Chapter Text
Day 1, Nighttime
Mishas POV:
The rain is falling in heavy drops, covering the pavement with water. The sun set long ago, and the only source of light is the odd streetlamp here and there that somehow still works. Misha wonders when they too will go out, just like all the other electronic devices such as mobile phones or gas stations. With a sigh, he carefully packs his backpack, not really ready to leave this place. He had been staying in this run-down motel for about four weeks, where hardly any people could be seen anymore. That was a rarity these days, after what had happened. The virus had decimated the population severely and mercilessly, leaving behind a lawless world that only functions thanks to the remaining sense of morality.
Misha had decided to go to a place where he hoped to find his friends again. Or at least the friends who had survived this horror. It was a long way from the motel, probably days or weeks’ walk, hoping not to be attacked by anything or anyone, hoping not to unwittingly catch the virus somehow. That’s the worst part. It took about two weeks for the body to show the first symptoms, so it was a silent spread. Misha was just glad that, somehow, he hadn’t caught it. But was he really that glad? He had lost many people, his home, his everything. So was it really such a good thing? He shakes his head and tightens his shoes, preparing himself for his little mission.
With his backpack on his back, a little motivation and all his belongings, he sets off. The rain is pouring down on him; the raindrops roll off his rain jacket. His boots make a soft splashing sound as he walks. Never in his life had he been so glad to have such good waterproof gear. Perhaps he’d stolen it from a run-down shop, yes, but what else could he have done? And it was just this once, so he didn’t make a big deal of it.
This is how his long journey begins. Perhaps it was pointless to hope that his friends would follow his example, but at least he now has something to do that doesn’t involve searching for food, lying around in a motel room or dwelling on the past. It simply helps him to cope with it all, somehow, without breaking down in tears again. The fact that he still has a tiny glimmer of hope left gives him energy.
Every now and then he finds a spot where he can stand in the dry and look at his map. As he isn’t particularly good at finding his way around, he has to keep glancing at the map. Right now he’s standing under an old bus shelter, a light flickering above him, casting a slightly distracting glow onto his map. He reaches for his red pen, marks the route he’s taken so far, and tries to memorise where he needs to go next. He quietly mutters the route to himself a few times, closes his eyes and tries to remember it without the map’s help. When he feels confident enough, he folds the map up with some effort and puts it in a plastic bag. He doesn’t quite trust his backpack to be truly waterproof, so he has put everything of value that might get ruined if it comes into contact with water into the plastic bag.
After putting the plastic bag back inside, he sets off, humming a tune that’s been stuck in his head again. It’s one of those classics from "Supernatural", but he just can’t remember what it’s called. Misha tries to work it out for a while, but quickly gives up as it starts to bore and annoy him. He hates songs where he can’t remember the name. So he just keeps humming the middle section of the song over and over, not caring in the slightest that it’s annoying. Every now and then he taps his thighs in time with the beat, keeping himself a little occupied to ease the boredom and loneliness that are growing ever stronger.
Misha hates being so very alone. It’s quite nice now and then, but for this long? It hurts him and leaves him longing for affection like a little abandoned kitten. Out of frustration, he kicks a rock and watches as it rolls off into the grass by the roadside, hitting a car in the process. Years ago, he would have panicked slightly, but now he doesn’t even care enough to assess the damage. These days, only the military drives cars, so it doesn’t matter at all whether he damages the car or not.
His gaze slowly drifts upwards, taking in the dark surroundings. Misha doesn’t even know why he decided to set off after sundown. Did he want to avoid people? Probably, but it’s just as unsafe at night as it is during the day, so this tactic might not be the best, but it’s better than nothing. As he looks around, his headlamp illuminates the road a little more, casting a faint beam of light onto the ground. There was hardly anything to be seen around him. Just grass, the road and trees. Misha knows that this is much safer than walking through a town. Places like that were usually crowded with infected people, and he had absolutely no desire to get sick. Especially since the government had said that only about 10% to 25% survived the disease. It was, and still is, the most terrifying thing he had ever heard of. Especially the way the virus went through four stages. The people on the radio always said that the first two were similar to flu and survivable, but the last two were a death sentence. To be honest, it terrifies him.
He shakes his head, pushes the thought aside and tries to stay positive. That’s the only thing he can do right now. His gaze returns to the street ahead; he stops looking around. He doesn’t want to know if anyone is watching him or has spotted him because of the light on his head. He was never one who was particularly good at fighting or scaring others. Yes, Misha’s body is fit, but if something were to attack him now, he’d rather run away. He can’t run for long, but it’s usually enough to gain some distance. Distance to hide and escape from whatever is chasing him. It’s happened to him twice already, and he’s genuinely surprised at how good he’s become at it.
At this thought, a quiet chuckle escapes Misha. He doesn’t really know why he finds it funny, but it somehow comforts him to know that he isn’t a helpless little kitten after all. He shakes his head and picks up the pace a little, suddenly feeling somewhat more energetic than before. If someone had told him years ago what he would be doing in the future – fighting and running – he would have just laughed at them and thought it was a stupid joke. He would never have thought that his life would change so drastically without warning. Not even at the start of the outbreak would he have thought that an apocalypse would soon begin and that death would be knocking at everyone’s door.
So Misha just keeps walking, hoping to find a place where there are no infected people or bad people – that would be the jackpot for him.