She looked down at her watch. It read 9:42. Given the amount of light outside, she knew this meant PM, however, her watch read 9:42 for the past ten times she had checked it. She only knew this because a single beam of light that came from the nearby streetlamp had streamed in through the basement window. It was wide enough for a small animal or child to crawl in, but probably not herself. She was okay with that, though, because she had no intention to go outside in the near future. If there was any future at all.
Her name was Sprout. Her nick name, anyways. Just barely hitting five foot was enough reason to call her this. And she doesn't answer to anything else, either. It started at school, when a particularly mean boy would call her this, and all the kids that didn't know her thought it was her real name. For the most part she ignored him, until other kids called her Sprout without any rude intentions, and then it stuck. It was also at school when things started to end.
During lunch in high school, there were several places to eat, to relax, to talk with friends. Sprout was by herself today, for no particular reason. Usually she enjoyed the company of a select few, but it seemed like a good idea to eat alone. About ten minutes into lunch, something happen. The people around her caught wind of something, and they ran to the courtyard. She looked at her sandwich, and sighed. She followed the others to the courtyard, and at first it didn't seem like much. Everyone stood still as they watched someone from across the road run towards the school, and a little further than that, someone running behind them. At first the yelling was faint, but then it grew louder. It was frantic, and also a little hard to discern because it sounded like the person was crying at the same time.
"Help me, please!" he pleaded with the teenagers, who stood still in amazement. Some talked amongst themselves, a couple of them left, some mocked the man, and others were genuinely scared. Sprout wasn't sure of what to make of it. It wasn't until he got closer did they notice that the man was bleeding. A girl ran towards the office, notifying the faculty. The principal, secretaries, and the girl ran back outside. The principal had to squint to see, then immediately recognized the potential danger of the two strangers heading towards campus. The bleeding man hesitated as he made it to the intersection, and weaved his way through traffic, while the other didn't even stop. A car ran right into him, and he fell on the ground hard.
"Go back to class!" The principal demanded, as he made his way to the street, but no one listened. Everyone followed him to the street. The driver got out of his car, and looked at the man he hit. The body was twitching, but the look on his face was nothing like he'd seen before. There was no fear, no sense of pain. The man that was already hurt slowly made his way back towards his attacker. He was gone, that was for sure. The other students kept clear of the injured man. He was staring at the ground, then slowly looked up at the principal.
"Come with me, we'll get you cleaned up." the principal urged. He started to turn around and walk back, but the man grabbed his arm and pulled him back forcefully. The principal looked in the man's eyes and only saw anger. He was not the scared man running for his life anymore. In an instant, he swung at the principal, who fell on the car, and rolled off the hood. Some of the students screamed, but they all ran back towards the school. Unconscious or dead, the man left the principal and started running after the students. He grabbed one blonde girl, and bit a chunk out of her shoulder. She screamed, the pain shooting through her nerves. She fell to the ground, holding her shoulder with her other, tears and mascara streaming down her cheeks. Sprout looked back only once to see the man attacking another student and noticed as the blonde girl's attitude was changing. She got up and began running after other students as well, a hungry look in her eyes.
Sprout lived in a neighborhood right across the school, so instead of going back to class she simply ran home. She had a house key in her pocket because her parents worked during the day. A spare was kept hidden in the rocks that surrounded the flower bed. She took the spare as well, not wanting anyone to get in that might happen upon the key. She locked the doors and all the windows, and closed the curtains and blinds. She turned on the television while she ran around the house, leaving it on the news station. As she grabbed anything she deemed important, she heard the woman on the screen say, "A new virus strain has come up, and it is extremely deadly. As far as symptoms go, any person with the virus exhibits cannabalistic tendencies, extreme anger, no sense of pain or fear, and no fatigue. The virus is passed along when infected bodily fluid, such as blood or spit, comes in contact with the blood from a noninfected human, such as when being bitten. It is unknown whether the various is transmutable to animals. The virus is not airborne. For now there is no known cure, and scientists are working in a frenzy to come up with a vaccine. It is recommended that you evacuate the area immediately. There are military bases set up on the outskirts of the city. You will be required to pass a medical exam. All infected humans will be quarantined."
Alone, and not having a car, Sprout couldn't evacuate even if she wanted to leave the house. She made several trips from the kitchen, her bedroom, the medicine cabinet, to downstairs in the basement. She had deemed it the safest place in the house, but wasn't really sure of it capabilities to protect her from zombies. Zombies. It was strange to think about. That kind of thing was only in books or movies. It wasn't supposed to be happening to her. She went back upstairs once more to try to call her parents. Neither one had answered, so she called the work number. No one answered that either. A sinking feeling filled her stomach. Her eyes began to water as she locked the basement door and walked down the steps.
She'd brought all the canned food she could find, as well as things from the fridge that wouldn't spoil too quickly. She brought a can opener, and a spoon, and all the bottled water. Blankets covered the floor, as well as several pillows, and a stuffed bear her father gave her years ago. A first aid kit was laid against the bear. The basement itself contained an assortment of things collected over the years of its existence, dust being one of them. There was a cabinet where Sprout's dad kept his guns he used for duck hunting. This would be the most valuable asset of all.
Time crawled by as she paced the floor of the basement, occasionally laying down, hugging her bear and crying. She glanced at her watch, it read 9:42. She never heard the car engine pull up nor did she hear the phone ring. Her parents weren't coming home, and she tried to ignore this fact. Were they hurt? Did they leave her? Or maybe they were unable to leave the office, hiding as well. The crickets weren't chirping like they normally had outside her bedroom window. Even they knew something wasn't right in the world. She walked to the small window in the basement. There was a crate she used to be tall enough to look out of it. In the middle of the road she saw someone walking. Stumbling, really, in a slow manner, almost uncomfortable with the act of walking. It seemed to sniff the air, and in that moment Sprout realized the person had to be infected. She stepped down from the crate, and stared hard at the gun cabinet. She looked at her watch. It read 9:42. She walked towards the gun case and pulled out one she knew her father kept in good working condition. She only knew how to do two things: take off the safety and pull the trigger.
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