My dad taught me and my brother hunting since we were young. We lived in a rural part of the country, literally in the middle of nowhere. Food was scarce, and the road to the nearest town was long and far.

It got especially worse when the pandemic started. Reports erupted of people coughing up blood, then staring straight ahead with blank looks and gray skin. These new creatures, once infected, also had a taste for raw human flesh. Stores were ransacked and homes were robbed. The towns quickly emptied out and were abandoned as people fled to safety.

Out in the middle of nowhere, my family and I were somewhat safe as neither the creatures nor the survivors thought to look for us here. But still we must be careful. Being the strongest of all of us, my brother went outside every day to hunt for food and look for supplies, but when he disappeared, the burden fell on my shoulders instead.

I was even more careful than usual. I knew danger was lurking out there, especially whatever it was that killed my brother. Although I was physically weaker than my brother, I learned to be smarter than my enemies.

In other words, I learned how to set traps.

It was simple at first, but over time, they grew to be highly elaborate. Deep pits covered with leaves and twigs. Ropes that tossed them up in the air, leaving them dangling by a foot from a tree branch. Nets that were balanced precariously on trees and high cliffs, ready to fall on enemies if they ever so much dared to step on a branch.

At first, I was successful. I caught deer and wild squirrels, even the occasional zombie, and we had meat for days. But after that, everybody grew smarter. The traps were empty. Time marched on and winter came. Even the bushes were soon bare with no berries.

And every day we all went to bed with a horrible empty feeling in our tummies.

Finally, near Christmas, I heard an unearthly scream from the pit a few metres from our house. My eyes lit up. After so many months, I had finally caught something.

I peered down the pit.

A figure stared back at me. He was missing an arm, and a filthy bandage was wrapped around the side of his head. But his eyes and chin were the same as mine.

“Please, Ryan,” he whimpered. “Help me out of here.”

I helped him out and he gave me a grateful nod. But my mind was racing. Food was calling. It was standing in front of me now, grinning at me, a walking bag of flesh.

“Dinnertime bro,” I said, reaching for my pocket-knife.