It was just another mundane day in King County, Georgia. A young man can be seen leaning against his hand as he stares out the window, daydreaming. The faint voice of someone speaking to him echoes in the back of his mind as he takes in the scenery.
The young man was a striking figure; he was rather large for the desk he sat behind with a lean muscular build, a testament to his active lifestyle. His hair was a mix of brown and red, giving it a copper look, often falling into his piercing blue eyes.
The bell rang, jolting Y/n back to reality. He grabbed his backpack and headed to his next class, glancing at his phone to check the time. As he walked through the bustling halls of his high school, he noticed a sense of unease among his classmates. Whispers and worried looks were exchanged, but Y/n dismissed them. Rumors spread like wildfire in high school, and he had no interest in the latest gossip.
Halfway through his biology class, the door to the classroom burst open. Mr. Thompson, the biology teacher, was mid-lecture when a man stumbled in, clutching his arm. Y/n recognized him as Mr. Jenkins, one of the janitors. The man's face was pale, and he looked disoriented.
"Help.... me...." Mr. Jenkins gasped before collapsing on the floor.
Panic erupted. Mr. Thompson rushed to the man's side, but as he turned Mr. Jenkins over, it became clear that something was terribly wrong. A bite mark, deep and vicious, marred the janitor's forearm. Blood seeped through his fingers as he writhed in pain.
Before anyone could react, Mr. Jenkins' eyes snapped open. They were vacant and lifeless. He lunged at Mr. Thompson, sinking his teeth into the teacher's neck. A large piece of flesh was slowly ripped from his throat, letting blood gush out like a geyser.
Screams of horror filled the room as the students watched as their teacher was torn into like a piece of food. Y/n's adrenaline kicked in as he saw the janitor stab his hands into the stomach of Mr. Tompson, guts and blood pouring out onto the floor, decorating the white tile with crimson.
Some of the students fled in terror, while others remained stuck, paralyzed with fear. Y/n quickly grabbed his backpack and swung it at the now-ravenous Mr. Jenkins. The impact knocked the janitor back. A low growl escaped the pale janitors mouth as he slowly climbed to his feet and set his hollow eyes on Y/n.
"Stay back!" Y/n shouted.
Mr. Jenkins slowly stumbled forward and lunged at the young man. Y/n quickly reacted and shoved him back with all his strength. The janitor stumbles back before slamming his head against the large wooden desk with a sickening crunch.
The growls fell silent as a small puddle of blood began to form under the now-still body of the janitor.
"We need to get out of here!" Y/n shouted, trying to spur his classmates into action.
The classroom was pandemonium. Some students snapped back to reality and quickly ran out of the room, while others stared at the bodies of two adults. Y/n quickly grabbed his bag and ran out of the room, leaving only to see hell take over.
As he entered the hallway, the scale of the disaster became clear. Walkers—formerly his classmates and teachers—were everywhere, attacking anyone they could catch. The air was filled with screams and the sickening sounds of flesh being torn and bones being broken.
"Lord, have mercy," Y/n said as he looked around with wide eyes.
A high-pitched snarl from behind him catches his attention. Quickly turning, he is faced with a classmate who had run out earlier and now turned into a walker. She lunges at him, trying to take a bite out of his flesh, but Y/n reacts and swings his backpack at her.
She stumbles backwards. stunned by the sudden hit, Y/n quickly steps towards her and shoves her with force towards a window. As her body collides with the glass, it cracks slightly, and more growls and snarls put him on alert.
Glancing around, he sees nothing but walkers slowly making their way towards him. The deep, booming sound of his heart fills his mind as he looks back at the cracked window.
"This is going to suck," Y/n says quietly to himself.
Backing up towards the other wall, he quickly lunges forward before sprinting towards the walker, who is still stunned by the impact of the window. He grabs her by the body and lifts her up before slamming her through the window, breaking it.
Both go through and start free-falling towards the ground. It only lasts for a handful of seconds before they collide with the ground.
A high-pitched ringing fills his ears as his body slowly starts to register the impact he has just received; the wind has been knocked out of his lungs. He tries to remember how to breathe, but his lungs don't listen. Y/n shakes his head as his vision slowly comes to focus.
Distant screams of people running for their lives, people getting torn limb from limb all around, blood decorates the once green grass. A small fire is burning on the far side of the school. Y/n shakes his head once again as his hearing comes back.
He gazes down to see that the walker he tackled out the window is now nothing but a pile of blood, bones, and mush. Y/n slowly climbs to his feet and stumbles forward as a sharp pain fills his shoulder. Looking down, a large piece of glass is embedded into his left shoulder, and a few drops of blood escape the wound.
He grimaces, but his adrenaline kicks into overdrive, quickly numbing the pain and pushing him forward. He takes a few shaky steps before breaking out into a jog, trying to get away from the chaos around him.
As he quickened his pace to get away from the building, the whole town was in a much worse state. Sirens blared off in the distance, and smoke billowed from nearby buildings. Y/n's thoughts were consumed with finding his aunt and cousin.
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Y/n Grimes was in survival mode. The world had descended into chaos, and every step he took was calculated. After escaping the school, he knew his immediate priority was to find safety. But he had to know if his Aunt Lori and Cosuin Carl were okay. His father, Cain, had drilled into him the importance of family, and now, more than ever, Y/n understood why.
The streets of Kings County were unrecognizable. Cars were abandoned, their doors left open as if their owners had vanished mid-step. Smoke rose from several buildings, and the distant sound of sirens and screams filled the air. Y/n slowly walked forward cautiously, his eyes scanning every blind spot and intersection.
The local convenience store that he had visited in the past can be seen in the distance. He quickly picks up his pace and jogs towards the wide, open doors. Debris and scattered supplies cover the parking lot; cans of food, bottles of water, and some medical supplies are strewn around the abandoned cars.
He kneels down, grabs a bottle of water, and tears the cap off before downing the contents. The cool, refreshing water slowly begins to quench his thirst. Letting the empty bottle fall to the ground, he walks towards the open doors and peers inside.
It was looted, but not completely ransacked. He stepped through the doors and made his way inside. Y/n quickly made his way towards the medical section to find a few things that could help him: a bottle of peroxide and a small medical kit.
Y/n glanced down at his injured shoulder to see blood seeping around it. The adrenaline had masked the pain initially, but now it was unbearable.
He opened the medkit to grab a piece of gauze and a small roll of bandages. He quickly took the cap of the peroxide and set it on the nearby shelf. Gritting his teeth, he ripped his shirt around the wound to see the severity of the damage.
Luckily for him, the glass had stopped the blood from dripping out of him; unfortunately, the pain is getting worse.
"Okay, this is going to hurt," Y/n muttered to himself. He wrapped his fingers around the shard of glass, gritting his teeth as he began to pull. The pain was excruciating, but he managed to extract the glass with a swift, steady motion. Blood poured from the wound, and Y/n gasped, his vision swimming.
He reached a shaky hand for the bottle of peroxide and quickly splashed some onto the now-open wound. the liquid fizzing as it made contact with his skin. Y/n bit down on his lip to stifle a scream; the pain was nearly unbearable.
Y/n's body shook with the effort to stay conscious, but he forced himself to focus. He needed to clean the wound and stop the bleeding. He reached for the gauze pad and tightly held it against his shoulder with his chin.
"How am I going to do this one-handed?" Y/n muttered to himself.
His breathing was ragged as he leaned his back against a shelf. The pain was intense, but the bleeding had slowed. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his strength.
"You can do this, just like dad used to show you." He whispered to himself.
He slowly began to wind the bandage around his upper arm before making his way towards his shoulder. It took a handful of minutes for him to sloppily but tightly wrap his shoulder, covering his wound.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted to take a break, but he couldn't afford to, and he also couldn't afford to push himself too hard and risk infection or further injury.
Y/n lightly pushed off the shelf, grabbed the remaining medical supplies, and made his way towards the counter. God seemed to be watching out for him, and as a large backpack sat behind the counter, he quickly grabbed it.
The backpack appeared to be relatively intact. With a sense of cautious optimism, Y/n kneeled beside it and began to rummage through its contents. His fingers brushed against the fabric, feeling for any hidden compartments or pockets. With each discovery, his heart quickened with anticipation.
He searched every inch of the bag but found nothing. It may not have been the treasure trove he was hoping for, but it's still a good find. Unzipping the large pouch, he slips in the medical supplies before grabbing as many food and water bottles as he can carry.
Before he knows it, the once-empty backpack is now filled to the brim with food and water. Y/n quickly closes it and carefully slips it over his shoulders before leaving behind the building.
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Y/n stumbled through the overgrown lawn of his family home, his heart pounding in his chest. The once-familiar sight of the house now filled him with dread as he pushed open the front door, praying for a sign of his loved ones.
The interior was still and empty, and the only sound was the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. His eyes darted from room to room, searching desperately for any trace of his Aunt Lori or Cousin Carl.
But all he found were the remnants of their lives—a discarded jacket slung over the back of a chair, a half-empty coffee mug left on the kitchen counter, and a stack of books hastily abandoned on the living room table.
Tears welled in Y/n's eyes as he realized the truth. They were gone. Whether they had fled in fear or fallen victim to the chaos unfolding outside, he didn't know. But one thing was certain—they weren't here.
With a heavy heart, Y/n sank to his knees amidst the scattered belongings. He longed to hear Rick's laugh, to see Carl's mischievous grin one more time, and to hear the clatter of forks against plates as the air was filled with idle chatter. But all that remained were echoes of their departure, silent reminders of the life they had left behind.
"Wake up. Come on, wake up." Y/n said loudly as he looked around. He struck himself a few times in the head to see if he was really dreaming, but this was reality.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the empty rooms, Y/n knew he had to keep moving. He couldn't stay here; he was trapped in a past that no longer existed. With a deep breath, he rose to his feet and shouldered his pack.
With a heavy heart, Y/n made his way to his room. The creaks of the wood under his feet echo in the empty house. His footsteps faltered as he reached the doorway, his hand trembling as he pushed it open.
Everything was just as he left it earlier in the morning before the world went to shit. The room was a sanctuary of memories, a refuge from the horrors of the outside world. Posters adorned the walls, and the bed lay in a mess with sheets and blankets.
With a sense of reverence, Y/n crossed the room and kneeled beside his bed. He reached under it and pulled out a small chest he had kept since his dad had died. With a shaky hand and his fingers brushing against the dust-covered surface, he lifted the lid of the old wooden chest at the foot of the bed, revealing a treasure trove of keepsakes and mementos. Among them is a weathered journal that's protected by a rough leather cover.
the journal filled with his father's handwriting—a testament to the love and wisdom he had imparted to his son. With trembling hands, Y/n reached for the journal, cradling it against his chest as tears pricked at his eyes. His father may be gone, but his words lived on, a guiding light in the darkness that surrounded him.
But there were other treasures here too: a small bible that his mother had used when she was diagnosed with cancer, a bracelet his best friend Clementine had made him, and a faded photograph—each one a piece of his heart, a tether to the past he held dear.
A warm feeling washed over Y/n as he looked at each momento he held dear. A sense of determination slowly began to rise inside of him. Y/n gathered these precious mementos and tucked them carefully into his pack, alongside the first aid kit he had found earlier. They were more than just belongings—they were a lifeline, a source of strength and courage in the face of adversity.
As he rose to his feet, the weight of his pack pressing against his shoulders, Y/n felt a renewed sense of purpose. Though the world outside may be dark and uncertain, he would carry on using these memories as fuel to push him forward.
With one last lingering look around the room, his eyes fall on a wooden baseball bat that sits in the corner. He walks over and grabs it before he turns and makes his way back downstairs.
With the sun dipping below the horizon and darkness descending upon the world outside, Y/n knew he couldn't risk traveling through the night. The shadows held too many dangers and too many unknowns. So, with a heavy heart, he resigned himself to staying in the safety of his home until morning.
As he settled in for the night, he did a once-over and made sure every door was secure. He let his body fall onto the couch. The stillness of the house around him filled him with an uneasy feeling; it was too quiet for his liking.
His gaze fell upon the baseball bat propped up against the wall next to his pack. A flicker of determination ignited within him as he stared at it. Standing up from the comfy confines of the couch, he grabs the bat, feeling its weight in his hands. It was time to make a stand and turn this simple tool of recreation into a weapon of defense.
With purposeful strides, Y/n made his way to the garage, the beams of a flashlight cutting through the darkness like a beacon. The air was thick with dust and the scent of motor oil, but he paid it no mind as he searched for the supplies he needed.
In a corner of the garage, he found what he was looking for—a box of nails and a hammer. With a grim smile, Y/n set to work, the rhythmic sound of a hammer against metal echoing in the stillness of the night.
Each nail driven into the wood of the bat was a symbol of his determination, a declaration of his refusal to become another victim of this cruel new world. He worked methodically, his movements fueled by a mixture of fear and resolve.
Finally, when the last nail was in place, Y/n stepped back to admire his handiwork. The baseball bat was transformed, its surface bristling with deadly spikes—a formidable weapon against the horrors that lurked in the darkness outside.
As he finally settled in for the night, the spiked bat resting beside him like a loyal guardian, Y/n knew that come morning, he would be ready to continue his journey. For now, though, he would rest, his mind filled with dreams of a brighter tomorrow.