runs towards what looks like a water reservoir on his map, along with a convenience store for consumables. His water and food rations were getting low, and his parched throat made it hard to breathe as the harsh, midday sun beat upon Brandon’s back.
“Things can’t get any worse than this,” Brandon mutters to himself as his feet pound on the uneven pavement.
His mind wanders as the rhythmic pounding of his feet takes a pulse of its own. THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
Brandon takes in a sharp breath as the pulse of his feet resurfaces a memory he wants to forget.
I get up out of bed to a nice and sunny morning. The weather seems great outside as I climb out of bed to the smell of pancakes wafting into my room. I jump downstairs four steps at a time as my mom greets me with a toothy smile and my father winks at me. Both seem extremely happy, mainly due to both of my parents’ amazing recovery from Ischemic Heart Disease.
“Did you wash your hands, Brandon?” My mom asked, still smiling and flipping pancakes on a big, metal pan.
“You know me too well, Mom,” I replied, walking into the opulent restroom to rinse my hands. Halfway through reciting the ABC’s, I hear a snarl followed by a sickening crunch and a window shattering.
With a toothbrush in my mouth, I run outside and see pandemonium on the streets, with people, no, savages, run across the street. My eyes turn toward a figure on the dining table and I gasp.
“Dad?” I cautiously walk towards the figure until I burst into tears at the bloodied, crumpled form in front of me. The crimson red dripped onto the floor, a stark contrast to the marble white ground.
Brandon doubles over, eyes overflowing with tears as the all-too-recent memory floods his emotional insulators. Wiping the tears out his eyes, he stands up straight and thinks, Keep it together! You’ve got to survive in this post-apocalyptic world! Just like the Walking Dead.
“You all right there, buddy?”
Brandon whips around with his assault rifle so fast the man trips backwards and falls down.
“Put your hands on your head and lie on the ground. NOW!” Brandon bellows as an adrenaline surge races through his body. His heart thumps so hard it’s about to leap out of his chest.
“Calm down, kid. I’m just trying to help,” the hooded man said as he pressed his body onto the asphalt ground.
“Anyone else around to ambush me?” Brandon interrogates harshly as his eyes survey the surrounding area. Seeing nothing, his gaze returns to the man.
“Look, man, I just wanna survive. Just like you. So if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.”
“Not so fast. Are you armed?”
“Naw, man. I’m clean, a’right? Just leave me alone!”
“Fine. Get up.”
The hooded man gets up, and Brandon gets his first look at the emaciated man. The man has bruises and cuts running over his pale face, and the shadow of the hood makes the man look more ominous than ever.
“Name’s Jake. Thanks for not killing me.” Jake puts his hand out for Brandon to shake, but Brandon just turned to look around, still suspecting ambush.
“Look, there ain’t nobody anywhere so calm down,” Jake offers as reassurance.
“You look hurt. What happened?” Brandon questioned Jake.
“Ahh. Back in my hometown, the creatures were attacking the car as I was driving away. Turns out, BMW’s aren’t made for zombie invasions.” Jake gives a small chuckle to himself as Brandon assessed Jack’s wounds.
“Hey. Jake.” Brandon calls out as Jake starts walking away. “I have some medical supplies for those wounds.”
“Really?” Jake raises a quizzical eyebrow.
“But you have to help me get supplies. And food.”
“Be my guest. I’ve stashed lots of food, and I know a little secret.”
Brandon got out his gauze and congealent to patch Jake’s wounds as the two sat down and got to work.
After several hours and around two thousand calories in food, Brandon and Jake are sitting in a bunker and planning a new itinerary.
“So you say that there is a place safe from the mutants a hundred miles from us?” Brandon asks Jake, still not believing the new discovery.
“Yeah, but I’ve seen smoke and fire in that direction. There may be gangs on the way.” Jake says in a nonchalant voice.
“I think that’s a risk worth taking, Jake.”
The newly formed duo climb into Jake’s blood-splattered BMW and drive at ninety miles per hour, thundering down empty highways and mowing down mutants in the way.
After two consecutive days of driving, Brandon decides it’s time to set-up camp and by nightfall, the fire embers are all but burning bright, and Jake is keeping watch while Brandon snores away in the tent.
Brandon wakes up with a start, with a chill running down his spine. When he looks outside his tent, the world is still bathed in pitch black, save for a sliver of moonlight passing onto the Earth.
“Jake?” Brandon calls out as he cautiously walks through the last embers of their fire.
He walks out into an open clearing and sees Jake, under the moonlight, with a bloodied knife in his hand. The throats of more than ten men have been cut open.
“Jake?”
“It’s not what it looks like.” Jake turns around with regret glinting in his eyes.
“What kind of monster are you?” Brandon screams as he turns back and runs into his tent, huddled over.
An hour later, Jake comes into Brandon’s tent.
“Look, Brandon.” Jake says in a soothing voice, while Brandon still turns his back on Jake.
“I’m was actually part of the SEALS. Special Operations, if you will. I took those guys out because I knew they posed a threat to us. Otherwise, they would’ve robbed us blind and killed us.”
Brandon didn’t say anything for the rest of the night, but they both had a sense of understanding between them the next morning.
2. What must be done has to be done
Brandon inscribed his second tip onto his piece of paper as they continued on their way. They didn’t know if they would make it there alive, or in one piece, but they knew for certain that they would have each other’s backs.
3. Choose a good wingman