"Fucking shit—where the hell am I?" I yelled into the empty forest as I kept running. The woods were silent except for a few birds chirping and leaves rustling overhead. The air smelled earthy and woody, sweet and slightly spicy. Autumn leaves drifted down in slow spirals. It was getting colder. Winter was coming.
I've been wandering for maybe two weeks. I couldn't even call it being lost—because to be lost, you need to know where you started. I had no idea where I was. I just kept moving forward. I wished I had a map—anything to point me in the right direction. I was supposed to be heading toward Savannah; my father said he would go there if the motel wasn't safe. I prayed he hadn't left me behind. I couldn't go back to look for him; the motel had burned down, and the horde was still there. Savannah was the only place I knew to look.
But the problem was simple:
I didn't know where Savannah was.
I didn't even know what direction it was in.
Hell, I didn't even know where I was. Half the time it felt like I was running in circles.
The only thing keeping me alive was this body of Agent 47. I could run for hours without feeling tired. The only downside was how quickly I became hungry—but even that wasn't a real problem. I caught small animals—rabbits, squirrels, whatever I could find. All I needed was a rock. Sometimes I amazed even myself with how strong I was; I could throw a stone with deadly precision and hit an animal hundreds of feet away.
My senses were almost unnaturally sharp. If I focused long enough, I could pinpoint every living creature within a fifty-foot radius, even without seeing them. It felt like having night vision mixed with a radar system. It kept me alive. I wasn't starving. I wasn't injured. That was the good news.
But the bad news?
The nightmares.
I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw blood. I saw everything I didn't want to remember. Maybe it was trauma. Maybe guilt. Maybe both. Even after washing my clothes in the river, I swore I could still smell blood. Maybe it was my imagination—or maybe it wasn't. Sometimes I looked down and thought I saw stains on my hands and clothes; sometimes they vanished. I was starting to think the forest was getting into my head.
Before I completely lost my mind, I kept running. I'd been running for hours—maybe days. My shoes were worn down to almost nothing. My shirt and pants were torn where branches had ripped them open. And yet I was still alive. Even though everyone I loved was gone, I was still here. This body stayed resilient—mentally and physically. If I were still in my original body, I don't know what state I would be in. I'm not sure I want to know.
So I kept moving. Straight ahead. Forward—the only direction that made sense. I'd been doing it for nearly twenty hours. Even at night, when a few undead drifted between the trees, they were easy to kill. Most of them stayed near populated areas, not the middle of the forest.
Finally—after endless miles of trees—I saw something.
A road.
"Finally… something other than trees," I muttered, relief spilling through me.
I had made it out of the goddamn forest. All I needed to do now was wait—wait for a car, a truck, anything that might pass by so I could finally ask where Savannah was. Maybe even get help.
So I camped nearby.
I didn't know how to build a proper shelter, so I climbed a tree and slept on the branches, high above the undead and whatever else wandered the woods. Luckily for me, even on the coldest nights, I didn't freeze. I barely felt cold at all—it was like wearing a thick winter coat. Honestly, it was amazing. I silently thanked the Angel again. Yeah, I'd done it a hundred times, but this body was perfect for survival.
Three days passed.
Three days of waiting.
Three days of staring down an empty road.
No cars.
No people.
Not even undead.
Nothing.
Frustration gnawed at me. I was about to give up and start walking when I heard it—a faint rumble in the distance.
A car.
I jumped down from the tree, landing softly on the pavement. Then I stepped into the middle of the road and waited. I didn't trust whoever was coming—not yet, maybe not ever. I slipped a few rocks into my pocket—small and harmless to anyone else, but lethal in my hands. With my strength and accuracy, one flick of my wrist could crack a skull. Physically, I was stronger, faster, and sharper than almost anyone alive.
If they showed even the slightest hint of being a threat, I wouldn't hesitate to kill them. I was done with hesitation. Hesitation had given me nothing but pain—and pain… yeah, I'd had enough of that. Nobody likes it, except for a few twisted people. But there are always exceptions.
So yes, stones mattered.
I waited patiently, a hint of a smile pulling at my face.
Eventually, a car appeared—an old Honda. Not my favorite brand, but right now it looked like salvation. I raised my hand to signal the driver to stop. As the vehicle slowed, I saw only one person inside. No passenger. Even from a distance, I could see the man's expression—worried and suspicious—as he eased the car to a stop just a few feet in front of me.
The engine hummed softly.
The forest went still.
And the man stared at me like I might be the last living soul… or the next threat.