Young Writers Society

"November 23, 2014. The last day things were okay. The last day we could afford to wake up feeling safe in our beds, as safe as we ever really were, and feel confident in the thought that, 'Hey, I'm not going to be eaten alive today.' How stupid we all were... so beautifully stupid."



Welcome to the zombie apocalypse. November 24th everything started to go to hell, and what better place for the apocalypse to happen than the good old U S of A? This is where we start.

The dead are walking. At the start of this SB we're about a week into the apocalypse, long enough for people to have at least some of their shit together. I don't have any high demands or strict rules for this SB. It's meant to be something fun and stress free. I don't think I have to explain much. If you have any questions then please let me know.

Serious Rules and Guidelines and Stuff

I know I said there weren't going to be any strict rules or anything, but there are some things I need you all to follow in order for this to run smoothly.

1) Our characters are dumb, scared, and not prepared for anything that's going down in life right now. They are normal people. No expert martial artists. No military folk - sorry. No doctors. You get my point. Sorry in advance if this messes with any character ideas, but we can't have people running around knowing what they're doing now can we? I'm going to be pretty firm here. Students in these fields, however, are totally okay. Like if you have someone training to go into the army, so be it! A med student, go ahead! I think I've been pretty clear. If you're not sure, ask me, I'll let you know.

2) Be aware of changes to the environment. Read other people's posts. Keep the timeline intact. No jumping into the future and past.

3) There's no rush here to do anything. There's no main plot or goal, I just want my character to kill some zombies and cry about hunger. Don't feel like you have to rush to some bigger goal or objective. Sometimes SBs move too fast and burn out. I don't want that to happen here.

4) I don't care about swearing. I can't care because I have a huge potty mouth. Still no sex scenes, there's kids here. Be respectful and courteous of other SBers. Collaborate often.

5) Have freaking fun! Pretty much anything goes here. Kill a character and make a new one. Just stay alive - or not.

Characters:

1. MacKinny Gallagher -ReisePiecey
2. Henrietta Canajoharie -Shadowlight
3. Hanzo Shinji -Lumi
4. Franky -Iggy
5. Corey Corey Lorrister -Silverlock
6. Savannah Shultz -Carina
7. Cherry Mel Jones -Pinkiegirl13
8. MaryAnn Smith -HighTop
9. Michael Rook -Leahweird
10. Napoleon Andersen -TakeThatYouFiend
11. -Messy
12. Bel Watson -Kanome

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[b]Name:
[/b][b]Age:[/b]
[b]Group or Alone:[/b]

[b]Appearance:[/b]

[b]Personality:[/b]

[b]History:[/b]

[b]Supplies:[/b]

[b]Other:[/b]

MacKinny Gallagher

"You have got to be kidding me!"

Macky starred out of the window, squinting and widening his eyes in an attempt to try and dispel whatever illusion he was observing. It had to be an illusion.

"Mack, what are you doing?"

"I told you not to lace my shit without asking me first, Dex!"

"I didn't lace anything! Grew this myself, asshole."

MacKinny squinted his eyes harder at the small group of people gathered in front of the corner store across the street. They weren't holding signs so they couldn't be protesters. His town wasn't big enough to have protestors anyway, he didn't think. Down the street, another small group of people stumbled around on uncertain feet, bumping into each other along the way. He knew what it looked like, but there was no way in hell it was.

He went from the window and unplugged the game, gaining a whine from Amy, and turned on the news. They'd been in his apartment for a week or so, completely estranged from society. Come to think of it, they'd ordered pizza yesterday and it still hasn't come in yet.

"Macky, I was about to beat Slash on Expert! Why'd you do that?"

"Shut up, oh my god."

"...still not sure why this is happening, or where they're coming from, but the government is advising everyone to find shelter and stay hidden."

"Mack, what's going on," Jack asked while looking up from the unfinished art project in his hands. "What's she talking about?"

"Shhh!"

"As insane as it sounds, we might be in the middle of a zombie outbreak. As we speak our scientists are searching for a cure. We discourage anyone from making any drastic moves. Find shelter. Stay hidden. And don't let yourself get bitten."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I've seen enough Walking Dead to know where this is going."

The TV screen went static before restarting with the same picture of a woman stood in a studio. They all gathered around the television and listened until-

"We're still not sure why this is happening, or where they're coming from, but the government is advising-"

"Wait, didn't she just say that? Is this a recording?!"

"The date at the bottom of the screen says November 23rd... what's today?"

Macky reached numbly for his phone in his pocket and tried to turn on the screen before he remembered they'd all turned off their phones days - weeks? - ago. Every once in a while they all got together and disappeared from the face of the Earth while smoking and popping anything they could get their hands on. They'd been planning this shut in for weeks. Macky's apartment was the perfect place to do it because he lived on the very top floor of his building, accessible only by a steep set of stairs that no one wanted to climb. They were unbothered.

"It's December 2nd."

"Fuck."

---

Five Days Later

"Aw come on!"

"You've gotta angle the rod."

"There's no fish here, Mack!"

"Fish don't just vanish when the water gets cold, they're at the bottom of the water you dumb nut. You know what, leave. I'll do it myself. You go try to spear a rabbit or something."

"I'm not spearin' no rabbits."

"Fine! You fish, I'll hunt."

They'd made it out of the city by some stretch of miracle. Jack had a VW big enough to live comfortably in - they'd done it before - but soon ran out of gas and were now stranded in the forest. Thankfully the area they were in was a pretty big clearing, and Amy rigged up an alarm system of string and pots - something she saw on some tv show - around the perimeter. It was as safe as they were going to get. Jack and Macky were at the small pond located a short hike away from camp, trying to catch a few fish for the fire. The were running out of canned goods and Dexter's garden wasn't taking off as quickly as they needed it to. The fishing spears Jack carved would have been perfect if either of them knew how to use it.

Mack took his, shouldered his bag, and went into the trees. Walking around the forest got less scary the more he did it, and he was often the one made to go out into the danger. Everyone else was too scared and while he was pretty terrified himself, it still held that he was the fastest runner and the only one who knew how to climb a damn tree. He'd most likely survive a zombie attack. He'd only had to kill two on his own so far and it wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. He knew the danger came when they formed groups.

Thirty minutes into the hunt and so far all he'd collected was a stray squirrel and a few crickets - Amy liked them, for whatever reason. He was just about to start his way back, the sun was already at the highest point in the sky and he didn't want to stumble upon darkness, when a shrill scream rang through the trees. Immediately he took off in a sprint back to the pond, but another scream of help stopped him in his tracks. He couldn't just ignore that.

"Dammit. God dammit!"

After screaming out for Jack, hoping that he would hear him, he sought out to find the source of the screams.

Loud snarling and consistent thumping on the hood of his car was nothing short of normal, these days.

Five days ago, Franky would've told you you were fucking insane if you believed that zombies were real. But ever since he watched his girlfriend, Dee, get eaten by a herd of fucking zombies, he believed that he truly was in the midst of an apocalypse.

He'd rushed to his car, not interested in saving those he called friends. They weren't close enough to him to risk his life for. He started the car and drove home, quickly dashing inside to grab his mum and kid brother, who were both home with the flu.

To his horror, he found a zombie eating his mum. Crying out in rage, Franky grabbed the closest object (a lamp) and beat the zombie over the head, breaking its skull and stabbing the brain. The zombie dropped then, dead as it should've been the moment its heart stopped.

His mum was already gone, her stomach torn open and majority of her entrails missing. Sobbing, Franky gave his mummy one last kiss on the forehead and covered her with a blanket he took from the couch. Then he acted quickly.

Holding on to a small prayer of hope, he searched every room and cupboard, finally finding his brother hiding under the sink. After checking the boy for bites and holding him close, Franky sent Will to grab a backpack and stuff it with all the clothes he could fit. Franky then stripped the kitchen of any food, shoving it all into bags and bags. Then, he grabbed things he knew they would need: knives, the handgun Mum kept in her dresser, flashlights, batteries, matches, water bottles, etc. Finally, because he was still human, he grabbed a photograph of the three of them, back when they lived in London.

As they were leaving, Franky heard a moan and turned to see his reanimated parent up and staggering towards them. Unable to stop the tears from crashing down his face, Franky lifted the gun and shot her twice: once in the eye and another in the chest. Unbeknownst to him, zombies can only be killed via the brain; he'll figure this out in due time.

Now, five days later, here he was, parked in a car on the side of the road, by the forest. With his brother sleeping in the backseat and three zombie shits clawing at his windows, as if that would make them open.

Three days ago, he'd realize he was down to five bullets. He planned on raiding nearby towns for more ammo, more guns and more supplies, but he couldn't risk it with the kid. William knew to beat any and all zombies with his baseball bat, but it was only a matter of time before the impatience ten-year-old got them caught.

"Alright, fuckers," Franky groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Bracing himself against the car door, he quickly shoved it open, throwing the zombies on their backs. While they were disabled, Franky took the dagger from his pocket (he'd got it off of a dead neighbor), unsheathed it and kicked two in the head, crushing their skulls. The third was now up and coming, so he simply threw his dagger and threw it at the creature's eye, the blade sinking into the rotten flesh and killing it.

Franky walked over and calmly took his dagger out, then went to his car and shook the kid awake. "Hey," he said softly, waiting until Will blinked the sleepiness from his eyes. "I need to explore this forest and see if we can get anything to eat."

"Like, a deer? I'm not eating a deer!" Will exclaimed in horror.

Franky tried to fight the urge to roll his eyes and lost, rolling them anyways. "We don't have a choice, kid. We're running low on gas and supplies. Let's save the nonperishable for when we truly need them."

After a barked order from Franky, Will stopped complaining and grabbed his bat, following his brother into the woods. For good measure (and habit), Franky locked the car. Chances were, they weren't the only survivors out there.

--

It was Will who triggered the alarm. They'd spotted a lake and were making their way towards it when Will, not looking where he was going, tripped on a trap wire and a bunch of pans started to clang together.

Once Franky's eyes landed on the man and heard him yell, he grabbed Will and shoved him behind his body, easily shielding the younger boy. His hand grasped the gun residing in his pants and held it out, pointing it towards the man. It was merely protective, in case this man pulled his own gun out and shot them dead, but the look in Franky's dark blue eyes made him seem wild, animalistic, with nothing on his mind but keeping himself and his brother alive.

I don't know what has happened to her... I only knew she was gone a trip for work, then next thing I knew, things changed... for the worse. Now, I have no contact with my mother. She is out there somewhere... and I am going to find her. NO one will stop me, I mean NO one. I need her. She's my only family. Without her, I don't know what I'd do. I will find her no matter what, and bring her back home safe and sound. I just... hope she is alive, especially after what has happened to this world. I will find her. I will find my mother!

A few days before the Apocalypse.

Bel was sitting on the edge of his bed, listening to the music through his headphones. He stared at the ground, thinking about his mother leaving on a business trip. He felt worried about her, about her safety, everything. As Bel took off his headphones, he heard a knock on his bedroom door. "Come in." As the door opened, his mother popped inside with a smile upon her face.

"Hey, hon. Just popping in to say goodbye before I leave."

Bel smiled as he stood up, giving his mother a tight hug. His mother hugged him back just as tight. "I love you, Bel... Don't forget that, okay?" Bel nodded as he let go of her. His mother smiled once again, leaving the bedroom, therefore, leaving the house for her trip.

Bel sighed sadly, already missing his only family.

The night before the Apocalypse

As Bel got out the shower, he noticed something a flash on his phone. He went to it, picking up his phone as he noticed that his mother was calling him. He smiled brightly, pressing the call button and putting the phone to his ear. "Hi, ma. What's u-"

"Honey! Lock the doors! Whatever you do... do not go outside! I will always lo-" The call dropped as Bel stared at the screen. Bel got confused and worried. What was his mom talking about? Why did the call suddenly drop? Bel called his mother back a few times after that, but there was no answer, just the voicemail. "She said don't go outside... what did she mean?"

Bel slipped on his shirt and pants, then ran out to the front door. Bel's eyes widened as he noticed something that you can only see in movies. Zombies. "What the hell is going on...?"

-----

A few days later, Bel was lying in an abandoned car, trying to hide from the enemies that surfaced the Earth. Bel's breathing grew rapid as one of the zombies started walking past him slowly. Bel's body started to shake, feeling scared and confused about why this has happened. The only thing he knew is that he needed to find his mother, and fast. As the zombie went away, Bel sat up, looking around to see if there were anymore of them.

"I need to take medicine..."

He quickly unzipped the backpack he took with him, that was full of supplies that he needed. He took out prescription pills, that were for anxiety and depression. He took a water bottle that was almost empty. "This last sip of water will help..." He popped one of the pills in his mouth as he chugged down the last of his water.

As he looked down at his pill bottle, he noticed that he only had two left. "Shit.. I need to get to the pharmacy." He placed the pill and water bottle back in his bag, zipping it up.

Bel slowly and quietly got out of the abandoned car as he looked around the area he was in. He sighed sadly as he rushed around the town, looking for the pharmacy.

Mom.. I will find you!

If you’re a zombie--a slow, own-arm-munching zombie--with flayed gray hair and old bedroom shoes that once belonged to your other self, someone we’ll call Mark, then you hear indiscriminate rumbling in the distance. Through your not-eyes, you can see dust rising on the horizon between the two trees that mark the edge of the forest and the beginning of the open highway to the next city. The roaring grows louder, the dust cloud larger. Your jaw moves and you articulate a poetic

”Nnnrghfnn!!”

With the glare of the sun on the hood, a truck barrels down the road. Your rotted skin and festered organs splatter as the hood of this fury-red Toyota cracks into your body like a three-ton steel-and-rubber baseball bat--and you are (or were, as luck would have it) the ball. Brakes screech. Two doors open and slam.

“Tu pierdes puntos por no agrietar el cráneo abierto.”
You lose points for not cracking the skull.

Let’s roll in third person. A curvy latina in sawed-off denim shorts cut above her grip-handled thighs leans down and her chest smudges the rotted organ juice against the blinking headlight. From the split-apart body, she rips out a cigarette lighter and a special treat--that which she waves in front of a young man’s face (blushed below the eyes for reasons acknowledgable by any post pubescent analyst). An open pack with three in-tact cigarillos. Latina purses her lips together and studies them more closely.

“Ai, Papi, it’s our lucky day.” She licks the tip of one and flicks at the lighter. “Wine flavored. Your favorite, nah?”

The young man wipes his headlights clean of muck and leans against the hot truck, sighing as if he has the right. “We’ll save ‘em for a special occasion, Daya. I’m talkin’ death day shit, you know?”

“Nah, Papito,” she returns, tugging her arms around his shoulders, cradling her breasts in the small of his back where the sun has pulled out the most sweat. “Every day now is our last day, nah? Why can’t you be poetic an’ shit like ‘at?”

Papito shrugs away from Daya and digs through the back of the truck for a flashlight. He kills the engine and shines the one eye of light through the loose trees. An abandoned pawn shop. Broken windows, plywood on the floor in front of a missing door. He stumbles through the mess inside and finds a light switch--and when he flips it, moans crawl through the floorboards from the back room. Papito draws a knife from his kit--about three inches thick, eight inches long, curved for a perfect bone cut. A decayed hand grabs at the door frame and he slices the fingers off without hesitation. Two half-infected old people. He spits on the floor. Both bodies are bare-ass naked, and a shotgun lies on the bed in the back of the room.

Papito steps on the woman’s throat and cuts her spine at the seams before repeating his surgery on the man. His name is Shinji, and he doesn’t like to talk. He inspects the shotgun on the bed, containing only two buck shots. Just as he rests the stock against his shoulder, Daya screams. It’s not a fight scream. It’s a death rattle.

When Shinji returns to the storefront, Daya is on the ground, the half-bodied zombie from the road gnawing on her neck.

“Papito, obtener esta maldita cosa de encima o que Dios me ayude!”
Shinji, get this fucking thing off me or so help me!

Shinji wants to be emotional. He wants to be the hero and save Daya’s life. But if he’s honest, he has to be logical and assess that:

♥ Daya had been his girlfriend for six months before the outbreak of apocalypse. That made her a sentimental asset.
♦ Daya spoke Spanish, which could get him some allies he normally wouldn’t understand. That’s also good.
♣ Daya is not good with any weapon in any capacity, which makes her a burden, and decreases his survivability.
♠ Daya eats more food than Shinji, thus depleting his supply at a much higher rate than if he were alone.

The cards are cold and logical, and Daya has a zombie at her throat. Shinji cocks the gun and fires the buckshot into Daya’s throat, obliterating her head and the zombie’s remains. Splatters of viscera paints half of Shinji’s face. There is an American adage for a situation like this, but Shinji has trouble remembering it.

Right. Two birds, one stone.

Now is when Hanzo Shinji becomes Hanzo Shinji and leaves behind his present tense with Daya Reyes. May she rest in peace and everything, but this is a story about the people who live on--not the dead.

That said, that thought, that agreed upon, Shinji got back into the truck and revved the engine, taking off into the lowering dusk with one buckshot, a set of knives, and three wine cigarillos for good luck.

真治半蔵
or as americans would say,
___________________Shinji Hanzo

Cherry Mel Jones
The night before the zombie apocalypse

I looked at the clock on the white wall, ticking as it passed through time. Today is November 23, 9:45 PM. My mind flowed the time of my parents' death of the car accident. They were driving down the road to get me home, but some blue car drove very out of control. My father stepped on the brake hard, but they crashed into the car as it became the big bomb. My tears slowly streamed down my face.

i]They're gone...I can't believe they're...[/i]

Heather came into the living room with a blanket for me. She put it on me gently and then sit with me.

"I can't believe they're gone," I said softly.

"It's going to be okay, Cherry. I am here with you anytime you need me," Heather replied with a smile.

"Are you sure?" I questioned shyly.

Heather put her hand on my shoulder. "Yes, I am, Cherry. On the next day, everything will be alright. No one will keep everything away from us tomorrow."

I smiled and hugged her. "Thanks, Heather..."

Heather left the living room and went upstairs to her bedroom. I laid down on the couch with my blanket and went to sleep. I stopped thinking about my parents and going to move on with my life. I still hear Heather's voice rang my ears.

On the next day, everything will be alright. No one will keep everything away from us tomorrow.

On the day of the zombie apocalypse

As my eyes were closed and shut, I heard moaning noises. I thought it was Heather because she always act like a zombie to scare me. I decided to ignore it. When it started to get louder, I finally woke up to face Heather with a mask. However, I didn't saw her in my face. I was started to get curious about the noises. As I walked pass the window, I saw people walking on our yard in the side of my right eye. I looked at the window and saw something different about these people. Some of their skin were torn off, their clothes were bloody, and how they walk strangely. I realized they are real zombies.

"Oh, shit..." I whispered to myself to not let the zombies notice me. However, one zombie saw me. I stepped back a little from the window before I dragged down the floor by someone. I screamed a little, but I was covered by a hand. Then, I saw Heather with her anger face.

"What the hell are you doing at the window?! They might find us, but now they know we're here!" whispered Heather.

Then, we heard the door began to break as the zombies continue to slam the down to get themselves in. I looked at Heather and she looked at me. She grabbed my hand as she pulled a gun. I don't know what the fuck is happening. I don't know how the zombies became to life. Heather dragged me to the stairs as the door is finally slammed open. The zombies saw us and walking toward us. I was terrified that I held on Heather tightly. She aimed the gun at them and starting shooting at them one by one. We kept on walking up the stairs as she continue shooting. We finally went toward the door, and I quickly opened it. I called her to hurry up. Heather's gun was starting to get out of bullets, and she stared at me and then at the zombies. She ran to the room quickly, and I closed the door as fast as I could. I looked at her, grasping for air.

"Heather, what is going on?! We have FUCKING ZOMBIES in our house! Tell me what is going on with this world," I said.

"Today....is zombie apocalypse. I heard it from the radio earlier while you're sleep. Here's what they say," Heather answered.

Heather put on the radio. It was static in many radio stations until we heard a woman's voice.

Today, we have zombies everywhere in this country. They are killing everyone in sight. Everyone, please be safe. Find shelter, food, and anything that you can use. Please...stay alive....

Then, the static appears after the woman finished her warning. I can't believe we have a zombie invasion. I am not ready for this moment. I am not ready! I am weak and have a great fear for zombies. However, I got Heather with me. She is a very good survivor in many situation. She will keep us to survive. Heather looked outside and saw something that got her idea.

"Hey, Cherry!" said Heather happily.

I looked at her confusedly.

"Look at this."

I went beside her and looked out the window. I saw our car sitting in front of the house. I turned to her and saw her smiled happily. I know this is a kind of a good, but a bad idea.

"Maybe we can get out from this window and get into the car. Anyway, I got the keys by the way," said Heather before she showed the keys.

Then, we heard the zombie slammed on the door again. We got worried again as we opened the door. Heather grabbed the knife from her pocket and gave it to me. It was little, but good for me to stab one. Finally, the door was slammed open and the zombie came to us. I went first to get out the window. I reached my hand to her.

"Come on!" I yelled.

Heather reached her hand, but she was pulled back from me by the zombie and was bitten. I screamed in fears as my tears streamed down my face.

"Cherry...Here..." Heather said her last word to me before throwing the keys to me.

I caught them with my hands. I stared at her as she stared at me with her green eyes. I sighed and jumped down to the yard. I wasn't hurt or nothing, but feared of being bitten by zombies. I ran to the car and opened it with a key. As I got in the car, the zombie came to me and grabbed my arm. I struggled to get it away from me until I stabbed it on its head with the knife. I got it off of my arm and closed the door. I started the car up and then drove off.

After the long drive

While I rode in a destroy town, the car was running out of gas. I tried to get it starting again, but it was completely out of gas. I kicked its tires and started walking for the search for supplies. I need to find more survivors like me to protect me from this hellhole. Anyone who is alive, please help me.

Drug addicts. Drug addicts. the lot of them. Mary-Ann thought as she surveyed the scene outside. People were running all over the place, banging into each other, hugging, jumping up and down. And the noise they made! Screaming, laughing, grunting. It was like someone was hosting an orgy on the street below. Mary-Ann thanked God that she lived on the ninth floor, but she felt bad for her friends on lower floors, and prayed that they had noise-cancelling headphones.

"Mom, come here." Emily said flatly. She was wrapped up in a blanket, staring at the television screen. Like all the teens her age.
"What is it honey?" Mary-Ann shuffled over to her.

This is not a joke. We are in the midst of a zombie attack. Cause unknown. Please lock your doors and windows. Do not go outside. The screen flickered for a moment, then looped.

Mary-Ann ran her hand down her daughters back, and said "Emily, darling, go collect everything you can't live without, okay? We'll use the rest to block the doors."


"Emily, your dribbling. Eat proper. And stop looking at your father like that." Her voice was stern, and moved around the room like thunder. Mary-Ann took another spoonful of peaches from the can.

"Nyfmoornm" said the recently zombified John. He was tied up tightly, and Mary-Ann had no idea why Emily was so scared. He wasn't getting free anytime soon, and even if he did he wouldn't do any real harm to her. He was her father after all, just a bit sick, that's all.

"Mom, he scares me. Just kill him. He's not coming back." The words used to make Emily cry, but after weeks of repetition, they had lost their emotion. She didn't even look up from her can of strawberries.

"Watch yourself, Missy. Your father is just a bit sick." she said, emphasizing the word 'father'', and looking her in the eyes. Emily put her can down and stood up.

"Give me the gun, mom." she said, looking down at her own mother, and putting her hand out confidently. Mary-Ann held her icy gaze.

"No." she said slowly.

"Give it to me or I will take it." Emily retorted. Mary-Ann laughed.

Emily kicked her mother in the head lightly, but with enough force to knock her over. Mary-Ann curled up into a fetal position, exposing the gun that was hidden in the back of her elastic-waistband-jeans. Emily reached for it, but Mary-Ann turned suddenly with her arm leading her. The sound of skin on skin made a sharp, resonating sound. Emily stumbled back, coddling her face. "Give me the gun." she said, quietly but filled with rage. A short silence passed. Emily dove on top of her mother. Mary-Ann grabbed the spoon she'd been eating with, and shoved the it deep into her daughter's eye. It made a horrible squishing noise, but she pushed it in deeper, and twisted it.

It felt weird, dressing to go outside after she'd been inside for so long. She donned a heavy rain jacket, a pair of boots, and walked to the front door. The barricade hadn't lasted long, but thieves so desperate for supplies that they would walk nine sets of stairs often had nothing save desperation.

"Honey, I left you something to eat okay." she said loudly into the house. Don't worry honey, she thought. we're going to get you cured. And with that, she walked out into the dark hallway.

Napoleon|Rollin' Rollin' Rollin'

"Shit."
The steady throb of Napoleon's campervan died to a low whimper and finally died.

Napoleon had known this would happen, his fuel gauge had been in the red since yesterday, but it was still a blow when it came. This meant he would have to use his spare fuel, the gerry can he kept in case of emergencies. It also meant he would have to go into a town. Ever since he heard about the apocalypse on the wireless he had tried to save fuel, even the four gerrys of two stroke for the generator. But he couldn't fight, so he just had to drive away from, and sometimes over, any zombies he saw.

After refilling the fuel tank, he took down his ordinance survey map of the area, and looked for likely fuel spots. A small town, on the main road. 20 miles away. Perfect.
I guess I've got a fair chance of surviving this, Napoleon thought as he drove through the woodland. A campervan is a fair place to be, and although it isn't quite as comfortable without the electric on, he still had a bed and a fair supply of water, and a whole lot of purification tablets. That said, his supplies were running low, he hadn't planned to be in the woods this long. He had been forced to eat his perishables when he was forced to turn the electricity off, and his storecupoard was running low. He had a week's emergency supplies, mostly dried stuff, but he didn't want to use that unless he had to. The place he really fell short though was weapons. At his belt he had a parang knife, a sort of improved machete, but that was it. Unless you count a latex broadsword.

He guessed he needed to raid this town more than he thought.

A zombie stood in the middle of the road as he approached the town, but Napoleon reved his engines and drove through it. It was totally against how he had been trained as a driver, and he kept wanting to swerve before impact every time he did it. But he had learned many things in the first week. Don't swerve. Aim for the brain. Zombies aren't attracted to noise; just obvious human presence. Important stuff that had kept him alive this long.

Napoleon slowed as he approached the first shop in the street. The whole street was deserted, save for an abundance of rats, so Napoleon climbed of of his cab and walked to the shop door. A sign hanging from a beam on the side of the shop informed Napoleon it was a chemists, Napoleon opened to door, and almost walked into the gun barrel.

"Stay where you are. And don't move."

Napoleon dropped his knife, and thought about pointing out the flaw in the man's sentence, but decided against it.

"Just to avoid ambiguity, I'm not a zombie. "

Michael Rook - highway

Mike sat in the back of his fathers patrol car. He was leaning against the door, eyes closed and still bleeding hand resting on his chest.

He felt like a bit of an idiot. He'd been so determined not to stay there waiting to turn into one of them. Now he was pretty much waiting to bleed to death. Not much of an improvement.

What could he do, though? There wasn't a hospital he could drive to with the splash of gas he had left. That was assuming there even was one still operational, which was extremely unlikely. And running out of gas was going to be a problem even once he got himself fixed up.

He was still fighting a war with himself. Common sense told him he should load up what he could carry and ditch the vehicle. Keeping it moving would take more effort than it was worth. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. It felt like giving up his last safe zone. The last barrier against the creatures. It was also really sentimental. The house was gone. So was the station. He had nothing else left.

So he waited for something to change. Or to convince himself to keep moving.

Sam, Mac, and George - Encounters

Day of the apocolypse

"Oh did you see that headshot!" Mac yelled.

George winced and turned his head to one side to avoid going deaf completely from Mac's constant shouting and jabbering. Sam let out a short bark of laughter. They were playing Call of Duty: Black Ops 2, and Mac was basically killing everyone. George and Sam got in a kill every once in a while, but Mac was by far the center of attraction.

Sam shook his head. "Why do I even play this with you guys. It's obvious only Mac has fun."

Mac guffawed, his hands flying over his controller, dashing around and shooting.

"Pssh, can I help it if I was born in pure awesomeness?"

George rolled his eyes, and Sam turned his attention to the game, hoping to get a few kills in before the round ended. He manged to get two, and then Mac got the final kill with a pretty impressive sniper shot.

Sam hopped up from the pile of bean bags they were sitting on the living room, and headed for the nearby kitchen. "You guys want a snack? We got some gatorade and chips."

Mac and George both replied "yes", so Sam opened up the fridge and took out the condiments. He tossed the drinks and chip bag to Mac. Then he grabbed a second chip bag. Mac had a knack for eating more then his fair share. Sam was about to head back into the living room where they were playing the video game, when his mom came down the stairs. She had purse in hand, and car keys dangling from her fingers.

"Hey Sam," she smiled. "I'm headed to the store. You boys behave yourselves!"

Sam nodded. "Okay. Bye mom, see you later."

30 minutes later

"Yes! YES!" Sam cried in delight, pumping his fist. He had finally gotten more kills than Mac, a worthy feat. George tossed his controller on the floor.

"This is getting a little tiring ya know. Sam, you got any good movies?"

"Yeah," Mac chimed in, suddenly not so eager to keep playing, now that his reputation had been slightly dampened.

"Yeah sure. I just bought The Avengers, the other night. We can see that. Mac, switch the input and I'll get the movie. It's up in my room."

Sam quickly climbed the stairs and got the movie. As he entered the living room, ripping the plastic from the package, he noticed that the news was on. He looked at the clock near the stove and noticed that it was 7:39, not when the news was on.

Mac and George were both staring at the screen. It showed a clip of someone standing in the middle of a highway, blood covering their clothes. Cars whizzed by, narrowly avoiding it. Finally, as the figure moved slowly to one side of the road, someone pulled over, probably trying to help. Then the figure launched itself at the would-be-helper. The screen turned to static, and then their was a reporter, live.

"The video you jut saw happened about thirty minutes ago, caught on tape by highway cameras. This is a special newsflash. There is the possibility of a zombie outbreak. If you are watching or hearing this, you need to get to safety now. If you are at home, lock your doors and don't go outside. Make sure all windows are secure.

"If you are anywhere else, seek immediate shelter. This is not a joke. Reporting live, Mitchell Adams."

Sam just stared straight at the screen. George reacted similarly, only dropping his drink, which splashed to the carpet. But somehow it was lost on everyone in the room. Mac busted into laughter, holding his sides as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Dude, what is your problem?" George said, looking at Mac really confused.

Mac wiped his eyes and calmed down. "That was hilarious. I can't believe someone manged to get that prank video on TV!"

Sam was shaking his head slowly. "Mac, I don't think that that was a joke. That looked pretty legitimate."

Mac nodded his head. "Of course. I'm sorry. It is obvious that the world is being hit by a zombie outbreak. So realistic, totally plausible."

7 days after

"Should have listened to you." Mac whispered in Sam's ear.

It was a week since that newscast. And it was real, contrary to Mac's original thoughts. He had since learned that it was very, VERY, real. Which led them to now being stuck in a blasted tiny town, out of gas, low on food and water.

Rats scurried everywhere around their position - the bathroom and office of a dental place - which had obviously been ransacked and overrun before they arrived. Now they had all their belongings stashed in one of the stalls, where George was currently sleeping, and Sam and Mac were in the office. The window was still intact, amazingly enough, overlooking the street below.

They were somewhat lucky to get this room. It was high up and thus took more effort to get to, but at the same time, being thirty feet in the air with no fire escape was kind of hazardous. But they couldn't complain. It was comfortable enough for the time being. Their was a swivel chair and lounge couch that they had dragged in.

But they were low on food.

"I've told you I don't care about that anymore," Sam whispered back.

They had heard an noise below, and now waited on edge. Sweat dripped form Sam's brow, and his hands were sticky with sweat as well. He realized he was gripping the baseball he had as a weapon, and the whites of his knuckles were showing. He tried to relax his grip, breathing deeply.

Finally, unable to stand the absolute silence except for the rats, Mac slipped past Sam, metal rod in hand. He had picked it up several days earlier, and it now had several bloodstains on it. Sam, decided to follow, looking back once, hesitantly, at where George was sleeping. Mac sighed.

"Look, nobody can come up except up the stairway, which we will be going down. He can't get hurt before we do."

Sam acknowledged that and nodded. "Okay then, let's go."

You are eight, and your parents are away at a medical conference eighty-six point three kilometers away from your driveway. The cartoons are reruns and, exploring the house, you see a drawer in your parents' bathroom ajar, stuck open by something silver and glistening. You stack books atop one another--thick, hefty, medical textbooks--and you climb up to the sink where you can see your face in the mirror. The slender sliver of forbidden fruit jarring your father's sink drawer emerges in your hand, and the curved almost-sickle blade catches the light of the pore bulbs and shoots it back into your eyes. This is a scalpel, and you consider the word while watching yourself hold it in the mirror. Your teacher's voice tells you to break the word down into its two parts because it has scalp, the part of your head that has dandruff if you use too harsh a shampoo, but the second part is just el, which doesn't mean anything to you. Still, you think, it could be your mind misspelling the word. Maybe it's not scalpel, but scalper instead. You hold it up between your eyes like the girl did in Mulan and you slide the curved edge against your skin, down to your nose. Blood seeps from an invisible cut, and you watch--not crying--as it seeps, sticky and hot, down around your nose towards your lips. You remember your teacher's voice again, and this is gravity pulling the blood towards the Earth. Everything gets pulled into the Earth. Maybe even you.



"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!"

Crows fled from a nearby tree as Shinji kicked the door of his fury-red Toyota. It was the eighth kick, and there was finally a dent. The gasless hunk of scrap metal had no reply, as most vehicles wouldn't, and it only further enraged Shinji. He turned his back to the truck as he heard groaning nearby. It wasn't Zombie groaning, but an actual person, maybe--which didn't make sense because aren't people supposed to all die but me?

"Help?" The plea was tiny and weak, and Shinji was annoyed even considering helping another person who should be dead. Nevertheless, he left his truck and slid down the embankment into a shallow ditch where his boots splashed into rainwater and blood and, without a doubt, piss. In the corner of his eye, he could see the man in the sewer drain near him. One of his hands was in the moonlight, grasping at weak blades of grass. Shinji took a step nearer.

"How close to dying are you?"

The man in the drain groaned. "I'm not a fuckin' doctor. Hell if I know."

"You were attacked, but you're not infected yourself...what hurt you?"

The man grasped at the grass and dirt and pulled his body forward to where Shinji could see an X-cut on his back, deep enough to display some of the finer parts of his spinal chord. The man waited until Shinji realized that he was paralyzed from the cut. And from the color of his skin, he didn't have much time left at all. "If you're done admiring her work," he said, "I'll tell you who did this to me."

Shinji returned his stare to the man's eyes. "I don't have time for fuckin' games, man. Just tell me so I can cut your throat and get on with finding my grave plot."

The man rested his head on his arm and sighed, his hand letting loose the dirt dug up from his pull forwards. The wind blew it to the west. "There was this woman," he said, "who rode into the city on a motorcycle with maybe three others, all dressed like her. She ransacked my base, took my food, water, gas...and promised she wouldn't let me starve to death."

"Right, so she cut your fat ass down instead."

"You gotta love women who think they're in a movie, kid. She drives by every six hours, y'know. A sort of patrol. Maybe for undead, maybe for living."

Shinji narrowed his eyes. "Humans who kill other humans to prolong their own deaths." He tapped his middle finger against a small, almost invisible scar on his forehead. "You know, this could be just the morale boost I've been looking for." Shinji snapped back into his cold expression. "Tell me when her last patrol was."

"She's overdue."

Shinji processed this. A woman with a blade fashioned well enough to leave that kind of damage on a man with just two cuts...it would be a nice prize. The question was whether his knives could stand up to her, or if he'd have to shoot her with his one buckshot. "Do you play cards, fatass?"

"I was a dealer in Vegas, kid. This temple of mine is built out of all-you-can-eat shrimp and steak. Don't tell me you wanna game of blackjack under the moonlight. I might just die of the sweetness."

"No," cut Shinji, cold-voiced. "I want you to choose a suit."

There was a beat of silence before the man sighed. "Spades. My wife had a Spade tattoo on her ass. Sorta how we managed not to have any kids."

Shinji took a quarter from his pocket and placed it on his right index finger, rolled it down to his ring finger where his Spade tattoo hid. He glanced at the quarter. "You rolled heads, Vegas. A quick way to die compared to what this sword woman gave you. I take my paring blade and slit your throat. Consider it my own sort of coup de grace."

"I'm not the sentimental type, kid, but now that the world's ending, I'll ask if you know where your parents are."

"They live in this city, three miles in, where the mayor roped up all the Asians."

"Little Tokyo," he wheezed. "I'll end on these words because they're gonna be true from now until the last man dies." A beat. "If they are dead, which they likely are, and if you happen to go looking for them in hopes of being their Apocalypse Hero, you won't be far from slitting your own throat, kid. See, this is the way you gotta accept the now, even if you leave fate up to a quarter or cards. The hard truth is that, most likely, you can not make amends."

Shinji's face was cold as the nightly wind blew westward. He drew his paring blade from his kit and knelt beside fatass' head, gripped his hair and pulled his head up. There was no impulse to finalize his death with a sentiment, or to guide fatass into the light with wisdom. He pulled the blade across his kneck and let the head drop, cold and still, as blood poured into the ditch. Shinji gripped the asphalt road and heaved himself onto the street, wiping his bloody boots to minimize his footprint.

"That's funny."

Shinji stowed his paring blade and looked up, across the road, where a woman in red leather stood by a motorcycle with a katana drawn.

"I don't remember telling anyone to play with my food."

Corey sat in the toilet cubicle playing a game on his phone. Of course he hadn't really needed to go toilet, he just wanted an excuse to get away from the all the lame stuff his teacher was trying to show the class. Why were museums so lame? Why did school teachers have to get so excited to the point where they fogged up their nerdy glasses? It was something Corey would never understand, and in all honesty, he didn't think he cared to.

What was that? Did he just hear... snorting? Or was it grunting? Whatever.

He sighed as his lost his game and checked his watch. He'd been sitting in that damned cubicle for about forty-five minutes, no wonder his butt was numb.

Corey jumped. Did someone just scream? Oh...kay. It might be time for him to sneak back into his class group. Corey stood up and opened the toilet door... and was met with a rotten, peeling, stinking face. Of course he just followed the most plausible course of action. He screamed, slamming the door shut and sat back on the toilet seat.

Corey breathed heavily. What the heck? Was he seeing things? It couldn't be, the stink was still there. That's it, he thought, I ain't coming out of here.



Corey looked out of the window again. Yup, there were definitely more. The number of zombies in the area had almost doubled since he had left that stupid toilet and holed himself up in the local mall. Corey sighed, he hated the idea of leaving his comfy dwelling, but he had no choice. It was either leave, or be left with a steadily increasing number of zombies. He remembered when he had first left the toilet cubicle and found everyone had gone; there had been barely any zombies around. It had been easy for him to flit about buildings to get whatever he had needed, and whatever he had liked. Now, if he wanted to run to the closest building he had to be on full alert and constantly duck and cover.

Corey walked over to his bed and flopped onto it. He really, really didn't want to leave. Want and need were different though. He'd had his emergency backpack ready to go for a week now, just waiting for him, on top of double sized kids bed. It was filled to the brim with important supplies like chips, chocolate and coke, the three C's of life. He'd also chucked in a lot of random stuff like canned, tinned, and dried foods, a heavy duty torch and eh, water. He also had another duffel filled with his favourite hoodies. In all honesty he was good to go.

He could go right now.

I should go right now.

Corey rolled over on his bed. This bed shop was so comfortable though. If he left he probably wouldn't be able to find everything he wanted in one building like he did now. Restless, he swung off his bed and walked over to the window again. He cringed as he realised that not only were there more of them, but they seemed to be far more active too. It was like they wanted him too leave.

Yeah, so they can chew on my frickin' brain. He shivered in disgust. Okay, okay... He would leave. Tomorrow, really early in the morning, he would get his stuff and go. They seemed to be slower and more sluggish in the cold so he'd have a better chance earlier in the morning. He'd spent hours over the past week just sitting at the window and watching them. He planned on never having a face one up close, so knowing how they worked was his best shot at survival. Right now though, he would nap. He grabbed his baseball bat and lay on his bed, slowly falling into a fitful sleep.



Corey girt his teeth. Where the heck had all these zombies come from? And why the heck had he not decided to leave earlier? He mentally face-palmed himself. He was starting to get cramps from squatting behind the car for so long. There was a zombie with a missing arm and ear right on the other side, and it had been standing there gawking at empty space for ages now. He was pretty he could take it on but, you know, zombie. The sucker had finally waddled away and Corey let out a sigh of relief and a slight chuckle.

It's all going to be fine.

Corey dashed out from behind the car and onto the street. He ran non stop for a few minutes before ducking behind a building when he saw a zombie. This was getting tedious, he was almost out of the city, it shouldn't be taking him this long. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Eww, it was a dead body. A... policeman's body. Maybe the policeman might have a gun! He would have to compromise his cover, but a gun would be so totally worth it. Corey sprinted towards the deceased officer and smiled at what he saw. The gun was lying right there in the officer's hand. He had maul marks all over him and a big hole in his head.

Dude must have blasted his brains.

Corey reached down and grabbed the gun. It was icky with blood, but it was still a gun. Sweet. He wiped it on the remains of the officer's clothing and shoved it into his duffel. Smiling he sauntered down the street completely forgetting about the-

Zombie!

Corey shrieked and spun the other way only to come face to face with another-

Zombie!

Corey waved his baseball bat threateningly, in his peripheral vision he could see two other zombies coming towards his way.

Bloody. Hell.

The zombie closest to him moaned and took a swipe at him. Corey ducked and tried to back away, but he was surrounded. Another stumbled towards him. He swung his bat. Hard. And missed.

“Nngguuh” it groaned. Corey squealed and swung his bat again this time hitting it square in the head.

I hit it! I hit it! I always miss, but I hit-

Another zombie swung at him. Corey swung back. This was going to be a long battle.

Savannah Shultz

"God damn it!" Savannah cursed, drinking her last bottle of water. Crushing it in irritation—seriously, she's a poor damsel in distress; someone should be giving her supplies already!—she chucked it behind her, landing on a pile of beer cans.

Oh, those weren't hers. Well, not all of it, anyways. One or two weren't hers, but still; not completely hers. When the apocalypse broke out, Savannah was at a frat party partying, drinking, and hell, making-out with three different guys when the undead first unleashed. Soon screams started to erupt, but they were drowned in the music. Then it happened—

CHOMP

—some zombie ate her best friend Suzie's brains out. Real screams erupted, the DJ stopped the music, people were scrambling everywhere as Savannah cried, "Nooo, Suzie!" but then got over it quickly as the ugly thing gave one ugly stinkin' look at her.

She couldn't believe it either. Like, really? Out of all the monsters, it has to be zombies? But after it ate poor Suzie's head, she had no time to think about it...not that she'd think in the first place, anyways.

Savannah first tried to team up with Carl, who was her numero uno on her make-out session until she got sick of his gross Funyun breath, but he pushed her away and gave her the middle finger. Okay, so what that she made fun of Carl's breath for the rest of the day and prevented him from getting other girls? No need to throw a hissy fit over that; gosh, so immature!
So then she went over to Harold, who was numero dos on her make-out session. And he was totally chill and cool about it too. He was so dazzling and charming, protecting her and all, when all of a sudden, wham! Harold threw himself in front of her and a zombie came out of nowhere and licked him like a lollipop (which she'd totally understand why; he was sooooo hot). Savannah had to crawl herself out of there, and she chipped a nail because of him, ugh stupid Todd.
That incident led her to Murph, but before she could even grab his rock-hard abs, Murph pushed her in a closet and called her a, quote-on-quote, "Rachet-ass bitch."

So like a normal coming-to-age girl, she cried her eyes out because hottie Murph didn't call her for the past week, and he pushed her in a closet full of supplies rather than taking her with him.

Though she has to say that it was pretty convenient to have all these cans of beer and bottles of water nearby, along with random party snacks that's now all gone too.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" she hissed again, half-drunk from all the alcohol she's consumed the past week. No food, no water—just beer and more beer. Don't get her wrong; beer was great, but honestly, being stuck in a boring closet was pretty boring. Besides, she's sooo over that dickhead Murph that she met that day.

Time to get out of this hellhole.

~ ~ ~

Oh shit.
She just made things worse.

When Savannah sneaked out of the frat house, zombies immediately sniffed—or whatever the hell they do to detect people—her out, and they swarmed like thirsty dogs on heat. She yelped and did the most reasonable thing: she made a run for it.

Oh lord did she hate running. It made her sweaty and gross, but alas, she had no choice. She ran and ran through the town filled with gross dead people, and she even passed by this guy fighting off zombies with a bat.

Zing.

Without thinking, she climbed in some abandoned broken car nearby and watched that majestic piece of meat fight off the zombies with the bat, and, yeah, okay, she was totally checking him out. He was kind of cute—younger for her taste and not necessarily smoking hot, but still cute like a puppy dog nonetheless—and he was fighting those wretched zombies. Like, the two best combinations ever, or a Carl, Harold, or Murph substitute which would be equally great.

Savannah was watching and musing over him from a distance, and then she realized...why were there so many zombies coming after him? ...Oh. Oh shit. That was her fault. When the zombies were running after her, she passed Cutie which in turn led to the ugly things victimizing him instead. She should probably do something...but watching him fight while losing hope is so dreamy...wait, no, he's not losing hope! He's winning!

[ half an hour later ]

This has got to be the lamest fight in the universe, Savannah thought to herself, getting so incredibly bored that she might as well die. Not literally, of course. Or figuratively... Or anything. She's just so bored.

Finally, after one last swat, Cutie was finished defeating the swarm that acted like Pokemon by needing to go one at a time. He took heavy breaths, and the poor boy looked like he needed to take one long nap to relieve himself, if you catch her drift.

As if there was no care in the world for a zombie apocalypse, Savannah stepped out of a car slowly as music seemed to come out of the heavens. A light breeze seemed to pull her hair back while the sun shone on her face, lighting every feature of hers possible as she made her way over to Cutie in slow motion. The boy's eyes seemed to pop as his jaw hit the floor, and Savannah bit her bottom lip and smiled, never losing golden eye contact as she took one delicate step after the other. But wait, Cutie seemed to be trying to yell something over the saxyness and—

"AHHHH!" she screamed in a high-pitched voice, seeing a kid zombie come up from behind, nearly touching her. Savannah ran to Cutie, but immediately he was on the run with a boldness stronger than his nonexistent abs, holding the bat up high then slamming it down on kid zombie's head with a ferocity much stronger than any of the other swings he did earlier before.

My hero!

Savannah bat her eyes at him as he slowly swiveled around with deep breaths, wiping the brown blood off of him. In a few quick motions, she closed in the gap between them, brushed his hair back, wrapped her arms around his neck, and gave him one wet, heavenly smooch on the lips. She sensed his stiffness and tenseness; it was like he's never seen a girl in his life, but that only made her make the kiss hotter and steamier as she leaned in further.

Finally she released, flashing him an innocent pearly white smile while noting his flaming hot cheeks. She was taller than him and actually had to bend down a little, but she pretended that that didn't bother her at all. "My name is Savannah," she said airily. "I need...a partner.

"Hil-low... I mean... I meant to say hi but then changed my mind to hello, so then I said hi-low... So... hello." He paused for a while. "Did you say partner?"

Savannah smirked and wrapped her arm around his waist. "I've been waiting to see a big strong boy like you," she whispered so close to his ear, her lips brushed past it.

"Big and strong..!" he seemed to say more to himself than anything. "And—and I've been waiting to see a pretty girl like you..." At this moment she hugged him tight, fully aware of the height difference and the low-cut cami she was wearing. "Big and strong..." he repeated in a faraway voice. "I mean! You're not big—or fat! And you're not strong... I mean! You could be, I don't know, but, um, uh... You're pretty?"

She released the embrace and flashed him a winner smile, kissing her finger than placing it on his lips. "What's your name?"
"Corey. My name is Corey."
"Do you have any food, Corey?"
"Yes! Food, water, clothes, now a gun." He lifted it up proudly.
"Well," she walked her fingers up his chest, "I do need some of those..."
"Travel with me!" he said a little too quickly. "Or, um...travel with me, please? I have plenty of supplies!"

Savannah flashed him another winner smile. "My hero...my partner," she said in heartfelt voice.



This was too easy.

Bel Watson
A Chemist Shop.

Bel started to walking slowly and silently across town, observing the streets and buildings to see if there were zombies or even humans nearby. His mission was to get to the pharmacy as quickly as possible. He knew he had a refill on prescriptions before the apocalypse began, so he was prepared to find the bottle that has his name printed on it. He noticed something in front of his sight. One of them. Zombie. This particular one was different from the others. He noticed that it was oozing green-like acid from its lips, letting the liquid drip on the ground. Bel crouched down on the ground, trying to stay quiet. As the zombie kept walking away from his path, he slowly crawled behind it, quietly taking out his pocketknife from his back pockets of his jeans. As he kept crawling behind the zombie, the hideous creature growled, making Bel hide behind a building wall that was near him. He started to breathe heavily, hoping that the zombie didn’t detect his presence. Then, he heard a sound of a vehicle hitting an object. He turned his head around the corner, seeing the zombie lying lifelessly on the ground, in the middle of the road.

“Someone is here… and alive too.”

Bel stood out from his hiding spot and started to run to the front of the building. He looked up, seeing a sign of a shop that was for chemists. He also noticed a vehicle parked right in front of the building. A Campervan. He headed inside the building quietly. As he walked far enough inside the building, he heard the door open, and quickly decided to hide behind a chemist table. He noticed a man walking inside the building. The man seemed short, his hair shaggy, plus he was wearing lots of black clothing.

I can’t tell if this guy is a zombie or not… but… I can’t take any chances.

Bel quickly took out his pistol that his mother has bought for protection, and pointed it straight at the bodily figure. "Stay where you are. And don't move."

Bel heard something drop from near where the man stood.

"Just to avoid ambiguity, I'm not a zombie. " The man spoke, indicating that he is indeed a human.

Bel slowly walked towards him, lowering his weapon. “Who are you?”

The man looked at Bel with bright eyes. He seemed like that he was happy to see another person alive in this hell of an apocalypse. “Napoleon. What about you?”

“… Bel.”



Bel and Napoleon were sitting on the floor next to the chemist table, asking each other questions about what has happened before and during the apocalypse. Bel was told that Napoleon was looking for water purification crystals. Bel told him about his mother’s disappearance, but is now looking for the pharmacy for his medicine.

“Well, how about we become a team?” Napoleon suggested as stood up from the floor, looking around the room for the water purification crystals. Bel was surprised about his offer. He was never really a people-person, but at the same time, he did need help finding his mother. He knew he couldn’t do it on his own.

He does have that Campervan outside... And we can also increase the chance of finding others if possible. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy. I think I can trust him a little, just until I find my mother. Plus, he told me he was raiding the town, so if we team up, we can have twice as much supplies for us to survive in the meantime. I guess I can join him for now.

“Sure… But, before we raid the town, I need to get my medicine. I can help you look for your crystals first. Deal?”

Napoleon put his head in front of him as Bel took his, shaking each other’s hands in agreement. “Deal. Now, let’s look for those purification crystals.”

Bel nodded, now knowing that he has someone to survive with.

MacKinny Gallagher

It was the most disgusting thing he'd ever saw in his entire life, but he couldn't turn away. He'd stumbled upon the scene just as the woman went down, right on her pregnant belly. One of the, at least, fifteen zombies followed in the woman's footsteps and landed on her back. His teeth sunk into the soft skin of her shoulder easier than Macky thought they should have, sliding through skin and muscle like butter. His body jerked forward, as if to help, but reasonable thought pulled him back into the shadows. He couldn't help her now. No one could. So, instead, he just watched.

He had to commend her on her strength. She pushed the zombie off and managed to scramble to her feet before the others could dog pile her. Another shrill scream tore from her throat and Macky covered his ears, his face a near perfect mirror of the pain in hers. She caught his eyes just before falling down again. A loud crunch echoed in the clearing and Macky turned away, but not before seeing the stark white bone in the woman's leg pop through her skin like some fucked up Jack-In-The-Box.

"Sir! Help me! Help me, please!"

He threw up instead of replying. The sound drew the zombie's attention his way. A few started to shamble towards him but he was frozen. The woman had flipped on her back, and her belly was in the process of being torn open. He'd never seen so much blood before, or a fetus being prematurely lifted from an open stomach and then promptly devoured. There was a first time for everything.

His ankle snapped when he turned and ran back into the forest, but at that moment he didn't care much for petty things like broken bones. A quick glance back saw five of the zombies still occupied with the woman, and the other ten or so chasing after him. He didn't remember them being as fast as they seemed to be now, but they also didn't look as banged up as the others he'd encountered. Some quick thinking rationalized that the few quick ones chasing him must have been “natural turners” - from simply death or maybe even a few of the first infected – instead of what that woman was going to become. The faster ones didn't seem to have anything wrong with their body, save some inevitable decay. It made sense they'd be in better shape.

"Lucky me."

-

"Macky! I'm glad you're back, I heard screaming and some shit with the camp-"

"FUCKING RUN!"

"What are you-"

"I said run, jackass!"

The zombies came crashing through the brush, tripping over their feet. One of the Natural's made a grab for Macky and just barely missed. A surge of adrenaline pumped through Macky's body and, with one last push, he made a sprint towards the camp. He could hear Jack scrambling behind him, but couldn't afford to slow down or worry about the other man. He had to believe Jack could make it on his own, despite how many odds were stacked against him.

Pain shot through MacKinny's body every step he took. By the time he made it to the camp he was ready to fall into a heap on the floor. He only vaguely took in the presence of two new others before sprinting over to Dexter and Amy.

"Grab your weapons!"

"What's going on," one of the new guys asked.

"Zombies! Grab your weapons!"

"How many," Amy asked, already pulling out her knives.

"At least ten. Maybe more if the others from the clearing followed behind."

"Where's Jack?"

"I left him behind."

"You left him behind?!"

"I had no choice!"

"Alright guys," Dexter cut in. "That's enough. Just get ready."

Mack nodded and got a better grip on the fishing spear still in his hand. He was limping now, but still didn't have time to care. He met the stranger's eyes and shook some sweat out of his hair.

"Hope y'all know how to kill these fuckers. We'll need all the help we can get."