Halfway to where I could only assume was Rhubarb's house, I noticed that we were outside my apartment block.
"Wait," I requested, forcing her to stop by putting all my weight on my twisted ankle. "I need to get some stuff."
She looked at me like I'd said I'd forgotten my hairbrush.
"What? Do you want to be helping me walk the whole time?"
So we hobbled to the flats and I pressed the button for the lift. When her eyes went wide I told her to just wait because I was not walking up four flights of stairs on my ankle.
When I got to my flat, I moved as quickly as I could. First was the job of making myself more mobile, so I grabbed the nearest scarf and tied it around my ankle as tight as I could. It worked.
"Dad! Where's my flare gun!?" I called through the house.
"In the AVS!" he replied loudly. I didn't know why he said air ventilation system like that, when it was much more understandable just to call it an air vent.
My flare gun, I found, was fully loaded as I hadn't used it on our last dangerous hiking trip. There were also nine red night time handheld flares, so I grabbed them too. The reason why they were in the air vent was so my brother, who was currently on holiday with school, wouldn't steal it. Being petite at five foot exactly meant I could fit in there, whereas he couldn't because, like most people, he was taller than me.
As I darted past my bedroom door, I grabbed a satchel bag and stuffed my flare gun into it. Then I ran to the kitchen and grabbed our box of matches that we found around the house. We found them so often that it was completely full with at least three hundred. I put that in my satchel too. While there, I grabbed the nearest clean knife.
"Dad," I started on my way to the front room. "We need to get out of her quickly, 'cause- DAD!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
He stood facing me, blood pouring down his face and dripping onto the carpet. I was scared for him to turn around, because I could almost guarantee there'd be a chunk missing out of his head.
Someone grabbed me from behind and began to pull me out of the room.
"NO! I NEED TO HELP HIM!"
"Berny, let's leave. NOW." Rhubarb ordered.
"NO, MY DAD IS BLEEDING TO DEATH!"
"BERNY. He got attacked by a zombie. He'll do the same to you. We. Need. To. Leave."
At that point, a grey-skinned young girl - maybe about eleven years old - walked into the room. Half of her neck was missing and there was blood around her mouth.
On impulse, I shot her with the flare gun. As soon as the light hit her, she burst into flames, falling into my dad who followed suit.
"Oh my god..." tears started leaking down my face. "I killed someone. I killed my-"
Rhubarb dragged me from the block of flats and all the way down my street before I gained the strength to struggle free of her grasp. Then I followed her in silence to her own house, trying to stop my sobbing.
I had just murdered my own father. What kind of daughter was I?
My shoes were caked in blood which had soaked to the inside, much like water. That didn't help my emotional state at all, the thought that it could be my dad's making me cry harder.
"Berny?" In the time it had taken me to collect my thoughts, Rhubarb had been into her house and retrieved some kind of sword. An older guy who looked a lot like her followed her out. "The street is deserted..."
I looked at her. "What are we going to do now?" I wiped my eyes, knowing that I was smearing red stuff on my face.
But she was right. Here we were, two innocent teenage girls... and a guy, in a place full of zombies.
And we were completely alone.