✓ | SPITFIRE ¹ ✶ the walking dead

⠀⠀⠀𝒙𝒊𝒙. back to the beginning

⠀⠀⠀"See you tomorrow."

⠀⠀⠀As Cal told Bianca, he woke up in the early morning, well-rested and lightly packed. He had a backpack full of clothes and some food he could take over to help cushion his stay with Bianca's family.

⠀⠀⠀His door creaked open, and he flinched in response at the sound. He paused as he stood at the door, listening for his mom downstairs to storm her way up and complain loudly about him waking her up. However, her guttural snore filled the house a second later, and relief washed over him. She was still asleep.

⠀⠀⠀So, he continued, timing his steps to the snores. When he got downstairs, he found his mom passed out on the couch, a bottle of scotch resting in her hand. The TV was bright blue, repeating the same emergency message that had begun the night before. It highlighted her sunken-in features, the wiry blonde hair, and thin skin. She looked sick, fragile, but he knew her when she was awake. Rageful, stronger than she looked, and someone he was ready to never see again.

⠀⠀⠀He opened the back door, no creaking this time, and slipped outside. His hand rested on the doorknob and again questioned if this was the right thing to do. It took everything in him to remind himself that his mom wasn't ever like a mother. She didn't care for him, hardly fed him, left him to do or die on his own. Finding Bianca was the one and only important thing in the world now.

⠀⠀⠀Taking in a deep breath, he closed the door with all his willpower and turned toward the backyard. He looked across it, unmowed grass and beaten down pickets from before the world went down to rumble. His whole childhood hidden between the weeds and wood. He gave the few and far between memories that were good a solemn smile before he left out the side gate.

⠀⠀⠀His car was parked in the street, and he was lucky the dead hadn't found them yet. From what Cal heard, their neighborhood was on lock-down, but no one had come down with the plague yet. It seemed the more condensed communities like Atlanta were seeing the worst of it.

⠀⠀⠀Cal shook his head, telling himself there was no time to think about anything other than the road ahead. He got himself in the driver's seat, threw his backpack into the passenger's seat, and opened his glove box to pull out his knife.

⠀⠀⠀Then, he sped off the street and back through town before hitting the highway. He cruised down the winding road, thankful he'd filed up on gas, or else he would've been in a pinch even on half a tank.

⠀⠀⠀The traffic was insane, like news reports in Galveston or New Orleans when another hurricane was coming through. They were all trying to leave the city for the weeks after. Unlike hurricanes, this outbreak was everywhere, and Cal wasn't sure where they were trying to run. Maybe to the emergency shelters the broadcasts were talking about. Or, they were like him, trying to race to their loved ones before time ran out.

⠀⠀⠀Cal was confident that he'd make it there by the early afternoon like he promised. Possibly by the evening, and then he'd be with her. Even if he died tomorrow, at least Bianca would be with him. Maybe not even tomorrow, maybe next week or a month or a year away. Whichever way it went, he wanted to be with her.

⠀⠀⠀Then, the black Sudan in front of him swerved to the left. It hit the white Honda speeding beside Cal and resting within the Sudan's blind spot. The cars behind the wreck sent the others screeching across the highway. A bright red car spiraled and clipped the back of Cal's car. He went flying into a ditch, the front end crunching just as the airbag blew up.

⠀⠀⠀The impact made Cal dizzy, and every muscle in his body felt like it was filled with ice. Once it settled, the airbag settled, and Cal blinked his eyes open. Black dots littered his vision, but he could see them. The dead crawled out from the woods, hearing the sound of the collisions, and drawn in toward the raging fires bursting out of some of the cars.