Ara Curlin

Arabell Rue Curlin was born to a well off, middle class family. As an only child, she was raised to practically want nothing. Her parents were doting, but not to the point of spoiling her. They kept her disciplined. She lived in Louisiana, just outside of New Orleans for most of her life. But when she was sixteen, she and her parents shipped out to Kentucky.

Like most teenagers, Ara was unhappy with this change of life. All her friends were back in Louisiana. A phone wasn’t enough to bridge the gap. So she got a job at the local coffee shop in hopes of earning enough money to fly down south for a week. Thanks to high school, she couldn’t make it there until after she graduated.

The day of her flight felt off. Everything was going too smoothly. Her bags were checked. She found her gate without any problem. There were no rude customers demanding to board ‘Now!’ Ara had noticed a little boy while waiting to board. He was dressed up, with a little plaid sweater vest and a bow tie. His mother kept him close by. It didn’t stop him from making faces at Ara. She played right back. He wouldn’t stop giggling.

It turned out that the little boy was in the row in front of her on the plane. Various games were played in flight. “Peekaboo”, faces, see who could make finger guns the quickest. His laughter rang through the cabin.

And then the plane started to shake.

As usual, it was passed off as turbulence. The games continued, albeit slowly, due to the little boy’s parents demanding he sit down and buckle up. But the turbulence didn’t seem to stop. In fact, amidst the shaking, it seemed that the plane was descending. And rapidly.

The next thing Ara knew, she was in the wreckage of an aircraft. Those who had survived and were unhurt busied themselves with pulling people out from under the rubble. She was relieved to see that the little boy and his family had survived the crash. His mother had broken her ankle, but the was the extent of her wounds.

No one would say what caused the crash. There was no need. Because as the little group of survivors clambered out of the wreckage, they saw. Zombies were real.
The next few weeks were chaos. A few of the passengers were killed right out. Others managed to get away. They found places to stay, snacked on foods they could salvage. Those that were able bodied were taught to fight. To defend themselves, and others. Ara was no exception. She took quickly to it, desperate to stay alive. She had to find her family.

The first month in, the group was ambushed by a horde. Only Ara and the little boy made it out alive. She’d pulled him to safety, gagging the poor child as she made a break for the car the group had been using. There was nothing she could do but run.

Ara has been out here for nearly three months now. She doesn’t know where she is. She wouldn’t know who she is, either, had Keylon not been around to keep her sane. She holds him close at night, listening to his breathing. It reminds her: He’s alive. I’m alive. And I must keep it that way.