I woke up and looked at the brightening sky. I didn't understand. No one had ever heard of an infected person making it longer than seven days. This was the eighth morning.

Gazing at the sky didn't provide any answers. I sat up with a sigh. The sooner I started moving, the sooner the faint but building pain would recede. I was wide awake anyway. My glasses now rode in my backpack – I could see better without them than with them.

My sight without my glasses was still improving. Things in the distance were still fuzzy, but nowhere near as bad as it had been before I left the Fort – before I had been bitten.

I glanced down as I stuffed my hammock into my pack, carefully inspecting the area below. My inspection yielded no guests or visitors. There had been several nights where I had a zombie hang out below, but I had gotten out of the tree easily enough in the morning.

Once I climbed down, I started jogging northwards. I didn't really have a destination since I hadn't expected to still be alive this morning, so I simply continued moving in the direction I had been heading.

I had been avoiding the main roads just in case I encountered people, and I decided to continue that trend. I really didn't feel like explaining why I was running around in the middle of nowhere. The roads around here seemed to have forest flanking them, so I travelled just inside the trees, parallel to the road.

This allowed me to read the road signs while avoiding possible contact. Last night, I had passed a sign that said something about a U-pick berry farm about twenty kilometers down the road. It was a good enough destination for me, and I might be able to hit that place by sunset if I pushed myself. If I was still alive by then.

*        *        *

   I really had to decide on a plan. It was day ten now.

The bite mark had healed into a silvery scar - completely healed. It should have taken over a month to fully heal, but when I had removed the tattered bandages yesterday, dried up scabs and a rather-noticeable scar greeted me. When I had checked my knees, I discovered those wounds had also healed, although without leaving any scars.

And if I wasn't spooked enough by the rapidly healing injuries, I was noticing other changes that worried me further. My eyesight was now excellent, better than it had ever been, even with my glasses. I wasn't tiring as easily either, being able to alternate jogging and walking all day. Jogging made up about a quarter of my day, something that had been way beyond my ability ten days ago.

Sleep was becoming more and more elusive. I found that I had to actually run for about thirty minutes before going to sleep – and even then, I could only manage to sleep for about seven hours. It was as if my T-cell over-reaction was on steroids. Even with seven hours of sleep, I was wide awake and raring to go. It was almost ridiculous considering that I used to sleep eight or nine hours and still be groggy in the morning.

I sighed as I considered my current predicament. When I had run away from the Fort, I was sure that I would be dead within four days. Admittedly, if I had stayed, my new restlessness would have shown that something had changed. Not to mention how fast those wounds had closed up. Even zombie wounds seemed to take at least a month to heal.

I leaned back and rubbed my eyes. I had been at this berry farm for two days, and while the fresh fruit was nice, I was getting bored silly just lounging around without anything constructive to do. The grass around the farm perimeter was getting beaten down from my frequent laps as I jogged to keep the pain away.

In my boredom, I had even entered the farmhouse after lots of checking from the outside. I had been rewarded with an excellent dinner of canned soup and fried potatoes. I also found a map which I was looking at right now.

According to the map, there was a small town just down the road. I had never heard of it before, so I decided to take a field trip. If I left soon, I could make it there before nightfall. I could camp outside and investigate in the morning. With a new destination in mind, I quickly packed as many supplies as I could fit into my backpack and headed off at a jog.

I managed to make it to my destination with plenty of time for me to explore the area outside the town as I searched for a place to hang my hammock. The lack of large trees forced me to think outside the box as I tried to locate a safe place to sleep. In my search for large trees, I had found an RV park on the outskirts of the town and realized that I didn't have to use my hammock tonight. I could camp on top of one of the holiday trailers.

Normal zombies weren't able to climb, and I was fairly certain that even a Swift would be unable to get up since you had to climb onto the back bumper before you could reach the narrow, little ladder. When I searched the trailer, I found some bear bells to tie onto the ladder to wake me up if any zombie got halfway up.

During my pre-bedtime run, I lured away as many zombies as I could find in the area. Even if they couldn't climb up to my sleeping spot, most zombies complained a lot, and their moans and groans always disturbed my sleep.

      I was up at the break of dawn and excited enough about entering a town that I didn't even mind that I had once more woken up early. Two zombies circled the RV I was standing on, but my camping spot was safe. They didn't even seem to realize that I was on top since they couldn't see me; they just kept ambling around the immediate area as they tried to locate the source of my scent. The RV made an excellent camping spot.

My morning jog involved circling the small town as I examined it in the early dawn light. I saw a couple of zombies, but other than that, it looked pretty deserted. I could feel deeply-rooted training habits rising like old friends as I scoped out the town.

A quick search of the town streets only yielded three zombies. I led all three of them away in the same attempt, closing the gate on them once they were in someone's backyard. The chain-link fence was strong enough to keep them out of mischief.

I had never entered buildings during a raid. I had the training and practice, but I had never done it in a real-life situation. I also lacked the protective gear, comrades, and the proper weapons. I was going to be proceeding very cautiously, using every trick I had been taught.

Knocking on a door or window for a few minutes seemed to bring any zombies to the front. I did this to several buildings, both for practice as well as to get an idea of how many places tended to have zombies inside. I was definitely not entering the bank; at least a dozen zombies came forward when I knocked. I simply knocked and waited, before knocking again. After tapping on a dozen doors, I realized that about half of the buildings had at least one zombie inside. More stores may have zombies deeper inside as well.

I had a belt knife and my bow, but that was it. I really needed a better weapon, especially if a zombie came at me. Turning around, I jogged back to a small building I had seen earlier. The hunting store was going to be my first stop, even if I had to open up the doors to let any trapped zombies out.

I knocked on all windows of the store although nothing moved within. It was all organized and neatly locked up. Almost every part of the store was visible from the windows. I tested the door, but as I had expected, it was locked.

Most of the windows had heavy bars on them to keep thieves out. One window along the main street only had decorative bars, ones that I would be able to get off. I paused as I remembered one detail that had slipped my mind until right now. Our training had always emphasized checking for people.

I called out, "Hello?"

My loud voice sounded kind of strange, probably because I hadn't spoken loudly or raised my voice since leaving the Fort. Silence reigned, and I took that as my signal to proceed.

Using a piece of pipe that I found down the street, I broke the window and then used the pipe like a pry bar. The thin interwoven metal groaned as it bent and warped, but it was only secured to the window with four bolts, and soon, the poorly anchored metal gave way.

I climbed in the window while being careful of the broken glass. I ignored the guns since they would not stop a zombie. I needed a melee weapon – and it had to be better than that axe I had used. My snooping revealed that this was mostly a gun shop. I found a cheap dagger and took it since I lacked one. I kept looking in every drawer and cabinet for something better.

My eyes landed on the archery display cabinet as I walked over. There was a very fancy handmade archery wrist guard on display. The rich red-brown tooled leather would cover the back of my hand and go quarter of the way to my elbow like a wide elaborate bracelet. There was a simple, yet elegant, leaf and vine design stamped into it that I thought looked awesome. It would also cover my bite mark.

I used a gun to smash the glass and put the wrist guard on. I twisted my hand as I checked how it fit, and the supple leather flexed smoothly. It was a relief to have that silver scar covered up. I peeked inside a lot of nearby drawers, but couldn't find a matching wrist guard for my left hand. I would just have to claim that it was decorative if anyone pointed out that I was wearing it on the wrong wrist.

I eyed up the door that led to the back. Could there be anything useful back there? I knocked on it, but only heard silence. Cautiously, I opened it and walked in. It was an office. There wasn't much besides some papers sitting on the desk and a few guns hanging on the walls. I turned around to walk out and paused in surprise. Hanging on the back of the door was a display stand holding a sword. Above it, was a mural of a knight on a rearing horse.

A plaque at the bottom of the display stated that it was an arming sword dedicated to a Mark Smith as his wedding present. A label declared that it was made from high carbon mono-steel using modern techniques. Whatever that meant. I hoped it was a good detail. I ran a piece of paper along the edge and blinked when the blade's edge split it smoothly. This thing was coming with me.

Luckily, the sheath was also being displayed on the stand. I had used a sword in practice a few times but had never tried to attach the sheath to my belt. It took a bit of work as I rearranged all of my weapons where I could easily reach them. I attached the sheath to the left side of my belt where I could draw it easily with my right hand. The dagger was on my right, and I managed to secure my bow and quiver to my backpack.

The dagger looked pretty shoddy, even to my untrained eyes, but the sword more than made up for it. This store had been well worth my raid. I quickly checked the store again but didn't find anything else useful.

I used the pipe to break into the general store in a similar manner. The shelves didn't have much on them, likely having been sold before the owner locked the store and fled. It took some searching, although I did find some dry soup and stew mixes.

I wandered down the street when a makeup poster in the jewelry store caught my eye. I was never one for makeup but this one caught my attention. A shiny poster proclaimed the title "Make your scars disappear!"

The details revealed it was a gel concealer that wouldn't rub off once dry. It would only come off with water and soap or with some other cleaner. It would last a week before wearing off. Water alone would not wash it away – perfect for the beach. With my rather noticeable scar weighing heavily on my mind, I decided to check it out.

To my relief, there were no zombies in this store either. Some digging around in the storage room revealed a small box full of the concealer. After glancing at the instructions, I dabbed a small amount on the scar adorning my wrist. A small amount was supposedly all it took. I took stock of the supplies in my backpack while I waited for it to dry. I wasn't going to carry extra weight if it didn't work well.

Eventually, the concealer dried, and except for the faint bumps, I couldn't even make out the original scar. I brushed my fingers against it, but the makeup didn't scuff or smear as it continued to hide my scar. I was impressed. An entire box was a bit bigger than my shoe, and I managed to stash it at the bottom of my backpack. I had to leave a coil of rope and one can of food behind, but in my opinion, it was worth it.

I was having thoughts about going back to the Fort. I was getting terribly bored out here, and I missed my friends and acquaintances. Zombies did not make good conversationalists.

    

       It was day fifteen, and I had been travelling the entire time. I was slowly making a U-turn in my path. I had debated for days but had finally decided that if I could survive thirty days after having been bitten, I would see if I could get back into the Fort. While my feet were busy jogging, my mind was working on excuses.

I had left due to overwhelming grief – and that was true enough. I had finally come to terms with the deaths of my best friends, and only now could bring myself to return – this was also mostly true. Those excuses would likely be accepted without question. I was a Forager with tons of training and experience, so my survival should not be too surprising since I had not come across any Swifts. I still wore my badge and leathers. I had never turned my back on them.

I would have to hide my scar though. It had faded slightly, but it was still far too easy to see. In this day and age of zombies, people would immediately assume it was a zombie bite. The pattern wasn't something that I could pass off as an animal bite either. I seriously hoped that it would fade more as time went by. I briefly wondered if a tattoo artist would be willing to ink up my wrist in a pattern to hide the bite mark, but there was no point in following that thought.

There were simply too many variables. To the best of my knowledge, there wasn't anyone in the Fort who did tattoos, or at least, no one had been boasting of a new tattoo at the Fort either. It would take a lot of ink to cover the scar, but the biggest hurdle was that I had no idea how I could convince such a person to remain quiet about the bite mark. I would have to rely on the makeup and my archery guard to hide my dirty little secret.

I was going to have a harder time explaining why I had trouble sitting for more than four hours or so. One possibility was that I could claim my medical condition had intensified during the stress; it had been on my file since day one, after all.

I continued jogging along a road, and when I saw some blackberries, I decided to take a quick break. The fruit was sweet and delicious, but the long thorns were quite determined to protect the tasty berries. Once I finished my snack, I quickly glanced at my thorn-scratched legs to ensure that no thorns had gotten stuck in my skin.

I stopped dead in my tracks and crouched down to examine my scratches. My blood wasn't quite the right color. It was mostly red, but it had a very faint silvery tinge to it. I gingerly touched it and rubbed the liquid between my two fingers. It felt normal; the only difference was that the color was just a bit off. I likely wouldn't have noticed the slight difference if I hadn't been paying such close attention to my body these last two weeks.

I started jogging again as my mind tried to comprehend what I had just seen. Even zombie blood was the normal red, a bit darker, but still red. I had never heard of anything like this before.

Fifteen minutes later, I paused to check the scratches again. The scabs had formed, and to my relief, they looked completely normal, and every hint of the odd silver tint had disappeared when it dried.

My mind whirled; scratches and minor cuts were a part of life as a Forager. So common, that no one even really commented on them unless the injury might require stitches or bled profusely. I thought hard; the color hadn't been that noticeable. Most smaller scratches either didn't produce enough blood for the color to be remarked upon or they would clot quickly.

Sighing heavily, I decided that my best route would be to pretend to be extremely first aid conscious and promptly wrap any larger cuts with longer bandages – to keep them clean until I could properly tend them, of course. Larger wounds that needed stitches would be another story. Although, considering I had never had a larger injury that bled a lot, I could claim that it was normal and due to my medical condition.

Hopefully, I would be back in the Fort for more than ten days before anyone noticed anything. When it came to the zombie virus, anything past seven days would be beyond suspicion in most people's minds.

Despite the possibility of someone seeing my scar, I was looking forward to going back. I still planned to wait fifteen more days before attempting contact. But first, I actually had to make it back – it had taken me two weeks to get this far away. I wasn't worried though; I could travel longer and faster than before.

Normal zombies couldn't keep up with my steady jogging, so they didn't worry me. I was sure I could cover that distance with plenty of time to spare. I even planned to detour into several other small towns along the way to pass the time.

*        *         *

       I huffed in slight irritation but my little keychain watch continued to proclaim that it was four in the morning. I had not been able to sleep past 4:30 for over two weeks now. To be honest, there was no real need for me to keep trying to sleep since I felt fully rested.

My inability to sleep wasn't exactly helped by my growing excitement at returning to the Fort. It was day twenty-five, and it was hard to not just see how fast I could get there. I had been making a lot of detours as I tried to distract myself and wear off my energy.

Giving up my attempt at sleep, I got out of my hammock and began the day-long routine that kept the fiery pain and muscle aches away. The routine involved exercise. A lot of exercise. I usually got up by 4:30 and ran for about fifteen minutes. For about half the day, I walked or jogged before finding a place to camp. Before heading to bed, I went for another run for half an hour so I could fall asleep around eleven.

The running or any kind of intense physical activity kept the aches and pain at bay, although I really had to burn energy before bed to get some decent sleep. Thankfully, I did get some warning as little feathers of unpleasant heat stirred in my veins for about an hour before I had to get moving. If I didn't, the pain would slowly start to rear its head, starting off with muscle aches that transitioned into pain which only got worse with time.

The pain was no longer just in my muscles. It flowed through my blood and would surge with my heartbeat like fire if I didn't get enough exercise, slowly building in intensity until I started moving. The pain quickly abated with just a few minutes of exercise, although more exercise was needed to keep it at bay for a longer time.

I took a deep breath of the brisk morning air as I started quickly jogging down the road. I had grown to love the freedom of running. The feeling of the wind through my hair as my legs kept a steady rhythm was now a familiar comfort. I could now run and jog for longer than I would have dreamed possible. It was amazing just how long I could jog – and it would probably alarm anyone who learned of my new-found stamina. I had been astounded when I had spent three-quarters of one day jogging. Running was no longer just a chore to avoid pain; it was relaxing and a source of joy.

Other things had changed as well. I was stronger. Before I left, I had participated in the rescue maneuvers which involved lifting a "dummy" that weighed as much as an average adult, and I had struggled to carry it a hundred meters. During one of my detours, I had stopped at a fire hall and played with some of their training equipment. I ended up carrying a much heavier training dummy over a longer distance without too much trouble. I would not have even been able to lift that thing by myself a month ago.

A deer ran across the road in the distance, proving that my sight was far better than it had ever been. The air was full of birdsong and insects; my hearing had really improved when my sight was compromised, but it was even better now.

I saw many glimpses of the singing birds in the dense tree branches, far more than I ever had in the past. And it wasn't because the birds were friendly – it was, once more, I who had changed. Almost nothing that moved around me went unnoticed. Be it a bird, a flag in the wind, or small animals in the brush. If it moved, it caught my eye even if I wasn't paying attention.

At first, I simply hadn't been able to figure out why there were so many animals and birds in the forest I was in. Then, as I observed and thought about it, it struck me - they had always been there. I just never really noticed them before. Back home, I had heard lots of birds on my many nature walks, but I never saw them, even when I had been trying to figure out which type of bird was singing.

If nothing else, my new trick made spotting zombies a cinch.

The changes made me uneasy, but I was still excited to be heading back. I missed having human company and the easy-going banter from my Foraging Group. I would take care not to bleed on anyone though. Just in case.