The Farmhouse and What Happened There.

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Jace's legs hurt from the walking, but he would still rather be on the road then feeling stupid in front of the others. When the apocalypse started, he had embraced it wholly, he had hidden inside this new circumstance, fully letting it shape a new better self. It allowed him to shed the person he had been, that lonely, sad, damaged person, and become someone else, someone better. But it was all a veneer, underneath was the same person he had always been and now he carried baggage. Locked inside him was this fear, a terror he couldn't escape and no matter how much he pretended, he still dreaded rejection, nothing had changed.

He should have known that being bitten was not going to turn him and in hindsight he kicked himself. He had been so busy playing zombie hunter that he had let himself be taken in by myths. It had been a psychological shock to his system and he had never felt such despair as in those moments after. If it hadn't been for Carl's calm, firm reassurances, he probably would have lost it completely. Jace had known before Carl had shown him the crescent scars covering his arms, he just hadn't believed. He hadn't wanted to believe they were all infected and that his miraculous survival was just random chance. That his immune system had beaten the odds and somehow triumphed. Jace wanted so desperately to believe he was special, that his survival had been because of his own actions and not something out of his hands, that he was willing to look past the obvious, to keep fooling himself.

The whole world had turned so fast and so completely that it left survivors with a gap in their knowledge. Jace was half way to convincing himself that it wasn't his fault that he had been taken in, when a church came in to view. It wa...

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...oing was cutting at her flesh, releasing the dark and stagnate blood. Standing on her ankle he chopped at her knee instead, finding the back of it a better target and slowly he managed to break through dismembering the shin. The more he chopped, the more his fingers hurt and the angrier he got. How dare something that should have been dead attack him, like it had the right to live over him. Using the back of the spade he swung at the back of her head, relishing the way it jarred her head forward, but the woman's persistence as she again tried to rise, frustrated him further. Discarding the spade, he kicked her flat arse, sending her face first into the dirty carpet and knelt on her back. Pulling the claw hammer from his belt he caved her skull with continuous blows, exposing the dark corrupted brain matter and adding to the dry blood that already spattered his shirt.

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