Chapter Text
The bright blue hue of the sky along with the bright yellow sunny rays the sun has casted on the gentle greenery of the grass, the robust and grey concrete of the road together with the scorching temperature is a reminder that summer has arrived, and will constantly torment everyone with its heat.
Despite the enamoring scenery, the sultriness of the summer ruined the view, though a walk in a park and a dip in a pool could provide a placebo for this heat. It must be why every house in the neighborhood seemed to be empty, everyone must have the same idea in mind if we were to ignore the ongoing ruckus in the streets.
A cacophony from various vehicles collided in every nook and cranny, making the smoke to entirely cover up the whole neighborhood. The constant flashing of red and blue lights from the sirens are the government’s message to the situation, as blood and random unidentified parts from humans were messily displayed everywhere in the streets.
Sensing a mortal within the vicinity, the horde of undead immediately went for the lone survivor to get a taste of fresh human flesh.
-Click-
Loading up the double-barreled shotgun, aiming for the head of the nearest undead in the Brit's way patiently waiting for the right moment to strike.
-BANG-
The sound of the shotgun ricocheting through the whole neighborhood as multiple zombies hit the ground with a thud.
"Huh, I don't remember the zombies being this many, I might have to find Matt and Edd sooner," said Tom as he once again reloaded the shotgun to protect himself from the undead.
Unfortunately for him, the loud blast from his shotgun attracted the wrong crowd—doubling the amount of zombies from before. Bang after bang, the pained screech from the zombies followed suit, but even after multiple shots were fired the horde of undead was still unyielding as ever.
"Shit! There's no end to this hellhole, I might run out of bullets if this goes on,” he screamed as he smacked the zombies that got way too near to him. Acknowledging that he had no chance against the sea of undead—he opted to run away. Fighting against the crowd, he slowly found the way out, his bullets slowly becoming scarce as he fought his way through the horde.
After what felt like an eternity, the sun had begun to set, the faint purple and orange hues were adorned on the sky indicating that night was about to fall. With his house involved in the current chaos as well as the undead roaming around in the neighborhood that used to be peaceful, he had to at least seek a safe place that he could temporarily stay and rest to conserve energy for the upcoming journey in searching for his two friends' whereabouts.
Wandering around, following through his feet's content, he then stumbled upon a wrecked warehouse with no zombies within his sight—a rare sight to behold in this situation. Although the absence of the zombies gave a wave of relief to his core, he needed to be wary and cautious of his surroundings. He couldn't shake off the thought that zombies might have gained intelligence by patiently waiting in the dark to pounce on their prey—taking them off guard.
With a guarding stance and an alert consciousness, he slowly walked towards the warehouse opening the already agape front door of the building, as the vague sound of footsteps echoed in the unnervingly eerie and silent environment.
Searching and observing through the unknown surroundings, there he found crates that were filled to the brim with resources that can help a person survive for years in this hellish apocalypse.
"How convenient,” he smiled with glee after removing the thought of venturing through places to seek resources for him to survive in this damned situation.
Rummaging through the ample materials he identified each item one by one, canned goods, processed food, bottles of water, ammunition for every gun and differing weapons such as bats and various shaped knives. Upon digging further into the crate he couldn't help but smell the scent he so well knows—Smirnoff, that sweet, sweet mighty stench of that liquor that he loves the most.
"Sweet!" he cheered as he immediately opened the cap and took a swig—a delightful burning sensation of the alcohol took a tour down his throat.
However, the taste was not the same as his beloved Smirnoff. Upon further inspection of the object in his hands—in bold letters, he read,
"Diet Smirnoff?! Oh fuck off!" throwing the object down to the floor. Despite the harsh force he applied, surprisingly, the object didn't shatter which made the blue hooded man fume. Taking the nearest gun he could find he shot the bottle of alcohol, the bullet protruding through the glass which caused it to shatter everywhere while the liquor painted the concrete floors with its color alongside leaving the odor to seep into its cracks.
He returned and continued ransacking the goods in the crate, when all of a sudden a loud scream and the sound of guns shooting as well as the blinding lights, echoed simultaneously across the quiet walls of the building, halting his search immediately. Waiting for the gunshots to subside, he returned to his guarding stance, he contemplated whether to check the source of the sound or to let it be.
Thinking of the possibilities and their odds of the outcome, he figured that it would be best to probe since this would be the place that he would be staying for the night, it was his fault anyway for not checking the whole place first before he deemed it safe.
Moving forward onto his tracks, he made his way into the building, making sure not to be visible to a person's view or, worse, zombies. Finally arriving at his desired destination, the din and jarring of teeth chomping through the flesh and the rhythmic gnawing when bones meet bones sent shivers down to Tom's spine. Leaning to the side, he took a peek at the surroundings.
Blood splatters, circling onto limp bodies, as bones jutting out from the ruptured flesh, weapons that were scattered out and about. A sight that causes visceral damage to those with weak stomachs. Fortunately for Tom, he was the opposite, eyes darting to the scene as the shadowed figure in front loomed over the body continuing to feast on little flesh that stuck to its bone marrow.
Determined to ensure that the place is safe he needs to get rid of the source of the danger and its raucous rhythm. Steadying his pistol, aiming it at the zombie's head, ready to cease the looming danger.
"Tord...?" He blurted out as the silhouette of the unknown entity reminded him of someone, making him lower the gun a bit. Shaking his head to ignore the thoughts he reverted back to his posture, but to his demise, the figure was nowhere to be found in his line of sight. Taken aback from the disappearance of the figure, eyes wandering into the sight, making prudent actions and decisions to gain the upperhand in this situation. There are multiple spots for the undead to hide, with how dim and murky it is, the zombie may be able to attack him anytime as long as it gets close to him.
“Ha! Unfortunately for you I have a gun!” the Brit declared with confidence.
Soon after his declaration, a sturdy, hard, round object flew towards where his gun was. The projectile managed to strike his hand letting go of the only weapon he can protect himself from a distance. Pain throbbed from where the rock had collided, earning a pained whimper from the blue hooded man who was in disbelief.
“This is fucking ridiculous, since when did braindead zombies learn how to disarm an armed person-”
Tom’s complaint cut short when the zombie pounced on him, having no time to fully process the situation. When the zombie prepared to open its mouth to tear out the fresh flesh of the shocked mortal as blood from its recent meal dripped down from the Brit’s face, then he was able to process the level of danger he was in.
“Gah!” Yelling in surprise from the sudden intrusion, his right hand placed atop of the zombie’s forehead to avoid getting bitten and to block its vision, accidentally feeling the optic nerve that dangled freely from its supposedly right eye that was now devoid of that body part, getting mentally disgusted yet he refused to back down despite the constant caress of the unpleasant texture. Using his left hand to browse the ground, looking for anything that can be held as a leverage to prevent the zombie from potentially infecting him alas, his fingers landed on a bat.
With no hesitation, he reached out towards the weapon but the zombie seemed to know what he was up to. And so, the zombie retrieved its hands only to place them on the Brit’s shoulder and slammed him hard onto the cracked concrete surface hitting the human’s head in the process. Tom’s right hand flew from the impact, completely repairing the undead's vision. With how unfortunate the events have unfolded, Tom accepted his loss—no defiance from the attack, simply staying limp and scrunching his eyes from the pain as his consciousness began to swoon into the abyss.
As his consciousness was about to stray further from him, he received a slap in the face enough to formulate a bruise and a swollen part on his right cheek. Dumbfounded from the sudden assault that doesn’t seem like an attack a zombie would do, his senses came back to him as his voided sockets glared with shock at the zombie.
“Classic stupid Tom, are you really that stupid to lose from a species with zero brains? I didn’t expect you to be this pathetic,” the tone of the familiar voice was thick with a norwegian accent but with a hint of a scornful and derisive attitude towards the blue hooded man.
“You-!’
“Tord”
“Of course I know dumbass, I mistook you for a zom…bie…?”
Tord was still the same douchebag as before, his light brown hair was messy but the seemingly horn shaped tuft of hair was still standing proud, grey eyes reciprocated his stare, the mole under his eyes and mouth was still evident, and the bright red hoodie that he wears everyday, as well as his signature eat shitting grin that Tom despises with his whole being.
Nothing out of the ordinary had changed, except for the fact that his right eye was loosely hanging outside of his socket, parts of his face were rotten and chopped off; such as the cheek bone and teeth were visible without the muscle, he reeked off the pungent smell of rotten blood and flesh, last but not the least, his skin was green, something akin to a zombie.
The Norwegian’s grin went wider, “So what if I am?”