At first I thought it was a joke. Some sort of well-orchestrated viral meme thing. An overly elaborate flash mob.
But after a few hours it was serious, after a day it was scary, after the weeks passed it was terrifying, and now…
Now we have to make some serious decisions about how to live, and more importantly, what to live for.
I’m Evie Ballentrae. I’m not particularly attractive or popular — not that popularity matters anymore.
For the record: when I say, ‘not very attractive,’ I’m not talking in a Katniss Everdeen / Bella Swan / Hermione Granger way, in which I’m a total babe but playing coy, and later on in the story (in about book three), I ‘blossom’ into a Burberry model. Trust me, if this were a movie I’d be the quirky second-best friend that doesn’t make the sequel.
I’m half-decent with a computer and I’m fairly impressive on the piano, but neither of these skills are particularly useful.
Before it happened I was well on my way to finishing high school, going to a decent university (nothing Ivy League, but respectable) and living a normal, twenty-first century life.
Nowadays I’m quickly realizing that everything I learned at school was a waste of time. I have nothing in the way of real survival skills — other than what I’ve picked up from disaster films like 2012, Independence Day, Twister, I am Legend and The Walking Dead (okay, not a film but pretty relevant given our current circumstances).
The problem is, I’m not like Will Smith, or Helen Hunt, or Jake Gyllenhaal. I’m not an ex-marine, or a scientist or a brain.
I’m regular. I’m boring. I’m normal.
Had I known what was coming for me, I would have joined the Girl Scouts or spent my summers at wilderness camps… Or at least studied First Aid
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a total indoors-only-asthma-inhaler-holding nerd. I mean, I camped with Mom and Dad, and being green-hipster-parents, they insisted we kept a vegetable garden and composted and stuff…
But on the whole, I was a highly domesticated human being.
I digress...
So things have changed. Like 100%, unrecognizably, life-turned-on-its head, changed.
I’m completely responsible for my little brother Darcy, who, when he’s not being annoying (and trying to get us killed), is kinda adorable.
I’m also completely responsible for my parents and my older brother Rory (my Mom had a thing for names that end with a ‘y’ sound). Right now, they’re neither adorable or annoying — they really don’t say anything. Ever.
Or do anything. Ever.
Here’s what I want: everything to go back to normal.
Here’s what I’ve got: the complete opposite.
The world is ours.
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But we don’t really want it.