Contributor: BrettB

Daylight.

They rarely ever attack in broad daylight. Now's the time to be on the move – gathering food and water, restocking other supplies like batteries and clothes, maybe resting a little, and tracking survivors. I've been tracking someone for days now. I have no idea who they are – but they're smart. They've been keeping to the high ground – camping away from buildings and woods, building small fires, never staying in one spot for too long. I don't know if they're immune like me; but they're not a monster.

My supplies are short. My backpack has enough water for another day – but I've run out of food. I have a heavy-duty aluminum flashlight – it's even water-resistant up to 20 ft. There's a small first-aid kit, a light blanket, and a sweatshirt. I've got the trusty roll of duct tape and thirty feet of dirty yellow nylon rope. My weapon of choice? Well, I've almost always got a tire iron in my left hand, and there are almost always rocks or bricks in the vicinity. I've come across makeshift weapons before – bats, dumbbells, pipes, shovels, bottles, even a bamboo cane – but what I really wish I could find is something with range.

For right now I need to focus on finding food. In Boy Scouts they always said you could live off the land in an emergency. Not this emergency though.

When news about the disease spread, people reacted with pure, unadulterated fear. Apocalyptic warnings were circulated mixed with living-zombie horror stories and, before long, neighboring countries took action. There were chemical dumps, fires, air raids and bombings, armed troops, you name it. We were treated like feral animals in an attempt to eradicate all carriers of the disease. It didn't help. The situation grew into an epidemic – then a pandemic. Before long, almost everyone had either succumbed to the disease or been slaughtered; and the world was left as a bombed-out, burned-up, chemical-polluted wilderness.

The survivors are alone. Alone in an empty world filled with hordes of monsters.