Work Text:
Your heart was racing as you ran through the trees, the sounds of footsteps and grunting behind you and getting farther away. Thank whoever was up there that these zombie freaks were nearly as slow as they were on The Walking Dead, or you’d have been dinner a long time ago.
The sun had started to set not too long ago so that the sky was a mix of brilliant orange and red, and you knew you needed to find shelter before night completely fell. You looked around you as you ran, hoping to find something in the area that would work.
Why did Kansas have to be so flat and boring, with only random patches of trees here and there?
Finally, you came upon a strange hill, a road leading toward it. There must be a house or something on the other side of the hill, because the dirt was recently driven, if those tire tracks told you anything.
You followed the road until you saw a door in the side of the hill, instead of the house you were expecting. Surely it was a safe house or bunker of some kind. Score.
Your eyes were peeled for any sight of zombies as you approached, knowing it would be just your luck to find a safe place like this that’s already overrun by the freaks. Your hand reached into your pocket for your lockpicking kit, heading straight for the door.
You kneeled in front of it, flipping the cover to the keyhole. It was old, that was for sure. Old meant sturdy, usually, so you started working. Every few seconds you looked around, feeling as though someone – or something – was watching you.
The lock was tricky. Every time you thought you’d gotten a pin moved, it clicked back into place. It had surely been half an hour since you started working on it, because the light was getting dimmer by the second.
A grunt sounded behind you.
You spun, the crude sword/battering ram you’d made from a tree branch colliding with the side of a zombie’s head. It yelled as it went down, and you followed it with a handful of beats to the head.
It didn’t move again.
You knelt back down, hands shaking now as you tried the lock again. You were almost out of time, it was nearly night. You needed to get this door open or you weren’t going to find shelter.
You were so concentrated that you didn’t hear the second zombie coming up on you. It grabbed your shoulder and threw you backward, so that you skidded on your back across the ground. It yelled a nonsensical word and you screamed right back, knowing that zombies didn’t like loud noises. You kicked at it, trying to squirm around to grab your tree branch, but it was smarter than you expected and grabbed your foot.
It started dragging you away from the door – and your branch – and out toward the woods. You kept yelling and kicking with your other foot.
Suddenly, you heard a gunshot and the zombie’s face was blown off. Its hand still held on to your ankle, but you quickly got out of the dead grip and spun on all fours on the ground.
The door that you’d just been trying to pick was now open and a tall man stood in the frame, shotgun in his hand. He looked toward you, his gun aimed your way.
“I’m not a zombie!” you yelled, hoping he believed you. The look in his eyes made you think he’d shot people who weren’t zombies before, and you hoped he would help. “Please, can I come in for the night?”
The guy looked around, cocking his gun again. He stepped out of the door frame and shot into the treeline, a crashing fall answering. You looked that way: sure enough, another zombie had just been shot.
“Get in,” he said, his voice rough and powerful. Immediately you moved, launching toward him and the open door, only slowing to grab your pack and branch.
When you were inside you froze, shocked at the sight before you. Maybe you would see if you could just stay, ‘cause this guy seriously had this apocalypse thing figured out.