Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Post Apocalypse of A Zombie Wasteland ❯ Post Apocalypse of A Zombie Wasteland ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
I stood in the back of the pickup truck, my back to the cab’s window. One hand clutched the barrel of my shotgun, the other resting on the trigger. In the back with me was another survivor. He sat in the corner of the truck, his eyes scanning the fog-covered streets. The truck rolled slowly up the main street. It was only nine o’clock at night but the fog was thick and heavy; the darkness was almost absolute, save for a few street lights. It had only been two weeks since the outbreak of the Virus, but the city was pretty empty. In the shadowy distance, we could see a few stray zombies lurching around businesses and homes.
   We made a turn onto a side street and continued our slow progress to a gas station. Roland looked up from his post in the back of the truck.
   “Deadites at five o’clock,” he said, his voice cracking from lack of use. I shook my head at his Evil Dead reference and looked where he pointed. Three of the undead loomed by the abandoned bookstore.
   “No, let’s not draw attention to ourselves,” I replied, equally quietly. I rapped on the window on the rear of the can and Quinn slid it open. “We have some zombies nearby by but we aren’t going to take them out; we’ll end up creating a mess we don’t need,” I said. She nodded then shut the window. I could her telling Harry, her voice muffled behind the glass.  We pulled into the station and up to a pump. Roland and I immediately leapt from the back of the truck, pulling out a dozen containers each in various sizes.
  Placing our backs to a pump, we inserted gas cards. Hoping they still worked, we pulled the handles from their resting places and gave them a trial squeeze. Gas flowed from the nozzles and we put them into the containers, filling each one to the max. Harry and Quinn had raided the convenience store, taking canned foods, medical supplies, bottled water and other necessities. We quickly loaded up the truck. As I lifted the last can, something grabbed my leg. I turned to find the torso of a zombie staring up at me. It let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a snarl.
   “Shit!” I launched myself to the bed of the pickup, my leg in the monster’s iron grasp. I seized the shotgun and pulled it from the back. Taking little time to aim, I pointed the weapon at the undead creature and fired off a round into its face. It let out an unearthly wail as the bullet hit its mark and the monster collapsed, dead. Its hand slid from my leg and I pulled it away. As I looked up, several more of the living dead made themselves known. Roland seized me by my arms and hauled me into the truck.   “Step on it, Harry!” he cried. Harry obeyed and the vehicle leapt forward into the night, tired screeching on the pavement. I banged into Roland as we turned a corner; his hands we still on my arms, holding me upright. I leaned against his knees with an exasperated sob. He murmured words of comfort to me. Quinn opened the window after half a mile, her red hair blowing in the wind.
   “Y’all okay?” she asked.    “We’re fine, Roland replied, pushing his shaggy dark hair from his eyes.
  “I’m sorry,” I said, burying my face in my hands.
  “You had to do what you had to do,” Harry replied.
  I sighed heavily as we sped off through the humid night, searching for another place to reside.

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