Chapter Text
Their groans and growls sound like a death-song playing on repeat in my head, promising my demise. Somewhere in the chaos of it all, I hear Patricia screaming my name. I've taken the wrong turn, and now I'm separated from the rest of the party. A wall of zombies blocks my way back to them. Still, there is no time. I'll find my way to them one way or another, after I secure some actual chance of survival.
My double-barrel shotgun does a good job at blowing apart the first two zombies launching at me, but there are more to come. The hallway I cornered myself into is a dead end, the broken window at the end of it framing the outside world flawlessly. A broken mess. Once pristine buildings now collapsed to the ground, undead marching through the streets like soldiers, and the sound of sirens playing in the background like a hymn to this new, twisted era. Staying here would be like surrendering to death itself.
Using a front kick, I drive the heel of my boot through the first doors I see, efficiently knocking them down to the floor. I cough and cover my mouth as dust lifts from the dirty ground, making me grimace. Who would expect so many zombies at such an abandoned and unkept place? This block of flats was clearly an attraction for urban explorers before the apocalypse. The walls are covered in graffiti and the smell of drugs lingers in the air. I can't remember why we allowed Jaden to take us here.
Wasting no time, I hurry inside, eyes already flicking from corner to corner for any sight of a potencial exit, or threat. My eyes stop on a not-so-sturdy looking staircase in the corner of the room, leading up to what looks like a planned second story. If I somehow manage to knock those stairs down from the second story, the zombies shouldn't be able to reach me. Theoretically.
Climbing up the old stairs, I hear the wood creaking and groaning under my weight, threatening to break at any given moment. And not only do I hear the stairs, but the familiar shuffling of footsteps behind me as well. I reach the top just in time to turn around and see one of the quicker zombies already half-way up the stairs- way too close for comfort. Planting my feet in place and securing the aim of my shotgun, I blow a bowl of spaghetti in the side of it's head, a spray of fresh blood and bits of meat exploding like fireworks across the moldy wall. With a grunt, I kick the headless and paralysed body off of the stairs. The thing crashes down onto another pair of two zombies with a sickening sound, slowing them down on their quest of turning me into one of them. I breathe out sharply, trying to catch my breath before returning to the matter at hand; the stairs. My eyes travel from the old wooden stairs to my dirty boots, and back to the stairs again. If kicking won't work, then my bat will have to do.
To my great surprise, the wood actually breaks after a few powerful kicks. Holding on tight to the railing, I knock down what I can, almost falling over in the mean time. Once all the stairs within my reach are down and the two zombies back up, I grab the same trusted shotgun hanging from my shoulder and aim the muzzle straight at their foreheads, disposing them of their heads with a pull of the trigger. As the figures fall back, the staircase falls apart even more underneath the sudden pressure of weight, further securing me in my relatively safe heaven. I watch the bodies fall before taking a step back, chest heaving. Silence. The zombies aren't moving anymore.
A shuffling sound comes from behind me. Turning around quickly, I raise my shotgun, eager to point at the source of the sound.
"Who's there?" I ask, taking in the surroundings of the second story with squinted eyes. I catch a glimpse of black hair sticking out from behind the corner, but just as I do, it dissapears.
"Hey!" I exclaim, my shotgun immediately finding it's target. Someone's in the next room, and they're standing right next to the doorway. I can hear their shaky, muffled breaths. They must be hiding.
"Show yourself!" I bark, taking a calculated step to the side, to see better into the room. And as I do, a person steps out.
A zombie, standing in a doorles doorway, staring back at me with wide eyes.
Those dark eyes, full of life. I recognise them. I recognise that wide-eyed look.
"... Zachary ?"
The name leaves my lips without me realising it, and it brings me back to that night. That house, and that party. That closet and that little space between us. That bright red face and that wide-eyed look. Zachary. Zachary is his name. He was the first boy I've ever loved, and the only one.
"Zachary," I repeat his name, this time sounding more assertive and a bit more put-together too. The twitch of his fingers was small, but it was there, and I spotted it.
"What happened?" I ask, irony dripping from the two simple words as my eyes take in his new look; undead. Very popular these days.
He hadn't just changed in the zombie style. There were other, smaller things that had changed since I'd last seen him. Various piercings decorated his rotten face and ears, the metal oddly shiny against his green-tinged skin. He's changed, that much is clear. And I can't help but pathetically wonder if we- him and I, had something to do with it.
The thought brings a bitter taste to my mouth, and the feelings of past bottled deep inside me threaten to burst out. Memories of our aftermath flash before my eyes the longer I look at him, becoming more and more provoking. My heartbeat plays in my ears, the rhythm steadily increasing. My hands strain around the shotgun. I could end him with a single pull of the trigger if I wanted. I could-
The distant sound of my name breaks into the spiraling of my thoughts, snapping me back to reality. The rest of the party must be searching for me. I shouldn't keep them waiting. My eyes flick back to Zachary, sharpening. He's done nothing to treaten me so far. Killing him would only be a waste of a bullet. He's already dead, afterall. And he should be dead to me too.
"Over here!" I call out, turning back towards the demolished stairs and slinging the firearm over my shoulder. Squatting by the edge, I secure my grip on the cement floor of the second story, before hanging down from my arms. My boots hit the floor with a low thud as I let go, a tiny cloud of dust lifting around them. Avoiding the dead bodies, I make my way over to the doorway, pushing through any lasting memories of the past.