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Brantley could say was ‘you just had to kill that thing in here, didn’t you?’ I agreed with him, but I’d never tell her that. After all, this was our living space and now there was a zombie dead within it and the blood stained the floor.
    Brantley was the first one I secretly hoped would fall victim to the outbreak. I still hope for that now, although I might just kill him myself before it’s over with. I would often catch him pulling my sister over to the side every chance he thought he wasn’t being watched. His explanation was that he had lost his sister ten years ago when she was the same age as Samantha, but I couldn’t believe he was doing it because he missed his sister. A brother, and someone that was supposed to be harmless, wouldn’t touch a child’s arm the way he would touch Samantha’s. Anyone in their right mind wouldn’t caress a child’s arm with their fingertips as they whispered in hushed tones. I brought my concerns to my father a year ago and Samantha stopped going around the creep. He developed such a horrible attitude when that happened that no one really wanted to be around him. That in itself proved what I knew in my heart to be true.
    How we survived this long with two people like Reagan and Brantley, I’ll never know. How we survived at all is something that I’ll never understand. One thing I do know: had my dad died four years ago instead of my step mom, Samantha and I wouldn’t be here. I chalk our luck up to the fact that my dad was a ranger and it taught him so much over the few years he worked as one. My step mom would’ve shut down had the game been reversed and Samantha and I would’ve fallen victim not long after the outbreak. We would’ve been a part of the problem instead of a possible solution to it. Perhaps it would’ve only taken a few months after the outbreak. I’m not saying that I’m glad she’s gone because I’m not. All I’m saying is that my dad being here with us was our saving grace.
    Her loss still takes its toll on him even now. I can see him suffering internally and I have a theory about what keeps running through his head daily. I know he regrets every decision he made that led us to her doom. I know he thinks about how much easier it would be if we were where she’s been. And I can see that he’s lost his faith over the years. Before the outbreak, he was a devout Christian, but it was clear that this virus has broken him. He keeps saying she’s in a better place, but keeps questioning why his children aren’t; why Samantha isn’t. I know he tries his hardest to hold onto the last shred of faith he has left, but he’s crumbling. Now he’s only half the man he used to be, or so he claims. His only motivation to get up and keep going now is his children that are dependent upon him for everything. He couldn’t leave us to fend for ourselves.
    Poor Samantha… She hasn’t spoken much since she witnessed her mother being beaten. She sits by herself in her own little world playing with the little baby dolls we had found for her over the years in abandoned buildings. One of them she favored the most: a little doll with tight, blonde curls and brown eyes just like her mother. We went through a great deal to get that one for her. I closed my eyes as I thought back on that moment in time. She had seen the doll sitting in one of the windows we passed by on our search for a new place to live. She cried for it until our dad stopped the car so we could retrieve it. Unbeknownst to us at the time, the building, a small retail store, was swarming with undead creatures. They had been hiding out toward the back of the place where the light from the window couldn’t reach. We fought for our lives, almost losing my dad in the process. We were surrounded at one point, but managed to stay on top of the fight and defeat the zombies. It wasn’t worth risking our lives for, but it pained me to see her hug and kiss on it knowing she longed for what was taken from