This story idea came about from two sources. One was a role playing game that I don’t exactly remember the title of, and the other is the novel World War Z. It’s a work of fiction written as if it were an oral history of a future conflict against zombies.
I knew I was asking for it, breaking so many of the rules of the Handbook. Wandered off by myself into this “convenience” store in the off chance there were some meds left…or maybe just food. Never imagined that some how, thirty some odd people had the same idea and all got trapped here. That probably wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for the one Infected who bit them all. Now there are thirty some odd Zed heads ambling around. How I didn’t notice when I walked in, I’ll never know. I guess they were all in the back, maybe they actually learned something…
Isn’t that an awful thought? Learning Zekes…the shambling horrors who can barely make a recognizable sound hearing and learning ambush tactics.
I’m smarter than this…so damn smart I’m now trapped at a fucking pharmacy counter with a bottle of store bran ibuprofen, a bottle of Gatorade, and a gun with two bullets in it. Spent 10 of them trying to clear the Zeds at the pharmacy. Not so well spent seeming now…
The other 20 zombies look like they’re queuing at the register. Upside is that it gives me a bit of a run towards the door but God knows if there’s one that’s off distracted by its damn navel. Well, I think I’ve got all I can. May as well go for it.
A fire extinguisher…awesome. Should be good for the first couple. I burst out of the door, two heavy bodies stumble away and I dash past. An arm grab my sleeve and I immediately come straight down on the wrist with the extinguisher. It lets go. The next problem is when another grabby hand snags my jacket. I have to drop the extinguisher and twist quickly to get my arms out fast. Being throttled by my own jacket while being bitten just seems like a terrible fate.
I leave Zeke-2 with a handful of windbreaker and race for the door. Maybe I can make it…Zeds in the aisles are starting to shamble towards me. I make it past them though the moans are making the others take heed. There are two at the main door now.
Trying to shoot on the run is a waste of a billet but I haven got time to stop. Acting like some idiot hero in an action movie I shoot once at one of the zombies and my luck holds out and it drops like a stone.
The other turns to snap at me and I try to barrel past it. That one looks a bit weedy…maybe I can make it…
I put my shoulder down and level the Zeke like a linebacker. The crunch is actually more on my end. Holy crap, tackling fucking hurts. It seems to have worked because I see a twisted neck staring at me over a misshapen form.
I keep running. I can do this for an hour. It’ll give me a chance to get away. Hell, I don’t really news to run a well times 5k to beat the Zed -heads. A quick walk wi do, but I wanna get out of here.
Ten minutes later, I’m feeling more fatigued than I ever have in my life. Must be the adrenaline loss kicking my ass. I gotta slow down and breathe a bit….and that’s when I see it…teeth marks. Right in my damn shoulder.
If anyone happens to find this recording, take this little bit of advice from me…American football is shit. Much better to dodge around than to go through. And remember…save the last one for yourself…*click*