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years to watch my companions and family suffer, only to lose their minds slowly. The ferryman, who we came to know as Rob, was the first to do so. It was difficult to watch him go through the mental anguish that he had to deal with. He had found out the hard way that his wife and daughter had turned sometime while we were making our way to Coney Island. We hurried to his home, which was the closest to the docks. The streets were surprisingly quiet and deserted for that time of day. It only added to our confusion and fear after the death of my step mom. His neighborhood was no different. The homes were quiet with no one outside. Upon walking up in front of his driveway, though, it was clear that his family had fallen victim. They were attacked outside their door with a load of groceries in the van. We didn’t have to wait long to find out what had happened to them. The blood on the porch was more than enough of an indication before they came walking from the backyard, undead. His stop was the first and only one we made that day and it was easy to see he couldn’t handle it. His mental capacity diminished rapidly. A few months into our fight for survival, we watched as he left the safety of our locked down office building and meandered out into a mass of zombies, ending his life in the most awful way I could possibly imagine at that point. We all felt that he had blamed himself for not being home that day to protect them and this death was his way to make himself pay for his mistake.
    The captain, who we learned was named Jessup, took a little longer to reach that same point. A year and a half after Rob’s suicide, he stole Brantley’s revolver in the middle of the night and shot himself in the head outside as we slept. The gunshot had startled us awake in time to see a horde of zombies jump onto his limp body. Retrieving the gun back later was easier said than done. We had to wait two days for the undead to dissipate from the area, and from Jessup’s body, before we could safely go out and get it. Then there were five of us left: me, my dad, Samantha, Reagan, and Brantley.
    Even though we stayed a group after the Coney Island incident, it was clear that there were three factions within it. My family and I stayed to ourselves pretty much while Reagan and Brantley stayed to themselves. Occasionally, Reagan would interact with me. It was hard to ensure everyone’s survival like that, especially with Reagan wanting to follow her own set of rules. I can’t even recall how many times she and Brantley almost killed us all. Her ‘survival’ schemes were ill-thought out and usually ended in zombies chasing us down. Every time we had to leave supplies behind and find a new place to live. That didn’t stop her plans from coming, unfortunately. She continued her adolescent-like ways no matter what the cost. In fact, the only good thing she ever did was to figure out these things were blind to light.
    She captured a zombie once, about two years ago, and brought it to the office building we were hiding out at. Our horror was unimaginable to be sleeping and get woken up by the distinct shuffling of a zombie walking through the floor we were on. We awoke, startled, and reached for our knives only to find a zombie wrapped up in a bed sheet being coaxed over to us by this insane twenty-three year old woman. All she could say was ‘Good, you’re awake. Watch this’ as she shined her flashlight into the zombie’s face. He paused in his hunt of her for a moment, raising his nose to sniff out the air, before stumbling around like he was drunk. She started to talk to him, letting him hone in on her voice, and led him to run into one of the walls. Knowing that she had proved her point, she deftly pulled out one of her many daggers and delivered the death blow to the back of his head. Scared as we were by her disregard to our safety, we couldn’t believe our luck with this news. We could safely move about in the daylight. The only thing