The Wrong Turns

Introduction

I'm about to die, I say to myself. I grab the belt I stole from the locker in the restricted area. I sneak into the bathroom. Pulling out the belt, I wrap it around the bathroom stall corner. I tie it around, and wrap it around my neck. I stand on the toilet, and jump.

It's been like this for the last two months. My parents have been dead. My friends are no where to be found. The apocalypse took them away. All this bull started when yellow stone park exploded and caused a very dangerous disease that makes people become cannibals over the course of a year. And my parents have been dead for five years..... Today, actually makes them dead for six. I've been in a camp called camp Judson, that is a refuge camp. Since my parents died, this is the best I got. I did in fact make a couple friends. Or well, one friend. His name is Bro. Maybe I should tell you a little bit about myself before I go on about everyone else. My name is Owen. I am 16 years old. I have brown hair, and blue eyes. I am funny, witty, and easily impressed. I used to be the life of the party. People all around me, lots of friends, grades were great, and a beautiful girlfriend. Her name is Carrie. But she lost it at prom. And she lost me too. Anyway, my only friend since the apocalypse is Bro. And he has a strange obsessions with hats that cover his ratted, blonde hair. He's been talking in third person ever since we have been put in camp called Judson. He says he does it because that's what he think annoys people. And it annoys me. Mission successful Bro. The camp is really run down. And broken into two sections. The skilled people, and everybody else in between. Meaning only me and Bro. And this other guy that is third wheeling. But he doesn't matter. He's dyslexic, and has ADHD. I don't even know his name. He can't speak right. And even if he does, it sorta comes out as a long slurred sentence. I don't get that guy. The camp eats one meal a day, and is very heavily guarded. We only do one thing all day. And that's learning to fight hand to hand combat. That's how we fight the "fleshies". That's what the camp calls them. They can think regularly, but are obsessed with eating other people. And I can't take it anymore. And this is where my story begins.