2020

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Floyd sat there for a while, bawling. He didn't know what to do next. Where he'd go, who he'd meet. He felt as if he should end it all right then, put the gun to his own head, see how death tastes. But he didn't, surprisingly. He raided the van of it's supplies and left with only a backpack full of supplies and a shotgun filled with ammunition. He walked away from the van, ran, jogged. Where was he going? No idea. Away. Away from there, away from them. Maybe he'd pass out again and find himself in another's body, among the dead. Maybe this was all a dream, a twisted dream that he couldn't wake up from no matter how hard he pinched himself.
Despite wanting to lay in the middle of the road, get eaten alive on purpose, he kept running. Floyd ran and ran until couldn't, then he jogged. He ran through the day, ran through the evening, ran through the night, blasting zombies with his shotgun every now and then. Floyd ran until he found a place to stay. When he found that place to stay, he rested up for a few minutes, then took off again. He wasn't eager to meet new people anymore. He didn't want to have friends, nor allies, enemies, or companions. He wanted to dash from reality and found himself in another world.
A safer world where no one got killed, no one got sick, everyone was happy. Wonderland. He wanted to see where Alice was, he wanted to follow a white rabbit all the way into madness. So mad, it became peaceful; it became normal. But he'd have to stop again soon, he'd have to lose himself to get far, Floyd had to keep going. His hands shook and his body ached, so he had to. It'd catch up to him eventually and he didn't want the pain, he didn't want to pay for overusing his abilities. Running kept her off of his mind, kept Fred and Eileen, Lara, the whole family. He was occupied with keeping himself from tripping and spiking anything that came close. So occupied, the years slipped from his hands; Floyd shot all the way into 2024.